Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Among all the citizens of the grand kingdom of Tricolor, including Seraphim herself, there was only one person who would think to celebrate her birthday. Only one, in fact, who could even remember it. This person was a very special someone, a person for whom swathes of people would happily toil and suffer if it meant she might personally alight to celebrate their birthday just once.

Her majesty’s voice was hesitant. “Would you like anything for your birthday?”

Seraphim didn’t know what to say. Had her queen summoned her just for this reason?

There was civil unrest in the Azure region regarding the kingdom’s proposed alliance to a small society in the South. The Verdant region was struggling to deal with new pests in their fields. The Scarlet region was mostly at ease, but just this morning Seraphim had broken up a fight there over some incomprehensible interpersonal matters.

Seraphim had come with the intention of proposing an expansion of the kingdom’s agricultural research sector to her queen. Faced with the rare sight of Jophiel fidgeting with her long sleeves like a shy young girl, Seraphim didn’t know what to do.

“There’s no need to concern yourself with that, your majesty. Is there anything else you need from me?”

Somehow, Jophiel pouted. “Are you certain? It’s no trouble. Our people would be honored to fulfill a commission for their Lady of Color.

Seraphim doubted that. No one besides Jophiel had mentioned her birthday for years; during her time as a sellsword Seraphim had forgotten what day it even was. It was just like her queen, though, to think about matters like this in terms of politics and public morale. Seraphim smiled.

“Perhaps a brooch, then? From the new jeweler in Scarlet.” That young boy had been given quite a scare by the brawl outside his shop today.

Her majesty brightened up. “That’s a wonderful idea! Do you have a design in mind?”

Seraphim shook her head. “Not particularly.”

Jophiel turned to write something on a new sheet of paper. “I’ll come up with something, then! Thank you, Seraphim.”

A moment of silence passed as Jophiel continued to write and draw, seemingly lost in her work.

Seraphim cleared her throat. “Your majesty. About the Verdant’s agricultural production…”

The brooch was ready the next day. A beautiful thing of chiseled redstone and lapis, understated yet proud, it fit into her chestplate perfectly like it was always meant to be there.

A glowing red as strong and full of promise as the Scarlet’s torch-lit mines. A shimmering blue as deep and unpredictable as the waves beyond the Azure’s shores. Unexpectedly, it was a frivolous decorative item that spoke to Seraphim’s ideals of purpose and honor.

The queen hummed cheerfully as she stepped forward to admire the result of their citizen’s work. They moved to stroke the golden edge of the brooch, before pausing and resting their gloved hand on Seraphim’s arm instead. They looked up, meeting Seraphim’s blue and red eyes, and smiled.

“I knew it! It suits you perfectly. Thank you for indulging me, Seraphim.”

It struck Seraphim then that Jophiel must have commissioned the brooch to match her two-color irises, an uncommon feature that she had always commented on in their youth. Of course; why would the queen of Tricolor neglect to include an emerald for the Verdant? Unlike Seraphim, Jophiel held no negative memories of their childhood home; she had always flourished in that place, with its lush fields and colorful art and overfamiliar people.

Jophiel was kind, understanding, and generous. She wasn’t forged from the transactions and violence of the lonely world of independence. She had a wisdom that could only arise from a lifetime of engaging with people, studying people, thinking about her people. Jophiel was always looking towards a world Seraphim would never know. Her eyes were the piercing green of the open rolling plains.

An emerald gaze under furrowed golden brows, looking into Seraphim like she was someone important.

Seraphim closed her eyes as she slowly exhaled.

They had a meeting with the priestess to attend today.

“Let’s go, your majesty.”

Ocho sighed while cleaning her crystal ball. Seraphim watched her, out of lack of other things to do while Jophiel was yet to return.

“Lady Seraphim, would you like a palm reading as well? I could use the practice.”

“Alright.”

“...so give me your hand.”

Seraphim presented her right hand, palm up, to their kingdom’s priestess. Ocho traced the creases in her rough skin with her claws.

Seraphim watched with mild interest. Ocho’s fingers faded from tan to blue from the palm to the long claws. The tips of two claws were trimmed, likely for fortune-telling, while the sharpness of the pinky claw betrayed their original ability to tear through flesh. Seraphim wondered about the callouses above her midpalm. Did she train in combat?

“Lady Seraphim, I’m curious. Where does your name come from?” Ocho didn’t look up from her inspection of Seraphim’s palm. Was this questioning part of her fortune telling?

