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Chapter Text

“Go, Valkyrie, and bring me victory!”

The atmosphere at Vestri Court was nothing short of excited. Dozens of eyes stared at the imminent bout between Guiche du Gramont’s brass construct and Zero’s commoner familiar that so foolishly decided to reject Guiche’s magnanimous forgiveness. Though a man of great physical form, he wore nothing but ramshackled leathers. He refused a weapon, ever so boldly claiming that he will not need one to “teach him a lesson”.

As far as Louise knew, her stupid familiar was as good as dead. Guiche wasn’t a particularly strong mage – then again, it wasn’t like she had any ground to stand on, given her own track record with magic – but that he was one, period, was enough to tip the scales in his favor. She had no idea just how skilled this man she had to bind was, but unless he was the top of the world, he simply could not stand a chance. Such was the truth, the fact of the universe.

To his credit, he was doing a good job at dodging Valkyrie’s spear attacks. Despite his large, musclebound frame he moved smoothly and lightly, like a wolf or some other predator circling around its larger prey. In fact, now that she examined the scene more thoroughly, he wasn’t even moving! His feet were firmly on the ground as his body twisted and turned to avoid the spear. Guiche caught on too, and his smug satisfaction turned to irritation.

“Are you going to fight back, commoner?” He asked, tapping his temple impatiently. He had places to be – like trying to win his dear Monmon back after that unfortunate fiasco with the ever-lovable Katie and that damnable maid – and wasting time with this boor was not going to get him there. “Or am I to assume you simply cannot?”

The man avoiding his Valkyrie remained resolutely silent. “Are you throwing the fight? Finally realized that you cannot match me and are just stalling for time? Your petty tricks are through, commoner.”

“Then I suppose I will start taking this seriously.” A hushed gasp ran through the crowd; not just because to say that a commoner had to be audacious or stupid, but because the man’s voice carried far and commanded respect. Louise shuddered despite herself. Her familiar was clearly some sort of warrior. She has heard inklings about martial artists from Rub Al Khalid, but never saw one in her own two eyes.

Naturally, Guiche took great offense to that. “ What ? How dare you! You will show me proper respect, commoner, and fight like a man!” Hypocrisy must have been lost on a man who fought exclusively through his summoned golems. In response, the commoner simply raised his pointer finger to his face. “And what’s that supposed to be?”

“That is me taking this fight seriously.” Enraged, Guiche commanded the Valkyrie to cut down the impudent man, but the spear found no purchase. Indeed, it seemed as if the commoner just… disappeared? No, he was right there, just walking casually in his direction with this one finger still raised, like he was trying his damnedest to prove the point.

“You dog! I’ll cut you down!” The blond fop flicked his wand, summoning two more Valkyries. Now attacking in near-perfect unison, the trio wailed on the man, but it was as if they could only hit air. Despite him making no discernible attempt to dodge any attack, they were still just… not reaching their target. Most of the onlookers just stared on in complete mystification, unable to process the events. A few more eagle-eyed ones – like the Gallian bookworm, Louise observed – were staring intently, likely getting the full picture.

The bluenette was biting her lip in frustration. What was going on?

“How in Brimir’s balls can you avoid attacks like that?!” Guiche was sounding pretty frustrated on his end, commanding the Valkyries to attack in various combinations and formations, but nothing seemed to be able to leave so much as a scratch on this commoner. Was he really one? Young Gramont was at his wit’s end, trying to figure out the strategy to put this impudent dog down…

…only to find him right in front of him, pressing that accursed finger into his forehead with enough force to bowl him over. A couple of people in the crowd laughed, but it came off as rather forced. The foreboding atmosphere permeated over the Vestri Court. Something ominous was in the air.

“Magic-Arresting Prod.” The man simply said, pulling his hand back. Guiche snarled and scrambled back to his feet.

“You miserable wretch! I’ll have you skinned for this impudence!” He commanded the Valkyries to attack, but… something was wrong. The blond’s eyes widened ever so slightly as he commanded once more, and once more – but the brass constructs merely stood there, twitching and shaking like puppets on cut strings. He swung his rose wand – and nothing happened. “W-what…?”

“What’s the matter? I am ready to accept my punishment.” The commoner said, in the same heavy commanding voice, mocking his ineptitude. What was happening? Guiche swung his wand again, and again, and again… and nothing happened every time.

“W-w-what did you do to me?! What is this pagan sorcery?!” He squeaked, his voice going two octaves up from sheer, abject panic.

“There is no magic involved. I simply pressed a pressure point on your forehead to seal you from your magic.”

“Seal me from magic?! No magic involved?! Y-you miserable cur! How dare you?! How dare you lie to a fourth of House Gramont, to a noble, to your better?!”

“All I see is a spoiled child, lording over those he perceives as weak.” Suddenly, though it was only Guiche’s imagination going wild from fear, the man grew in size, dwarfing over him. His eyes were crimson red, showing his restraint, just this close to letting go. “You are not different from bandits and warlords I’ve met in the wasteland.”

“HOW DARE YOU?!” Guiche was practically shrieking at this point, furiously trying to summon any inkling of magic, his wounded noble pride desperately fighting with wild, bestial fear the man before him instilled in his heart. “I AM GUICHE DU GRAMONT, GUICHE THE BRONZE!!!”

“You are a mere brat. That is the only reason you still live.” The pride had to let go. Guiche stared at this man, this god, this higher being, this… whatever the hell it was before collapsing on his knees, staring dumbly at the ground. “You too are a victim of this spoiled world, where your kind lords over those who have no magic rather than protect them from evils. You can still learn however, as can your peers.”

“You will beg forgiveness from the maid you have slighted, as you will from the girls whose hearts you have wounded. If you are honest, I will restore your magic. If not, I will cut it off for good.”

“How… h-how, I don’t… how can a mere commoner…?”

“Hokuto Shinken has a tradition of two thousand years. It’s faced magicians far worse and far more terrible than your kin in its time.” Kenshiro, The Savior of Century’s End, turned away from his humiliated opponent. He was met with wands. Dozens of wands pointed at him, from students of all kinds; freshmen and seniors alike, a bizarre sense of companionship with Guiche and fright mixing on their expressions. The redhead with dark skin quivered in place, partially out of fear and partially out of barely hidden lust. The girl with royal curls had her teeth bared in an animalistic snarl that did nothing to hide the abject terror running in her eyes.

His “Master” had her wand out, too, urges to flee and to stand her ground fighting in her. “…what the hell are you, Familiar?”

“I am but a man.”

Chapter Text

If someone once told Louise that she would hate being able to use magic a few weeks ago, she would surely decry them as foolish.

The Familiar Summoning Ritual was when things turned on their head. For the first time in her sixteen-year-old history, she was able to complete a spell and summon her partner for life. She had little hopes for something noteworthy, but she would settle for a rodent or even a spider at this point. The Headmaster had a mouse for a Familiar, and nobody gave him flak for it.

Instead, she summoned a fellow human being.

Summoning a commoner – what worse humiliation could be there left (beyond failing the ritual entirely)? A man in a long brown coat of questionable quality, with tiny glasses that made him squint almost all the time, with a mane of disheveled blue hair, spiky at that…! When he introduced himself as a “humble professor of archaeology”, Louise could only wish she could cast a spell to erase herself from this sordid earth and save herself and her family the shame.

Alba, his name was. It turned out fast enough that he wasn’t actually a commoner, but a fellow Noble, able to cast spells of his own. By his own admission however, he was a disgraced son of a disgraced father, now barely making ends meet and living on the road like some sort of an acting troupe, and his ability was meager enough to reflect that. Rather stupidly, he and Guiche ended up fighting over a petty quarrel and, predictably, the bronze Valkyries made short work of his parlor tricks.

Louise wished for a powerful, for a beautiful, for a divine – and the world’s laws spat on her in return.

Her relationship with “professor” Alba – Brimir’s balls, archaeology? She couldn’t think of a more disgraceful major to graduate in – was good enough, at least: he knew his place and treated her with respect even in spite of her lack of talent. It seemed the summoning was more of a fluke than a late bloomer’s awakening. Like her, he was proficient in magical theory, albeit his area of expertise seemed to be the elemental stones rather than orthodox Brimiric magecraft. He had his own inane terms for them: septium, sepith, quartz... At this point, it didn’t matter much to her.

But then, after one rant too many, he offered her help in realizing her true potential.

Naturally, she laughed in his face. What could an archaeology major possibly teach her? At best she would become a perpetual Dot, if even that. But then, once she was done voicing her heated refusal of his offer, Alba’s eyes opened properly for the first time since his arrival to the Academy. He smiled, and that smile chilled Louise to the bone.

“Master, you do not realize the raw power you have within.” It was as if she stared at a completely different man, at someone completely detached from their humanity, a demon with no face.

The first groundbreaking revelation came when he explained the reason for her inability. All Mages had an elemental affinity that gravitated them towards one of the four. Her mother was a Wind Mage, von Zerbst was a Fire Mage, Guiche was an Earth Mage, the works. “There,” Alba explained. “however exists a fifth affinity, does it not?”

“...n-no, surely not.” And yet, her familiar was adamant that she is, in fact, a descendant of the Founder’s magic: A Void Mage (although he referred to her as that and a “Time Mage” interchangeably, for some reason).

And somehow, that possibility did not scare her as much as the patient smile Alba gave her prior to this heretical discussion.

In secret, they verified the situation with Headmaster Osmond and Professor Colbert. Her Familiar’s runes were identified as that of a Gandálfr – one of Brimir’s Four Divine Familiars – and Alba’s brief recount of her magical mishaps matched the complete lack of an elemental affinity. The fact that both of her educators considered the possibility with utmost seriousness terrified her. Old Osmond added in later that one surefire way to confirm her status would be to have her interact with a Founder’s Prayerbook, currently in possession of the Crown of Tristain.

Before they went there, the Academy was attacked at night. The burglar – an audacious thief by the name of Fouquet – targeted the Academy vault in search of rare artifacts to plunder. Louise, having been discussing the theories and possible limits of Void Magic with her familiar, found herself caught with her skirt down, unable to think of anything to try and stop the thief and their massive stone golem.

It was then when Alba smiled like that again. “If I am to help you in your education, I believe it prudent to establish my own competences.” She didn’t question the menacing staff that appeared in his hand seemingly out of nowhere. “Please, Master… stay back and enjoy the show.” Every time he spoke in this unnervingly calm voice, all of Louise’s senses screamed as if on high alert. Once again the lackadaisical professor of archaeology appeared completely disconnected from base humanity, even as he calmly marched towards Fouquet.

And so she watched. Her familiar and the thief talked for a while – perhaps he was offering them a chance to surrender? He did look like a formidable mage there – before the fighting began… and then the fighting ended. Louise’s legs gave out from under her. With a single swing of his staff, Alba made Fouquet disappear. No, perhaps that wasn’t quite right. He annihilated the thief, obliterated their very person. The air, time and space all bent out of natural shape upon his spell, in a perverse defiance of laws of the universe. The sphere of destruction, about the size of a stack of hay, enveloped Fouquet trying to counter with their own spell, compressing their body. Defiant countermagic became agonized screaming of a woman as all sounds of her body turning into an unrecognizable pulp reached Louise, making her stomach churn violently as she tried, and failed, to control her panicked breathing.

Once the sphere dispersed, there was nothing left of the thief but a smear of blood caking the upper body of a now defunct, headless golem. “Master… no, Louise de la Vallière.” Slowly, Alba turned to regard her with a look of inhumanity once more, holding the staff in his hand. She thought, and the thought alone was shocking, that perhaps for once, she wanted a single spell to fail. She didn’t realize how much she wanted her summoning spell to end in abject failure until it was too late.

“Whatever barriers this rigid society imposes upon you and your fate, I endeavor to disperse and scatter to the winds.”

Chapter Text

Steeve was many things.

It was ravenous, first of all. Although only the size of a large dog, it ate enough chow to put the largest of familiars to shame. Louise recalled some moments from her childhood when she watched the servant staff feed her mother’s manticore, Martel, at the ducal bestiary. It could eat a whole cow in a day, if not more. Steeve (and Louise could not, for the life of her, explain why she named her familiar such) ate more. It definitely ate more.

Steeve was also a creature unknown to Brimiric Nations. Unknown, possibly, to the whole of Halkeginia.

It resembled some kind of an insect at a glance – a large icky insect with a huge maw and sharp front legs for stabbing; she had to wear a dressing on her arm for a week right after the summoning – but it only had four legs and no eyes. It seemed to have little in the way of sensors, sometimes only stopping in the middle of the corridor to trill and see about its whereabouts, like a bat hunting at night. It seemed wherever it was that Steeve came from, it wasn’t used to the current environ. Its first few days involved bumping into things, people, familiars, her… a lot of it.

It also tried eating a lot of the things it bumped into, but once Zerbst’s Flame chomped at its carapace in return, it learned its lesson.

By all accounts, Louise should be happy with this result. Certainly, Steeve wasn’t your average beast, but it was a beast nonetheless and respectable overall. And yet, despite this very tangible proof of her magic, she continued Exploding even the simplest of cantrips. Soon the usual suspects (except for Kirche; perhaps she got bored of her?) returned to their usual mode of operations. Steeve dissuaded some of them by angrily snapping at their ankles until they left.

It was dim and strange and even for a beast, its table manners were atrocious – but it was loyal and… it was her friend. Her familiar. Pet. Steeve. It was her Steeve.

...unfortunately, Louise couldn’t think of any tricks it could do during the Familiar Exposition, which was just around the corner; nor could it really help her like other familiars could. Not having eyes certainly made for a factor.

It was with these thoughts that she found herself ambling around the Academy after classes, eyeing Steeve get testy with the stocky black-haired maid by the name of Siesta. Strange; it didn’t seem to bother anyone else but her, as if it sensed something untoward about her. It wouldn’t be the black hair, even if it was a strange sight in Tristain.

“M-milady Vallière, I n-need to get this whole corridor cleaned today…” Siesta whined in protest, using her broom to keep Steeve at length and away from the hem of her skirt it seemed insistent on gnawing on. “Can you please k-keep it away from me?”

“Steeve. I told you already, no bothering the servants. Or anyone.” The creature whined in kind, as if to protest this notion – but it did relent and ultimately shuffled behind its master. Louise patted its head absentmindedly, watching as its body shook in elation. “I will take responsibility for this. Are you harmed, maid?”

“It’s nothing, Milady. Thank you for minding your creep.”

“...my what?” Siesta blinked in response at Louise’s dumbfounded look before recognition reached her. “Maid, did you just insult my familiar?”

“...ah, well… no, that’s just… my grandfather, Brimir guide his soul, called creatures like these “creeps”.” Suddenly, a pink blur of hair was in front of her, seizing her stocky shoulders. Siesta squeaked.

“You know more about what Steeve is?!” She asked sharply, regarding the commoner in front of her. Louise knew Siesta was from Tarbes, but that wasn’t exactly far away from here. Why, was the countryside this alien? What other strange monsters lurked just off the paved roads?

“O-o-only what my grandfather told me Milady I’ll get motion sick if you keep shaking meeee…”

----

S teeve’s species was called “Glyphid”.

Something about this word invited danger and intrigue; something wild yet organized, a contradictory existence, savage under its veneer of civilization. Siesta explained that the Glyphids were beasts native to a land from far away, further than the reaches of Germania, further than the deserts of Rub Al Khali, further than even the Holy Lands where elves set their country. It seemed impossible to imagine something so far away that it fit onto no map – but Steeve was quite an improbable creature, and Siesta’s recount sounded genuine, at least.

G lyphids came in a variety of breeds, from ones the size of a cat to ones as big as a house. They populated the subterranean caves and tunnels (it certainly explained why Steeve had so much trouble moving around in the beginning) and numbered in numbers incalculable. Siesta’s grandfather faced them in combat many times in his long and storied life before he ended up in Tristain and married to her grandmother. It turned out he wasn’t a sellsword or a knight however – but a miner instead!

“His superiors would tell him and his fellows that the riches of Hoxxes were absolutely worth the trouble.” Siesta explained. What a strange name for a country, Hoxxes – and what heartless employers, exploiting people to mine in such hazardous conditions! Here or anywhere in the Brimiric nations, a mine infested by monsters would have to be closed and cleared out first! And yet, her grandfather and his co-workers ventured into the depths of Hoxxes countless times, delivering riches the kinds that would make the opulence of the Royal Palace seem like a commoner mudhut.

But, and here Siesta lowered her voice to a conspirator’s whisper, they came armed and dangerous to combat the Glyphids (and whatever other strange creatures lived there; what in Brimir’s beard was a n “infector”?). Some of her grandfather’s weapons even still remained hidden in Tarbes, entombed with him at the local mausoleum. Were she a less scrupulous noble, Louise would no doubt entertain the idea of letting the Crown know to seize it for its enterprise. Even now the idea tempted her – but that would not be right, would it? Plus, Siesta mentioned these weapons used ammunition the kind that just could not be produced by Halkeginian technology. An empty gun was no better than a crude club.

Whoever this brave miner was, he deserved his rest.

----

Unfortunately, Louise did not come up with anything satisfying for the Familiar Exposition. That… was a problem.

Steeve was a nice critter, but there wasn’t much it could do; especially not when the competition was so fierce. Zerbst’s Flame and Tabitha’s Sylpheed stole the show for themselves; not that others didn’t have something to show for themselves. Some helped out their familiars with a touch of magic, providing them with obstacle courses and hoops to jump through; not a proposition Louise could make use of.

...Brimir’s balls, Henrietta was in attendance. She was about to embarrass herself in front of the princess cum childhood friend, in front of all these other people! If she knew where the bowels of Hoxxes were, she would ask Steeve for directions so that she could disappear out of shame in its confines.

...where the hell was it? She told it very clearly it was supposed to wait here while they figured out some desperate plan that wouldn’t end up in a complete disappointment. Argh, to be betrayed by her own familiar like that. She was going to combust on the spot from shame is what she was going to do.

Luckily, a massive distraction appeared just before her turn came up, diverting attention of attendants, educators, students… everyone, really. She was spared public humiliation.

Unluckily, the distraction in question was a gargantuan siege golem seeking to destroy the Academy vault and plunder it for goods. Louise had no idea what was held there, but the vault was considered second only to the royal treasury in terms of safety against enterprising burglars.

Plain unfortunately, she spotted Steeve crab-walking at the giant golem and its creator, the thief perched on its shoulder, clearly not at all scared of a foe who could stomp it flat – and it took her a few seconds to realize that her familiar was about to perish under a foe it had no hope to match.

But then…

But then, in a flash of strange light, not unlike the glow of its Familiar Runes (Professor Colbert noted they seemed different from the usual fare), Steeve grew. It grew into a creature to match the golem, now a monster bigger than a burgher’s house and… Brimir’s balls, was this new form of her familiar hideous. She, and all others in attendance, the thief included, were given pause at the crab-insect-like body now glowing faint red, covered in horrid warts and scarring. It twisted the simple structure of a Glyphid into a behemoth from the worst nightmares of the worst scoundrels. These growths, tumors, this ashen smell and taste, the particles of hellish flame dancing in the air…

It warbled, and the sound shook the very foundations of the Academy and threatened to dislodge all glass from the windows. Louise stared at the horrid monster that was her Familiar slowly raise its front legs, then—

“Milady, get back!” Siesta’s panicked voice reached her before the maid’s strong, stocky hands seized her and pulled her away. Were it anyone else, Louise would be incensed at the stunning breach of conduct, but between the terror in her voice and her familiarity with Glyphids, the pinkette was willing to excuse being tugged back so roughly.

Rightly so, because Steeve slammed its legs down on the ground before the golem – and the explosion that ensued shook the very earth, covering it and the golem from sight in a ball of fiery inferno. Even from this distance she could feel ash particles getting into her hair; such was the power of the shockwave. Siesta’s steady grip kept her from falling over, but others were less fortunate: Tabitha flopped right into Sylpheed’s wings to cushion the blow, but both Guiche and Montmorency tumbled down inelegantly while clutching their own small familiars. (and loudly, judging by the piercing shrill that escaped from Monmon’s throat)

...that was followed by a rumble of a collapsing tower. Which Steeve was standing right next to. The one the thief tried to breach. As it turned out, using explosives to ward off unwanted entry was… hm. Not the smartest thing to do. Not that Louise didn’t suspect Steeve didn’t think much of it.

Miraculously, the thief survived what seemed like a Square’s worth of a fireball – too stupefied to squirm in Steeve’s mouth as it dragged her over to the attendants like a happy puppy playing fetch. Its body turned into something else different; now it was smaller than the misbegotten form it assumed earlier, but still the size of a bear, and covered in thick green armor. Its thorax glowed with eye-searing green, emitting some heat as it lumbered forward and inelegantly dropped the thief in front of everyone.

The poor woman was covered in slobber and soot so thick, it could have been mistaken for poorly made mortar.

“...everyone. My name is Louise Françoise Le Blanc de La Vallière, third of the House Vallière. Uh, this is my familiar. His name is Steeve.” Louise started lamely, slipping out of Siesta’s grip and walking over to the massive green monster – and offering it pets with a shaky smile. Steeve rumbled, shaking happily. “And, as it turns out, his talent is capturing errant criminals.”

...in the end, Louise – or more specifically, her mother – still had to cover a part of the expenses for the property damage. The title of the Chevalier Henrietta bestowed upon her (Steeve had to contend with being called a “noble… steed?”) was a nice consolation prize, at least.

Chapter Text

“You utter excuse of a maid!”

Siesta shrunk in her spot. By all means, she hadn’t done anything wrong. All she did was deliver a lost item Master Gramont had lost during an unexplained commotion. How could she know that a bottle of perfume would bring such consequences over her head?

Well, to be fair, that was Guiche du Gramont. If he had such an item with him, then it must have been a gift for either Milady Montmorency… or one of the other students at the Academy that he decided to court behind her back. In this case, it was a freshman; a demure young lady Katie de La Lotta. She seemed like a good person, or at least as much as a noble could be good. She even thanked her for delivering her clean laundry the other day. Not that Siesta would consider this some kind of earth-shaking event… but it felt nice, receiving some gratitude from the people she served.

After the two ladies scorned showed Master Gramont their displeasure and departed to bond over this circumstance, he sought her out – and somehow, Siesta became a perpetrator of all this. She stood there, surrounded by the student body half-amused and half-baffled at Guiche’s weak attempts to deflect the blame from himself and placing it on an unrelated party. Of course, her word meant nothing here when faced with a word of a Noble. He could accuse her of anything he could think of if he so desired, and all she would be able to do was to be hopeful that the administration of the Academy rightfully recognized these accusations for baseless drivel of an excited young man eager to save his face. For any commoner, no matter how low, that was the one shield they were allowed; the understanding of the scorned Noble’s betters.

However, Siesta was not like other commoners, and she didn’t just mean her black hair. She hid her body behind the modest confines of her maid uniform, and always made sure to wash on her own, with no one to take notice of what she hid below her breasts. It was a compartment of sorts; a little meurtrière, or, more crassly, a “murder hole”. It would certainly be difficult to explain why there was such a thing on a human body, let alone why there was a small cannon hidden inside, where the solar plexus was.

Her late grandfather had a similar thing too. He called it his Quirk; a unique ability that was his and his alone. It had no explanation that would please Helkeginian scholars; for them, it would be pagan witchcraft, and it would bring her and her family down to ruin should it come to light. Were Guiche ever so bold to accuse her of such a thing…

Luckily for her, all he did was shake his fist and preen like a rooster during mating season; threatening her with expulsion, termination of her duties, relegating her to a thankless profession of a gong farmer. Siesta almost wanted to relax; she trusted Headmaster Osmond and his second, Professor Colbert, to remain impartial in their judgment of the situation. Perhaps this would just be something to file away in her journal and forget about—

“Why, with how uncannily you found radiant Katie, I would almost say you’re a witch! What foolish trinket sorcery did you use for your nefarious purposes, you toad?!”

Before Siesta’s heart could skip a beat, a sharp crack of a riding crop and heavy, thudding footsteps silenced the commotion in the hall.

First entered Madam Vallière. In recent days, she adopted a colder, more composed look. Her spats with her peers over her inability to cast spells – even going as far as to christen her Louise the Zero – were legendary in their intensity and volume. Yet, ever since she successfully summoned her familiar… well, no, not immediately after. Some days after summoning it however, she adopted this new cool personage. There was some smugness in her expression; no doubt because Master Gramont visibly shrunk in his spot, his focus on Siesta all but forgotten.

Behind Madam Vallière stomped her familiar. Her horrible misbegotten beaked thing of a familiar, utterly loyal to his Mistress’ every word, wearing only a pair of torn pants and bulging with muscles that put orcs to shame. It was certainly powerful – but it was not wise, and it certainly was not beautiful.

But, having seen its strength in action by mere accident, Siesta knew its capabilities. And even those who would not were stumped enough by its horrible appearance; Guiche certainly was. “Z-ze-I mean, Vallière! What is this show you’re putting on?”

“What is yours?” Louise’s voice was ice – but it was also pleased with itself. Siesta had some ideas why; her familiar certainly inspired confidence in his Mistress by his mere presence. Most of the student body did not take the pinkette seriously before due to her magical failures – now the situation changed. “I see you are heckling the maid here over your own follies as both a Noble and a man.”

“T-that may look to be the case, but—“

“No, Gramont, you do not need to explain yourself to me.” Louise was silent for a time as she picked up something from one of the dining tables; two walnuts. No nutcracker however. Siesta realized that the hall and the people inside were also silent. Save for the familiar’s heavy breathing, there was nary a sound. “I know what you are, and I know your tricks. I would wager most of the female student body does.”

“T-that’s an insinuation—“

“Is it? Perhaps I should have said something else; that you are an emasculated fop seeking to expel your frustrations like bile on those who cannot defend themselves? Like the maid here?” Oh. So Siesta was, in fact, being saved from the trouble. Guiche recoiled from the insults. “Have you no respect for your heritage, Gramont? Have you no knowledge of noblesse oblige? Are you, in fact, such a sham of a man that you cannot own up to your womanizing ways?”

“That is enough, Zero!” A Noble’s pride won over his fear of Louise’s familiar; his rose wand was pointed at the pinkette and Guiche, for the first time Siesta saw him, looked well and truly angry. “I will not be lectured by the likes of you! You seem to have forgotten your place just because the Founder graced you out of pity with this monster you have for a familiar.”

“I have “forgotten my place”, Gramont? Pray tell, what is that place?” The Louise of old would no doubt explode (metaphorically) at Guiche over these words; this one merely smirked and gestured for the blond to continue with the same unflinching, unsettling politeness while her other hand played with the walnuts, rolling them in her palm absentmindedly. That gave him pause as he opened his mouth, then closed it. “Perhaps… you would like to have someone to bully again? Someone who’s nominally your peer, but due to a twist of fate, cannot cast spells? Someone you would ridicule, call Zero, mock her heritage and her family? You and the rest of the clique? You know who you are!” The last sentence was directed into the ether, into the student body. The silence between her peers was unsettling. “Don’t be shy now! You let me have it for a year and change! What changed now?! Surely you have realized the errors of your ways and decided to become better people?!”

Silence. Louise eyed the people present for a time before laughing mirthlessly.

“Or, perhaps, you are all craven cowards unworthy of your mantles.”

“Enough, Zero. That will not stand.” Guiche’s hand trembled. Its knuckles were chalk white now. Siesta found herself shuffled sideways by Madam Zerbst and Madam de Gallia; the bluenette even offered her something of a reassuring rub to the shoulders. “I challenge you to a duel, rules of this institution be damned. You have soiled the name of many good people with your insults today; and you shall pay for it.”

