Chapter Text
They were umbushed.
It shouldn't have gone down like this.
"Let go!" A young girl, no older than 12, yelled out at the top of her lungs, thrashing in the restraints made up of long ribbons attached to staffs.
Knights Moralis.
She knew of them, yet never really run in with them personally.
Father her told her about them. About their rigid naivity and foolish restrains. About the hypothetical use of what should in their eyes be forbidden magic, yet they wielded it as their weapon.
The more she trashed, the further the ribbons tightened, restricting her movement further, forcing her ribcage to shrink more and more until it was hard to breathe.
Harder to scream, maybe that was their goal.
To silence her.
She wouldn't cave, that wasn't how she was raised.
She continued to struggle in the trap, yelling and shouting on top of her lungs until she felt her head swim with lack of oxygen.
All the while she watched him struggle much the same.
Father, alone, with no support to aid him against the Knights.
He's been wounded, a large gaping gash almost splitting his arm from the shoulder.
His dominant hand was almost useless.
And Coco herself wasn't of much help, hands tugged apart, away from her body so she couldn't reach for her spells, flanked by three Knights on her own, tangled in their ribbons.
Her eyes didn't leave him for one second, no matter what stunt she pulled to try and escape, her eyes were glued to him.
She knew, the moment he turned his masked face her way, that he'd made a decision.
"I'll come for you." His words echoed, not shouted, but loud enough to be significant.
With that, he reached up, swiping two of his fingers across his weeping wound and used his blood to complete a sigil carved into the back of his forearm.
He was gone in an instant, leaving behind frustrated Knights and his little girl.
Coco didn't dare to cry, she wouldn't even express the small twinge of dreadful fear and hurt seeping into her bones.
He'd come for her. She knows he will.
It was just a matter of when.
And she would be damned if she made her times in the captivity good for nothing.
So she struggled, even after he was gone. Twisting in the ribbons, kicking out, screaming.
Perhaps she had tried too hard to be insufferable, as the last thing she sees before everything goes black is a sleep inducing spell on a piece of parchment shoved into her face.
It wasn't often Qifrey visited the great hall. He didn't find the place particularly appeasing.
Nor did he enjoy the overflow of Knights Moralis or semi-familiar faces that walked the halls of the Hall.
But some matters were pressing enough that a visit couldn't be avoided.
The girls haven't had many opportunities to visit the underwater city, so he relented when they pleaded to come along.
And their watchful eye tagged along, taking the opportunity to sell some of his contraptions.
Qifrey was deep in his thoughts, not particularly looking where he was going.
And so, he almost walked into another person.
"Apologies, I didn't see—" Qifrey started, already stepping aside out of habit, and then his eyes actually landed on Easthies and what he was carrying.
Or rather who.
A girl, young and small and scuffed up, with hair plastered to her forehead and a bruise already blooming across her jaw.
She was tangled up in the ribbon so tightly one would think she was an imminent threat.
"I don't mean to overstep, but is it really necessary to restrict a child this much?" The white haired witch inquires.
"Would you still be so quick to dismiss my judgment if she was wearing her brimmed hat?" Easthies replied rather sharply, leveling the other witch with a narrow look.
She, a child, affiliated with brimmed caps?
Qifrey couldn't tear his eyes away from the small, bound shape hovering over Easthies' shoulder.
She could be his way in, a thread to pull at that would hopefully lead him to the source of his misery.
And yet, a part of him felt for the girl with whom he shared an abuser. She was but a child, one that couldn't possibly understand what side she was fighting for.
"Where are you taking her?" The witch blurted out.
"That is none of your concern, Qifrey." Easthies replied before pushing past, walking further into the depths of the underwater structure.
Coco woke up in an unfamiliar room that was tinted blue.
It was cold, and dim, despite the light lit along the walls.
Her jaw throbbed with dull ache that spread up her cheek.
Dread filled her whole being as the memories of what had landed her in this very room came flooding back.
Father.
And then...
She scanned the room, trying to sit up right only to find out she has been strapped to the bed.
Her attempt has drawn attention, as one of the Knights took a step closer towards her, pen ready in one hand, a notepad in another, prepared to strike if needed.
Coco scowled.
"Unhand me." She demanded, squirming in her place once more.
"Don't make me knock you out once again, girl."
Re-evaluating her situation, Coco lowered herself, calmly, back to the cot, glaring up at the ceiling.
If aggression didn't work, she'll have to choose a different approach.
Father had taught her many things, amongst them also the power of silence and selective compliance.
Manipulation, if you will.
They wanted her down?
Fine, she'll lay back down. She'll even be quiet.
Waiting.
Waiting wasn't giving up, it was strategically taking up time to gather intel and look for an opportunity to present itself.
Patience really was a virtue.
Or so her father had always said.
But how long will it take...?
No, she mustn't question. Everything had its own pace.
Her father proves to be right yet again as the stone walls carry echo quite nicely.
She hears a voice, two, three. Talking, arguing about something.
About her.
She only manages to catch snippets of the full conversation.
"... Council... Risk assessment.... Brimmed girl."
She had smiled in satisfaction then, no name meant no trace.
She didn't have a name to give them, not one she would offer up willingly.
She wouldn't waste her captivity, she'll gain from it.
Make her father proud.