Seraphim, burning angels of death. No one had asked her this in a long time; the last person to ask had his left lung pierced by Seraphim’s blade ten days later as per the request of her next client. In the suffocating living room of her parents’ home, in whispers passed under the scent of old books, Seraphim had chosen her name with Jophiel, who took a liking to the angel of art and wisdom.

Back then, she had a kindling, boiling desire to kill and rise from the remnants of her past life. Now, covered in ashes no one else could see, Seraphim wanted to shake it all off and build something new.

“...I like fire,” she answered.

The priestess hummed. “Does our queen have something to do with it? She’s an angel, too.”

“Yes. I knew her majesty from when we were younger.”

Ocho laughed under her breath. “I see… how nice. I wondered why you two seemed so close from the start.”

That came as a surprise. Back when she first reunited with Jophiel, the years of isolated mercenary work left Seraphim floundering through every interaction. It took time to get used to the queen of Tricolor, whose every action challenged Seraphim’s feelings about her upbringing, not because Jophiel had changed very much but because she had thrust Seraphim into an alternate world: her neighborhood friend, whose light had always wavered like a precious dwindling candle, was now enthroned under great expectations as the grand monarch of a new society.

Seraphim’s childhood in the oppressive village that forced her to flee, and her future in the glorious kingdom of color that welcomed her almost too easily - both were accompanied by the same golden girl. It left Seraphim disoriented.

Ocho guided Seraphim’s hand back to her armored side before letting go.

Seraphim wanted to ask. “Ocho. How do you feel about her majesty?”

The priestess blinked several times before responding. “I have the utmost admiration for our queen. I trust her to guide Tricolor to prosperity.”

“Do you truly think that way? Would you feel the same if Jophiel wasn’t our queen?”

Ocho frowned. She replied slowly. “I would trust her if she was my ruler or if she was my comrade. Wouldn’t you?”

“Comrade?”

“If we were a small collective of friends, or if we were a big kingdom as we are now, it wouldn’t matter to me as long as she was there. But why do you ask?”

Seraphim paused. Why? “...I was just curious. Thank you, priestess.”

“Hmm, really.”

The curtain lifted as Jophiel peeked through, shining sunlight into the hazy room. “Seraphim, are you ready to go?”

Seraphim turned to leave. The priestess grabbed Seraphim’s hand and dragged her down, whispering into her ear.

“Are you sure you understand what’s important? You have something precious right now. Don’t lose sight.”

If Seraphim was proud of anything, it was her ability to visualize the ideal world. What did the priestess think she knew that gave her the right to question that? Even Jophiel never challenged Seraphim’s ideals; the few times they’d argued had always dwindled into niceties, and Jophiel never brought up those topics again. Ocho’s grip on her hand was sharp enough to draw blood.

Seraphim had already promised herself long ago to never lose sight of what mattered. Years of paring down unnecessary concerns in her life just to survive had given her the experience she needed. What did Ocho know about that? What did anyone in Tricolor know about that?

What was Seraphim even doing? She had a kingdom to serve.

Without another word to the priestess, Seraphim yanked back her hand and stepped out into the light, returning to her position by Jophiel’s side.

Ocho watched their silhouettes dissolve through the curtain, side by side.

That was the last time Seraphim saw Ocho. The Tricolor priestess soon left for the South and never returned.

Chapter Text

Stormy clouds tumbled through the sky on a humid spring day. Seraphim followed Jophiel as they weaved through the streets of Tricolor on their way to the ports. This was likely to be their most important diplomatic mission yet; it was the first meeting to bring together every major society across the continent.

Caught among the rush of people, Seraphim bumped into an unfamiliar blur. Red apples rolled across the cobblestone path, quickly crushed under the feet of passersby.

“Shit! Not even a sorry?” A deep, scratchy, high-strung voice.

Seraphim turned back from her search of golden hair in the crowd.

“…you. The Lady of Color? Does common courtesy not apply to you? Those were an important order for the Lord Verdant. You need to pay up.”

“I apologize, but I’m in a rush to accompany the Queen on a mission. I will return to make it up to you.” Seraphim observed her citizen. Dark hair, plain clothes, and a colorful knitted hat that matched their eyes. Spent posture. Chipped nails, bandaged fingers.

“That order is due this afternoon! It’s my only chance to make my name known! You royalty and your self-importance. Us ordinary people mean nothing to you, hm? After this you’ll go to bed within your castle walls, no sleep lost.”