“I have no need to lower myself to your level, Gramont. You can shove your challenge down the hole where there is no sun for all I care.”

“Aha! Then who is the craven coward here?!” Something changed in Louise’s expression; something darkened. Siesta found herself shuddering at the change. Multiple emotions battled on the pinkette’s face. Some part of her, no doubt, wanted to accept the thrown gauntlet. Even if she had no prayer against Master Gramont and his Valkyries, it would be untoward to reject the challenge.

Then, her posture eased. “Valiant.” The beaked creature craned its neck slightly, then accepted the walnuts Louise placed in its huge hand. The contrast between her well-manicured nails and delicate digits and its ink-black, brutish hand was almost poetic. Slowly, the pinkette slipped her hand from the familiar’s. “Demonstrate.”

The familiar runes engraved on the creature’s exposed brain shone with a faint, sickly light. The beaked monster rose the arm with the walnuts into the air, and then closed its fist in an instant.

A crack resounded through the hall, and Guiche’s already pale face turned parchment-white.

Slowly, the familiar’s massive hand opened; from its palm slipped the ground remains of the walnuts. Nothing but dust was left of the sturdy things, such was its destructive grip. Then, silence. Guiche remained in his challenging pose, but the emotions dancing on his face, plain for all to see, spoke that he was reconsidering his ideas. “Well, Gramont? You seek to challenge me still?”

“...I… that’s… I would not be fighting your pagan golem, Zero!” And yet, he found in himself the last inklings of courage. Or maybe it was indignation at being so thoroughly humiliated in front of the student body. One did not have to be a wise man to guess why Louise chose to demonstrate on a pair of walnuts.

“And yet you seek to disturb the rules by challenging me in the first place? Then what stops me from letting my familiar fight in my stead and turn your spine into dust?” Guiche opened his mouth to protest, but only a choked groan came out of his throat. Louise’s smug smile vanished. “If you – or anyone here – disturbs this maid or any of the commoner staff in the Academy again, then I shall know – and I shall let my displeasure be known.”

“And you, maid…” Siesta squeaked at being addressed, and then regarded with these cold eyes. “See me in my quarters later. I will see that you are compensated for this incident.” Louise cracked her riding crop against her hand. “We’re off, Valiant.” And so she left, grabbing an apple on the way out. The monstrous creature followed her without a word – but Siesta could have sworn that it looked at her for a moment before it did.

----

At first Louise thought that this horrible monster was an insult from the Founder. One last laugh from the realm of the saints to make her realize her folly in thinking she could ever be like her peers.

Over time, she changed the way she thought about it.

By all means, it was a golem. A necromantic golem made from a defiled and desecrated body, changed by devilish rituals that had Professor Colbert want to burn the thing to cinders at first. Yet, it demonstrated no hostility to anyone or anything. It demonstrated no emotion at all. Louise somehow held onto the Rule of Steel when she first saw it and did not scream or recoil, this awful awful thing made surely by magic of the worst demonic pit.

And yet it remained still. Placid. Silent. It didn’t react when she sealed the pact with a kiss – and then inelegantly spat on the ground to get the taste of death and chemistry and decay from her mouth – and then… it listened. It listened to Louise’s every word and command. It had no will of its own, like a golem – but further examination did reveal it was not a creature made of steel or earth or rock. Its flesh was real, and it was immaculately rearranged. Whoever the poor man was once, that identity was lost to the aether.

It was her familiar. This flesh doll, this misbegotten thing, a creature of worst nightmares – with its exposed brain, with its bulging eyes and the golden beak, and the ink-black skin and even the kneepads shaped like skulls unsettled her, even though they seemed more like a pretty accessory than anything else. It had no will of its own. She could tell it to go jump in a fire, and it would do so without a second thought. Louise doubted it could think.

This placidity brought some peace to her mind, but also frustration. The creature she christened “Valiant” – even though hardly anything about it deserved this name – was not a beast or an animal. It had no input of its own to offer. It could not comfort her in trying times, not that she would want to be touched by the thing. It could not entertain her or help her in its own capability. It was a tool, a puppet. She could make it do anything – but it had to receive her commands.

And so, in her frustration, she asked Valiant to demonstrate its ability when it was just the two of them. To show her what it could do.

Valiant did as told, as it always did – by tearing its arm off with childish ease. The action was so sudden, so quick, that Louise swallowed the bile that she was about to vomit. What freakish strength did her familiar possess to rip itself apart like that? And why did it think this was what she wanted it to do?

Before she could even think to scold it, its arm regrew from nothing with a sickening squelch. This time Louise did not bother with the Rule of Steel and returned her breakfast into the nature.

Before her was a creature made by a madman, a creature who could crush raw rock and pulp bone, a creature who was not only barely inconvenienced by a lost limb, but could also regrow it in an instant. It had no mind to think and no voice to cry suffering. It was a golem created by the darkest of magics – and it was her Familiar. It was her responsibility. Her tool. Her puppet.

Her Valiant.

And by the grace of the Founder, she would apply this tool for better purposes. Whatever its creators had in mind for this monster, she would defy. It would become her knight, the grim protector of Tristain at her beck and call. Louise might have had no ability as a mage, but she was blessed by the Founder and his curious ways. Perhaps this was a test – to see if, faced with this overwhelming power at her fingertips, so late into her life, she would hold to her morals and show the saints that she was worthy to dine in the halls of Valhalla.

Louise was a Vallière. She had the understanding of noblesse oblige down to a science; she dared say her knowledge of it was better than that of her elder sisters.

She had the godly powers in her hands – and she was going to put them to a good use.

Chapter Text

The idea of alternate worlds was something that always intrigued people’s minds.

You don’t have to look very far for it; probably everyone at some point in their lives imagined themselves in a different place as a different person. It was a topic touched upon by fictional settings and entertained in academia, a place of fertile fantasy. If you asked anyone out in the streets if they ever played pretend (and get the truth serum for those who’d be embarrassed to admit it), chances are most would say yes.

For us Wizards like yours truly, the idea of different universes is as enthralling as it is terrifying.

There is so much that can go wrong, and even if you somehow manage to reach that new pasture, what are the odds of it even being a new world? It could very well be just another alluring facet of the Nevernever, or a realm of some ancient who likely wouldn’t entertain pesky visitors. It could even be the Outside – and you really, really don’t want to go there (and not just because our playbook forbids doing so under the pain of death). Only the blackest of mages even entertain the idea of willingly reaching out to the Outsiders. Bumbling your way there by accident? I would marvel at the poor bastard’s exceedingly terrible luck.

So… where was I?

Now that was an excellent question. Here was another one: how was I?

Don’t get me wrong: breathing is nice. I enjoy having air in my lungs and a beat in my heart – but I distinctly remember being shot off the Water Beetle. Some might think death is a quick and clean affair after which there is nothing but the sweet oblivion. Having (apparently!) survived that, I can assure you that it’s not that. It really isn’t.

It hurts like being chewed out and spat out by a Sarlacc, honestly.

And yet, here I was, having been summoned to another world entirely – by a girl with pink hair, who didn’t even reach my shoulder (but, to be fair, I’m tall enough to be an NBA entrant), to another world with two moons.

Hell’s bells.

----

The girl’s name was Louise.

The full name was long enough to be used as a grade schooler’s tongue twister – and vaguely French in how it sounded. Her summoning me out of thin air was apparently her first notable magical achievement, despite having studied magic for over a decade now.

I don’t mean to brag, but that’s a hell of an achievement – and also something that would have her looked up by the Wardens. Of which I was a part of. See, the playbook I’ve mentioned? Seven rules in it – and each of these is punished by death. Among them was a number of important “Thou Shalt Not”’s.

Thou Shalt Not Invade The Mind of Another. (Establishing a contract had her reach out to me through a mental link first, obviously with no consent of mine.)

Thou Shalt Not Enthrall Another. (which was followed by me getting a brand new tattoo – complete with excruciating burning pain – of unknown runes on my arm. My “familiar” runes, apparently.)

Thou Shalt Not Reach Beyond The Borders of Life. (And yeah, I’m pretty sure I was already dead before she reached me.)

Three out of seven Laws of Magic, broken with carefree irreverence, broken through the use of, I was told, a “sacred ritual”. If it was a rules’ lawyer like late Donald Morgan or the Merlin being summoned, Louise’s rose-crowned head would already be rolling on the ground.

Of course, the thing about Laws of Magic is that they not only apply just to human practitioners, but also to the practitioners in my world. This place, called Helkeginia, never heard of them. Also, the mages of this realm were not just out in the open – they were the ruling caste. Their magic was deemed a divine gift from the Founder Brimir, which made them nobility by default, set to rule the commoners below them.

I hope I don’t have to explain how fucked up that is.

I could sit here for a while to explain the differences between our magic and Helkeginian craft (apparently that came in flavors too, but most people seemed quick to swear off talking about “elves”. So were the Courts in here or was it some of their descendants going native?), but I had more pressing issues to attend to.

Like a schoolgirl trying to get into my pants.

----

Unlike Louise or most of the other students who were from Tristain (where the Academy was located), Kirche von Zerbst came from up east, the country of Germania.

Unlike her peers, she… uh, she flaunted what she had. Normally, I probably wouldn’t give her a second thought, (it certainly helped that whenever she and Louise were nearby each other, things were guaranteed to end in a verbal fight) especially since the aftershock of both returning from the dead and being branded like a heifer (although the professors insisted there was no mind control involved, and the branding only removed the feeling of homesickness; the pain sure as hell wasn’t “symbolic”) made it difficult to think much about the earthly pleasures. I’ve had a fallen angel in my head for a while, and I survived a Winter Maiden getting her mitts on me; I figured I would be pretty resistant to temptation.

That was probably why Kirche’s familiar – a dopey Charmander-like lizard by the name of Flame (wow, original much?) - all but forced me into her quarters. Without my usual tools of the trade – unfortunately these weren’t brought with me when I jumped worlds – my ability to actually cast spells and be a big badass mage extraordinaire was limited. Equipment like staves or blasting rods is how you don’t run yourself ragged trying to light a campfire, since they help you focus your magic into something clean and purposeful, like a magnifying glass. It was one facet of my magic shared with Helkeginians’.

Thus, as a result of my abduction, I ended up faceplanting in front of a pair of shapely feet the color of burnt umber. “My, Herr Dresden… how bold of you to invade my quarters like so~”

Do you ever feel like your life is a giant practical joke? Except instead of a funny punchline it’s either misery or the feeling like the world is out to eat you whole and spit out just your shoelaces?

Looking up, Kirche certainly dressed to impress, wearing a purple negligee and a pair of unmentionables with the same color. It didn’t do much to cover her; just enough for decency (while accentuating her generous curves; this was among the reasons why Louise and her kept arguing) and to entice her prey. Long flowing hair, ruby-red, and almost shaped like a placid flame (appropriate for a fire Mage); with a bang covering up her right eye. The left, colored like polished chestnut, regarded me with a look that most men would probably kill for.

And yet, past the veneer of unrestrained hunger (that would be flattering if she wasn’t half my age), I could see curiosity and inquisitiveness – almost as if she gauged just what it was that I would do in such a situation and if it was going to be anything else than worshipping the carpet she rested her feet on.

Well, I liked to think I was better than that. “I was given an offer I couldn’t refuse.” I muttered, pulling myself up and back a little, now sitting on my knees. Kirche tittered, uncrossing her legs and rising from the bed.

“My Flame has a way with words, no? Now, rise, handsome. I would rather appraise you in full.” That’s what I did.

Kirche was taller than her peers, but she was still tiny next to yours truly. But then again, so is most people. NBA entrant, remember? “So? Any reason you had me kidnapped and spirited away to your bedroom?”

“Surely an accomplished Magier like yourself can figure this out? Unless you’re a fraud, of course.” I shot her an annoyed look. Kirche didn’t look stymied in the slightest, opting to continue and spare me the embarrassment. “Having such a rugged man like yourself in my bed and rankling little Louise with what she would no doubt proclaim as heathen indecency… it’s a win for everyone~”

“I’d make some preparations if you let me know beforehand. Like skipping town for a few days.” For a moment her face scrunched up in annoyance before she laughed it off.

“So cold. All I wish is to talk with you, Herr Dresden~” The pillow kind of talk, no doubt. Kirche guessed my thoughts easily enough, sashaying with practiced ease towards my position. I reached out for the doors, pawing for the doorknob – only to find them not budging. Stars and stones, did that stupid pokemon lock the door?! I could presumably punch through these easily enough – either with magic or by throwing myself at them enough times – but I wanted to avoid taking drastic measures.

Unfortunately, it felt like I was running out of good options.

Kirche pressed against me with glee, drinking in my no doubt flustered reactions. “Join me on the bed? I swear you will not regret it – nor will I do anything you don’t want me to~”

When a beautiful young woman in a nightie offers you a place on her bed with no strings attached, nine times out of ten you’re just blind as a bat and can’t see the strings. I couldn’t see them here; for all I knew, all Kirche wanted really was to just get into my pants. That didn’t make it right however. Oh, well, don’t get me wrong: if I let my inhibitions go, it would probably feel so right. The Winter Mantle tugged at my mind, presenting me with the myriad of things I could do with this girl the age of my student, each more tempting and debased than the other. She is willing. She wants you. You can have her.

I was after a number of traumatic experiences (of which dying might have been the least bothersome, somehow). I had to kill people I didn’t want to kill, to save those who I wouldn’t think twice about saving. For my daughter’s sake, I killed her mother – and the entire vampire Court, down to the last of them. I lost all of my possessions, and I put a man out of his misery to wear his metaphorical cape instead; forever a Knight in service of the Queen of Air and Darkness. Perhaps no one would fault me for making an error in judgment and letting that subconscious thought rule me for a night. Perhaps not even Kirche.

But I knew someone who would not forgive me. I wore his skin and breathed his air.

“Look. I don’t want to make a scene.” I groaned, hoping my voice didn’t come out too pathetically. “If I have to leap through your window and break a bunch of bones, then that’s what’s gonna happen.” Kirche didn’t react immediately, studying my expression with a curious look.

And then, just when I thought I will physically push her out of the way, something on her face changed and she stepped back, her feet drowning in the carpet. Normally I’d try to put on appearances of a cool and collected mage; this time I nearly toppled under her door with the relieved sigh. “You’re a curious man, Herr Dresden.” And now, there was something else in her voice too.

Caution. About time.

“Believe me, I try not to be.”

“Well, my offer still stands if you would like to approach me some other time.” At least she wasn’t too stymied, grabbing a bathrobe and covering herself up in a fluffy blue robe. “Though I’ll be sure to not tease you like so next time~”

“That… would actually be much appreciated.”

Chapter Text

Today was the day.

After over a year of magical failures, Louise had only this one event left; the Springtime Familiar Summoning. Through a sacred bond practiced over the countless generations of magi, she would bind a beast or a spirit to her service, for life. It would be her protector and friend, and she would hold responsibility for its well-being. A noble was only worth as much as the state of their familiar, and she knew that there were some rotten individuals out there, those who would scorn this bond and treat their summoned companion as a mere beast.

Of course, this was assuming she would indeed succeed.

Louise was called “The Zero” by her peers due to her magical failures; not even the simplest spells succeeded. This was an issue she had since the first time she swung a wand; a fact that vexed her and her family greatly. Louise came from a storied family name, being the third daughter of Duchess De La Vallière. Her mother was the finest of Tristain’s mages; the cream of the crop. To be such a disappointment irked Louise and it hurt her – but she knew her mother was hurt more by it.

Louise was also an ardent Brimirite. Some would even go as far as to call her a zealot; visiting the Academy’s shrine at the crack of dawn for a morning mass and to confess her misdeeds to the good father assigned to her place of learning. Over time, her frustration bore fruit in more frequent visits to the confessional. She prayed for the well-being of her family and those few friends she had, for the success of Tristain amid the more powerful and less scrupulous nations and, sometimes, she would pray for herself.

Founder Brimir, Father of Magic, The Northern Star And The Bane of Elvenkind – grant me a Miracle.

To invoke a Miracle is to be desperate; to be at the lowest point possible. Louise studied all grimoires she could get her hands on, consulted the shrewdest academics of the land… none of them had answers for her plight. Perhaps this truly was the only way left for her. She wanted her faith to be rewarded, even if she was aware that this was a selfish thought.

But sometimes, Miracles happen.

----

Louise remained on the sidelines for as long as she could. Predictably, all of her peers managed to successfully summon and bind a familiar. Most were simple animals and minor spirits. The few highlights were Zerbst and her salamander (that she named Flame. Really now?) or her Gallian friend who wooed the entire crowd by summoning a Rhyme Dragon. Louise wanted to be happy for their successes, but these familiar bindings highlighted hers – or her pointed lack of it.

“Is that everyone?” She heard the voice of Professor Colbert and prayed to all that was in the sky to let her slip by unnoticed. Surely the usual suspects were too busy with their familiars, too elated to indulge in such pettiness—

“Ah, I believe we still need Louise to try~” Zerbst. The pinkette stiffened in her spot, feeling everyone’s eyes rest on her. “Although I fear for that familiar’s health if it’ll be in the middle of her explosions…”

“We can do without such commentary, Miss Zerbst.” Colbert was a good man, but he was bound by his duties as a teacher to have Louise perform in front of all these people. If this ritual did not work, then there would be nothing left for her in the Academy but shame. “Go ahead, Miss Vallière.”

…

Founder Brimir, Father of Magic, The Northern Star, The Bane of Elvenkind… grant me mercy…

Stiffly, Louise approached the site. The pentagram spread on the ground was ready to summon another creature. Surely such an ancient, tested design would resist her ineptitude? Surely?

Founder Brimir, Father of Magic, The Northern Star… please have mercy…

Saints above, her voice felt like sand. “My name is Louise Françoise le Blanc de la Vallière.” Cough. Curses. Get it together. Need a miracle. Rule of Steel. I need a fucking miracle, please… Rule of Steel…

“Pentagon of the Five Elemental Powers…” Louise swallowed, tuning out the odd titter from the crowd. All eyes were on her. This was it. This was it. Rule of Steel. Rule of Steel. “Heed my call. My Servant. My beautiful, wise, powerful servant… you who exist somewhere in this vast universe…”

Rule of Steel. Rule of Steel. Miracle . Rule of Steel. Gods above, please…

“I wish from the bottom of my heart… add to my guidance… and appear!” Louise swung her wand and let the ancient energies of the incantation flow. They would test her innate power and, in theory, summon a familiar best compatible with her.

These wondrous things that happen out of nowhere, that seem to be summoned from the bottom of our hearts, those feelings of guilt, shame, want, and all that can visibly and tangibly manifest within and in all of us… sometimes they would bless and grace. Othertimes they would corrupt and destroy.

For fickle and twisted – let alone across the universes – are paths of the Miracle.

----

Louise awoke in the void of nothingness.

The first, most primal thought of all washed over her. I died. I perished in the ritual; such was my failure. And yet, she could still feel all of her limbs and the irregular beat of her heart, her short breath and the clammy sweat that grew all over her hands and down her back.

She could feel her body. She must have been alive then, but in that case… where was she?

“Hail, stranger.” A voice reached her from the fog of ages. She did not see who spoke. She could not hope to know who spoke, other than the fact that the stranger’s voice was that of a man, and calm, placid. Too calm and too placid; less someone at ease and more someone who… gave up.

What facet of hell did she end up in?

“...who goes there?” Louise summoned all of her strength to sound authoritative and confident, but it didn’t fool anyone, let alone herself; the timbres in her voice shook like autumn leaves. The stranger did not begrudge her for it, at least.

“I could ask you the same question, young lady. Strange pathways brought you here to this twisted sanctum.” Louise swallowed. Now that she focused, she could make out some faint light; a smothering warmness, something that meant to replicate the motherly warmth (admittedly Louise had little experience with such) but failed just short. “And from what I can see, yours is not the Cvstodian origin.”

“Are you going to show yourself? I haven’t a habit to talk with voices in the shadows.” A chuckle replied to her demand.

“Young lady, these shadows are me. I am this place. I have become one with the Miracle and I shall sing its gospel until the end of time from this thorny prison.”

“...you’re not making any sense! If you’re a demon or an evil spirit, know that I shall not make it easy for you to kill me!”

“Perish the thought, young lady. I am a divine being. Or rather, the divine being is me.” That didn’t make it any less confusing! What was this voice on about? Why did he call it a “thorny prison” when she couldn’t even make out the smidgeon of grass, let alone something more complex in flora? Who even was he? He spoke of “Cvstodian origin”, and that was no nation Louise was aware of. “I understand you must be confused, but that will pass in time. For now, you should witness what you are a part of now.”

Suddenly, Louise saw.

The view seemed as if she watched it through binoculars or, more confusingly, the vision of another being. Was this her familiar? She knew that those with the bond could watch through the other’s eyes, but then if her familiar was summoned, where on earth was she?

It was large; it dwarfed students and educators. It sat by its lonesome, not socializing with other familiars. Were these… chains…? Those were chains on its ankles and limbs. Its limbs… they seemed humanoid enough, but… were they made of wood? They lacked a treant’s vibrancy however; they were old and dry, and twisted like the most gnarled of branches.

The ones appraising the familiar looked at it with fear. Revulsion. Caution. Was her bonded creature so hideous? But surely there were stranger things out there. Didn’t one of the students summon a beholder? Through its unmoving eyes did she spot Professor Colbert and Headmaster Osmond, as well as Zerbst and her blue-haired friend.

“So? I suppose the creature I’ve summoned is a strange kind, but what of it?” Louise asked once she was satisfied. The voice, the glow, the… the presence all around her seemed amused despite her tone.

“Where do you think we are right now, young lady?”

“How should I know?”

“You looked through the eyes of a divine creature just now. Surely you must know the answer with your heart.”

“How should I? Looking through the eyes of the familiar is a basic ability of its bond with the Master.” Louise’s patience was running thin; she could certainly do without this mysterious voice talking entirely in riddles. The glow thinned and dimmed.

“Truly, you are of another realm. For us, penitents under the Grievous Miracle, such a wondrous sight would only be possible if we were a part of the creature – as you are now.”

Louise stared, not sure where, and not sure if she even comprehended this inane theory. Yet, before she could dwell on it for any length of time, a thundering beat resounded in the void. “Ah… you will witness yourself. The monster awakes – and we shall slumber in its gnarled heart.”

Then, all became nothing – except for the resounding thumping that enveloped Louise in its entirety and became her and was among her. For such were the paths of the Miracle.

----

It had been a week since Louise de la Vallière vanished to parts unknown, leaving behind only her presumed Familiar; a misbegotten fusion of man, animal, and plant.

The Academy staff chained the monster in one of the courts, away from other familiars and anyone it could harm. Its roars were terrible, raspy snarls; its arms and legs dry branches that twisted and turned, trying to seize life and the very earth. Nails were stuck in its goat-like skull, and it regarded the world with empty sockets.

Kirche never knew that something with no eyes could regard her with such zealous hatred.

Louise was gone. Whether dead or simply transported to unknown pastures, it didn’t matter. Kirche’s heart knew, even if that was a folly of a thought, that it was through her needling and teasing and taunting that Louise’s chant differed. No one would think it would affect the ritual so… and yet, here she wasn’t, and only the tree monster remained.

The creature was slack in its chains again. It had no need for nourishment, at least, and thankfully so; no one dared approach it. Once it would return to consciousness, it would rage again and make the entire Academy shake with its indignant bellow. One of the maids – Siesta, was it? - compared it to the sound of an inverted bell growing into the earth.

What a strange thing to say, but so was this monster unlike anything they’ve known here on Helkeginia. It was no spirit, no treant, no demon, and no undead. It could not be reasoned with nor could it be understood. It sat there, shaken by its cyclopean rage as it howled and screeched, as if cursing its predicament.

“...been watching it?” Tabitha approached Kirche as the redhead appraised the monster. Her voice was laced with concern, just about perceptible above her usual monotonous drone. Kirche nodded, not finding it in herself to speak. The bluenette did not press her, merely sitting next to her. They remained silent, listening to the creature’s labored breathing as it slumbered.

“...I wonder… am I to blame for this?” Kirche finally spoke up, and her voice was the smallest Tabitha recalled her saying. “...surely, she would still be here with us… if I wasn’t so demeaning of her, a-and…”

“No way of knowing.” Tabitha shook her head. “Ritual ancient craft. Louise’s magic strange. Results unknown.”

“...no, Tabitha. I bear blame for this. Some of it.” Kirche sat there on her knees, watching the monster that, for all she knew, killed her little rival with no fanfare at all. “I should have been supporting… encouraging… not just… not just let the school focus on her over me.” Tabitha nodded sagely. Before the fact of Louise’s ineptitude was picked up upon, Kirche was a popular target to pester herself. The Tristanian elite ridiculed and mocked her for her heritage and looks – but eventually, a better scapegoat emerged. “I should have been better than this. I only proved her right, in the end...”

The monster slumbered, heedless of Kirche’s bitter tears and Tabitha’s quiet reassurance. “Gottverdammt… forgive me, Little Louise…”

----

How much time has passed inside this prison of thorny flesh?

If anyone asked Louise, she would have first clarified just what counted as “time”. Stuck in this twisted sanctum, her body slowly fading away, her mind melding into the all-encompassing consciousness where it was impossible to say where men ended and monsters began…

She was going insane. She was losing her very self – and she was losing even the awareness of this fact.

The voice that she settled for calling Pierre wasn’t much for conversation. To her knowledge, he was a commoner once; a simple man of the cloth, a mere secular. He lacked interests or pastimes, or perhaps he once had them, only to resign himself to witnessing the Grievous Miracle from its very core.

He told her plenty about the religion of Cvstodia – a grim land where the faithful sought punishment. He told her of a youth who sought it so badly, divine providence descended upon him and twisted him around a grotesque tree. The youth had no name, but he was The Father of Cvstodian faith; countless others followed his example.

For twisted were the paths of the Miracle.

Of course, they couldn’t always converse; whenever the monster awoke, her self would be subsumed by its bestial conscious and by that god-accursed thumping of its giant heart. Was she truly inside this creature? Or was it her mind crumbling from the aftereffects of her failed summoning?

Well… technically, she did summon it… and bound herself to it, in a fashion.

“Hmm… this one looks curious.” Pierre’s voice brought her from the idle wasting. “Shares the candy luster of your hair, young lady, though not your age. I would wager… a relative of yours?”

Louise sat up straight, or did an equivalent of such.

Rule of Steel.

“Where?! Where is she?!” She shrunk from her own voice, surprised at how loud it was. She found the dead eyes of the monster, and peered through its vision; there she stood, a woman of impeccable martial cadence and pure nobility in a red uniform of a royal knight. There she stood, sizing up the creature of gnarled branches with a cool eye. And yet, Louise could spot the slightest of trembles on the woman’s lower lip.

Before the monster stood her mother.

“Alas, little can be done to speak to her.” Pierre mused. “We can only influence the monster while it’s asleep; once it wakes, we shall become imperceptible ether once more.”

“No, none of that nonsense! I am a Master, and this is my Familiar! My word is law!”

“Do you put yourself on the level of the High Wills?” Pierre laughed, but there was no mockery in his voice; it seemed the thought genuinely amused him. The High Wills were those who ordained the Miracle, and to whom its strange properties responded. Some would call them gods. To Louise they were nothing but ramblings of a disembodied voice.

She was a Vallière. She was a Brimirite. This hokey religion of pain and sorrow did nothing to her but leave her shaking with rage. She was going to take its byproduct, this twisted creature of ill-placed faith, and she was going to seize it for her own means. If that was the one thing she had left… then she had to do it.

“No – but they do not hold sway over me.”

Of course, saying it was one thing, but making this monstrous tree creature act upon her will… that was going to be another issue entirely.

----

Karin de La Vallière regarded the gnarled monster in chains with a measured look.

It wasn’t like Louise to stop sending correspondence. She would be the first to write the estate about how the summoning ritual went, whether she succeeded or failed. Karin hoped for the former, of course, but she had to assume the latter wasn’t out of the question. She knew her daughter, that she was strong like steel. She would not do something as foolish as escaping from the Academy to parts unknown or, Brimir forbid, trying to take her own life. Not even with all the burden of being the daughter of Karin the Grand Tempest, the finest knightess and noble of Tristain.

She wasn’t the best at showcasing it, but she loved her daughter dearly.

But now, all Osmond and Colbert could tell her was that Louise vanished without a trace, leaving behind only this misbegotten monster. The Headmaster told her plenty about its bouts of rage intertwined with its quiet yet unrestful slumber, and how it matched no description of any specimen of fauna or flora in Helkeginia, not even in the few elven works they had tucked deep in the vault. It was a forbidden demon from a forbidden realm, it could not be communicated with.

Somewhere in its gnarled, nail-ridden head were answers to her daughter’s whereabouts, and Karin was planning to extract them at all costs. Somehow. She had to do something or even her Rule of Steel would falter. She could not afford to let that happen.

“You would need a Water mage the likes of Her Majesty the Princess to even see about attempting this, Duchess.” Osmond seemed older and more withered than he ever was. For all of his faults, it seemed this situation rested heavily on him as well. “...and I loathe to let her know.”

“Before we do that, it must know discipline.” Karin replied evenly, brandishing her wand as wind gathered at the tip of it. “It cannot endanger anyone else.” The creature stirred. Osmond brandished his staff on reflex; it seemed it wasn’t the first time he had such a reaction.

The creature’s head rose slowly, that eyeless skull of old bark and goat-like features. At first it settled its stare upon the Duchess, but then it turned it towards the morning sky as a spasm shook the entire body. It growled, a rumbling sound coming from its throat, and then it bellowed, louder than before. Karin was not impressed, even as the chains rattled and shook against its monstrous strength.

“You will tell me where my daughter is, and you shall be treated with only the lightest of floggings.” She stated, more to herself – to maintain her illusion of calm in this situation – than to the beast. But then, something strange happened. The monster’s head tilted down when it heard the word “daughter”. Osmond, a bit in the back, noted this was the first time it reacted to a specific phrase.

And then, it broke the chains on its right wrist with a hellish screech, sending iron rings flying all over the place. One whizzed past the wizened headmaster’s ear, making his life flash before his eyes. Another struck the Duchess right in the chest, to no discernible effect. For a moment, Osmond feared the worst – but then the creature went placid again.

“Do you understand me?” Karin continued, her voice steel itself. The monster regarded her again as it scratched at its head for the longest of moments before its hand slammed down on the ground. Then, it turned into twisting branches and vines, chaotic and unorganized. A hand almost like a man’s emerged from this process, dragging its claws through the grass… leaving marks.

Letters, Karin realized soon enough. Not any of the pagan languages she would suspect such a creature of using, but the Brimirite runes in use by all Brimiric Nations and Germania. Rough, but she expected nothing else from a monster dragging its claws through the soil.

“...this is a first.” Osmond regarded the process from a distance, an eyebrow raised in wonderment. “It attempted no communication beforehand.” His eyes widened still when he realized just what it was that the monster wrote. It was “Louise”, followed by an arrow pointing towards the creature. What were the implications of this message…?

“...what have you done with my daughter, creature?” The Duchess’ voice was steady, but there was grand wrath just underneath the steel timbre. The most powerful of Wind Mages in recent history would no doubt make short work of this monster – but Osmond dared not think of the possible collateral damage. Karin’s control over her element was refined through years of combat and training, but not even she was immune to emotions. No doubt there was a storm of them brewing through her right now.

The monster wrote more on the ground. “I am her. Inside. Not eaten. A part of it.”

“You expect me to believe this?” Karin’s lip trembled more. “You are clearly smarter than you let on – but not smart enough to know that I will scatter your withered remains over all four directions of the world if you do not speak of my daughter’s whereabouts right now.”

“I would advise against it, Duchess. This monster is the only means of ascertaining where young Milady Vallière might be.” Osmond warned her in a tired voice.

Before Karin could snap at him, the monster did something unusual; its writing changed. It growled under its breath, struggling with the idea… but it was unmistakably an elegant cursive being scribbled on the creature by this misbegotten creature. But what did it seek to achieve by changing the character of its letters…?

Of course, the answer presented itself the moment Osmond saw the duchess’ eyes widen, her carefully assembled mask starting to fall apart. The woman approached the monster, within its arm range, as if struck by a spell – but the monstrous arm pulled back and hugged its withered body tightly, as if the creature was afraid to lash out. It watched as the duchess appraised the name of her daughter written in cursive.

Written, Osmond concluded, in Louise’s own handwriting; unmistakable to her mother.

“...by the Founder… Louise… is that… what…” For the first time in his life, the old Headmaster saw the Grand Tempest at a loss of words; less an indomitable bastion of chivalrous values and more a mother realizing her darling youngest was cursed to become a horrid tree spirit, “bonded” with her nightmarish familiar through the twist of fate.

Osmond saw Karin De La Vallière cry tears of grief and relief both as she reached out for the gnarled arm and held its twisted fingers tightly, trusting her daughter to control the beast whose skin she wore. He saw her drop on her knees and weep, and the monster that was Louise wept with her in silence, crimson drops seeping from its empty sockets.

Whether it was blood or sap, he could not say.

Chapter Text

“Tell me something about your homeland.”

Louise watched her familiar’s furry presence light up in a glow that she would call adorable had he previously not voiced an objection to being called such. A shame, because, by Brimir’s beard, did she summon a cute critter – and a chivalrous, intelligent critter to boot. And to think she almost didn’t notice that fact during the summoning. The little rapier on its belt and the crimson feather attached to the littler golden band on its head… why, at first she thought she summoned some circus troupe’s favorite rat. So did her peers, and they were happy to jeer and mock her for it. It didn’t matter that she successfully finished the Springtime Familiar Summoning; now they had another thing to mock her for. A Zero remained a zero.

And then, her circus mouse drew its rapier – with the butt of its hilt depicting a silver mouse, its long tail coiling around the rest of it – and demanded satisfaction from those who would “slander this fair maiden with words that, no doubt, would be first spoken amid the most miserable company at the most deplorable of taverns” in its squeaky mouse voice. Louise, having looked back at the incident, thought that some would laugh even harder – it wasn’t as if her newfound familiar was particularly dangerous-looking, and its voice invited mockery too – but the fact that an animal spoke to them, and with such flowery words, stupefied the crowd.

Thus was Louise introduced to a knight from a distant land called Narnia; a land of outrageous fantasy, ruled by a talking lion and full of other such strangeness.

“Whatever can I regale you with the tales of, Madam Louise?” He asked as the two of them walked down the corridor after classes. The mousy knight’s tiny stride nevertheless held such gravitas that most gave them a wide berth as he walked in front of her as a herald announcing the arrival of a queen from a foreign kingdom.

Gravitas, or perhaps the fact that he was quick to use his rapier to defend her honor. It was becoming a bit of a problem.

“Hm… you said you ventured towards the end of your world. What was there at its edge?”

“Ah, that story is an odyssey of wonder and miracles, Madam Louise.” He nodded sagely. “Not to add to my presence in it – I was a mere mouse traveler there – but the sights of it may be too difficult to describe with mere words.”

“I would think you’re a verbose enough knight for it, Sir Reep.” Obviously the compliment tickled him pink. Louise wasn’t a particularly skilled peoples person, but her little knight was like a children’s book when it came to reading him. Much as talking mice could have children’s books.

“Imagine then, if you will, a sea that turns into fresh water – and then a place where the sun and the horizon hold each other in an embrace like passionate lovers, unending and forevermore. That is the end of the world – and beyond that is, of course, Aslan’s Country.”

“The land from which he came, behind all this water…? What is it like?”

“That… truly cannot be described.”

----

As luck would have it, the two of them had to visit Tristania.

Admittedly, Louise didn’t plan to stop by the Royal Palace, but the presence of the Royal Musketeer Corp – led by one short-haired Chevalier who regarded Reepicheep with an understandable confusion – signaled that she was, in some fashion, expected. Thus the two of them ventured into the royal purples of the seat of power; her mouse knight with cautious interest, appraising the architecture and opulence of it… and herself with a growing sense of dread.

Despite Henrietta having been her childhood playmate and the closest thing she had to a friend, they haven’t spoken in a while…

And now, not only she had a knight – however peculiar he might have been – at her side, that knight was her summoned Familiar! How much has changed! Hopefully the princess wouldn’t think of her as a liar, who claims to not be able to cast spells, yet pulls off the summoning ritual so flawlessly…

“Something on your mind, Madam Louise?” Reep’s squeaky voice brought her back to the pristine hallways of Tristain’s seat of power. Most would not be allowed such leeway, to walk the corridors of a monarch’s home so freely. Carelessly, even.

“Ah, I, no… well, I suppose it’s just the nerves.” She tried waving it off, but her mouse knight was a perceptive sort. Easy to please, easy to raise his sword in defense of another – but much smarter and more insightful than his bombast and flowery speech would suggest.

“Should I be concerned that you are so apprehensive to meet your ruler?”

“Ah, t-technically Henrietta isn’t a ruler yet… well, she kind of is, it’s…”

“Courtly politics. I hear you, Madam Louise.” He nodded sagely, taking notice that it was so easy for the lady to address the princess by her name. Familiarity beyond mere courtesy, then. The feudal system of Tristain was something that was hard to come by in Narnia, more akin to the societal strata of Calormen and the old Telmarines – but certainly more cultured, at least on the face of it.

Reepicheep understood very well that the nobles of the world might not have had much good to say about the plebes – a notion that could spur unwanted developments, if there was any. “Then allow me to reassure you: a knight of the Most Noble Order of the Lion fears no foe and shields those who cannot shield themselves. Not even kings can say whatever they want and disparage those they so choose.”

“Dispa-n-no!” Louise shook her head fervently. “H-henrietta is nothing like that! I mean, she’s… you’ll see, it’s just—“

“Louise Françoise!” And just like that, the pink-haired lady he was sworn into service to went stiff as a board as the welcoming party met them in a hallway.

The princess was a woman of an immaculate beauty (or, at least, what Reepicheep understood to be the human standard for such) and a pure white gown, with a crown of purple hair about her. Two guardians flanked her; the Chevalier from earlier who issued an invitation, and a gentleman of a wide-trimmed hat and carefully combed gray beard, with long flowing hairs of the matching color.

Judging by the indescribable sound that came from Louise just now, it seemed she had history with the man as well.

“I’m sorry, I just couldn’t wait when it’s been this long! It’s so good to see you again!” Abstaining any decorum expected of a young monarch, the princess approached for a hug – only to be stopped by a loud albeit squeaky “ahem”. Normally, Reepicheep wouldn’t stop a friend from enthusiastically greeting another – but he was in the way and the princess seemed to have a bit of a tunnel vision. His list of exploits was long and storied, and he did not plan to sour it by adding “trampled by a princess” to it. “Oh… oh, a thousand pardons, sir knight, I didn’t see you there.”

“That is of no trouble, Your Majesty. It’s a problem I’ve long grown accustomed to. Now, if I may… please give Madam Louise some space.” He announced with a squeaky pomp. The princess seemed stymied, stepping back sheepishly.

“Of course. Thank you for bringing my head back from the clouds, sir knight. Still… Louise Françoise, am I ever pleased to see you.” Here she looked upon the pinkette with a warm smile.

“...t-thank you, Henrietta…”

----

There was more to this visit than pleasantries. It seemed Her Majesty Henrietta de Tristain, ruling in absence of the queen-widow, had something she wanted to ask Louise of. A favor.

This was a talk without Chevalier de Milan, the princess’ bodyguard and friend; nor the Viscount of Wardes, the captain of Tristain’s Griffon Knights and Louise’s future husband. That last tidbit had Reepicheep raise his little mousy eyebrow. An arranged marriage, with a man this older than his Madam? The more he thought about it, the less he liked the finer workings of Tristain (even if Louise spoke of him in only the best of terms).

“I realize this is a lot to put on your shoulders, but… I need you to save Tristain from my own stupidity.” Louise recoiled from the very statement. It seemed that those who she held in high regard, she held in high regard; almost unwilling to question or ponder the ramifications of such a statement. Surely the princess knew of Louise’s inability at magic? Perhaps she thought that her summoning him into this world meant she had learned something about her plight…? “This is something I can ask only someone who I have utmost trust in.”

“W-whatever can I do to help, Your Highness?” And Louise, Reepicheep noted soberly, would jump into a fire if asked by those she held in high regard, too. In better circumstances, he could appreciate this camaraderie; such recklessness was close to his own heart. However, this world was more complex and more tangled than the world the Lion created could hope to be.

And what was lost in its crevices could fester… like rot.

“As you know, I am to marry His Majesty the Emperor of Germania, Albrecht III.” Henrietta started, tenting her fingers together at her lap, just like those who looked for a way to soften a verbal blow would. “...it has come to my attention that this marriage is in jeopardy, and I have no one but myself to blame for it.”

“Oh Founder… whatever happened…?”

“I… have… I had an affair. With Prince Wales.” For a moment the silence in the room was deafening. “We both know better now, but we foolishly left proof of our irresponsibility.”

“...your cousin?” Louise stammered. “That Prince Wales?”

“I mean, w-we haven’t… gone… t-that far, if that’s what you’re worried about, but…” Henrietta took a moment to compose herself. Reep studied each of her little movements with a furrowing brow. “...he has it, and, well, the royalists have been losing their fight with the Reconquista. Should they get their hands on that letter, they could send it straight to Vindobona… cause a scandal… maybe even another war.”

“B-but that’s madness! Who in their right mind would believe in their proof?! E-even if the letter is true, who is to say it so?” Henrietta offered a small, defeated smile.

“You’ll see once you retrieve it from him.”

“...oh.” Another moment of silence. “...I… well—“

“A moment.” A small mousy finger pointed towards Henrietta – in accusation. “Your Majesty, with all due respect… you seek to send your friend into a warzone. A friend who, you must know, is no accomplished mage to handle herself in a fight.” Ignoring Louise’s incensed “Familiar!”, Reep continued. “I am a knight, sworn to Madam Louise’s service – and that includes making sure she is not exposed to unnecessary danger.”

“Of course; I wouldn’t dream to send her on her own, even with a warrior as accomplished as yourself, Sir Reep.” Louise watched as Reepicheep, normally so easy to please with a compliment, merely flicked his whiskers at the princess. “Viscount of Wardes will accompany you with his own familiar.”

“And can we vouch for this man’s trustworthiness?”

“Of course!” The two young women in the room voiced themselves simultaneously, although Reep noted Louise’s patience with him was certainly running thin. He was not known as a servile kind of knight – he was to serve, not to kiss feet of his betters. “And, to ensure that my cousin recognizes you” Henrietta continued, slipping an ornate ring off her finger and handing it over to the pinkette. “show him my signet. There is no second such ring in the world.”

“Seriously, Reepicheep… it might be dangerous, but it’s not like Henrietta is sending me to some kind of battle.” Louise admonished him with a frown. Reep chose not to reply, mostly occupied with his whiskers again. “Plus, Jean-Jacques is a picture-perfect knight and gentleman. I trust him completely.”

----

The very same Jean-Jacques had tossed Prince Wales’ lifeless body off the airship about a minute ago.

The rest of the crew of the airship the Tudor royal captained just a moment ago was much less fortunate. Jean-Jacques Francis de Wardes was a Mage with a rare Lightning affinity. A crackle of godly wrath, even its pale imitation, was a formidable force, able to inflict terrible wounds and disfigure those struck by it beyond recognition.

Reep and Louise were spared the destructive web of lightning that less killed and more fried the crewmen. The mouse knight understood this was entirely because Wardes so decided. “It’s unfortunate I have to reveal my allegiances in such a setting – but time is of the essence.” Louise did not respond, staring blankly at her betrothed so casually discuss betraying the Crown, killing Prince Wales, killing all these people, all these burned and mangled and—

She was only vaguely away that Wardes’ familiar, that brutish griffon, was sampling some of the less charred cadavers.

“How long have you been a lapdog of kingslayers, dastard?” Reepicheep queried in a voice so calm it surprised even him, his rapier drawn and ready to draw blood. Of course, he would have to get close to Wardes first and he already saw that the gray-haired traitor was quick like few men he knew were.

“A while.” The viscount replied absentmindedly. The damnable letter peeked out from within his breast pocket; this little piece of paper could spark a terrible war, and now Reconquista had it. “Now, the airship is likely to lose altitude at a steady rate. You should be able to land in Tarbes with only a few bruises.”

“...why…?” Louise had tears in her eyes and a wand in her hand, but it was not trained at Wardes or anywhere. Slowly, the young mage picked herself off the ground, fighting off the gag reflex at the dismaying stench of fried cadavers, shaking with indignant rage. “You had everything… you were loved, respected… Her Majesty’s trusted knight… my mother’s choice for my husband… a man I thought I knew…”

“No, Louise.” Something in the viscount’s face shifted – towards pity. Yet, his eyes remained on the mousy knight; likely still establishing him to be the primary threat should the fighting started. “These are all fleeting things. Wealth, power, love… I could be the king, and it would not fill the void in my heart, longing for our place of origin. Somewhere far to the East, towards the Holy Lands.” How curious. Reep regarded the man with a cautious eye; he thought he faced an opportunist and a mercenary, but Wardes seemed to be an ideologue instead. Zealot, even.

“Y-you think Reconquista can give you that?! Those madmen?! Those who would slaughter kings, topple the order, destroy all that they hate?!” Louise’s voice rose to an incensed shout. Wardes’ griffon regarded her lazily from over the bloody heaps it was feasting on. “Jean-Jacques… please… please tell me you’re being blackmailed… that you’re doing this under pain of your loved ones’ death… anything… I want to believe in you… I truly do.”

“I’m afraid you believe in the wrong man. For all it is worth, I apologize.” His eyes wandered towards Louise, and it almost seemed like he truly meant it. Or, perhaps, he was such an actor that he could put a tormented young lass at ease, the very same he so cruelly betrayed right in front of her eyes, with no difficulty at all. “In a better world, perhaps we would still be so fated, but—“

Reepicheep tossed something; Henrietta’s ring that he slipped from Louise when the betrayal took place, and he lobbed it with power and precision he would not suspect himself of ever having. Such were the properties of a Gandálfr: complete mastery over weapons. A princess’ signet wouldn’t exactly be considered one for a human… but for a mouse, it could very well be an ornate cestus.

The beautiful blue crystal impacted straight between Wardes’ eyes, having him reel back from the surprise attack with a distressed cry – and before either Louise or the griffon could realize what was going on, Reep dashed forward in this precious second. His rapier drew blood; first at the traitor’s feet, then up his legs until he toppled on his back; through his arms and then the mousy knight landed right on top of Wardes’ chest. The rapier, polished with traitorous blood, shone ominously in the midday glow – and currently pressed against the traitor’s neck.

The silence that fell after was deafening – until Wardes let out a choked half-laugh. “Truly? This is how we shall do this?”

“You should be careful not to speak, dastard; I would loathe to kill you on accident.”

“You trifle with me, sir rodent, aware that my griffon could devour Louise at a moment’s notice?” Louise stirred in her spot, and so did the beast – even if lazily, almost with a reproachful trill, as it swallowed the last of a defiled crewman’s carcass.

“You like the sound of your voice so much, so I figure you like breathing and living as well.”

“And you think…” Wardes tried wriggling his neck away from the blade, to no avail. His hands were free, but this time he was at a disadvantageous spot; before he could try to raise his sword-wand or even see about swatting the rodent off him, his arteries would already be pierced open. “that I would not be so petty to have Marseille kill that girl in my death throes?”

“Of course you would. The likes of you have no integrity. However… your cowed beast is of no threat to me or her. Not anymore.” Wardes sneered, resisting an urge to try and be petty even as Reepicheep slowly slipped the letter out of his breast pocket.

“And what makes you say that, vermin?”

“...Madam Louise. Do you feel a presence among us?” The pinkette blinked, still reeling from… well, all of this. “Look forward.” Reepicheep said so with utmost confidence, even as he himself had his eyes on Wardes. Louise did as told.

And, before her and before Wardes’ griffon, stood a Lion. Not just a mere lion, but the Lion; the ruler of Narnia, He Who Was There. Having never seen H im in her life, she knew it was that Lion. More puzzlingly, Marseille seemed to recognize the Lion too – and despite being so much larger and more menacing than Him, she bowed her head in fearful reverence. The griffon was trembling.

Wardes remained ignorant of the fact that the soft paws stepped soundlessly just past his head as the Lion paced in place for a few moments, looking at Louise and Marseille… looking through them. Ascertaining all of their sins and vices, their very being. What was this creature? A demon? A spirit? Brimir’s very own angel, sent to test them?

...God Himself?

The Lion breathed – and the airship, against all reason, against all laws of physics, it remained in a steady line, flying forward . The damage sustained to it seemed of no consequence; that was something even Wardes noticed. “...what sorcery is this…?” He croaked, his composed mask slipping off.

“You incurred wrath of a gatekeeper to a better land, dastard. I dared not call forth the Lord of that land, for he is no tamed Lion to come at anyone’s beck and call. But” Reepicheep let the word hang in the air for a bit. The airship began its descent again, after whatever distance it covered was deemed satisfactory by their mysterious benefactor. Louise blinked – wasn’t there a very large lion right in front of them, just a moment ago…? “But it seemed He aided His servant out of the goodness of His heart.”

“...what… who… what was that?” This voice, scratchy and rumbling, belonged to none of the talking persons on the ship, but to the one who just found her speech. Wardes’ eyes nearly bulged out of his skull, and so did Louise’s; that was indeed Marseille speaking with a human voice.

“That, Madams… that was Aslan.” The very name invoked such strange feelings in the passengers of the fated airship. Wardes felt his very being seared with the chilliest of colds, as if he suddenly realized his mission to reclaim the Holy Lands was folly. Marseille, having just found her voice, struggled with the very fresh taste of blood in her beak, and the strange half-fear, half-elation spreading from her claws to the tips of her wings.

Louise, meanwhile, felt hope and warmth – and she could not yet understand why.

Chapter Text

Jean-Jacques Francis, the Viscount of Wardes and the Captain of Tristain’s Griffon Knights, always considered himself to have a cool head.

His was the personage of a composed vassal; equal parts charming and authoritative. It was equally easy for him to compliment a beautiful socialite at a party and cow a foolhardy knight with but a word. This flexibility and a slight penchant for dramatics allowed him to create a pleasant mask. Most would not dare suspect that the charming viscount reporting directly to Her Majesty the Princess was in fact a subversive agent of the Reconquista.

And yet, at the height of Bal du Frigg, dressed in a parade uniform of his unit, Jean-Jacques Francis was not so sure of himself.

The Ball, usually a formal occasion arranged after the Familiar Exposition in the same day, had to be postponed due to an audacious would-be burglary. Fouquet of the Crumbling Earth, an infamous thief who made light of all protections and locks, had barged into the Academy grounds to seize the artifacts from the Vault. Wardes knew all about that; after all, both her and him replied to the same employer.

Alas, her acquisition of the Staff of Destruction was foiled – and the woman who did so without breaking a sweat, without – supposedly – using any magic at all to make a mockery of both Fouquet and her siege golem… now she was approaching him, turning heads with each step. “A good evening to you, Viscount.”

“Mademoiselle.” He nodded, summoning a polite smile. Louise’s familiar was a woman of exotic beauty. Not quite like the storied Zerbst line or some of the nomads from the reaches of Rub Al Khalid; hers was a more subdued splendor, and perhaps all the more enticing for it. Her black hair, usually loose on her shoulders, was done in a tasteful updo – yet those errant strands of hair, long and curling not unlike horns, remained unconquered. Something of a whimsical sight, though it seemed she long grew used to them.

Frankly, what interested Viscount of Wardes more was lower than her hair. “A beautiful night, is it not? What is a gentleman like yourself doing by his lonesome?” The woman’s voice was silky and smooth, and it could easily break lesser men’s will should she be so inclined. Nothing indicated hers was a flirty personage; it was just another facet of her.

Her eyes were small and sharp, gleaming with emerald green – like a dagger looking to find a way between his shoulderblades.

“This is embarrassing to admit, but I am not much of a dancer.” He shook off his worries with a light laugh and a shake of his head. “Thus I make sure the proceedings remain undisturbed. I would loathe to have another miscreant try their chances after Fouquet.”

“That would be troublesome, would it not? And yet, may I please invite you for a sway?” Right in time for the orchestra to start playing a slower tune; something for the couples and those who aimed to become such. Louise would never entertain such an idea, he thought absentmindedly; she abstained from all public displays of affection.

He looked towards her, chatting with Her Majesty and her blonde bodyguard, and their eyes met. Normally, Louise would flush, look away in embarrassment. Tonight, she merely offered him a smile and a nod.

A smile, Viscount noted with growing unease, that seemed a touch too cold. “Yes… I suppose I can give it a try. As long as you do not mind if I accidentally step on your foot.”

The familiar woman smiled in a very similar manner, and something ugly stirred inside his heart. “Perhaps you would like me to lead, Viscount?” Something was off. Mathilda was in captivity, and likely questioned about her allegiances – but she knew there would be hell to pay if she implicated him or anyone else in league with the Reconquista. An unassuming orphanage in Albion would burn down, its charges turned into food for orcs, and the caretaker herself – well, Wardes dared not finish that thought.

“I may be a poor dancer, but I still have some knightly pride, Mademoiselle Igawa.” Shaking off these unwanted thoughts, he offered her a hand. The pleasant mask was back on, with only the slightest of cracks in it.

“Some knightly pride, indeed…”

----

The woman had no issues dancing – or leading him in said dance, Wardes noticed with growing embarrassment.

Of course, it didn’t matter that much to him as it did to others, but those others were in attendance, watching a Captain of the Griffin Knights strung along by a mere Chevalier (recently titled too), and a woman to boot. Some perceptions of situations died hard – Wardes could only hope that once Reconquista settles in Tristain, some of them would be abolished.

The woman remained close to him, letting him take stock of her strength and allure both. The evening dress she wore, cut in deep azures and thin blacks of her arm-long gloves – no doubt to hide her Familiar runes – had a very daring slit for a leg. It had little to do with the usually puffy dresses Tristain’s female elite preferred. Some would even call it indecent, even if it didn’t reveal anything too compromising.

Perhaps that was the nature of its indecency – to tempt with the unseen.

“A coin for your thoughts, Viscount?” Jean-Jacques refused to admit he spaced out in the middle of the dance, encumbered by these errant ponderings.

“I suppose those are hard to come by with a beauty like yourself in front of me.” Her lips quirked in a vague smile.

“Careful now; I would loathe to let Louise know. She already knows enough about you, Viscount.” That strange enunciation, no doubt deliberate, it was her offer of mercy to admit to his wrongdoings by himself rather than having it spelled for him. Sadly, Jean-Jacques’s thoughts proved too scattered to put that together quickly enough.

“How do you mean, Mademoiselle?”

“Of your ties to Madam de Saxe-Gotha – and to the Reconquista, by proxy.”