Seraphim removed her hand from its usual position by her sword.

The apple seller moved closer as they spoke, gesturing with a worn fruit-peeling knife. “Nothing I do matters to you people. Queen Jophiel doesn’t care about me, so no one ever will. Do you even notice when one of us disappears?”

They grabbed Seraphim’s collar and pulled down roughly. Their eyes glistened.

“Do you even know my name?”

A moment of silence passed.

Their voice dropped; she strained to hear. “Seraphim, Lady of Tricolor. What am I even here for?”

Seraphim spoke as softly as she could. “You’re right. It’s not fair. I-”

The queen’s voice rang out in alarm. “What are you doing? Unhand my Lady at once.”

The apple seller let go of Seraphim as if burnt; Seraphim stumbled backwards. She looked at her citizen. They looked at her - behind her - and their face dropped.

“I am so sorry. I don’t know why I did that. Your majesty. I…”

Their demeanor had completely transformed. The apples, scattered around their feet, had been long forgotten. Seraphim felt something inside her rot.

The Queen’s voice pressed down with authority. “Don’t let it happen again. Okay?”

The citizen of Tricolor nodded and scrambled away. They tripped over a squashed apple, caught themself, and ducked around a corner.

Seraphim looked at the remains on the street. Flies were already gathering.

She swept her gaze back towards her queen. Her voice came out low. “It would be better if you didn’t intervene.”

Her majesty flinched. “But, your neck…”

Seraphim felt it. Her hand came away bloody. “A small price to pay for a citizen’s autonomy. …It doesn’t matter. What was their name?”

“...I don’t quite recall. The apple farmer of Verdant…”

Seraphim stared at her queen. Beautiful hair, layered clothes. A crown of three shining jewels. Posture that commanded attention. Clean, gloved hands.

“...Don’t mind it. We’re running late.”

Seraphim took the lead.

It was a long distance to the meeting hall. The air was thick. Their journey might be encumbered by rain.

Seraphim met with Fluixon, second-in-command of the peace-seeking coastal nation of Luminara, in the dead of night.

In the wake of his rejection by not only every leader present at the day’s meeting of nations - including Jophiel - but also his own president, Fluixon was desperate for allies. He had a small band of loyal followers within his own nation, but only that; demoted from his position in Luminara, he had no more opportunities to expand his reach. All Seraphim had to do was pass him a note saying she agreed with the war-mongering speech that lost him all his power, and he gave her coordinates to a hidden spot roughly between Luminara and Tricolor.

Meeting with a former mercenary known for her kill count in the double digits - unwise, but useful.

“Lady Seraphim, I appreciated your message - I’m comforted to know at least one other person at that meeting has a good head on their shoulders. It seems I’m not the only one struggling to do what’s best for their people under an incompetent ruler. I sympathize with your plight. Now, what are you offering me?” Fluixon sat down on a small rock by the water. His regal posture made the action look a bit ridiculous.

Seraphim chose to remain standing. “I’m experienced in stealth and combat. I have significant influence in Tricolor’s internal and external affairs. I’m particularly close to queen Jophiel. She turns to me for advice.”

“...Jophiel.” Fluixon nearly spat. Seraphim, accustomed to everyone around her embracing her majesty’s name with the utmost reverence, had never heard her queen referred to with such hatred. It was as jarring as it was refreshing. “She’s just like the rest of them. I’m not convinced any of our leaders can be brought to sense.”

“What are you planning to do, then?” Seraphim probed.

Fluixon paused, narrowing his violet eyes. “Lady Seraphim, what you’re asking me to reveal could put all our people at great risk. So I must ask you this: what, exactly, are your goals for your nation? What are you aiming to change about Tricolor, about Jophiel?”

Under the night sky, far from Tricolor, Seraphim spoke freely. “I’m against the structure of the monarchy itself. I believe my people would be more effectively guided by a government composed of the people, giving us the power to regulate our own resources, or no government at all. All systems of power lead to oppression, and hatred will always fester in Tricolor as long as our current hierarchy exists.”

“I see. Our goals align.” Fluixon leaned forward. “I plan to eliminate all the current leaders: everyone that would be present at the next international meeting. The chaos that follows will open room for more competent leadership to take power - or no leadership at all.”

“I understand. Let us revolutionize the world.” Seraphim rested her hand on the hilt of her sword.