The Viscount of Wardes would have frozen on his spot, being exposed so easily and brazenly, just out of earshot of… well, everyone!, had the dancing not been in full force. Louise’s familiar picked a curious place to reveal that knowledge; in a secluded spot on the balcony, where the music could still be heard, but most did not venture into due to the evening cold. His first instinct was to step away this instant – only to find that her silken grip was now steel. Much stronger than a woman her stature – even the kind to defeat Fouquet and her golem in melee combat – should be.

“You seem surprised.” The mirthless smile the woman offered him chilled him to the bone.

“Baffled, mostly. That is a bold accusation to level at Her Majesty’s knight.” He recovered, or so he thought. The woman didn’t look convinced.

“Come on now. It’s just the two of us here. You can be as honest as you like. Madam de Saxe-Gotha already confessed all about your relationship during the questioning.” How about that? Even despite the fact that Cromwell held those dear to her hostage? (or so he claimed; Wardes couldn’t verify) What cruel methods did they use to get her to talk?

“...I see. Forgive me for sounding impertinent… but you believed a desperate thief?”

“You are right that she was desperate. She told us all about seeking to cut her ties with the Reconquista, return to Albion… spirit Tiffania and the children out of there, to someplace quiet.” Wardes’ face remained still, like a stone mask. “Her services were greatly appreciated, of course, but due to her relation to the royalists of Albion, Lord-Protector Cromwell had to provide some… additional means of persuasion.”

“And where do I fit in this story, Mademoiselle?” She leaned back in a dancing figure, purposefully putting herself off-balance as if to goad him into trying to escape. Wardes knew his chances; this fight was lost before it began. The only consolation prize he had was the curve of her generous breasts straying against the blue fabric of her dress before she returned to face him.

“You would be her superior here in Tristain; an agent higher in the hierarchy than her, though no doubt still a pawn for your masters.”

“So you have no proof beyond a testimony of a defrocked noble turned larcenist.” Wardes allowed himself a slight triumphant smile in return. The woman smirked back at him before she briefly left him for a pirouette. Now he knew what these eyes of hers reminded him of; a falconer’s beast, a trained assassin with no remorse.

An assassin – yet the kind that could face insurmountable foes in open combat and prevail.

“You know, Viscount… I quite enjoy the fragrance of your cologne.” The sudden swerve in conversation threw him off; Jean-Jacques stumbled a little in their dance. She kept him up with perfect poise. “Louise was so kind to introduce me. Liverpool Valley, yes? Albionian import.”

“...w-what of it?”

“The shipments to Tristain – or other countries on the continent – have stopped about a year and a half back, when the Reconquista first reared out.” She mulled that information over, scanning him for a reaction. “Even accounting for those merchants who would cut and run with as much of their wares as they could, you would not have enough to last you for that time – let alone smell of a freshly used batch.” Wardes’ stone mask cracked a bit.

“That… that doesn’t prove anything. You could manufacture it anywhere else, g-given the circumstances…”

“Really? Because Louise was kind enough to check that for me as well. Did you know that there are exactly two manufactures on the continent that produce Albionian perfumes? One is in Syracuse, at the southern edge of Romalia. That one doesn’t export to Tristain and Gallia. The other is in Dresden, Germania; and it’s an even more local affair that doesn’t leave the borders of their margravate.”

“You are grasping at straws, Mademoiselle Igawa.” He stressed, feeling his jaw tighten with growing indignation. “You might have extraordinary privileges, but I will not take this slander lightly.”

“I would not dare come at you with mere hints.” A rustle of paper came just as she disconnected from him, resting against the balcony’s railing. The thought of dashing in, pushing her off… no, that would just put him in direr straits… “So I have this document we found on Madam de Saxe-Gotha; directives for Fouquet of the Crumbling Earth, signed W.; complete with physical specifications of a vault, the enchantments around it, how the Staff of Destruction looks like… that kind of information is privy only to the Academy administration and to the highest echelons of the Crown.” Wardes’ mask cracked further; he failed to resist grinding his teeth.

“I am a knight in the employ of Her Majesty, but only that…”

“But it would be easy for you to gather such information. If you were to, say, ingratiate yourself to the Royal Messenger – or simply copy the relevant info. Lovely handwriting, by the way. Looks very good on a heartfelt love letter, too.” Igawa produced another piece of paper; an envelope dedicated to “my darling Louise”. “And it just so happens, both of them have that Liverpool fragrance on them.”

…

Wardes slowly straightened back up from the earlier hunched-over position. If Louise already informed Henrietta, then he truly had no prayer left but to try and escape, somehow. “So what happens now?” He asked in a dead tone, staring at those damnable strands of hair as if they were a demon’s horns.

“Now you will surrender and we will go from there.” Of course. The hidden “or else” in that sentence needed no further elaboration. Of course, Wardes planned not to make it easy for the woman. He could draw his sword-wand in time, and he was a Square mage with godly power of thunder and lightning at his fingertips. Few could match him in this kingdom and Fouquet, for all her ingenuity, was a mere thief who let her golems fight for her.

He was a warrior, with great destiny ahead of him. “But if you surrender, you will live – and you might even escape punishment. All we ask for—“

He drew it in a single fluid motion, the tips of the lightning whip already crackling in front of the blade. All she did was narrow her eyes at him, what little warmth in them gone as she—

...strange. He dropped his sword, the thin blade clattering on the stone floor. Oh. Must have been the length of a hairstick going straight through his palm. Wardes’ brain connected the dots faster than his body did, his eyes widening as he clutched his hand with a hiss; more incensed than hurt. The woman before him had her hair now undone in a messy wave – with another hairstick in her hand. “...the next one will go between your eyes.” She cautioned him in an even tone.

“Kh… you… you think I’ll believe you? That talk about escaping punishment? For things I’ve done? For things I’ve planned to do?” Her lips quirked slightly.

“If it were up to me, you would bleed out in your bed, none the wiser. It would be a child’s play. However, Louise vouched for you – and I am but a familiar.”

“How… how in Brimir’s beard could you outpace me like that?”

“My world is full of opportunistic little men like you, thinking themselves above the consequences and ruling in their little playgrounds. But you see, Viscount of Wardes… I am a Taimanin. Putting such men in their place is what we do for a living. You are nowhere near the fastest I’ve met.”

A clang of armor behind him altered Wardes to the presence of others, followed by an iron grip on his shoulder. “Viscount of Wardes… why don’t you step over with us for a spell?” The smug voice of Henrietta’s bodyguard rang out near his ear. He turned his head, stiffly, seeing a few of the Musketeer Corps moving around to escort him for the imminent… conversation.

He also spotted Louise, and a mixture of emotions running on her face, even as she stood by that damnable Asagi Igawa, curse her and her medusa eyes! His near-wife looked upon him as a pitiable creature, even as he was escorted away by the Musketeers.

And on his way out, the Taimanin offered him a smug smile of her own. “Good dancing, Viscount.”

The shattered stone mask came with expletives that would not be out of place among the hardiest of Gallian sailors.

Chapter Text

“No, absolutely not!”

“Miss Vallière, I insist. You cannot leave a summoned creature be and not bind it.” There was pity and apprehension in Professor Colbert’s voice, even as he gestured towards the humanoid figure in the circle. Louise gnashed her teeth, watching the unholy monster that answered her call; so simple and so terrifying in its simplicity and wickedness. What did it say of her if she summoned something like this…?

“This is an undead, Professor. Y-you expect me to—“

“These are the rules.” An uncomfortable silence permeated through the court. The onlookers, who previously mocked her for the explosion that the summoning rite caused, remained eerily silent, except for hushed whispers among them. “...I’m sorry.”

…

Louise swallowed the bile crawling up her throat and slowly approached the circle she vacanted in a hurry when she finally appraised the cursed form of her… familiar. It was a simple form of an undead; a skeleton of a man picked clean of any tissue. Blood still seeped from its mouth, somehow; inexhaustible despite a lack of organs to draw it from. Faint light shone from the eyesockets as it hefted its armaments – a curved sword covered in old grime and gore, and a golden round shield – warily. In its rudimentary understanding, it seemed to recognize it was not in danger however, and lowered the weapons after a moment, regarding the small creature in front of it.

“...Pentagon of the Five Elemental Powers, bless this humble being and…” Louise swallowed, her mouth growing uncomfortably dry. “make it… my familiar.” She had to kiss this thing on the lips. This dead man, this unholy creature, this blood-filled time-rotten cavity of a skull—

“Give us some sugar, Zero!” Someone mock-cheered from the crowd, followed by an unmistakable stench of someone’s hair burning and the agitated screaming that came about shortly after. Louise, honestly, could not care at this point. This was her Familiar; this was the Founder’s providence.

As she spat on the ground after the deed is done, the little purple box hovering nearby the skeleton with a number “1” in it felt almost like an afterthought.

----

The skeleton was given no name, and its new master wanted nothing to do with it. Thus, it was free to do its own thing.

Well, not really. Master insisted that it does not bother anyone or anything, and ideally just makes itself scarce from before her eyes. Perhaps Master sought a more powerful undead, only to be provided with this measly form? The skeleton couldn’t say it was upset about the development; it was to serve and if its Master’s wish was to idle uselessly, then that was what it was going to do.

Necromancy usually was relegated to the domain of the necromancer; the undead at a level as lowly as this humble skeleton were not capable of independent thought. They were servitors; simple, effective, good in numbers. The numbers… those were replenished through combat, of course. Every fallen enemy, no matter their nature, would be revived as another skeleton. The effect was akin to a snowball starting at the tip of the mountain and then growing to gargantuan proportions by the time it rolled off.

How could a skeleton get more powerful if its master forbade it from fighting and killing others?

Obviously, this particular necromantic ritual seemed… different. The runes that etched themselves on its right ulna and radius shone with a strange light. Holy purpose was written in this word, this “Gandálfr”, but it didn’t hurt it. Curious. The skeleton understood this rune to be a source of power; to master any weapon… but it was still a single skeleton. It could give trouble to a fighter or two, but it seemed most around here – and past the walls of the Academy – were mages and their beasts; formidable foes all around.

As it ambled through the courtyard at night, making sure to give the large familiars – particularly that dragon and that salamander – a wide berth, something crunched under its foot. An unfortunate beetle perished underneath, its minuscule guts decorating the snow white bone with the ugly yellowish color. A little ping resounded in the skeleton’s mind – and suddenly one skeleton housed two. This was a familiar feeling, but to increase a number with such an inconsequential creature? It didn’t even mean to do it!

...perhaps this beetle was someone’s familiar? And that was why the power grew? To test this theory, it browsed the bushes inexpertly, eventually finding a spider trying to climb it. The skeleton placed it in a visible spot, and then ran it through with the tip of the sword.

DING!

…

Ingenious.

----

“Familiar… why is that number “20” now?”

The skeleton played dumb with a cheerful shrug. Master’s eyes narrowed dangerously low. “...if someone’s hair is in the wrong order, I will give you up to Professor Colbert for incineration.” The skeleton could not portray its worry about that statement; instead it merely shifted from one foot to the other, then pointed at the ground, towards the insects scurrying about in the grass. Master’s eyes followed suit. “...you mean to tell me you’ve been killing bugs all night.”

The skeleton nodded – and offered a reassuring thumbs-up, after it fiddled enough with the shield to take it off. The pink-haired Master groaned, running a hand over her face. “That’s not… what does that number even mean, actually?” Oh. Have they not established it? Guess Master must have been a novice necromancer.

To illustrate, the skeleton drew a crude facsimile of its own skull. Master followed the movements of its bony finger with a frown, rubbing her chin thoughtfully. Then, the skeleton added an “x”, and a number of 20 next to the skull. For its rudimentary understanding of the situation, it dared to say it wasn’t the worst artist in the world.

The small human creature mulled over this riddle for a moment, brows furrowing. “So you mean to tell me that… somehow, there are nineteen more souls trapped inside that skeleton. From you killing random insects through the night, somehow.” It wasn’t the most logical conclusion, but had it been twenty skeletons running around in separate places, someone would have taken notice before long. “So what does that mean, specifically?”

The skeleton was happy to hear that question, gesturing towards a nearby rock as it approached it with the sword drawn. It was the size of a small dragon, standing there in the middle of the court. As far as Louise recalled, it got to remain here because no one used this particular space in the Academy. Was it because of its proximity to the Void Tower? Or was it something else? She didn’t think much of it; now at least the rock could be used as a guinea pig for this experiment the skeleton planned to showcase her.

The sword it wielded was curved, smooth, shining slightly with a bluish sheen. Well-made for a weapon of a disposable undead fighter – but Louise couldn’t think of any sword able to cut through a raw rock. Weapons with enchantments, presumably – but you would be better off just using magic to cut such a rock open if there was a need for it.

It swung, and the blade cut into the rock as if it was cutting a piece of paper. Not very far – but that it did had Louise blinking with disbelief. “...Founder’s beard. Are you… that equation!” She pointed at the little drawing the skeleton did earlier. “Does that mean each tick up in that number… it magnifies your strength?”

The skeleton stopped to think, as much as it could. It opted to add to the drawing by applying basic maths. A skeleton head + a skeleton head + a skeleton head, ellipsis.

“...oh thank heavens. For a moment I thought each uptick would multiply the power.” Somehow, its Master seemed happy to know the necromantic processes weren’t as potent as she imagined them to be. The skeleton couldn’t imagine why she would think that. “...alright. I suppose this is something I can allow you to do – but no killing anything larger than a spider. I won’t have you hunting down other people’s familiars or worse…”

----

There was a pointed exception to that rule – hostiles who wished to do ill to its Master.

The skeleton was not one for complicated battle maneuvers or tactics. It was going to go where its Master wanted, and it was going to swing a sword the same way as it always did. All that changed was the number.

That was the case for the Fouquet of the Crumbling Earth and her siege golem. One hundred and five skeletons-in-a-skeleton met the audacious larcenist in battle. The giant earthen fist slammed into it – but whether because it got lucky or because the thief decided to disregard a lone skeleton as a threat and did not have the golem put its back in the strike, only about twenty or thirty of them perished. The remaining ones struck, and lopped the unassailable siege golem’s arm right off. The thief surrendered, dumbstruck by the spectacle.

That was also the case for the treacherous Viscount of Wardes and his griffon. Two hundred three skeletons met him atop an airship, protecting Prince Wales from a surprise attack with its own chest. Er, ribcage. Fifty two parted with this earth before the Tudor monarch struck back with a wind lash and quartered the traitor into pieces. Wales vowed that a lone skeleton warrior shall become a part of a Tudor crest; a grim protector fighting for the good of the peoples.

That was the case for the incensed Lagdorian Spirit, as well. Six hundred eighty seven skeletons faced the powerful water elemental responsible for flooding the Montmorency estate and land. Supposedly, Reconquista agents stole one of its precious possessions. The skeleton could not hope to recover it, and so intervened when the elemental looked poised to do harm to its Master. The powerful water spirit shattered into droplets, to a horrified shriek of the Montmorency person who brought them here in the first place.

Little by little, foes that its Master encountered during her strange adventures met the unassuming power of the skeleton.

Kings. Armies. Monsters. Elves.

World-ending ancient dragons.

The skeleton – all forty thousand seven hundred and fifty one of him – faced the gargantuan creature from beyond the dawn of time, a precursor of all dragons, a calamity in a behemoth’s powerful body. The combined forces of Helkeginian nations, Germanian corps, and the elven assistants saw it destroy the forces of Romalia in a single swoop; culminating in eating Pope St. Aegis and using his power as a Void Mage to erect a barrier to end all barriers; a shield that could repel all spells, no matter how powerful.

But a skeleton was not a spell. It lived thanks to one, and so its number dropped rapidly once it was launched towards the skull of the creature, ready to sink its weathered old sword in its reptilian cranium. It was to serve. This was the greatest enemy it would face in its unlife. There was no creature more powerful and majestic in all of Helkeginia – possibly not even in the olden lands of Enroth and Antagarich.

It thought, breaching the barrier with ease, of those strange living creatures it met along the way: not just its Master, but also the Master’s strange family, and the princess, and prince Wales (he was the one who sent it so elegantly through the air), and the half-elf lady, and the elves, and that loud Germanian man with an iron hand hollering crass words of encouragement after the skeleton.“Schnitt du es in Stücke und serviert du es mit Eis!”, he called.

Whatever that meant, the skeleton opted to make good on it anyway. It landed on top of the Ancient Dragon’s head… and it swung.

As it always did.

Chapter Text

Louise was tired.

Not merely exhausted, no; her very essence felt like it was escaping with each resigned breath she took. She could see it; little ghostly apparitions of self screaming and wailing as they are deprived of their mortal coil. A little more, and she might run out due to the sheer intake of incredulity she’s been receiving recently. And all of this, ironically, because her spell finally went and succeeded for once.

She had a familiar – he just so happened to be completely disconnected from reality.

Not just a mere familiar, too, which compounded the issue. Had it been a beast of some kind, then perhaps this situation could have been avoided. Of course, Louise did not dare imagine a beast that pretends to be another kind of creature entirely, like a cat barking. In case of magical beings like dragons or beholders, one could never be too careful. But what one could do if the familiar was fully sapient (already a rarity in itself!), and insistently claiming he was something he was not?

Or rather, he wasn’t something he was. Because, and anyone with eyes could tell, her familiar was a vampire.

The bestiary of Helkeginia included a variety of creatures; beasts and humanoids, or bestial humanoids. Vampires were the closest to an ordinary man in appearance (barring elves, of course, but that wasn’t something one should say in a civilized company); indistinguishable without showing those telltale fangs of theirs. Even magic could not offer an out here; vampires wielded powerful magic of the Firstborn, using it to obscure their identities and menace communities. They were few in number, but each of them was a formidable foe to even Square-tiered mages; let alone commoners who still thought throwing garlic at the vampire would do something.

...but… there were some stereotypes, nourished through infantile pulp fiction read by the burghers, and through the olden folk tales. A vampire of myth is a beautiful man or woman, with statuesque features – but pale like death, with raven-black hair. His eyes cast paralyzing suggestions as he masquerades as an eccentric noble; dressed immaculately, with a cravat and a long mantle. He can turn into a cloud of bats and walk upside down and on walls with no issue; some legends even reported more esoteric powers, like turning into strange monstrosities, half-bat, half-man. Sunlight would usually hold them at bay, but the few extraordinary lords – nosferatu, they called them – of these creatures could resist even that. One such legendary vampire was known as the Impaler; Vlad Tepes of Wallachia, a small principality in Germania.

Her familiar fit the entire description, and his name was Vlad. And he was, quote, not a vampire, unquote, despite all evidence to the contrary.

“Vallière!” Louise looked up from her book, watching an incensed Montmorency stomp over to her location. She was dragging along some sorry shape of a man with her – Guiche’s friend whose name escaped the pinkette at the moment. Malvorne? Machiavelli? “I demand that you put a leash on your bloodsucker this instant!”

“Who, Vlad? Don’t you know he’s not a vampire?” She replied with a tired question. A bad decision; Monmon’s face only lit up in further indignation. “...did he bite Common Cold?”

“Noooo…” Common Cold (actually Windward, but Louise’s brain was running low today) shook his head. “I just…”

“No, thank the Founder.” Montmorency’s face softened as she regarded Guiche’s second banana with a sigh. “But Malicorne still went into a panic attack because of your ghoul walking on the ceiling! He’s not the only one, too! One of the maids had to be carted over to the infirmary.”

“Well, what do you expect me to do?”

“I don’t know, anything!” Monmon threw her hands up into the air. “You’re his Master, Brimirdamnit!”

“That’s all well and good, but where is Guiche?” The sudden swerve in the conversation hit the blonde girl between the eyes. Louise raised an eyebrow, eyes moving towards Malicorne for answers. “...oh. I see.”

“You don’t see—“

“...it’s fine, Monmon, it’s fine.” If anyone were to faint from fear, it would probably be Guiche, wouldn’t it? No offense to him, of course; this situation was strange enough. “...alright. I’ll see about talking with him.”

----

Her familiar saw fit to move into the abandoned Void Tower. Perhaps for the aesthetic; Louise could not be bothered to learn the details.

...also, at some point the damnable vampire set up a pipe organ, which he was happy to play at any convenience. At least he was courteous enough to set up soundproof barriers around the tower, so that the Academy didn’t have to suffer alongside him. Of course, Louise couldn’t help but be wary; organs were one thing, but what if he used the barrier for something less scrupulous, too…?

“Ah, young Master! Make yourself at home!” For once, Vlad wasn’t playing the organ, but instead preening to the ornate mirror – that didn’t cast his reflection, of course. “I am in dire need of someone educated to talk with!”

“Are you? I’m not the only student around here. Or you could turn to one of the professors.” Vlad scoffed, and turned with a flourish of his cape – he had dramatics down to a science, Louise had to admit.

“On the contrary, young Master! I keep being referred to as a “bloodsucker”, an “undead”, a “vampire”… can you believe such nonsense? I, a vampire?” Louise stared, her eyes slowly turning foggy from incredulity. She’s learned quickly enough that the best way to handle her familiar was to let him believe whatever he wanted to believe; for all of his antics, he seemed harmless enough, and no one reported any sudden blood loss (yet). Of course, her student body would give her grief over it, but what else could she do? Brain this man with something heavy and hope the blunt force trauma would put him back in order?

“I have no idea what makes them say that.” Louise replied in a flat tone.

“Exactly! It’s like they think I’m a vampire or something!” Were Louise aware that she was a fictional character in a fanfic, she would have most likely turned her tired eyes to the metaphorical camera where the readers observed the situation. As it was however, she could only shrug and sigh.

“Was it a recurring issue back home?” Vlad pondered the answer, humming to himself as he finally stopped (pretending?) preening to the mirror and regarded her.

“Not quite as much; I prefer the company of people less verbose than your peers. Still… I could see their eyes on me from time to time, as if they were pondering: is Vlad really not a vampire?”

“You mean, is he a vampire?”

“I am a respected teacher at an academy of magic, young lady! I cannot possibly be a vampire!” Louise’s eyebrow rose. That was a new nugget of information she gleamed from her bothersome familiar. He, an educator? Guess stranger things have happened; not all teachers could be as respectable as Professor Colbert or Miss Chevreuse…

“I wasn’t aware. You don’t talk much about yourself, so…”

“Ah, young lady, I would be happy to regale you with the tales of Castle Aldrheim.” Vlad smiled, nodding to himself. “That beautiful place, very gothic – ‘twas where the Order of Magick had its headquarters, see.” And the name even felt very Helkeginian, to boot. Of course, the pinkette had never heard of such an order – there was no need for organizations like these in Brimiric Nations, where magic was the sign of nobility and thus rulership – but the name was convincing enough. Vlad did say he came from another world entirely, but…

“What’s it like? This Order, I mean.”

“Oh, terrible.” Louise blinked. That certainly was a change of tone. “Full of bothersome old coots reminiscing of their glory days and how they saved the world—“

“T-that’s…!—“

“...while the world still had to be saved!” Vlad flourished with his cape for a dramatic effect. “For you see, young Master, there is no such day when the world does not need saving. It’s a bit of a bothersome thing to do, of course – but it always falls down on the young and uniquely-colored wizards to do so before they don boring robes and forever become but secondary characters to the tale of the universe at large.”

Louise stared, blinking and trying to comprehend the… curious wording from her Familiar. “...uniquely-colored how?”

“Oh, you know; their robes were in primary colors. Most of them, at least.” Vlad nodded again, gleeful to ignore Louise’s increasing confusion.

----

Vlad’s curious powers have come in handy on occasion.

Other than his (not) vampiric abilities, he was a potent mage himself, as befitting an ancient creature of darkness moonlighting as a teacher in an academy of magic (allegedly). Whether he was a real educator or not, his skill could not be questioned.

Of course, Louise couldn’t really think much of it at the time, seeing what had just happened. “Bleigh! We are unharmed!” Vlad announced proudly. The two of them had just teleported off the airship rapidly descending into the waters between Albion and the continent. The still warm body of Prince Wales was likely on deck, together with the rest of the crewmen treacherously killed by Louise’s to-be-husband, Jean-Jacques Francis de Wardes. She thought him a man of character and integrity, but he turned out to be a traitorous snake on Reconquista’s payroll.

But… they were unharmed. Yes. “Why didn’t you do something sooner?!” Louise demanded in a cracking voice. “We could have at least save Prince Wales from… my betrothed… oh, Brimir’s fucking balls!” She kicked at the nearby tree in frustration, and promptly regretted it; pain pulsed from her toes and into the rest of her foot as she balanced on one leg with a hiss. Vlad shot her a confused look.

“I am a mage, not a mind-reader. How should I have expected this dastardly betrayal?”

“You’re a Brimirdamned vampire! Can’t you read minds?!” Her mounting frustration exploded in an incensed shout. Vlad scoffed. The airship crashed into the water. It would take some time before it sunk – the Windstones would keep it up for a time.

“This again? How many times must I—“

“You are a vampire! You don’t reflect in a mirror! You walk on walls and ceilings! You even recoiled when Montmorency threw garlic at you, Brimir’s balls!”

“To be fair, I’m just not a fan of garlic.” Louise stared, feeling her eyelids twitch and her hand itch to reach for her wand and blast this “not-vampire” to kingdom come. Bah, if only she could do such a thing… her anger abated in an instant. She deflated like a broken balloon.

“I hope you understand that you brought this world a step closer to an all-out conflict today.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time… well, not directly, but you see—“

Someone nearby stepped on a dry branch. The two mages, Master and Familiar, swerved to face the unknown threat; Louise with her wand drawn (for all good it would do to her), and Vlad with a dramatic cape flourish. The woman hiding behind the old tree shrunk behind the log, with only her golden hair and a pair of knife-shaped ears peeking from behind.

Louise’s face twitched. An elf. Here, in this godforsaken ass-end of Albion! Could things get any worse?!

----

The girl (her name was Tiffania) was only a half-elf. Didn’t exactly make Louise’s mood better.

Furthermore, the girl was nothing like any elf the pinkette was aware of – or rather, she was nowhere close to an average Helkeginian’s understanding of what elves were; haughty, terrifying demonspawn that occupied the Holy Lands and sought to erase mankind from existence. No, Tiffania was shy, demure even; soft-spoken, of sisterly warmth that reminded Louise of Cattleya.

She also had a pair of balloons strapped to her chest, not even deigning to be svelte and limber like ordinary elves were.

The strangeness didn’t stop there; Tiffania ran an orphanage in the middle of these woods, taking care of children displaced by the civil war. She had a helper about Louise’s age; an easy-going boy in blue called Saito (what a strange name) that made no bones about the fact that he very much enjoyed living with the well-endowed demonspawn.

Vlad, meanwhile, was not a vampire; a fact he insistently stressed to the children that crowded him despite Tiffania’s warnings. “Young ones, though I may look and speak like a vampire, you must think otherwise. How else would I walk in sunlight?” At least he was willing to take it easy on the kids; they didn’t need to know too much about the primal sunwalkers.

“So what’s your story?” Saito asked from behind his mug of herbal tea. “A student from Tristain doesn’t just show up in the middle of Albion out of nowhere; let alone with Dracula over there.” Louise huffed, mulling over what to say.

“It is a matter of Tristanian crown. That’s all I can say right now.”

“From what Tiffa told me, royalists don’t have it easy here.”

“Anyone with eyes could have told you that.” Saito’s expression turned contemplative as he and the half-elf exchanged glances.

“Y-you probably want to go back home then?” Tiffania posited quietly. In the background, one of the children got tangled up in Vlad’s cape.

“What, can you transport us back with your elf magic?” Louise sneered, more tiredly than angrily. The blonde still shrunk in her spot.

“Hey, you don’t have to be an ass about it.” Saito countered with a frown, heedless of an incensed look Louise gave him. “I thought your vampire buddy—“

“Not a vampire, young man!”

“I thought your not-a-vampire buddy can teleport.”

“That I can, but not over such long distances.” Vlad explained once he finally extricated the hapless child from the confines of his cape – and then had to quickly stop another one from following in its peer’s footsteps. “Perhaps were I on my own, but not with another person in tow.”

“We might be able to help with that.”

“S-saito, is that really a good idea? Last time was—“

“I’m sure we’ll figure it out. Helps that it won’t be just me casting a spell. I think. It’s still a bit new to me.”

“Oho? Now you have my attention, fellow Familiar. Please, do tell.” Vlad approached the table. Louise blinked. Fellow what?

“Yeah, it’s a kind of a power, I guess it’s familiar now. I have these fancy runes here…” Here he rolled up the sleeve of his jacket. They glowed not unlike Vlad’s, although the runes were different. What did it say…? Lífþrasir… “From what Tiffa told me, I can use my lifeforce to enhance existing spells – so I guess if you were to teleport, I could give you a boost.”

“Last time he did that, he almost killed himself with it.” Tiffania’s cheeks pushed up in a pout. “I was trying to heal him, and here he was, boosting my healing spell with his own lifeforce…” Louise blinked, then snorted, failing to remain composed. How was that for an ironic death?

“Well, the good news is, we’re not going to Tristain. Yet, anyway.” Vlad’s cheerful admission threw Louise – and the others – off.

“What do you mean? We have to report the failure of our mission to the pri-I mean, to the superior!” Something sinister flashed across the not-vampire’s expression.

“Young Master, fellow Familiar, honored álfr… today, we were doublecrossed by someone we thought we – young lady Louise here – can trust. This calls for vengeance – and you may call me a vampire if we shall not right our wrongs by the end of today.”

“Dude, you are totally a vampire.” Saito shook his head with a laugh before he looked towards Tiffania. The half-elf smiled and nodded, and then giggled when she received a kiss to the temple for it. Louise forced herself to keep a straight face. “Where to, then?”

“Before we parted with Mr. Wardes, I was able to leave a tracker on his person; a faint magic residue, if you will. Apparently, he is at this quaint little town of Newcastle, twenty something kilometers from here…”

----

J ean-Jacques Francis de Wardes wouldn’t call himself a gambler.

Maneuvering around Louise’s newfound familiar – a vampire with powerful Firstborn magic – was tricky on the face of it; any reckless step could possibly endanger him, and the mission by proxy. The last thing he wanted was to find himself on the business end of some bloodsucker’s fangs. Thus, Fouquet’s mission at the Academy was altered; she was to report just what kind of a man this “Vlad” was.

Whimsical and living in his own little world, was the report. Powerful, yes, but largely disinterested in political matters at hand. Were he to pick between a powerful world-changing play and the safety of his Master, he would doubtlessly pick the latter. Thus, Wardes opted to disable the ship before making a run for it after his daring assassination of Prince Wales; the vampire would not give chase if he had to take care of saving Louise first.

Now the two of them were in some backwoods – but Wardes trusted the bothersome bloodsucker to keep Louise alive. It was unfortunate she got tangled up in Henrietta’s outlandish politicking, but Jean-Jacques did not wish the pinkette ill. In a better world, he would be happy to be her husband… but, alas, higher purpose beckoned. Some of it crumpled against his chest pocket as he saluted the local Reconquista agent sent here to retrieve the compromising letter from him. Cromwell’s official – a mousy man in red – had some security detail; a score of hardened men-at-arms; deserters and mercenaries. Wardes was trustful in his desire to see Reconquista succeed, but it seemed his old allegiances had Cromwell hold him at an arm’s length. How bothersome.

“As promised, a proof of illicit romance between late Prince Wales and Henrietta de Tristain.” He saluted with the envelope, still bearing the Tudor seal on it. The mousy man flicked his mustache, not unlike a particularly hairy rodent.

“You killed the brat then? Everyone with him?”

“Yes, mercilessly.” Wardes lied without a second thought. Why think about something that couldn’t possibly bite him in the behind?

“On the contrary, our treacherous friend! Bleigh!” The men present looked up sharply to see a distinctly vampiric presence descend onto a nearby roof, gliding with his cape like some kind of a night scare. Accompanying him was a less impressive but no less authoritative student from the Tristain Academy of Magic with an unmistakable pinkness of her hair, clinging to her showboating Familiar for dear life.

Vlad landed in perfect balance on top of the rooftop, letting Louise extricate herself from his cape and cling to the rooftop – and cast glares at Wardes while doing so. The treacherous Griffon Knight’s face twitched behind his facial hair. “Gentlemen, it is sad to say that you are dealing with a coward and a scoundrel – though I suspect you hired said scoundrel in the first place, and so are less deserving of sympathy—“

To the mousy man’s credit, he was less stupefied by the spectacle than Wardes, merely gesturing towards Vlad with an annoyed grunt. His security detail had crossbows at the ready – and they knew how to fire them. A number of belts struck the man on the rooftop in rapid succession… and merely bounced off him as if he was made of raw metal. Louise could see from up close: her Familiar set up a magic shield around his body.

“And so, I shall take you all to the early grave. ‘tis nothing personal.” Vlad descended from the rooftop – and before long, the Reconquista entourage was reduced to zero. Hardy mercenaries and their now-stupefied leader fell like wheat to the reaper between the elegant rapier Vlad had in one hand, and crackling Firstborn fury in the other. Wardes did not wait to see when was his turn – and so did not see Louise throwing out a “fireball” that knocked him right on his tush and deprived him of his hat. His sword-wand too clattered out of his hand.

Vlad approached the hapless traitor knight with a smirk. “An excellent explosion spell, young Master!” He called out to Louise.

“It was meant to be a fireball, damnit!”

“Well, the result is all the same!” Thus, the letter changed its owner once more. “Now, before Nifleheim takes you, I shall let you take a secret to the grave. Feast your ears, Jean-Jacques de Wardes!” Vlad lowered his tone to a conspirator’s whisper. “I am a vampire.”

Wardes stared, watching as Vlad slowly straightened back up, and prepared to plunge his rapier right through his heart – and felt his face twitch even further . “...of bloody fucking course you are!”

Such were Jean-Jacques Francis’ last words.

Chapter Text

JUVENILE BRAIN OF A PATRIOT: Wakey wakey, you miserable little thing. Today is a big day ahead of you.

1. Try and ignore your own brain.

2. “No it’s not.”

3. “I don’t know what you mean.”

JUVENILE BRAIN OF A PATRIOT: Of course you do, little duchess. You know what today is. It’s the day of failure. The day of your utter humiliation as a noble and a human being. Congratulations, Louise; you’re set to fall.

VOLITION: No, you are so much more than that. And even if you do hit the ground, all that is left is to go up.

PAIN THRESHOLD [easy, failure]: How many times can we even do this? It’s exhausting.

1. “I’m sure it won’t be that bad…”

2. “Thanks, brain; glad to know you’re on my team.”

JUVENILE BRAIN OF A PATRIOT: Always a pleasure, Louise. Watching you squirm your way through the year has been a delight – but all good things must come to an end. Today, you’re leaving the Academy behind; forever a talentless Zero.

[DAMAGED MORALE]

DEVELOPING LIMBIC SYSTEM: All that’s left to do is to get ready for the day. Look pretty for your social execution, Louise.

ENDURANCE [medium, failure]: It really feels like an execution. You might just drop dead from shame if the summoning doesn’t succeed.

MAGIC THEORY [challenging, success]: The pentagram for summoning is a design that dates back to the Founder’s students. If anything can resist your ineptitude, it would be that.

1. Turn in your bed.

2. Crack your eyes open.

3. Get up, eyes still closed.

----

Having assembled your student uniform and done all the necessary toiletries, you are ready to begin your day at the Tristain Academy of Magic. Yet another day. A normal day.

REVERIE [easy, success]: Perhaps the very last one… a moment forever etched in time, like an an ancient insect preserved in amber.

Of course, that doesn’t last.

GERMANIAN TART: “Oh Louiiiiise...~” The all-too-familiar presence of Kirche Frederica Augusta von Anhalt-Zerbst announces herself with the same mocking tone she’s used for what feels like an eternity.

PERCEPTION (Smell) [easy, success]: Looks like she put on her “festive” perfume today; the one with the aroma of sandalwood and vanilla mixed together.

LORE [medium, success]: That is a perfume favored by the ladies of House Anhalt-Zerbst, the famed “Der Fall des Sieges”. It’s a relatively recent invention by the enterprising manufactures in Wiebe, Duchy Hohenzolern – yet it found its way into the good graces of most Germanian and Albionian nobles in so short a time.

1. Walk forward, pretending you haven’t heard her.

2. Turn to face her and get this farce over with.

GERMANIAN TART: The dark-skinned redhead tuts at you, mock-disapprovingly. “Now, what’s with that killing glare, Zero? And here I am, trying to be nice to you despite everything~” She is not alone; her ever-present companion, the quiet bluenette from Gallia, accompanies her without a peep.

GALLIAN BOOKWORM: As she looks up from her book to meet your gaze, she offers a simple nod and a hum.

EMPATHY [easy, success]: An expression of both pity and an apology for her overbearing friend.

HALF-LIGHT [trivial, success]: Bullshit it’s an apology. She’s as complicit in all of this as the others; she just doesn’t say it out loud.

1. Try and be civil.

2. “What do you want, Zerbst?”

3. “The hell do you want, Zerbst?”

Civil? With Kirche von Anhalt-Zerbst? What, do pigs fly too?

NOBLESSE OBLIGE [challenging, success]: You are better than this, getting tangled up in insignificant spats. She’s trying to rile you up due to the bad blood between your families. That’s all there is to it.

HALF-LIGHT [medium, failure]: ...this feels wrong, agreeing with you.

COMPOSURE [easy, success]: Remember the three magic words, young Vallière. You’ve got this.

1. [Savoir Vivre – 11 (Challenging)] Turn that frown upside down.

2. “Alright, Kirche – what do you want?”

3. “Thanks for the courtesy, Zerbst.”

[1] [1] [critical failure]

SAVOIR VIVRE: In theory, this should be easy enough. It’s just a matter of relaxing your muscles the right way, and then moving the corners of your lips up. A smile. You know how to smile, don’t you? You’ve done this before.

And yet, as you feel your face straining like a piece of cloth that’s too taut, you can already feel you’ve failed at even that – although Zerbst’s reaction is more than telling.

PERCEPTION (sight) [Easy, success]: Even Tabitha’s eyes widen ever so slightly behind her spectacles.

EMPATHY [Trivial, success]: This might be the most emotive you’ve ever seen her.

GERMANIAN TART: “...Vallière… what on earth are you doing?” She sounds quite a bit less sure of herself, as if she was not regarding her schoolmate, but rather some creature of myth and legends.

1. “What does it look like, Zerbst?”

2. “I’m smiling. This is my smiling face.”

3. Say nothing and continue with your totally earnest smile.

GERMANIAN TART: “I…” She clears her throat, clearly losing her thread for a moment. “I’ll leave you to it then.” Then she quickly excuses herself, trying very hard not to run as if the dead chased her. The bespectacled bookworm lingers around, approaching you with a furrowed brow to appraise your ghoulish rictus grin.

PAIN THRESHOLD [medium, failure]: ...it really hurts.

[DAMAGED HEALTH]

GALLIAN BOOKWORM: You drop your “smile”, resisting an urge to hide your face in your face. You can feel her reach out and gently pat your shoulder. “Good effort.” She drones out in an unnervingly flat monotone. “You okay?”

EMPATHY [challenging, failure]: It’s hard to say whether she truly cares or is just paying lip service to you now that you’ve made a complete fool out of yourself.

1. “Peachy.”

2. “Like I should be buried in the earth.”

3. “No.”

GALLIAN BOOKWORM: She regards you in silence for a few more moments before her hand, smaller than even yours, rubs your shoulder reassuringly. “Good luck.” With another nod, she departs; likely to try and calm Zerbst down.

REACTION SPEED [easy, success]: She must have meant the Springtime Familiar Summoning.

APPLICATION [trivial, success]: Yeah… you’ll need some luck, alright.

----

The crowd gathered in the court is all the students eligible for the summoning. Most of them you know at least in passing; some you wish you knew much less. Despite your dubious reputation, most of your peers seem content to leave you be, treating you like air, as if you weren’t even there.

AUTHORITY [easy, success]: You’re still their peer (and a duchess); you deserve some Brimirdamned respect.

HALF-LIGHT [trivial, success]: No. The less time they spend paying attention to you, the less miserable this day is going to be. Savor this moment; that’s a rarity.

PROF. COLBERT: The balding wizard with spectacles presiding over today’s ritual steps forward; Jean Colbert, the infamous “Flame Serpent”. It’s hard to believe that such a peaceful-looking man comes with such storied history to earn a runic name like that.

HEROICS [easy, success]: “Storied” doesn’t come close to the sheer scale of accomplishments he and his powerful flames earned for the crown of Tristain back when His Majesty Henri de Tristain ruled. Peace be upon his august soul in Valhalla.

LORE [easy, success]: “Flame Serpent” is actually the name of Professor’s signature spell; a wyrm-like apparition that can scorch even the most dangerous of beasts off the face of the earth.

APPLICATION [medium, success]: Its power is abnormal, even for a confirmed Square-tier mage. It makes Zerbst’s fire spells look like sparks unable to light even a dry leaf.

PROF. COLBERT: “Students of Tristain Academy of Magic. It is my pleasure to welcome you to the Springtime Familiar Summoning.” He lets the three magic words hang in the air for a time, and then continues with a resolute tone. “You have been given an opportunity few possess in this world, even among your fellow mages: to summon and bind a Familiar.” He sets his eyes on you for the briefest of moments; not long enough for anyone to pick up on it.

MAGIC THEORY [trivial, success]: Thinking if you have what it takes to overcome your failings.

PROF. COLBERT: “A creature you will summon shall become your partner for life, through thick and thin. Caring for such a companion is an elemental duty of mages attempting the summoning. It does not matter if you summon a dragon or a mole, a toad or a salamander.” He pauses again, nodding to himself.

EMPATHY [medium, success]: Some would consider Professor Colbert a bleeding heart – but perhaps he is one of the few decent mages out there who truly do care for familiars’ wellbeing.

NOBLESSE OBLIGE [challenging, success]: In the distant Gallian county, a drunken baronet stops hunching over the corpse of his longtime companion, a little tabby cat named Powder. His possessions have been confiscated by the Gallian Crown, the edict of Joseph de Gallia pinned to the doors of his manor. Now, having chosen alcohol over camaraderie in this moment of despair, this baronet has nothing left but to enlist into the army.

Before long, his betters – more loyal to the ever-unpredictable Mad King – shall humiliate him by placing him at the helm of a plebeian division. Those plebes will murder him in his sleep and place the blame on errant orc tribes roaming the Gallian countryside.

AUTHORITY [medium, success]: Will those commoners suffer a fitting punishment? A sorry waste of skin or not, such a man is still a noble. He has some rights even at his lowest.

1. They should be punished with due diligence. Nobles are their betters.

2. It would be prudent to look the other way, this one time.

3. They did Gallia a service! Give them medals and recognition!

4. ...why the hell am I pondering political ramifications right now?! I don’t care either way.

PROF. COLBERT: As you discard the errant thought about some random baronet from the Southwest of Helkeginia, you realize that the near-entirety of the professor’s speech has went past you like a zipping manticore. “Now… who wants to go in first?” Only silence answers him; that’s understandable, considering what lies ahead. Most are apprehensive at first.

APPLICATION [trivial, success]: Especially a certain someone with pink hair.

COMPOSURE: [easy, success]: You could go first. Remember; three magic words.

PAIN THRESHOLD [easy, success]: Going first and failing right off the bat can blunt the impact of humiliation you’ll feel… possibly.

ENDURANCE [easy, success]: Gives you enough time to hoof it out of there before the realization can set in.

1. Remain silent and hide in a crowd.

2. Remain silent, but stay in place.

3. Approach slowly.

4. [Composure – 13 (Formidable)] Rule of Steel, Brimirdamnit.

5. How are the others taking to it?

PROF. COLBERT: A slight encouraging smile slowly gives way to a frown. “I suppose it is a bit of a daunting task. No matter; I’m sure we can get this going before long.”

NOBLESSE OBLIGE [medium, success]: He expected better of a new generation of nobles.

PROF. COLBERT: The bespectacled gaze finally sets upon a boy of formidable weight and a round demeanor, one Malicorne de Grandple. Predictably, Common Cold shrinks from the Professor’s look – but the die has been cast already. “Mister De Grandple, can I ask you to go first?”

COMMON COLD: To his credit, Malicorne doesn’t dally and approaches the summoning circle quickly enough. He’s but one of the many who will summon a Familiar today, but him being first makes this a particularly special occasion. He clears his throat and aims his wand towards the pentagram on the ground.

“I, Malicorne de Grandple, in the name of the great Four- Five Pentagon Powers...” A few chuckles from the audience, but he’s reoriented himself fast enough to be passed as mere nerves.

COMPOSURE [easy, success]: The way his voice didn’t stumble even when making that mistake makes it more convincing it was, well, a genuine mistake. Credit where it’s due.

HALF-LIGHT [easy, success]: You wouldn’t get this benefit of the doubt.

COMMON COLD: “Following my fate, I summon a familiar!” As he swings his wand, the Pentagram crackles with energy. The winds gather at the central point of the structure, howling in anticipation. The air becomes heavier, more difficult to breathe.

MAGIC THEORY [medium, success]: Some of it must come from Malicorne’s aptitude as a Wind Mage. The rest – pure ancient excellence. This design has been with Helkeginians since the beginning of history. You wear it as the pin to your mantle; as all nobles do. It is power and responsibility.

REVERIE [easy, success]: But those must exist in a balance, like a set of gem-encrusted scales. Otherwise, things can get out of control…

COMMON COLD: The spell finishes eventually, with a tear into the fabric of reality and a flash of blinding light. Before Malicorne and the onlookers, in the middle of the circle, stands a bushy owl, absentmindedly shaking its wings as it regards the new environment with surprising calmness. A successful summoning, and not a half-bad one.

AUTHORITY [medium, success]: ...why exactly is it so calm? It cannot be merely recognizing a superior being in front of it; it’s an animal, after all.

EQUESTRIANISM [medium, success]: It is true that animals fear us more than we fear them – but perhaps such is the wonder of this summoning, that it searches for the exceptional specimens like this one.

REVERIE [trivial, success]: It almost feels like their mind is not their own; lost in the aether of strange thoughts.

MAGIC THEORY [medium, success]: We’ve been through this. Familiar runes do not brainwash a Familiar – and this owl doesn’t have them yet anyway.

COMMON COLD: Malicorne approaches the owl, his wand ready to complete the contract. “My name is Malicorne de Grandple. Pentagon of the Five Elemental Powers, bless this humble being” Here he gestures with the tip of the focus towards the animal, leaning forward slightly. “and make it my familiar.” He leans down further and places a kiss on the top of the owl’s head.

REVELRY [easy, failure]: Who in Brimir’s balls thought it’s a good idea to seal a contract with a kiss of all things? What if Malicorne summoned a corrosive slime or something undead?

APPLICATION [medium, success]: Familiars are picked based on the compatibility with the mage. A winged creature is a reasonable enough fit for a Wind Mage like Malicorne.

NOBLESSE OBLIGE [trivial, success]: And furthermore… summoning “something undead” would be an easy way towards inquisitorial investigation. There are few things worse than summoning a creature like that.

1. Like a demon?

2. An elf? (shudder)

3. I don’t know, zombies sound terrifying enough.

NOBLESSE OBLIGE: Touche. That would put you on the stake even before you were to finish the summoning.

HALF-LIGHT [easy, success]: That is, of course, assuming that the elf wouldn’t just disembowel you on the spot.

COMMON COLD: The lights of the pentagram flash as a set of runes is seared into the owl’s wing. It’s a symbolic show; the bird doesn’t flinch or squawk in pain, but it is now Malicorne’s familiar. A proof of ownership – and of friendship, hopefully.

----

Little by little, all of your peers finish their summonings. No failures, of course. Most summon ordinary animals like dogs or rodents. One person summoned a beholder. Zerbst vowed the crowd by a summoning a salamander, and then Tabitha one-upped her immediately by calling forth a Rhyme Dragon.

LORE [medium, success]: I thought these things are extinct! What in the actual hell?!

AUTHORITY [medium, success]: You cannot extinguish such majesty easily. Even knowing that it’s a juvenile, it is a cut above all other familiars summoned today; the apex predator.

APPLICATION [trivial, success]: Tabitha is a Triangle mage; a prodigy in her own right… but that’s still unreal.

PROF. COLBERT: “Now, is that everyone?” The professor asks, bringing you back from the land of idle thought. No, of course not; there’s one notable person left…

1. Alright, time to face the music.

2. Remain in place, inconspicuous.

3. Make an active effort to hide (like the coward you are).

GERMANIAN TART: As you remain dead still, your eyes wander around in increasing panic, and finally settle on a familiar dark face; Kirche’s lips are quirking up. “Well… there is still one Zero in this equation~” She coos. It takes a moment for the crowd to connect before they pick up on the invitation to take you apart.

EMPATHY [trivial, success]: You can tell she enjoyed ratting you out.

HALF-LIGHT [easy, success]: Next time you see her, kick her in the family jewels. You’re a lost cause, you might as well enjoy it.

1. Wait, but she’s a girl?

2. Wait, she’s not a girl?!

3. It would be better to slap her jugs around...

4. No!

VOLITION: Thank you for maintaining some decency. You’re better than indulging in petty altercations. Revenge is a bitter dish.

HALF-LIGHT: Boohoo; listen to the Crownhead being a boring sack of air. Just keep in mind, you won’t get a second chance once they boot you out of the Academy.

[DAMAGED MORALE]

PROF. COLBERT: The teacher frowns, gesturing for you to step forward from the jeering crowd as he looks towards Kirche. “We can do without such commentary, Miss Zerbst.” His gentle reproach has the redhead reflect, slightly. Doesn’t stop the others glaring daggers into your back.

You stiffly approach the summoning circle. This ancient design managed to call forth creatures and familiars for all of your peers… only you remain.

REVERIE [medium, success]: A lone rock molested by the raging waves.

NOBLESSE OBLIGE [easy, success]: If you do not succeed, the ramifications will be untold. You will bring shame on your family’s name and be expelled from the Academy. A noble-born, daughter of a duchess, unable to cast spells? Unprecedented.

VOLITION [medium, success]: No, this is not the end. Things will be tough if you fail – but you have your family behind your back, even if they do not show it. Your life will not be extinguished so easily. You have things to go back to.

REVELRY [trivial, success]: And a smooth gentleman of a husband waiting in the wings.

Now, all eyes are on you. How do you want to play this out?

1. By the book. Chant the codex-approved incantation and see what happens.

2. You have nothing left to lose; might as well spice things up with your own version.

3. Can I curl up on the ground and let the earth reclaim me?

VOLITION: Get a grip, young duchess. Giving up is just giving those scoundrels behind you the satisfaction. You’ve been their plaything for a year and change. This ends now.

ENDURANCE [challenging, failure]: Your vision is dim and your hands are sweaty. Your breathing is short and your heart is ringing in your ears like a church bell. How can you expect to even utter a word in this sorry state – let alone woo the incorrigible crowd behind you?

MAGIC THEORY [formidable, success]: You know the incantation. You’ve practiced it so many times in class before. This isn’t rocket science.

LORE [impossible, failure]: What in Brimir’s balls is a “Rocket Science”?

HEROICS [medium, success]: You can do things by the book – or you can become a legend and make your own summoning. If you succeed, they will sing songs about you for generations to come. And if you lose? Well, there’s nothing left for you to lose.

PAIN THRESHOLD [trivial, success]: The shame of failing might just kill you on the spot. I’m not joking this time.

1. By the book. Chant the codex-approved incantation and see what happens.

2. You have nothing left to lose; might as well spice things up with your own version.

HEROICS: Good girl. How spicy are we talking?

1. Still palatable.

2. Spicy enough.

3. Make it burn my throat.

4. I want to vomit blood.

VOLITION: I know what I said just earlier, but maybe let’s loosen that grip? You shouldn’t be destroying yourself like that.

HEROICS: No one became a hero by being a pussy. Go ahead! Make these jokers in the back eat their words – or die trying.

1. [Application – 20 (Impossible)] Make the magic happen.

[6] [6] [critical success]

APPLICATION: You raise your wand towards the sky with a bold and defiant gesture. This is the time to do the Thing. The Greatest of Things.

1. “My name is Louise Françoise le Blanc de la Vallière.”

They’re silent. The onlookers are curious to see just what it is that you’ll do. The energy is yet to gather in the summoning circle.

HALF-LIGHT [easy, success]: They’re waiting for weakness. They’re waiting for a Zero to blow up another spell.

1. “Pentagon of the Five Elemental Powers… Heed my call.”

HEROICS: Time to put on the fireworks. Dazzle them, Louise. You’re a Brimirdamned duchess, daughter of Karin the Grand Tempest. Show them. Make them see.

1. “My Servant. My beautiful, wise, powerful servant… you who exist somewhere in this vast universe…”

The onlookers are starting to whisper among each other, wondering the reasons for your straying from the incantation. The energies are starting to gather; they are tempestuous, powerful, they are different from what you’ve seen so far.

APPLICATION [medium, success]: This doesn’t match any known aptitude… the energy is too chaotic, too… pale…

REVERIE [easy, success]: “Beyond the pale” is a phrase for a reason… you are about to reach past that forbidden curtain.

1. “I wish from the bottom of my heart… add to my guidance… and appear!”

You swing the wand with purpose, feeling the crackles of that damned “explosion” manifest. Whatever comes forth, it better be able to resist that sudden blow as the energies of the ritual converge with yours. Just before they touch, a strange voice resonates between your ears; deep in the crevices of your brain; an alien voice, female voice – but not that of a human being.

SHIVERS: THERE WILL BE CONSEQUENCES, LITTLE THIEF.

And then, just like that, the explosion – bigger than all of them combined – rattles your very soul and disconnects you from the world as you fade to black and all becomes…

Silence.

Chapter Text

The Academy’s chapel was usually a quiet place – let alone at the crack of dawn.

Sometimes, Louise would visit at such an ungodly hour. Whenever she couldn’t sleep due to the doubts eating at her, the quiet and holy environment was among the safest to go. Not comfortable, but the mood within lent itself to easier self-reflection. That was back then, when she was still a Zero, a talentless mistake. What brought her here again?

Well… her familiar, mostly. She seemed like a religious sort, calling herself an Archbishop and all that… and her devotion certainly seemed genuine enough, even if she didn’t worship the Founder or the Saints, but rather her own unknown deities. That was allowed; she was Louise’s responsibility, and should this innocuous belief bear poisonous fruit, it was Louise who would pay for it.

Although, considering the raiment the woman wore, the young noble had to wonder just what this religion was about. Or maybe it was jealousy speaking through her? She was willing to admit that she wished her own physicality was more developed, if only to shut Zerbst and the rest of them up. But hey, Louise was still growing. She was drinking her milk. She would get there soon. Eventually. Yes.

But she would never be as gorgeous as that blonde woman in her white-and-blue robes, regarding the altar and the depictions of saints. Not seeing, but perceiving in her own way. The black silken blindfold certainly made sure of that. “Ah. Welcome, young lady.” And yet she still greeted her without fail, her head turning with a gentle smile. Perhaps her hearing was sharpened to make up for the lack of vision? “Come to pray?”