Fluixon grinned. “Welcome to the Conspiracy.”

As the stars faded, the sky behind them lightened into a deep indigo.

Ocho turned away from her tasseography cup to watch the clouds bloom pink.

The awe-inspiring scenery before her and the sounds of Beta’s quill filling their books provided a strange accompaniment to the violent future that floated among her thoughts. Maybe next year, maybe today, it was just a matter of when; she knew for sure that soon the entire world was going to upend.

In another universe, perhaps she wouldn’t have befriended this tiny network of people who were fighting so hard to defend a land that mattered to nobody else. In such a universe, one where she never wandered into the dark, forested South and stumbled upon a miracle, Ocho may have felt pain. Regret, defeat, loss. She may have wondered what she could have said differently to save the kingdom she so longed to become important to.

But in this beautiful tomorrow, cast in rosy dawn, Ocho felt content.

“Beta, what are you writing?” She asked her companion.

The philosopher’s gentle voice fluttered with the answering breeze.

“The societies focus, first and foremost, on providing peace. Peace, however, does not create freedom. It is the enemy of it. And so, we must fight for action over order.”

Beta’s curly hair parted like waves as she turned towards Ocho. His hollow eyes told Ocho nothing of what they saw. The creases of warmth at their corners echoed the distant silhouettes of departing birds.

“For there is no point in protecting a life that one does not wish to live.”

It was gorgeous weather for a morning walk. Seraphim accompanied her queen as they meandered through the colorful fields of Verdant, pausing every time Jophiel stopped to admire this tree or that flower.

The Queen of Color twirled with a laugh. Alone with her Lady of Color, there was no need for her to encumber herself with armor; they seemed particularly cheerful as they stepped light-footed among the flora.

“This birch tree looks lovely among the tulips and orchids, it would be a shame to cut it down - perhaps I’ll leave a sign.” Their majesty stopped to write something on a note, completely focused as if it was a task of great importance.

Today was the day.

Seraphim emptied the bucket of lava at her queen’s feet.

Jophiel immediately lurched in pain. They fought the viscous heat, turning in search of safety as the lava crept outwards. Stumbling, reaching; their eyes fell onto the empty bucket in Seraphim’s hands.

“Seraphim…? What are you doing?”

Jophiel was about to escape the lava. Left like this, they would survive with severe burn wounds. Seraphim unsheathed her sword.

She sliced forwards - imprecise. That wouldn’t be enough; she barely drew blood. Her foot burned as her boot dipped into the edge of the lava. She paid it no mind.

Flame on their dress, Jophiel moved to run.

Once more. This time, her sword cleaved thick through Jophiel’s back.

Someone’s parrots chirped in alarm. Thick iron overtook the scent of cherry blossoms.

Jophiel, burning, staggered towards the nearby pond. Seraphim easily overtook them. She aimed her next blow carefully. This time, she would slice through Jophiel’s heart.

She pierced her target, twisting as she pulled out the blade. The queen of Tricolor fell.

The morning lit Jophiel’s hair golden, fanning across the lush green grass like a sun descended into the earth. Alongside their blood pooling into a shimmering red and the fabric of their dress cascading in vivid blues, the violent scenery unfolded into the flag of the beautiful kingdom they both adored.

It was a glorious day.

Chapter Text

Her new life as the world’s most wanted criminal moved in a blur. It was a familiar setup: alone, hunted by everyone who knew her. For the first time in years, Seraphim felt herself reflected by the world around her.

Oh, violence, may the world be forever crafted in your image.

She had fled the scene of the queen’s death far too easily. Tricolor had been utterly unprepared for a simple assassination. She’d made it to shelter in the Conspiracy’s underwater bunker without a single person trailing behind her.

Fluixon had slammed his boots on the table. Their plan wasn’t meant to go this way, he had raged. She wasn’t meant to kill Jophiel in the vivid light of day. She was meant to guide her queen to be crudely skewered from above with the rest of the leaders at the next international meeting.

Seraphim had simply dropped her bloody sword on the table. After it clattered, the room had gone silent.

Listening into the meeting, it was clear that Tricolor had been transformed overnight. The people of the kingdom, even of the entire continent, were united in response to her work.

“All nations in agreement of declaring Seraphim, murderer of Queen Jophiel, kill-on-sight, say aye.”

“Aye.”

“Aye.”

“Aye.”

Now, crouched before the lever that would flip the world on its head, the burning angel of death didn’t hesitate.