“I… I’m not sure, actually.” Louise sighed, taking a seat in the row behind the woman. No one but the two of them in here; not even the chaplain was present. The morning mass would only begin in about an hour, and somehow the pinkette doubted many would visit. “I guess I felt it prudent to check on you.” Her eyes wandered. From behind the adventurous robes, she could make the scandalous contours of a body blessed in all the right ways. A boor would no doubt think these contours were going to waste in the life of holy cloth.

“Ah. That is ever nice of you, Louise.” The woman turned to “look” back at the altar. “I had the opportunity to familiarize myself with the faith of your people. It’s certainly something worth analyzing.” Spoken like a scholar from far away. There was no such allure or splendor for Louise, even if she considered herself a believer. Analyzing the faith felt like analyzing air; there was little to gleam beyond the obvious.

“What does the Supreme God endorse?” The name of her deity; vague yet blindingly obvious. Polytheistic pantheons always had one creature on top of them; the Father of Gods or the God of Gods, however blasphemously they were called. Louise blinked, realizing the little unspoken faux pas she just made.

“Law and justice. Truth and honor. He is the divine guardian, a legislator, a judge, and a negotiator.” The woman titled her head in a light giggle. “Sometimes I wonder if I am worthy of the mantle of the Archbishop when presented with such ideas.”

“If you have become one at such a young age, then you must have been exceptional.” It seemed like an obvious conclusion to Louise. The royal cardinal she remembered to be ancient even when she was but a child, let alone now. One did not become a high authority in a church – any church – without a good reason.

“I wonder.” The woman hummed, and then rose from her spot, the thin robes shimmering and rustling. “Well, I should probably make myself scarce. I know some are less than receptive to my presence here, let alone at this chapel.”

“You should not concern yourself with the blathering of fools, Your Eminence. You are my Familiar; you are only as unwelcome as I am.” Louise nodded resolutely. Admittedly, her own reputation could stand to be better – but she was one of the few who visited this holy place to begin with. The ones who would call her a Zero, even in spite of her success, weren’t the kind to step inside a chapel.

The maiden in white smiled wistfully.

----

Though gorgeous, the woman’s body bore signs of many hardships.

Most of them have long become near-imperceptible, but… how many scars were on that skin Louise first thought to be unblemished? Most would not perceive them at a glance; they were now thin white lines, almost like a diagram of sorts spreading across the woman’s entire body. One would even think this was religious ornamentation, perhaps. Scars did not heal that way, not even with exceptional care of an experienced Water Mage. Truly, such was the power of faith.

So many of them…

The other sign of hardship needed no elaboration, of course; the maiden in white did not wear her silken blindfold for the fun of it. At first, Louise assumed this might have been a wound that’s esoteric in nature. The faded blue orbs did not perceive, though she knew that the woman could at least see her shape and sense her presence through her own magic. Now, the Founder seemed to have a strange sense of humor by placing the familiar rune right across the irises and pupils.

The Saint of Saints designated this woman of another faith as his mind; Mjöðvitnir. The runes so strange that they had both Headmaster Osmond and Professor Colbert puzzled, until they verified the ancient tomes pertaining to the Void Magic, the thought-lost fifth element. That made Louise a Void Mage. An heir to the Tristanian throne. A person of great interest.

A person whose life was in great danger by mere existence.

At least hiding the rune proved easy enough, and it seemed the maiden could replicate a generic rune inscribing spotted on another familiar to pretend to be someone else. No one with decency would look under a blind woman’s blindfold – thus the secret of it remained with just the four of them.

“Whatever troubles you, Louise?” The pinkette sighed. The two of them enjoyed the empty washroom at a late hour, with no one to bother them. The woman’s hands were gentle. Like Cattleya’s, Louise thought, recalling earlier examples from her younger years, when the older sister would lather her head with the shampoos and oils, humming a pleasing tune. The good days, before the Academy.

“...can you… tell me who did this to you?” It was a brazen question, and it had no place in this gentle environment. And yet, the woman answered. Her movements grew stiff, but she never stopped attending to her as the two of them soaked in warm water.

Her eyes were burned out with a torch; but a first of atrocities committed upon her body and soul that fateful day – by monsters she called “goblins”. Louise knew goblins of her world; primal things, little meddlesome raiders that harassed far-away communities. Dog-headed, almost like children in posture.

The goblins from another world were green and covered in warts and pustules, with eyes like that of a goat. About the only thing that they had in common with Louise’s understanding of the word was their tendency to live in tribes and raid villages. Of course, she also understood that her knowledge of these monstrous species was sparse at best; they were not covered by the curriculum of the Academy, and most of the time they remained out of sight to not bother with them.

“It is an embarrassing slight on my part, Louise – but were you to present me with a goblin, I would no doubt freeze in my tracks at the sight of it.” The woman sighed, running her hands through the pinkette’s fluffy mane. The student huffed and shook her head, raising bubbles and errant foam up.

“Nothing embarrassing about it. Those creatures have done you a great disservice – and I would see that none of them come nowhere near you.”

“How would you do that?” The question was asked gently, but Louise’s brows furrowed nonetheless. Even if she was a Void Mage and therefore ordinary training did not apply to her, that did not justify her inability to cast proper spells. Henrietta was willing to accommodate her request to see the relic that was the Founder’s Prayerbook; according to Osmond, it was where a Void Mage would see spells to utilize. That was some days yet however.

“...I would find a way. Stab it through the eye with my wand, perhaps.” That grim reply got the woman behind her to titter. Louise felt her cheeks flushing.

“...I know a man with this kind of determination. Incidentally, he made it his life’s goal to slay as many goblins as he can.”

“I… well, I don’t know. I would probably panic if one of those monsters rushed me…” Louise sighed, shaking her head. “I can’t wield a weapon effectively, and what good am I a mage if I cannot fire off a proper spell?”

“That will come in time, now that we know how to proceed.” True. Didn’t make the wait any less frustrating. “...and seeing that you have a problem is a first step on amending it. Why not take up weapon training?” This time Louise shot her an incredulous look. Though the woman’s eyes were hidden, the pinkette could tell she closed them sheepishly. “You will not know if you are unable if you do not try.”

“I am a twig.”

“You could be a tree.” Louise stared. The woman remained shamelessly unapologetic.

----

The golden tag hidden in the woman’s robes was an old reminder of her service.

As she explained to Louise, adventurers had an entire industry built around them – and the tags were a ranking system of sorts, indicating an adventurer’s proficiency and experience. The beginners started off as Porcelains, beautiful and with potential but oh so fragile. They worked their ways up through rock, metals, and precious stones in that ranking. True veterans would reach the Silver tag (that was also the tag of the goblin-slaying man the maiden spoke so fondly of). Gold like what she wore was reserved for exceptional individuals who could defeat demons and the worst of monsters with ease.

There were also Platinum tags, for heroes so impossibly powerful they could not exist anywhere outside of myth and legend.

Louise didn’t think much of the tags. The maiden in white said it herself; she was retired, having switched the song of journey to the church choir as the Archbishop. She might have wielded powerful magic of her faith, and she might have been able to “see” with it, but she was out of shape and with no equipment to her name.

Today was different.

The invading force of Reconquista looked poised to bite into the mainland by its perceived weakest link that was Tristain. Airships loomed over the horizon, squadrons of griffon and dragon riders dancing between them – and on the land, taking the beachhead in the country were men-at-arms and mercenaries; plebeian rabble looking to roll over the countryside and seek out the spoils for themselves. No doubt Lord-Protector Cromwell told them all about the glory and riches they would procure by striking into the land of nobles and rulers, freeing their Tristanian peers from the slavery that was service under these cruel, bloated lords.

The way Louise saw it, Tristain’s plebes would be the first to suffer from their supposed “saviors” – unless the Crown stood their ground. Now, with this small detachment of soldiers and mages, herself and the maiden included, they could only appraise the force ahead of them.

Even with the power of magic and nobility on their side, how could they hope to stop such a sprawling horde?

It was then when the maiden in white stepped out to offer her assistance. “High Marshall, may I?” General Du Poitiers, in charge of the detachment – at his own insistence, even if it was unfeasible for the leader of Tristain’s military to command a unit so directly – nodded but did not regard her, more concerned with smoothing out his sharp mustache and appraising the fields ahead. Louise couldn’t help but be annoyed. “How would you rate this encroaching force?”

“I know Cromwell is a poor strategist, but he has people who do it for him. I certainly wouldn’t put any mages in such a blob of rabble myself. They’re cannon fodder to tire us out.” Du Poitiers huffed. “And with how sparse our forces are, they might very well succeed. You can see the riders in the back, can’t you?”

“I can’t, actually.” That got him to look at her, blink, and then reflect with a muttered out apology. “But that is good to know. The pawns go first, don’t they…?” Louise tilted her head slightly. She knew her familiar to be a warm and approachable woman. A bit of a tease, to her chagrin – but not someone who could so clinically consider the battlefield ahead. “Do you think destroying this first force may affect Reconquista’s morale?”

To High Marshall’s credit, he didn’t question the possibility of doing so, even if Louise herself couldn’t figure anything out. Her Void spells were nothing worth writing home about, certainly against an army. She knew the woman could cast her own spells, and powerful ones – the memory of seeing Fouquet blasted off her golem with a spear of holy energy remained vivid in her mind. It seemed something was on Du Poitiers’ mind though, given that he addressed her next in a very careful manner.

“...destroy how, Your Eminence?” The Sword Maiden smirked. Louise stared and found herself growing cold despite the sunny weather. That smirk did not belong on such an angelic face, did it…?

“Thoroughly.”

----

On the other side of the battlefield, the black-haired Gandálfr appraised the situation through the spyglass.

Sheffield was frustrated with the overall situation. Yes, they had an overwhelming advantage in numbers – it barely looked like Tristain rallied any army at all, although mages had to be accounted for – and enough reserves to spare should the first strike be repelled… but what was she doing here as a mere observer? Her talents as the Left Hand of God would be better utilized in the thick of it. The stupid, pig-headed puppet of her master apparently deemed her too important to use like so, even though she could no doubt run circles around those pampered nobles over there.

How Joseph de Gallia worked puzzled her sometimes.

“Ma’am?” The Reconquista commander-in-charge (her own position was merely as a representative of the seat of power) lowered his own spyglass. “We’re about ready to proceed.”

“Mhm…” She didn’t pay him much mind; most of her attention was spent on trying not to thump her foot angrily. She could be there, bleeding out the High Marshall like a pig. Him, and that good-for-nothing Vallière brat. Was the princess so inept that she would let some child – still in her Academy uniform, for crying out loud! - conduct such a crucial event? And what was that girl even doing with a rapier at her side? Not a sword-wand, no; an ordinary weapon unfit for her posture. It was reassuring, in a sense; Cromwell wasn’t the only fool at the helm. Her master wanted to burn the world to the ground in search of his emotions – but having some competent figures arise to replace the old ghouls in their rotting ceremonial robes would be a nice side-effect of this adventure.

Now, who the hell was that blind tart in a mockery of holy robes—

Sheffield lowered the spyglass, eyes wide open with shock. “...ma’am? Is… there a problem?” The commander regarded her nervously. Yes. Yes, there was a problem – but it was nothing for him to worry about. The brunette took a deep breath and shook her head. Of course there was going to be another Void Familiar out there. It just had to be the Mind of God, a spellcaster and alchemist extraordinaire.

Sheffield considered herself as a bearer of an analytical mind. Although the power of the Mjöðvitnir was vast, it had to have limits. She would have to figure them out; no doubt the blonde woman would become a threat to her master’s goal down the line. Luckily, she had well over thirty thousand disposable guinea pigs to apply for this experiment. “Proceed, Commodore. I want that Tristanian dot smeared off the map.”

“With utmost pleasure, ma’am.” The commander saluted sharply and left her to conduct the marching orders. Sheffield returned to appraising the battlefield through the spyglass, eyes narrowing at the glowing runes cast upon the blonde woman’s eyes. The Founder had a strange sense of humor, it seemed. The not-so-holy tart was chanting, energies emanating from her ornate sword-staff. The field commanders of the marching force gave out their orders. The rabble ran forward, ready to crush the meager opposition ahead.

Unbeknownst to him, to Sheffield, or even to the Sword Maiden herself, a god in the sky rolled their twenty sided-die – and cast a natural 20.

The sky opened.

Sheffield’s first assumption was that Mjöðvitnir is going to summon a thunderstorm to slow down and dissuade the troops on the ground. No such thing happened; the weather remained as spotlessly sunny as before – it was just that the gentle solar radiance was suddenly replaced with the fire in the sky; a multitude of small burning rocks descended upon the dumbstruck plebeian force. Each individual projectile could lay waste to a group – and with such density of them, and no means to protect themselves, the cannon fodder retreated as hastily as they could. They left behind a fair share of their force, trampling over the dead and the dying to get away from the hellish spectacle.

“Brimir’s balls…” The commander’s commentary was more than enough for Sheffield. That there was something she estimated to be an equivalent of the so-called Hexagram spells; a combined effort of two Triangle mages to put together an outlandishly powerful feat. Most would keel over after such an exertion, yet the woman stood there with perfect poise, her breathing not any shorter than it was a moment ago as she put her blindfold back in place to hide the runes. It seemed the spell struck the rest of Tristanian command dumb as well; less of all the brat. “M-ma’am, your orders…?”

That brat over there was the Void Mage they were looking for. “Call for a retreat.” Sheffield lowered the spyglass, satisfied with the spectacle. “It looks like this invasion has gotten a lot more interesting…”

Chapter Text

Louise appraised the ice statue with a furrowed brow.

Frankly, she didn’t expect to actually summon something successfully, let alone such a mystifying thing. It stood there, towering and powerful, droplets falling off it as it taunted the sun with its mere presence. A figure made entirely out of ice, this large, just sitting there in the warm springtime sun? It depicted a man of some kind, no doubt an esteemed figure – but Louise couldn’t for the life of her recognize it.

How curious. Nobody in her family had a Water aptitude, and her own seemed to be that of Failure until now. Or perhaps she was still a talentless Zero? Upon closer inspection, the statue appeared completely inert, still like the ice it was made out of. It wasn’t a golem awaiting an order. It was… just a statue. A weird, strange statue that had no place here.

This was her Familiar.

Unfortunately for Louise, it seemed as if the crowd picked up on that fact before her. “My, Zero. How very impressive.” The pinkette’s back went rigid upon hearing that accursed Germanian-accented croon from the back. “You’ll only need an entire workforce to lug that back to your quarters. Maybe they can even make a cold pit for your new bed ornament~”

“What a hideous thing.” Next, Tristanian – but not pure Tristanian, slightly Gallian, slightly Lagdorian. “I suppose it is ever fitting, isn’t it, Vallière?”

“What are you trying to do, shamelessly invoking this blasphemous statue?” Pure Tristanian, male voice. Close to the previous one. “Have you gone this desperate for a success, Zero?”

Louise’s knuckles were white as she chose to ignore the usual prattling. Yet, she did not approach the statue any closer than it already was. Founder above, the very air around the damn thing felt frigid. Something about it felt off, now that she thought about it. Something… seemed strange.

“...I’m sorry, Miss Vallière, but you have to complete the ritual.” Professor Colbert broke through her hazed reverie. He sounded apologetic. Did he stop the jeering from earlier? Or was he willing to just let things run their course? It was all the same to him, wasn’t it?

Louise didn’t reply, reaching out to touch the statue. The ice was too much to bear, but she pushed through her growing panic with utter numbness. What did it matter that she would get her fingers frostbitten at this point? She appraised the statue, how its hands were clasped together for a prayer, the lilies on its shoulders, and its strange droopy ears, and the crown…

“...Pentagon of the Five Elemental Powers. Bless this humble being and make it my familiar.” She didn’t recognize her voice as it came out of her mouth, nor did she feel the biting chill on her lips when she graced the frozen folds of the statue’s robe with a kiss. And yet, she felt something.

Something stirred in the statue. Something that had no right to be.

----

Louise started awake with a gasp.

It was the dead of night. The statue, despite Zerbst’s inane taunting, remained inert at the courtyard. Nobody could move it out of the summoning circle, so it stayed there. The moonlight would protect it from melting, but only just. In a few days time, it would become a memory; the water would be released from its crystalline confines and feed the grass underneath. This will be the statue’s one last grace to the world. This was all her Familiar was going to do.

...hm. Given how cold the night was, maybe it would survive a bit more. Or maybe it was her falling sick with disgust at herself? How could one be so incompetent? She tried her best to cast spells with the rest of her peers for over a decade – and nothing ever came but these blasted explosions. They hardly had any use; that desperate thought was discarded fast enough. And even then, even if she could use them for something – for combat or for construction or anything – it would never remove the sour taste lingering in her mouth at the thought.

A Zero was a Zero. It added and subtracted nothing.

Sighing, Louise stared out the window. The night was beautiful, although it was marred somewhat by the statue’s presence. She had a perfect view out the courtyard, even in this dim light-

It wasn’t there.

Louise blinked, squinted. No, it still wasn’t there – but it wasn’t that warm. Even if it would be melting faster than the usual, she’d still see some remains of the blasted thing lingering about! It was just… gone…

…

Zerbst. She did this. She wasn’t satisfied with just mocking and taunting her. She decided to apply her magic for a sinister purpose – to completely humiliate Louise, to shame her beyond belief. With her mastery over Fire Magic, it would be easy enough to destroy the statue made of ice. Make it look like it never even existed. Louise could imagine what would happen next: before long, a claim would emerge that no summoning actually took place… or perhaps that the statue was a trick of the mind, an illusion invoked by a pitying party. Even if the administration of the Academy did their best to smother the inane rumor in a bud, her peers would latch onto it, just like a starving dog latches onto a bone thrown its way.

It didn’t matter if it was a falsehood. A Zero was a Zero – and now Kirche von Zerbst saw to it that she would be nothing more. Louise shuddered and slumped back in her bed, fighting off the biting cold. “...I wish she could just disappear…” She muttered to herself as the exhaustion took her back into a restless slumber.

From the deep confines of her room, a pair of strange eyes regarded their newfound Master.

----

Tabitha frowned.

It was morning, just before classes. Most of their peers have already left for today’s first of Magic Theory – but Kirche was nowhere to be found. The bluenette knew for a fact that her Germanian friend took her time to always look ravishing, no matter the day. That included rising at the crack of dawn – at hours that even Tabitha found atrocious – all the morning rituals like styling hair, smoothing the skin out with oils and ointments… sometimes a little bit of lipstick. She did so quietly, but not silently; if one listened, they could hear her hum Germanian marches and waltzes under her breath.

Today was different.

Tabitha was aware that Professor Colbert gave Kirche – as well as Monmon and Guiche – a dressing down after the summoning, so maybe she had to do some chores until late night and was still recovering…? No matter the outcome of the ritual, Louise still successfully completed a spell. Was there a need for any of those jeers? The bluenette had a vague idea of why Kirche did that; not just to deflect harmful gossip from herself, but to try and give Louise some encouragement. Something about the ancient rivalry of their neighboring duchies.

The doors were closed. Tabitha huffed in annoyance, but something in her mind compelled her to take another step. A quick look around the corridor – and a silvery pin flashed in her hands, slowly slipping into the lock. A click… and the doors were open. Something was wrong, she knew it. Opening that door and peering inside might not have been a good idea, but Tabitha was fresh out of those.

Slowly, she breathed out and pushed the doors aside, aiming her staff at whatever might have waited on the other side. Nothing, silence. The windows were closed, and Kirche looked to be bundled up in her bed, turned away from the doors. No. Something was wrong. Something was wrong. The window wasn’t closed… it was frozen shut. It was remade from ice to appear as if nothing was wrong.

She couldn’t hear Kirche breathing.

Before her brain could try to catch up, Tabitha lunged forward for the bed, reaching for the wave of red locks… and they stayed in her hand, with a weight on the end. The sheets were flat. The bluenette she dropped her staff, pulling them aside to reveal the bed in full.

Blood. A pile of gore about the size of Kirche. Not even a body. Not even remains. Just… gore. A silhouette. A red shadow. And the weight in her hand. Tabitha’s body pulled her head against her wishes, looked down at the head of her best friend hanging listlessly from her tightening, whitening grip.

Kirche had no eyes.

Tabitha screamed.

----

It had been a week since the gruesome murder of Kirche von Anhalt-Zerbst.

Most students have escaped further away from the place considered haunted. As the administration of the school proved unable to figure out the reasons behind this horrific deed, the remaining applicants deserted in a hurry. A few stubborn ones remained, along the horrified plebeian staff and a few professors still up and about.

The uncanny statue made out of ice – disappearing during some nights, but not all of them – remained. Duchess Karin de La Vallière didn’t need to be a genius to figure out that it related to the murders.

Murders. In a week, three noble children, two plebeian servants, Osmond’s secretary, and a villager from a nearby settlement suffered the same grisly fate. Well, no, not quite the same. It seemed the murderous monster targeted women first and foremost. After the young Von Zerbst, Montmorency de Montmorency and Guiche du Gramont were next. They were among the first ones to escape the Academy. In their panic, they accused Louise of the gruesome deeds. They claimed the familiar she summoned – the aforementioned ice statue – was responsible for Kirche’s demise, heedless of the fact that Louise was as horrified of the fact as the others.

The two young lovers escaped to the Gramont estate, but death found them there, making light of guards and familiars used to bolster the defenses. Montmorency died in the same horrific manner – a pile of gore with a head attached to it like a cherry on top of a cake – but young Gramont was “merely” broken like an old wooden puppet, his limbs bent out at odd, impossible angles.

One of the servants at the estate claimed she saw a man in a strange crown leave the manor that day in a mighty leap that no human, not even the most able-bodied of Mages, could achieve.

Osmond’s secretary – Longueville, was it? - appeared to have been eaten in her entirety, bones and all. It seemed that in cases of von Zerbst and Montmorency’s deaths, the killer had something to prove and left their heads to deliver their cryptic message. The secretary, meanwhile, and the two maids and the commoner woman from a nearby village… those appeared to have been just food for the monster. In Longueville’s case, all that was left of her were her glasses and a torn scalp of green hair.

If the creature was a vampire, Karin had to conclude she never met one so bestial and barbaric – but a gut feeling told her that the monster was something else. Something worse. Something like… a demon.

“Yoo-hoo!” The duchess looked up sharply to appraise the figure sitting perched atop the ice statue. A man in strange and foreign clothes hid his face behind a fan; not paper, but a mix of that, iron, and some other materials. The other remained closed in his other hand – with fingers and nails too long to be considered human.

There was the crown, and there were the strangely-colored eyes. What was that seared across them? “My, you look ravishing, if I may say so. Is that how my little Master going to look like in the future? How exciting~” Karin’s eyes narrowed. She has heard that Louise summoned the ice statue – this creature atop it must have been the real famili ar, someone Louise did not know .

Across his eyes stretched a sacred word Lífþrasir. A familiar of the Void, summoned by her daughter. A monster in a holy raiment.

The Familiar descended from the statue, carried by the icy fog, gently gliding down to the ground. A pleasant smile – no, an imitation of one – stretched across his face as he appraised her from behind the fan. “Mouthwatering. Ah, but where are my manners? Allow me to—“

Karin’s wand flicked out of her sleeve, and in a single move of her wrist, quartered the demon into three parts. “ Ah.” Much as she feared, this wasn’t enough to kill the damn thing, even though its guts sprayed all over the courtyard. “Well… you certainly don’t mince words. I do like that in a woman!” He laughed like he wasn’t just cut into bloody chunks.

“You will answer when spoken to, demon.”

“Alright, you don’t have to be so cold. That’s more of my shtick, see?” The icy fog must have been the creature’s power. Karin flicked her wand upward, letting the crystalline fumes disperse. Not the only power the monster had; it was already reconstituting itself with disturbing ease – and yet it still felt the need to pretend it had issues, pawing around for its waist and legs. “Come on, you… haha, this is embarrassing. Give me just a moment—“

K arin the Grand Tempest was known mostly for her destructive power, but one did not become Tristain’s finest mage by merely throwing their weight around. Before long, she had the head of the demon suspended in the air, far enough so that its cold fumes could not reach her. The rest of the body was ground to dust, crushed and destroyed through meticulous storms she subjected it to. And yet, the demon appeared unconcerned, likely thinking it could regenerate before long.

“You are responsible for these gruesome murders, yes?”

“Mm… for the first three, yes. The dark-skinned one, and the blonde lovers.” Admitting to such without even the slightest pause. Karin’s eyes narrowed. “But why are you so mad at me for? Should you not ask your daughter about it?”

“...choose your next words with extreme care, demon.”

“It’s true.” He pouted, like a petulant child. “Those three gave her so much grief, even when she summoned the little ol’ me. I did some reading, see?” A pair of vestigial, baby-like hands grew out from the stump of his neck; Karin had them cut off without a second thought. “This whole magic system eludes me a little bit, but one cannot be a Zero if one can cast spells, no?” Karin remained silent. The demon’s eyes widened and a grin stretched across his face. “Oh… perhaps… you didn’t know about all that bullying?~”

“My daughter is steel. She would not succumb to any petty heckler, let alone send an accursed creature like yourself to kill in revenge.” The demon tutted disapprovingly. Karin felt a vein in her forehead twitch.

“Seems like it’s up to me to be a parent. I suppose it’s not even the first time~” He laughed, but his laugh was short-lived; a sharp blade of wind cut his head in two. Yet, the damnable creature wasn’t stymied. It seemed as if nothing short of obliterating it off the face of the earth would do. “Of course she didn’t ask me for it. She doesn’t even know I exist. I’m an unseen guardian angel like that.”

“You horrified her.”

“Well, it wasn’t a pretty sight. Normally I eat my food whole, like that cute demon slayer disguised as a maid… or that secretary. Did you know she was some kind of Reconquista agent? Took me by surprise, too!~”

“What about them? Did you not kill them in cold blood like the other three?” A self-satisfied smile stretched across the demon’s pallid face.

“No, it’s not like that. See, if I eat someone, I make them a part of me. Even if you grind my body to dust, they’re still one with me. It’s almost like saving them from the grim realities of the world!~” The smile lowered. “But dear Louise wanted those three to “disappear”. I do not eat rotten people the same way you would not eat rotten meat. Well… with the Kirche girl, I couldn’t help myself a little bit, since it was my first since the summoning—“

Another lash of wind cut his head in two; this time he reconstituted instantly. Karin frowned. “First time eating someone with such a complexion, actually.”

“What is stopping me from scattering your dust on the wind, demon?”

“Hmmm… I wonder…” Another pair of vestigial hands grew from his neck; this time Karin let him regenerate that far, only to watch him stick one of the digits into his cheek and dig into it with disgusting squelching. “Ah, I can’t pick my brain with a hand this short. What a bother. Well, anyway” Back to the smile, that damn smile that meant nothing, that was an imitation of emotions refined over how many years...? “is this not what you wanted, Duchess?~”

Karin felt her blood grow colder. “I understand that Louise didn’t exactly have an easy life here or back home. A noble who can’t cast spells is kind of an odd duck, isn’t it? Especially if she comes from such a storied family…” The demon hummed, looking like he was pondering something. “but suddenly, there she goes! Louise is a Void Mage, a creature of legend, destined for greatness – and she had summoned not just any demon, but Upper Moon Two. Third strongest in the world, you know?~ I can make her a queen, Duchess. Not just any ruler; a queen of her own life. A queen of this realm, a queen of… well, anything!~”

“You’re mad.”

“And you haven’t answered my question yet.” He tittered. “Isn’t this what you wanted?”

“Should any of my daughters choose to build their legacy upon the corpses of others, I would strike them down where they stand. However, I know Louise better than you think I do.” Karin’s grip on her wand was tight, and she ignored the growing coldness inside her. This was just her cold fury. She had the monster on the ropes, far away from her so that it couldn’t use its vapors or otherwise crystallize them into weapons. “And I know she would denounce you just like I am denouncing you—“

Karin swerved back, making eyecontact with an icy crystalline figure of her third daughter, reaching out towards her with that deathly cold hand, and smashed it to bits. “Ah shoot, there goes our fun. And here I thought you wouldn’t notice~” The demon! Karin swerved back; the damned creature was already up in her face. Its body hasn’t reconstituted fully yet, but a half of it was more than enough.

A brief flick. Karin’s throat, strangely, grew warm as the demon passed her. The damn thing used the fan as a knife. The wound wasn’t large, but it bled heavily. She felt at it with one hand, biting back a curse. “I shall be making my exit then. I imagine Louise wouldn’t want me killing her mother, even one so callous and unfeeling.” Karin grit her teeth and turned back; the demon was already perched on top of the icy statue, good as new, licking blood off his fingers with a self-satisfied smirk.

Her blood, she realized. That thing made her bleed.

The statue arose from its praying slumber, not unlike a siege golem. “We should do this again sometime, Duchess~ I’ll drop by and see how Louise is doing some other time, alright?” As if they hadn’t just tried to kill each other. As if that cannibalistic demonic thing wasn’t threatening to hold her daughter hostage, to warp her beyond belief.

It was escaping to parts unknown on top of its golem. She failed to stop it. It almost killed her, Brimir’s balls.

Karin grit her teeth, staring at the shattered remains of the facsimile of her daughter, the demonic ice slowly melting away. The sun finally rose from its slumber.

Chapter Text

A distant rumble of a collapsing wall spelled trouble.

Louise’s face turned still. She inhaled, counted to three, and snapped her book shut with a loud noise. And here she thought that she had finally taught her unruly familiar some discipline. It was so simple, wasn’t it? Just a few rules to counteract the utter lack of tact and self-control her familiar exhibited.

Don’t Touch Anything.

Don’t Touch Anyone. (Louise shuddered at the mere thought of what would happen if her familiar tried hugging a living being)

Don’t Jump.

Don’t Run.

Don’t Try To Fix Things You Have Ruined With Your Utter Cluelessness.

Louise exhaled. Someone barged into the library. One of the freshmen, judging by the color of her mantle. “M-madam Vallière!”

“It’s my familiar, isn’t it?” The freshman girl nodded vigorously. “Is anyone hurt, uh...?”

“K-Katie de la Lotta, Madam. And, um…” The girl fidgeted nervously. Louise’s eyes narrowed. “...Master Gramont might… need some help.”

“Brimir’s fucking balls. Lead the way.”

It wasn’t too far from here to Vestri Court. Normally Louise would be attending lunchtime, but she decided to skip on it that one time, instead searching for information pertaining to her unusual familiar; a girl (a huge girl, in more ways than one) that seemed human at a glance, but couldn’t possibly be such. Not with such absurd strength. Not with such mystifying toughness. Whose blood could have given her that power?

And why on earth did that power go to such an utter klutz?

The scene looked as if a rampaging dragon cut a swathe of earth through the court, ending in a collapsed section of the outer wall. Luckily, it seemed the damage wasn’t too bad this time (the Void Tower turned to rubble would forever haunt Louise’s dreams; thank the Founder the place was abandoned!), although if Guiche was stuck inside that pile of smashed brickwork, it was going to be a miracle if he was undamaged. Despite the grim picture, and Montmorency’s frantic wailing, Louise doubted the Academy’s heartthrob would have more than a broken leg to deal with.

While some of the students were happy to watch and whisper among themselves, a few of them, together with their familiars, were working on freeing Guiche from his torment. She saw Kirche and Flame work together, Tabitha coordinating Malicorne and Guiche’s hapless mole Verdandi. No sight of Sylphid, curious... and then Montmorency saw her and her wailing turned into an outraged shrill roar.

“You! Where the fuck have you hidden that ogre hag of yours?!” Louise blinked, and not just at the blonde’s unusually coarse language (not that she had a leg to stand on here). Her familiar cut a characteristic figure with her height alone, but she was notably absent in the crowd. “If a hair is off my dear darling’s head, I will—!”

“Okay, spare me, Monmon. I’m sure Guiche’s going to be fine.” She eyed the rubble and her peers hard at work. Kirche met her eyes with a huff.

“No offense, little Louise, but you’re… awfully nonchalant about this.” She huffed, tossing one of the rocks away with an exerted groan. “Even if your dear familiar only tapped him.”

“She was trying to murder Guiche in broad daylight, Zerbst!” Montmorency barked at the redhead in response.

“Not “trying”, per se.” Tabitha shook her head. Louise exhaled slowly, feeling a confused sense of relief wash over her. So it was an accident. It was always an accident with her familiar. Despite her best intentions, that girl just couldn’t help but destroy things she touched.

“So, what exactly happened?”

“U-um…” The freshman was still here, Louise realized. Katie, right? “I m-might have been to blame here…”

“Nobody but that she-ogre is to blame, de la Lotta!”

“Alright, Monmon, liebling, stop making a scene.” Kirche huffed, throwing out another stone. Flame was having an easier time, and then purred approvingly once it reached into the pile and found something, followed by a weak squeak. “See? We already found him. Continue, Katie.” The freshman nodded, watching as Malicorne and Verdandi worked together to uncover more of Guiche and help Flame with pulling the unfortunate heartthrob out of the rubble. Judging by the groaning and weak “Founder’s Taint” coming from the pile of broken masonry, Guiche wasn’t that bad off.

“S-so, um… Master Gramont was… c-courting me, and… I wasn’t aware that he and Madam Montmorency are already… um, so we were upset with him. He tossed away the bottle of p-perfume he meant to give me… a-and Madam Vallière’s familiar…” She glanced at Louise. The pinkette’s eyebrow rose slightly before she gestured for the freshman to continue. “she picked up the bottle and w-wanted to give it back to him. I don’t… um, I don’t think she understood why he tossed it away, and…”

“Once Guiche started puffing up like a peacock, threatening her with floggings and Valkyries and what have you…” Kirche continued, watching as Tabitha applied some Water Magic to Guiche’s aching body. Montmorency was already there too, offering her own assistance – almost possessively so. “she got scared and said she’ll just give the bottle to him and be on her way… so she did… shoved it right into his hand.”

“Of course she did…” Louise exhaled, running a hand over her face. “So he went flying into the wall?”

“That he did.” Kirche nodded, a wry smile dancing on his lips for a spell before it slipped off. “Monmon got cross with her after.”

“I should have flogged her myself!” Montmorency growled.

“Calling names wasn’t good.” Tabitha replied primly, shaking her head. The blonde scoffed.

“I haven’t said anything that wasn’t the honest-to-Founder truth! That girl is a hazard to all around her, especially since Zero can’t deign to put shackles and a muzzle on her!” Louise frowned, imagining her familiar in bondage like that. She doubted even the best-made chains would hold that ogre of hers for long. Then, she frowned further.

“So she ran?” Kirche nodded without a word. “Ugh… alright. Guess I should go look for her.”

“Sent Sylphid.” Tabitha muttered as she rose to her feet and turned back to face Louise. “Ran all the way to Lagdorian. Sylphid’s going back.” She tapped her glasses for emphasis, relaying what her Rhyme Dragon companion saw. Louise blinked, taking a moment to comprehend these words.

“That’s… a bit far from here.” From over where Guiche where, Malicorne failed to conceal a snort.

“Sylphid will carry you there.” The bluenette nodded resolutely, her eyes hardening. “...talk with her. Don’t scold. She needs you.”

Louise slowly returned the nod.

----

Louise realized, as she dismounted Sylphid, that she had never actually been at Lake Lagdorian.

A beautiful place, that; the largest lake in the lands of the Brimiric Nations full of crystal clear azure water. It had its own powerful water spirit as a guardian; apparently House Montmorency had closer ties with the elemental on-site. Of course, that was secondary to Louise right now. Well, unless her familiar happened to accidentally slap said elemental into nothingness. Monmon would probably disembowel her with a steak knife at that point.

Speaking of her familiar, there she sat, staring at the lake and rubbing her eyes off errant tears. Even curled up with her knees close to her chest, she was quite large. Were she less skittish, she would no doubt tower over most people in the Academy, but even then she stood a good foot over Louise. The black stripes in her otherwise blonde hair gave her an appearance of a particularly cowardly tiger. She certainly had the strength of one, even if she had yet to apply it for an actual purpose, sitting there in her school uniform (apparently it was a private academy called Ooaoi – what a strange name).

Louise sighed. What was she expected to do here? Founder saw fit to bless her with a sapient Familiar that possessed an amazing power – but now it felt more like a curse. “...hey.” She started lamely. Her familiar started, looking at her with those giant green doe eyes. “...uh… Sylphid brought me here. You… okay?”

“...h-hey, Lu-chan. Sorry, just… I’m alright.” Louise had never seen a worse liar in her life, but that bothersome familiar of hers did have a tendency to try and not make people worry – and to give everyone these strange nicknames. “...I made a mess of things, I think.”

“Hm? Oh, you mean Guiche.” The pinkette slowly approached her familiar, opting to take a seat next to her. “Would you believe me he gets into trouble like this on the regular?”

“...maybe.” For a moment none of them said anything. Louise mulled over what even was there to say, and it was clear her familiar wasn’t keen on talking.

“Hey. What did Montmorency say to you?” The pinkette finally asked, opting to get to the bottom of things right away. The blonde flinched. “She called you mean things, yes?” A nod. “What did she say?”

“...do I have to say these things again, Lu-chan?”

“I want to know if I should rip into her next time I speak with her.” That got the blonde to look at Louise in surprise. “You are my familiar. I won’t let anyone insult you… and I won’t do it either.” The young duchess shook her head. “What I’ve said to you before, I said in anger. Those words were unbecoming of me.”

“I-it’s fine. I get that a lot, r-really… it’s been like this since I can remember—“

“That doesn’t make it right, Torasawa.” Louise reached up to flick the girl on the forehead – then grunted in pain when she did. It was like flicking fingers at a brick wall. “…so… what did Montmorency say?”

“...called me some names. The, uh” The blonde sniffed. “the usual stuff. “Monster”, “Ogre”, “She-Ogre”, “Creature”— Louise stopped her with a tap on the arm. Torasawa shrunk a little in her spot. “S-sorry.”

“Don’t be. Those are mean things to call you.”

“B-but even still! T-they’re right, aren’t they? I do ruin everything I touch! I do hurt people even when I don’t m-mean to, and—“

“Then we can work on that. Together.” This time the blonde swerved so wildly to look at her, Louise almost bowled over; the sheer wind pressure from just that… and it got her locks all over her face. “...honestly, it feels almost too coincidental to not be fate.”

“U-um…?” Torasawa tilted her head, watching Louise get her hair in order.

“You have too much strength for your own good. I, in turn, am a failure of a mage.”

“I m-mean, those explosions look very impressive, L-lu-chan—“

“But they’re not the intended effect. And the same is true with you – although I did see you managing your strength a few times. It’s kind of puzzling.” Louise tilted her head, thinking for a moment. “...point being, there’s plenty for us to work on.”

“...I’m sorry to be such a bother.”

“...no, Aiko. I’m sorry for being such a bad Master… and a bad friend.” The blonde swerved again, stars in her eyes.

“W-w-w-we’re friends?!”

“...well, I would think so—“ Immediately, the world became pain – and mostly because her familiar took her up into a crushing hug, bawling her eyes out. For someone with such a plush chest, it certainly didn’t feel like resting on pillows.

“I’m so happy, Lu-chan! You called me a frieeeeeend...~” Louise, currently stuck in a vice grip of her familiar, could only offer a sound no human throat should make. At least Aiko relented in time. “O-oh, sorry! I got really excited a-and…”

“Y-yes, well… we’ll have to work on keeping your…” The pinkette took a moment to continue, feeling like she’s about to cough up her lungs. “composure… but that’s little by little…”

“Yes! I won’t disappoint you!” Despite having such godly power in her body, despite being taller than most men, she still nodded her head like a little puppy eager to please its owner. Louise couldn’t help but smile – and before she knew it, she was already reaching up to muss up the blonde’s striped hair. Perhaps that was a little rude, doing it without a warning to her age peer (even if she was her familiar), but Torasawa didn’t seem to mind. She even purred a bit.

“...you really are just a big clumsy cat, aren’t you?” Aiko whined, but didn’t refute the notion, leaning down to get better headrubs. “...well… let’s make you into a majestic tiger.”

----

Louise understood that her familiar was strong even before she was graced with Familiar runes.

It seemed the runes themselves didn’t work as advertised however. When Aiko was first identified as a Gandálfr, God’s Left Hand, Headmaster Osmond identified their power as a mastery over all weapons. Trying to give Torasawa even a stick was an exercise in futility; she was notably skittish about them. The few she did take, well… they didn’t survive for long.

It seemed the runes themselves understood that, and adjusted accordingly. Torasawa herself was a weapon now, and her strength increased in tune with that. Of course, it was an inexact science, so she had a long way to go with the “mastery” part of it, but… over time, over countless adventures, threats to her and to Louise… she stood before her greatest opponent.

A lone girl against the scourge from the dawn of time, a towering behemoth from before the understanding of the world. The very presence of this Ancient Dragon demanded alliances from long-fighting enemies like the Brimiric Nations and the Elven Kingdoms, all under the united banner of the Pope. Helkeginia’s hope against wholesale annihilation stood there. The last one to leave her was the elusive Lífþrasir , boosting her already ridiculous strength to cosmic levels. Aiko stood there, feeling the pulsing under her skin, the writhing of power that felt like it was too much even for her.

All her life, she could not hope to make friends due to her destructive tendencies. Now, those same tendencies were how the entire nations stood behind her, united for the first time in modern history. Elves and men, pagans and Brimirites, together. It made her head spin. Or maybe it was the way the towering dragon on the other side of the plain sized her up with what seemed like confusion and exasperation.

“Alright, you’re up.” The Lífþrasir nodded, reeling back with exhaustion. The Aiko of the past would no doubt be quick to turn over her shoulder and check if he was alright, but she knew she couldn’t afford to hesitate. She had to unleash her monstrous power in full. “Don’t die out there, Aiko. You still owe me a new tracksuit.”

“S-sorry, Hiiraga-san.” The Lífþrasir chuckled, patting her on the arm.

“I’m just messing with you. Good luck, go beat it up.” Hobbling back to the backline, he left her alone against a real foe. She used her strength against villains before, like Louise’s traitorous would-be husband, or the crazy Germanian man with one eye, or Mathilda-san (hopefully she would be leaving the cast soon!) - but even back then, she couldn’t bring herself to use her full power against fellow people, even bad people like them.

The dragon ahead of her was big, scary, immune to magic, and it would not show her mercy. She was the only one who could defeat it – and she had to go all out. She had to consciously use everything she had, and beat it up like Saito said.

She knew her limits before. Without the runes, she could drag a bullet train across the tracks by herself. The runes of Gandálfr multiplied that by a whole lot… and now, with the power of God’s Heart coursing through her? With all the enhancements, spells woven upon her to protect and boost her further?

The sky was the limit.

Aiko Torasawa gathered herself, and leapt forward to meet the Ancient Dragon – her warcry decidedly less impressive than the leap itself. The onlookers nonetheless watched her with utmost shock as she grabbed the antediluvian evil by the neck and slammed it face down into the ground so hard, the tectonic plates beneath the earth shattered and lifted the plains up into the sky as a flattoped hill. That was only one of the maneuvers seen during that fateful day, each of them more ridiculous than the other.

One did not live in Helkeginia if they haven’t heard of “The Tigress” suplexing a dragon the size of a mountain.

Chapter Text

A gentle trill brought Louise back from her slumber.

The young duchess rubbed her eyes awake and stretched her arms upwards, a little sound slipping from her. Little by little, her consciousness returned in full force as she became aware of her surroundings. She sat in a little booth-like palanquin made from fine silks and sturdy wood. A little cramped, but the space for the construction of such was a bit limited.

After all, it was built atop her new Familiar’s massive shell.

Right. She was en route to her family’s mansion. The journey she decided to undertake alone, with only a single servant for company; it wasn’t far from the Academy to the Vallière demesne, and bandits were not known to try their luck in the land under the watchful eye of The Grand Tempest. All it would take to ensure their safety was to present the crest of her family. Only the mad would dare – and those, Karin de La Vallière would dispose of with extreme prejudice.

Louise peeked from inside the palanquin, greeted by Siesta and her mule (she named it Shard) ambling nearby. “Madam Vallière, good morning.” She said with a smile. Siesta was a striking young woman, for a commoner; with her raven black hair – a rare hue in these parts – and bright blue eyes. Her skin was a bit darker than that of her peers; not quite like Zerbst’s, but notable enough. Also, for whatever reason, her left hand was clad in a soft glove, obscuring it entirely from sight. From what Louise could parse, this was a custom among the women of Siesta’s family; some kind of a belief that erred slightly towards pagan rituals – but it didn’t hurt anyone, so she was willing to let it slide. “Had a good rest?”

“Surprisingly so, considering I’m atop a giant crab.” Louise, for her part, was in good spirits. Though her magic still escaped from her, she was able to summon a respectable Familiar and shed the shameful mantle of a Zero. The Familiar itself was a placid creature, as slow and steady as the rock on top of its body.

“Technically, these are called “chulls”, ma’am.” Siesta smiled, reaching over to pat the rocky shell. The top of it was sanded and flattened to make space for Madam Vallière’s palanquin. The crustacean underneath continued plodding along at its own pace, unphased by weather or difficult terrain. Were it only slightly faster, Louise imagined the logisticians of the world would scramble to cultivate their population for their purposes. “I never saw one in Tristain, but my grandmother talked plenty about them.”

“I imagine a creature like this would be more suited somewhere more, uh, watery…” Louise pondered. The crab didn’t seem phased by not being in an unfamiliar environment either, its long stalks twitching when its Master tapped the end of them with a long pole attached to the palanquin. The conversation died for a moment as the two of them continued their slow journey. Siesta squinted, seeing the shape – the huge and opulent shape – ahead of them. “Ah, there it is. We should be home soon.”

“If I may ask, Madam Vallière… is this really okay?” Louise tilted her head at the servant. Siesta rubbed the back of her head. “I… well, I appreciate you taking me with you – to meet your family, no less – but technically I’m still in employ of Count Mott…”

“That’s just a formality, Siesta. Mott will rescind his contract of you.” A thin smirk slipped on Louise’s face; the maid shuddered despite herself. “Unless he wants to take it up with my mother… or with this mighty crab’s pincers.”

To say Siesta was grateful to be freed from the reign of the unseemly Royal Messenger – who had a notorious ill repute of a connoisseur of fair sex, regardless of said sex’s input or consent – was an understatement. Even if nothing came to be during her stay at the count’s manor (and Siesta doubted that; she knew she was, uh, a unique commodity), those… those outfits the maidservants wore in there… she would combust on the spot from embarrassment.

It was honestly just pure luck that Madam Vallière was willing to vouch for her like that – and then pay the expenses for the Count’s ornate baroque gate that she had her Familiar destroy by way of demonstration. Considering how little was left of the metal bars after the chull’s grip relented, Siesta dreaded to think what would happen to any man or beast caught between them.

“Besides, it’s not like I don’t have an ulterior motive of my own, as far as you go.” Louise continued, nodding to herself. Siesta blinked and flushed; something that went noticed by the pinkette. “Wha-not in that way! W-who do you take me for, maid?”

“A-ah, sorry, I—“

“...hmph. Well, no, although you are definitely a…” Louise’s eyes wandered, briefly settling down on the maid’s curvature, easily seen even through the confines of her modest servant’s dress. “...flattering… presence. Your future husband will be a lucky man.”

“I, er…” Siesta’s stammering was interrupted by the chull’s bleating; the crustacean’s antennae twitching towards the maid. She couldn’t say she knew much about how these ponderous creatures communicated, but it almost seemed like it was trying to… reassure her? “...a-apologies, ma’am.”

“It’s nothing. Just make sure not to make such a blunder in front of my sisters. Mother might be out on state business, but Éléonore is second to her in thunderous glares.”

“M-meep.”

----

Éléonore Albertine le Blanc de la Blois de la Vallière regarded her youngest sister with badly-masked disbelief.

The news about Little Louise finding her magic, at least in some part, was warmly welcomed in the household. Of course, the problem came from the fact that her youngest sister still couldn’t cast basic spells children half her age could. She summoned a familiar, yes – and what an odd creature, to boot – but there was still a metaphorical chain holding her back.

That was one of the reasons why Éléonore pushed for Louise’s arranged marriage with Jean-Jacques Francis de Wardes; the viscount wasn’t just among the more important knights of Her Majesty, he was also Mother’s understudy and a friend of the family. It certainly didn’t hurt that Little Louise seemed at ease with the man. Even if her fate was to be an oddity straight from some kind of exotic menagerie, a noble-born with no nobility in their blood, having such a respectable husband would spare her ridicule from her peers and ensure a stately life.

Unfortunately for Éléonore, her youngest sister had a personality of an obnoxious knight-errant; the kind that would jump head-first into trouble in the name of the Crown and chivalrous ideas. Now, with the Familiar in tow, that might have gotten to her head – even if said familiar wasn’t exactly a beast for combat. Cattleya and her collection of animals investigated the crustacean curiously, and the crustacean took all of their prodding and inquisitiveness with stolid calm.

And then, when the eldest daughter of House Vallière thought that was the entirety of the problem, Louise dropped an airship’s worth of unstable Firestones on her head.

“...do you know what you’re saying, Louise?” Éléonore narrowed her eyes at Louise from behind her glasses. The maidservant accompanying her sister – with a glove on her left hand, for some reason – remained a part of the proceedings, at Louise’s own insistence. Fraternizing with the plebes like that, even faithful servants… that didn’t sit right with a proud noble like Éléonore. “Do you understand what a blasphemous theory this is?”

“It’s the only theory we have left.” Louise shook her head. “Both Professor Colbert and Headmaster Osmond already consulted the library of the Academy. A lack of elemental affinity, “spells” that go beyond any civilized description, a strange familiar that is not of Helkeginia… I am a Void Mage, Éléonore.”

“...does Mother know?”

“N-no, not yet. I, uh…” The blonde shook her head at Louise’s sudden bout of sheepishness. No doubt Mother would react fiercely at the news. “...Professor Colbert told me to consult you, as the most esteemed researcher at Oriz Academy.” Éléonore scoffed.

“What did I always say about brown-nosing, Little Louise?”

“It’s the truth!” The pinkette protested fiercely. A bad response; already was her cheek pulled in a light pinch. “Shorry, it ish!” The elder sister harrumphed but relented, letting her go. Louise made a little pained noise, rubbing her pinched cheek.

“I would think the Academy has enough material on Void Magic and Founder’s Familiars. Or did that daft fool Mott mess something up during the recent cataloging of the vault?” Her eyes turned sharply towards the maidservant; she clearly heard a little snicker. The maid reflected without prompting, standing up rigid straight.

“Well… here’s the thing.” Louise produced a piece of paper from her shirt pocket, smoothing it out on the table. Éléonore appraised the recreation of Familiar runes. “It’s said Founder had three Familiars; Gandálfr and Vindálfr, the Hands of God, and Mjöðvitnir, His Mind.” The pinkette shuffled uneasily. “...this rune doesn’t match neither of the three, but… all other characteristics still label me a Void Mage.”

T he blonde’s eyes were barely open with how narrow they were, reading the rune inscription once, twice, thrice. “...Louise… there are four Familiars of the Void.” She started slowly, gently. The fourth Familiar was the one least-talked about, and for a good reason. Even investigating that matter would be considered heretical, and the only reason Éléonore and her peers could get away with it was due to the countless accolades Oriz Academy earned for the good of Brimiric Nations.

Louise took the fact surprisingly well. “...oh. Thank the Founder, I thought I bungled up even that.” A relieved laugh crossed her lips, heedless of how Éléonore’ s eyes regarded her. “So… uh, what’s it do? What’s its name?”

Lífþrasir . The Heart of God. A walking mana bomb the Founder used to scour the Elves off the map so many millennia ago. Luckily, its usual function was to merely supply the Void Mage with an additional boost to power up their spells. Éléonore omitted the first part of the description, meeting the maid’s narrowing eyes with her own thundering glare. It seemed that Siesta girl had an idea that not everything was said today.

Louise took that fact well too, although something of an embarrassment crossed her face for a spell. “...that explains some recent, uh… improvements… in my, um, “spells”. When only silence was her answer, the pinkette fidgeted in her spot. “...c-can I demonstrate…? Someplace with a lot of space… a-and nothing you’d like destroyed, ideally.”

----

T here was an old shooting range someways from the main building of the estate.

Éléonore never really visited the place; for a researcher and a noble in pursuit of better ventures for humanity, there was no need to train with a weapon. Cattleya surprisingly trained a lot in her younger years before her sickness made that unfeasible for her. The servants also trained here, oftentimes under the watchful eye of Mother herself. “Let it not be said that the Vallière demesne only has me for a guardian”, she once said. It seemed a bit superfluous – anyone who would dare attack the land of Grand Tempest herself must have clearly courted death. Still, though it offended her sensibilities, it made sense for the plebes to have ways of defending themselves in an event they had to.

Louise, less surprisingly than Cattleya, was a frequent visitor when she was younger. She and Jean-Jacques would often hold mock-spars with wooden swords, but not much else. Now, it seemed she planned to showcase her newfound power, such as it was. Her familiar, the ponderous crustacean, was with her, and so was Cattleya with a few of her animal friends; the middle sister made use of the palanquin atop the rocky shell, with a few birds crowding around the booth and a cat Familiar perched on her lap.

“How do you gather power from your Familiar, Little Louise?” Éléonore queried, absentmindedly watching as Siesta set up a lone training dummy – made of hay and wood, in a crude facsimile of an orc warrior – some ways from the gathering. No other shields or items were present; it seemed her little sister was confident they would get caught in the blast.

Éléonore’ s heard plenty of Louise’s “Explosions” and how, despite appearing scary, they could barely do more than surface-level damage of the kind of scuffed-up clothes or paint falling off a wall. She also had heard that Louise was able to stop Fouquet of the Crumbling Earth during the thief’s burglary attempt – and despite the mighty claws of her Familiar, it looked anything but fit for combat.

She was going to tug Osmond’s dusty beard off some other time for misinforming her and Mother. For now, it was best to see this new Louise in action. “So… uh, Siesta told me that creatures like this chull have two hearts.” The pinkette started, drawing an unimpressed look from her elder sister. Éléonore then cast her eyes upon the maid in question. If this insolent plebe tricked Louise into some folklorist nonsense, she was going to let her displeasure be known, shortly.

“Is that so? I could feel only one.” Cattleya mused from the palanquin.

“That’s because one of these hearts is a gem. “Gemheart”, they call them. It’s not an exact 1-to-1, but… these might function similar to Elemental Stones.” Louise rubbed the chull’s head. It made a low rumbling noise, kind of like gravel grinding on stone.

“You’ve mentioned other creatures, dear sister.” The small pinkette perked up at the other’s gentle question.

“Oh, yes! I saw some depictions Siesta’s mother drew when I visited Tarbes the other day. They are fantastical creatures to a one, but the group chulls belong to is simply called “greatshells”. Apparently, all of them have a gemheart; the big ones are worth a fortune.”