Seraphim pulls the lever.

The machinery sounds to life.

Crashes. Screams.

Underneath, the cleaving of flesh and the shattering of bone.

An incomplete hit: there should have been no voices left.

She drops from the ceiling with a soft thud. The shadows of dusk shield her.

Her targets are scattering too fast for her to complete her work. It’s time for her to go.

“Seraphim! It’s Seraphim!” A familiar voice - Jamminhead, the leader of Tricolor’s military, carrying purpose and valor. She had never spoken this way before.

Seraphim slips behind the building and runs downhill towards the water.

Her furious people following close behind her, Seraphim dives into the ocean.

She sheds the layers bogging her down. Her cloak floats to the surface. The brooch catches the golden light.

She rips through the water with practiced ease.

It’s a long way to the Conspiracy’s shelter.

Left side, right side, she reaches forward methodically. She tires slowly.

An arrow hits her back. The pain doesn’t register.

Grasping, pulling, Seraphim hauls her body forward. Stealing gasps of air.

Blood trails behind her into the water. The cries draw closer.

A sword slashes her right ankle. A hand grabs her left and drags her down. She struggles to kick it away. When she surfaces for air, an arrow sinks into the muscle below her neck.

Seraphim is going to die here.

She fights the water, crawling forward.

Shouts. Splashes. Flashes of sunlight in the heavy dark.

Did it hurt this much when Jophiel died?

Water enters her lungs. She loses the direction of the air, of the westward sun.

A pain weighs down her chest. Blood fills her mouth. It tastes rotten.

She wants to spit it out. She wants to taste the air. She wants to bite into one of those fresh apples and see the look of pride and hope on an exhausted stranger’s face.

She sinks into the ocean floor.

She wonders where she will be buried. Where is her home? Does anybody know?

The world is dark. She wants the sun to hold her when it rises.

Cold and exhausted, Seraphim falls alone.

The people gather in celebration.

The world moves on.

Jophiel knew Seraphim was her one and only indulgence.

When she planned the governing system for their new kingdom, Jophiel had left a position open for a person she could trust absolutely. Someone skilled enough in combat to protect her, skilled enough in politics to provide her value with a second perspective. A person whom she could trust the kingdom of Tricolor to if anything happened to her.

Someone she would be together with at all times. Someone she could talk with about everything. Her closest companion.

Why create a position so demanding on a single person? Her friends had asked. This went beyond the scope of a typical bodyguard, advisor, or deputy. If she didn’t have someone in mind already, it would be difficult to find a single person suited for the role.

I know, Jophiel had answered. I will find her.

Since reuniting with Seraphim, watching her grow into her position as the Lady of Color, Jophiel had always been nervous. What would Seraphim think about Jophiel's decisions? Was she getting along with Jophiel’s new friends? Was the weather, the clothing, the food to her liking?

Was Seraphim enjoying it here, this time, in this new home Jophiel had made?

Jophiel struggled to express her regrets. She wasn’t sure how to talk about their past. Seraphim had never brought up their childhood together, and any time she mentioned her work her words became clinical and a little pained. Jophiel didn’t want to say something wrong.

But, I wanted you to stay, Jophiel wished to tell her. I’m sorry I wasn’t able to make our home good enough for you to believe in anymore. I’m sorry I couldn’t care for you well enough.

It hurt so much, watching them strike you down over and over, Jophiel longed to tell her. I spent every night we weren’t together thinking about what I could do for you. I cried over it. I hurt myself over it. Many times, I wanted to kill them. Your family, those teachers, those village elders, I wanted to get rid of them all. I wanted to show you their bloody heads, so you’d know you had nothing to worry about anymore, and I wanted to go home and laugh about it all together, there in that small village.

Would that have made you happy? Would that have made you stay?

Do you forgive me?

Laying there in the wet grass, gazing up at her dearest friend, Jophiel struggled to make out the expression on Seraphim’s face, lit from behind by the sun. She supposed she had her answer.

I wanted you to have fun. I wanted you to feel respected, I wanted you to feel strong. I wanted you to feel at home.

I wanted to spend every day with you by my side.

I was selfish. I was weak. It was my fault. Back then, too.

How are you feeling? What are you thinking? What are you doing this for?

Will you still not tell me, even as I am dying by your hand?

Jophiel’s eyes burned. Her throat burned. Her heart burned, until it was all ash under Seraphim’s feet.