“I’m honestly more interested in how this blasted thing doesn’t collapse in on itself…” Éléonore wasn’t much of an animal person unlike the other two. “So, you think that it gathers energy in the gemheart which helps enhance its function as a Heart of God, yes?”

“Y-yeah. The effect has been… um, spectacular.” Louise flushed in embarrassment. “Lethally so.”

“Oh, should I leave the palanquin?” Cattleya asked worriedly.

“No need, big sister; my Familar’s steadier than a rock.”

“It is a kind of a rock, dear sister.” The two pink-haired Vallières tittered. Just in time for the maid to return, her breathing a little more shallow from exertion.

“Everything is set up, Madam.” Louise nodded, looking towards the crude training dummy on the other end of the range, then slowly drew her wand. Her other hand stopped rubbing the creature’s head and instead simply kept it flat on its crustacean red shell. The energy transfer manifested strangely; in brief bouts of electric light dancing from the Familiar to Louise’s fingertips, not unlike what one could observe during a thunderstorm.

When her little sister exhaled, the same electric light manifested in a puff of her breath, drawing a hushed “oh my” from Cattleya and a frown from Éléonore. Slowly, Louise pointed towards the training dummy, closing her eyes. “Life before death. Strength before weakness. Journey before the destination.” A glyph appeared at the tip of the wand, filled with symbols that Éléonore could not decipher. They made for a diagram of sorts, but what did it mean? How did it figure into Louise’s magic? Was it heresy or just the Founder relaying his knowledge the way only he and his chosen could decipher?

Louise’s eyes shot open, and they shone bright, much brighter than they ever did. She made a gesture with her wand as if she was cracking a whip and then… “ EXPLOSION!” The ambient sound died out as a thin lance of energy, the size of a blade of grass, shot towards the training dummy…

...and shattered it in a cacophony of sounds, making it disappear in a ball of purple light. The sphere of destruction spread far and wide, just barely avoiding destroying the barriers set around the range – but it didn’t spare the ground from underneath nor the few errant pebbles scattered about. The same electric light – stormlight – danced around the sphere as it reached its crescendo, and then collapsed on itself, disappearing into nothing. As it did, it was as if the world at large unplugged its ears; the ambient sounds of nature returned to them.

There was nothing left of the training dummy – and most of the ground around it; the explosion spell ( Éléonore would classify it as an implosion spell instead, and also Brimir-damned scary) left behind a perfectly formed depression in the ground.

Louise swallowed, and then slowly lowered her wand. “That’s… uh, yeah.”

“Brimir’s balls.” She turned sharply, eyes widening in shock. It was Cattleya who said that, eyes wide open and jaw slack in disbelief. “Dear sister… y-you could always do this? S-such power?” Cattleya’s cat familiar was hidden right under her sister’s little jacket, whimpering quietly.

“If I may…” Siesta chimed in, looking unusually smug for a plebe among three nobles. “You should have seen the damage Madam Vallière did to Fouquet’s golem.”

“Is… Fouquet—“

“Y-yes, of course. She got clear when she saw me charging a spell.” Louise nodded, interrupting Éléonore’s question. An awkward silence permeated through the air shortly after, interrupted only by a cat’s whining and the chull’s quiet chuffing as it idly scratched at the ground with its claws.

“...Henrietta is in possession of Void-related items.” The eldest sister finally picked up the conversation. “Her ring and the prayerbook that is said to have belonged to Brimir himself. Put together, they can allow a Void mage to read the blank pages and decipher the spells hidden within.” The blonde took a moment to continue. “But if it does interact with you, if it confirms you are, beyond a shadow of a doubt, a Void Mage… what will you do?”

“W-what do you mean?”

“...she means the throne.” Cattleya’s voice was unusually quiet, even for her. She seemed more focused on her cat, but now and then she would steal glances at her younger sister. “By tradition, a Void Mage is to rule a Brimiric Nation; one for each of the four.” Louise stared at Cattleya as if she sprouted a second head. “...and we do have a relation to the royal family…”

“B-but that’s… I…”

“Of course, any Void Mage is such a rare historic event, perhaps the Founder didn’t expect that to ever be the case…” Éléonore sighed. “Regardless of whether you want the throne or not, being a Void Mage means responsibilities… and enemies.” Louise nodded; to the eldest sister’s surprise, there was hardly any hesitation to the gesture. And yet, the blonde wouldn’t attribute it to her little sister’s foolhardiness – something changed in her, through experience and perhaps through the bond with that strangely unassuming familiar of hers.

“I am a Vallière, sisters. Siesta.” Louise nodded at the maid, also a part of this discussion, who returned her nod with a similarly resolute look in the eye. “To help the helpless is what we do.”

The chull bleated in agreement, raising its claw into the air to cheer along.

Chapter Text

Ideally, a self-respecting wizard should not be seen without a focus.

A focus is just that, something to focus on as you invoke your power. It’s possible to cast spells without one, but not only you’re going to be expending a lot more energy like that, you can’t hope to be precise with it unless you’re a master of your craft. Of course, since we’re talking about being precise with magic, hello; my name is Pot, and I called the kettle black.

In a vanilla mortal’s understanding, a focus is going to be a wand or a staff; Helkeginian students seemed to prefer the former. With a few eye-catching exceptions (hello, Guiche), it was always a plain stick of wood, something similar to my own blasting rod from the olden days. Back home, its purpose was something akin to a .44 revolver, except it fired raw flame most of the time.

Of course, foci came in different shapes and sizes, even here. Tabitha was the only student with a staff ; a gnarly thing that looked like you could bludgeon someone to death with, and all the more galling for a girl her stature. My… “Master” (we were still hashing out the kinks of our relationship with Louise, but it seemed having a genuine wizard as her pet slash slave slash I-don’t-even-know-what humbled her a bit) told me plenty about sword-staffs used by the military mages, and apparently someone out there even used a giant wooden warhammer to cast with.

...anyway, all of this was moot, since, you know, I had clothes on my back during my transfer to Helkeginia, my mother’s silver pentacle – a focus in its own right, but not something I’d go to battle with unless I was feeling desperate – and little else... which made me kind of useless. Creating a new focus, even the smallest and most insignificant one, is no walk in a park. It takes weeks to apply the right runes, to attune yourself to the materials, all that jazz. It would take even longer when being cast in an unfamiliar world and having to figure out what does what; even ignoring how my understanding of magic and how it worked here, we were looking at a good few months of work.

Which was I couldn’t help but be leery of Louise’s suggestion.

“You know, I have a feeling something called “The Staff of Destruction” was locked inside the vault for a reason.” I groused at my little (so little) partner in crime. Louise, as always, wasn’t stymied at my objections.

“You are a pure-blooded wizard and a Familiar in need of a weapon.” She replied with a shrug. “And, despite your scruffiness, you are certainly a reliable sort.”

“Excuse me for dying, Mademoiselle.” The remark had her flinch slightly, but it seemed she would not be swayed so easily; we were en route to the Headmaster’s office. “Besides, just because I’m “reliable” doesn’t mean they can let me get away with this.”

“Then we should make sure to present our case as best as we can.”

----

Douse me in blue paint and call me a Grumpy Smurf, but the Academy administration seemed grateful to have someone take the Staff of Destruction off their hands.

Suspiciously so.

“The way I see it, Mr. Dresden, artifacts are still items, and items are to be used.” Headmaster Osmond and his bushy, “wizard classic” beard, nodded along as he escorted me and Louise to the vault. His secretary, a quiet bespectacled woman by name of Longueville, trudged behind us. She was the one carrying the keys. “Of course, just like one shouldn’t give a child a loaded gun, a magical focus could be similarly devastating in wrong hands.”

“And in the right hands, too, depending on the weather.” Louise shot me a withering glare, but Osmond only waved it off with a chuckle.

“Touche. What is the old saying? Power corrupts?” Helkeginians might not have heard of the Laws of Magic before, but it seemed they had this much figured out. “Still, it makes sense for the staff to return to a man from another world.”

“How do you mean, Headmaster?” Longueville queried from the back. Her voice was gentle and pleasant, but there was something off about it. Something insincere. Of course, that didn’t mean anything; maybe she was just asking a question for my sake, so that I didn’t have to look stupid for it as a fellow mage. Power plays of Helkeginia continued to elude me, but I knew I hated most of them.

“Some years ago I was attacked by a dragon. The creature was too strong for my young self, and I would have no doubt perished if not for the bald stranger who came to my aid.” Already we were veering off my understanding of the supernatural. The creatures Helkeginians called dragons were little more than somewhat intelligent mounts, used as air cavalry by the dozens. Some could spew fire or ice, but that wasn’t a given for the entire species. Tabitha’s “Rhyme Dragon” was an exceptional kind, apparently; much more intelligent and powerful than its contemporaries (if stymied by being a juvenile).

Now, if a creature I called a “dragon” showed up, it would be able to destroy the local drakes with a raised eyebrow. It’s not an exaggeration. There are heavyweights and there are Heavyweights back home. Most dragons can’t even show up in their true form anywhere because the reality would collapse in on itself if they tried it. A friend of mine killed one once, but he was a Knight of the Cross, someone with an extraordinary set of skills and sheer force of will. Oh, and a holy sword that might have been Excalibur.

If I had to fight a dragon from back home, surviving for longer than ten seconds would be an achievement in itself.

“The stranger appeared from a portal – not unlike the one you emerged from, Mr. Dresden – and used his staff to crush the dragon into raw paste.” Louise shuddered at the description as Osmond continued. “It’s something that haunts my dreams to this day, but I can’t deny the efficiency of it. He tossed the staff away though.” The Headmaster’s eyebrow furrowed in confusion. “It seemed he was through his fair share of troubles. That was the last time I saw him; I didn’t even get the man’s name.”

“What’s the staff look like?”

“It’s a very ordinary thing, honestly. All-black, with no markings. About the length of my own.” The Headmaster gestured with his sturdy staff for emphasis, but he had me lost in a gnawing sense of dread at the “all-black” tidbit. In conjunction with the fact that the stranger was from another world…

I saw a staff like that not too long ago, and I loathed the very thing and what it meant for me.

----

Sure enough, my suspicions were right for once.

The focus was entombed in an ornate sarcophagus-like box. If you’ve ever seen the Ark of the Covenant or some depiction of it, you know the kind of baroque golden design I’m talking about here. One of its walls was replaced with see-through glass gleaming from the gentle glow the container was cast in.

Considering what was displayed inside the box, I half-expected a bolt of lightning to flash-fry all of us present any moment now.

Inside was the Blackstaff; an uninspired name for a terrifying artifact. The Laws of Magic I keep mentioning? It’s not just that doing the things they forbid is generally bad; Black Magic corrupts in a way that defies description. For the sake of a comparison, imagine sulfuric acid sucking out the moisture from something. Or, uh, a juicebox someone emptied out like it was the last drink on Earth.

Point is, if you get started on Black Magic, it’s really, really hard to stop. A lot of practitioners don’t even do it on purpose, using these powers without understanding why they are something to avoid. The White Council liked to claim stewardship over all mortal practitioners, from the lowest minor talent to the Merlin himself – but they weren’t the kind to issue “Black Magic 101” leaflets nor did they go from school-to-school issuing boring educational talks.

Killing with your magic in particular is an awful thing. I know from experience.

So here was the Blackstaff; a focus that let the user – also known as The Blackstaff – cheerfully ignore all of these rules and blame it all on the eldritch stick in his hand. I saw it in use at Chichen Itza, and I saw how it killed an entire group of mercenaries with the ease I would eat a Whopper: disturbingly so.

On top of that, it seemed to have a life of its own, gnashing and twisting in the owner’s (honestly, I don’t think any mortal could “own” it inasmuch as “borrow” it) grip as it tried to assert itself as the one pulling the strings. Given what I have heard in passing about the Blackstaff’s origins, that seemed only natural.

“...hm. It looks unassuming.” Louise mused as she examined the focus from behind the glass, eyes furrowing slightly as if she wasn’t just made a victim of a practical joke. “...but I suppose so do ordinary wands, too. Are you sure it’s fine for Dresden to have it, Headmaster?” And now she was considering giving this damn thing to me, and Osmond looked like he was willing to humor her.

I could ponder why the previous owner of the Blackstaff threw it away, and how it didn’t even make any chronological sense for him to be here, later. For now, I had before me phenomenal cosmic power that would let me ignore the Laws of Magic. I could do whatever I wanted with it, and pay no cost. Combined with the Winter Mantle tugging at my inhibitions at every step, I would have been unstoppable. I could have carved a kingdom for myself in this new world, called it Dresdenstan, and ruled it as a god-king. Few would be able to stop me, if any; women, riches, all the pleasures of the world here within reach.

Everything I could have ever wanted, and then some.

“...sir?” Longueville’s voice didn’t bring me back from the addled reverie; rather, she was the one who was tugged into my little world of fantasy. “A-are you okay? Y-you… you look...” Her eyes widened and she shrunk in on herself, watching me leer her way. She was the weakest here, at my mercy if I so wanted—

We Soulgazed.

Soulgazing is a peculiar power us wizards have, an ability to, well, gaze into another’s soul. It’s a two-way-street, of course; if you maintain eyecontact with someone for longer than a few moments, they will see you bared down to the essentials and vice versa. It’s not quite like the Sight – another ability for us to see things as they truly are – but something far more intimate, something sacred or sacrilegious, depending on who you ask.

If you see someone’s Soul, that sight will remain with you until your last breath.

It was soon as over as it started, and the two of us recoiled. I had a vague idea of what she saw, although her jittery eyes and quickened breathing spoke a story for themselves. “Familiar?! What’s the meaning of this?” Louise’s voice felt sharper than usually as she regarded us with a thundering glare – and a hint of suspicion, watching as the secretary slid down on her knees. I could feel the power shifting somewhere behind her, with plenty in the wings. Osmond, I surmised.

Stars and stones. Just thinking about the power the Blackstaff would give me force-fed the Mantle so much raw id it overtook me for a moment. If not for the Soulgaze, I would have done… something, something bad. But now Longueville – no, Fouquet of the Crumbling Earth – knew me, and I knew her. “Familiar! I’m talking to you!” And there was a loud pink-haired fly buzzing about too. Oh, that was hell on my ears.

“...I’m fine.” My voice felt like antifreeze mixed with peanut butter, and it must have sounded similarly, because everyone present shifted uneasily. “I… I am now. Shit, that… I am not taking that damn thing off its damn box, Osmond.”

“...did the Staff do this to you?” The old wizard queried with a frown, likely already knowing the answer. No. No it didn’t. Not directly, at least.

“...to hold that thing and not go insane takes a real master of the craft.” I replied slowly, chewing every word out like raw meat. “...the man who saved you, Osmond… I studied under him.”

“...that doesn’t make sense—“

“I’d wager visitors from another world entirely already don’t make sense, Miss Vallière.” At least Louise had enough humility to look sheepish when scolded.

“Well, it doesn’t make sense to me either. Remember, Law Six.” A beat. Everyone mulled over the information. Longueville was no longer shaking, but she remained quiet as a church mouse. “...also, uh… I might have accidentally found out the identity of that Fouquet guy.” My non sequitur threw both Louise and Osmond in for a loop, understandably so; the notorious larcenist haven’t come up once in this conversation. Rather than elaborate, I gestured towards the secretary on the ground.

“...Familiar, are you… feeling okay?”

“Yes, Master, Familiar is feeling okay.” I had a rough idea why Louise deferred to that damn word in stressful situations (not that it made it tolerable); I was her sole magical achievement, and she was holding onto me like people do when Black Friday sales are concerned – with a distressing amount of fervor. “...look, you know how I don’t look you or anyone in the eye for too long, right? That’s why; you can peer into another’s soul that way, and it usually isn’t pretty.”

“And you’re saying Miss Longueville peered into yours in turn?” Osmond; his eyes seemed soft and merciful, but he was shifting ever so slightly towards the exit from the vault. Conspicuously so, but there was no need for stealth here.

“...Vallière.” The secretary’s voice was small and broken, but it still had Louise almost jump in her spot. “...you have summoned a monster.” Helkeginians didn’t have to worry about Soulgazing each other, but it almost looked as if something in Longueville’s eyes that she saw from our eyecontact reflected back to Louise. My errant Master’s eyes widened and she snapped back sharply to me.

Longueville wasn’t exactly wrong.

----

Fouquet, real name Mathilda de Saxe-Gotha, admitted to everything without any prompting.

Okay, so maybe I wasn’t completely useless – but that was a lucky blunder caused by less than fortunate circumstances. I think I was focusing on the wrong thing here. It’s natural to want to have a versatile focus, as staves are, especially if you’re stranded in an unfamiliar world full of political intrigue. However, Wizards aren’t measured by the inches of their big hard length of stick. At the end of the day, a focus is just that; a focusing tool.

But even if I were to hold off on casting my usual repertoire of spells, I could use my… let’s say, “inbuilt” abilities instead. Don’t get me wrong, I wasn’t planning on Soulgazing every suspicious individual around the country in search of Reconquista conspirators – that was the name of the organization Fouquet answered to – but I could still See, Hear, I could still put together potions and conduct rituals and, if need to, throw out a mean punch.

For now, Louise decided it’s best if I just have her wand instead. “I’m not exactly going to be using it.” She explained with a shrug. I did see what she was capable of, and how it looked on the surface of things; seemingly big explosions that didn’t do much more than ruffle someone’s hair or rough up their shirt. On the academic side of things, if you’re saying “fireball” and something else entirely comes out, then that’s definitely a problem worth investigating if you have the time and the means for it.

We didn’t have the time, because Louise’s friend was the crown princess of the country, and she had a pressing need to use us for an errand.

“I realize this is a lot to ask of you, dear Louise, master Dresden, but… I have no one else to turn to.” She said it very softly, like it was something to be ashamed of. It also felt like a big fat lie – unless the matter was so sensitive that she could only trust her friend with. Princess Henrietta was a fair young lady, the kind that would turn heads at Lincoln Park as she trudged along with a picnic basket and surrounded by all kinds of forest critters as if she just left the set of Snow White. The white gown she had on completed the impression of an immaculate princess classic.

And she was either hopelessly naive or more ruthless than she first appeared, to try and send her best friend into a warzone.

“This letter… this proof of the foolishness between me and Prince Wales… you must retrieve it from him before the Reconquista seizes it.” She begged with a voice like warm chocolate milk. I didn’t have to be in the same room as Louise to tell she would take up this mission without a second thought. Henrietta could tell her to go jump in a fire, and my errant Master would do a flip on her way to the fiery pit.

“So what happens if we do not retrieve the letter?” I queried – and immediately shushed Louise from raising a heated objection. The princess tilted her plum-crowned head at me in confusion. “Because, with all due respect, you know that Louise isn’t exactly fit for a journey like that, right?”

“I am perfectly fit, Familiar! This insinuation—“

“It’s not an insinuation if it’s the truth.” There was no point in sugarcoating it. I wasn’t at my best, but I would be able to protect myself – but protecting myself and Louise on a journey into the unknown? Without a proper means of wizardly persuasion? “We are still figuring out the knacks in your magic; an active battlefield is among the last of places to do a test drive.”

“...to answer your question, Master Dresden…” Henrietta picked up the conversation, nodding slightly, as if to herself. “…I am arranged to be the wife of Germanian Emperor Albrecht the Third. If this letter were to reach him, through Reconquista’s Germanian sympathizers… no doubt the marriage would be called off. With it, we would not receive the military alliance that could protect us from Reconquista and our Gallian neighbors both.”

“And they’re just going to take the Reconquista’s word for it? The guys that are planning to do a medieval D-Day on the shores of the continent?”

“This is not something we can leave up to chance, Master Dresden. I am responsible for Tristain and its people.” Henrietta looked fervently determined, even if all that showed it were her little lips curling down in a frown. Some people just can’t look angry no matter how hard they try. “We must be sure the Reconquista is stymied by the threat of Germanian military.”

What she was saying made sense, but that didn’t mean I had to like it. Speaking of which… “Alright, Your Majesty, second question: why Louise? Why not send one of your agents?” This time, Henrietta’s lips pursed up as she tried to make eyecontact; this time I made sure to wisely avoid such.

“Obviously they must be busy with all the other things happening around Tristain and peripheries!” Louise replied with the kind of certainty that only people in the wrong have. “I can prove myself as capable as them, too, princess! Just say a word!”

“The word is nada. And by that I mean we’re not going anywhere.” Before Louise could explode (metaphorically) with anger, I shushed her again. “I’ll go by myself.” That seemed to throw them both in for a loop. “You are unfit to levitate a pebble off the ground, and that is a fact, Louise. You” Here I pointed at Henrietta who turned suspiciously stiff in her giant ornate chair. “give me something of Wales’s that I can track him down with, and a 101 on how the hell Albion and its floating landmass work.”

“Familiar, I am not going to permit—“

“Then we’re not going, period.” Louise blinked at me, and then puffed up her cheeks in indignation. It’s not nice of me to get into spats with a girl half my age, but we had to establish some ground rules, and my errant Master was as stubborn as they came. “So either you’ll let me work on my own to get this mess fixed or we can sate your noble pride and sit on our thumbs at the Academy.”

Louise was silent, but her small hands balled up into fists as she shook in ever growing anger. “...Louise, I… think Master Dresden has the right of it.” Henrietta chimed in after a moment with an uneasy nod. I nodded back at the princess, feeling my burbling anger subside. How much of it was the Mantle? And how much of it was me at the end of my rope with this Master-Familiar nonsense? No point dwelling on it. “...I was unwise to even suggest that you go into such a dangerous locale. Even for experienced mages, that would be no easy journey.”

“...that’s not fair.” Louise grumbled under her breath, but it seemed Henrietta’s word was final; she would acquiesce to it, at least. “...then what am I supposed to do, even?”

“That is an excellent question, young Padawan.” Lucky for us, there was something for her to do alright. The two of them regarded me with confusion, as was the case when trying to mention Star Wars in another world entirely. “...Your Majesty, what I’m about to say isn’t leaving this room.”

----

Ultimately, Henrietta sent me on a journey alongside one of her agents, who just so happened to be Louise’s to-be-husband.

While Louise and the princess would be familiarizing themselves with the contents of the Founder’s Prayerbook – a Void-sensitive artifact that could reveal its secrets only to a Void Mage, and only with the assistance of one of the Elemental Rings (Henrietta happened to have a Water Ring, and three more were spread out across Brimiric Nations as priceless relics) – me and one Jean-Jacques Francis de Wardes, a type straight out of a film de cape et d’épée, complete with a wide-brimmed hat and fabulous silver hair, were to find the bothersome Prince Tudor and retrieve his love letters from Henrietta for safekeeping.

Let’s say we didn’t hit it off well.

“I am to understand you have been constantly belittling my betrothed throughout your stay in Tristain, yes, Dresden?” We were on board of Wardes’s own Familiar, a griffin by the name of Marseille. I couldn’t help but wonder what would happen if he deemed to push me off into the waters under some imagined pretenses. From this height, not even that would protect your local wizard from shattering his bones.

“I’ll remind you your betrothed has a name – and she’s a bit too little to belittle her.” Of course, a threat of surefire death hasn’t stopped me from talking smack, especially with people who I didn’t like – and I really didn’t like the Viscount of Wardes. Consider it a gut feeling, but even among the masquerading and pampered elite of Tristain, he felt like he was pretending a little too hard to be a chivalrous gentleman.

Louise spoke of him only in superlatives, but the man was off, and not like Longueville. It was much more concerning with him.

“...touche.” It seemed he didn’t deem to chuck me into the sea yet, instead focusing on the flight ahead. Sky clear as the water below; anyone with a spyglass would see us coming from far away. Luckily, it seemed hardly anyone flew in these parts. Henrietta cautioned me about roving bands of pirates between the continent and Albion, but bandits generally don’t sit in a place where there’s nothing to rob. “How is your spell, Dresden? Are you certain we can find Prince Wales that way?”

“Do pigs fly?”

“...so you are not certain.” I glared at the back of his neck.

“Don’t you wordfence with me.” That earned me a surprised snort he couldn’t mask as a cough fast enough.

“Wordfence, Dresden?”

“I am a wizard. I can invent words as I damn please, Wardes.”

“Yes, a wizard in that respectable… purple lizard creature on your shirt.”

“He’s called Barney the Dinosaur.” Another snort, but the viscount didn’t pick up the topic again for a time. Hearing only the howl of the wind and the flapping of Marseille’s wings… flying is always an experience, especially if you’re doing it open-air.

“That is enough levity. Let me make something clear, Dresden.” Wardes’s tone sharpened. “I will not let Louise be entranced by someone who could very well be an exceedingly lucky fraud.” Oh, so that was what it was all about, huh? True, I didn’t exactly showcase my phenomenal cosmic power in any particularly noteworthy fashion. Plus, I guess Barney the Dinosaur just isn’t in vogue in Tristain if it’s making me look this untrustworthy. “Good for you to unmask Fouquet and her association with the Reconquista, but—“

“How do you think we’re tracking down Wales right now, Wardes? By smell?”

“I suspected the princess has some means of finding him she passed on to you. I imagine why Louise would like to maintain the masquerade; her lack of ability to cast spells has been a hurtful shame for her. Why is Her Majesty playing along though…”

“...I’ll let you believe whatever you want for now. Let’s just hope I won’t have to prove anything to you in the middle of this little operation.”

“...yes, let’s hope so.”

Chapter Text

Louise Françoise Le Blanc de La Vallière had a problem.

A multitude of problems, but all of them really stemmed from a single issue; her strange Familiar. Against all odds, she was able to complete the Springtime Familiar Summoning ritual successfully. That her spells refused to work properly still was something she had to shelf for the time being however; she needed to figure out what the problem with her Familiar was.

Because he was dying, and so far there seemed to be no cure to be found.

Oh, and he also had his own Familiars, but all things considering, that was probably not that important right now.

“I am sorry, Miss Vallière, but… this is beyond my set of skills.” The infirmary of the Academy was commanded by Professor Puidemont, a master of restorative Water Magic. Though only a Triangle, he held his power like a fine-tuned scalpel, able to fix the damage both external and internal, soothe sickness, remove all kinds of strange ailments. If anyone asked Louise, she would say that a talent like him was wasting away in the Academy where the most one could expect was minor food poisoning and slight burns from alchemical mishaps.

And general damage to being caught in the middle of one of her failed spells, maybe.

“It is clear that something is off with your Familiar, but… this doesn’t appear to be a traditional illness. Not even a hex, or at least not the one I am knowledgeable with.” The professor tented his fingers together, clearly looking for a way to break the bad news to Louise as gently as possible. “The… runes, they might have slowed down the process, but…”

“...I understand, professor. Thank you for trying.” She bowed her head stiffly, not letting him finish. Her Familiar was dying. Her stupid Familiar was dying and he was going to leave her at some point, and there was nothing she could do about it… “...do you think… his Familiars might have a hand in it?”

Professor Puidemont looked uncomfortable with that line of conversation. “That’s probably a question to someone like Professor Colbert… but they don’t appear to be sapping any energy from him, none of the three of them.”

“...three?” There was that ghoulish blue bird, as talkative as a street vendor and with as foul a mouth as a Germanian landsknecht… and the big cat, ink-black but otherwise almost disturbingly regular in shape (and mercifully quiet).

“Three unknown signatures orbit your Familiar, Miss Vallière. The third one seems to dwell in his hair.”

“H-hair? How do you—“

“As a hair dye, if you will.”

----

As always, her Familiar – and his Familiars – were residing in the Void Tower.

Just like the legendary fifth element was thought lost, so was this wing of the Academy abandoned. Nothing but dust and cobwebs remained in this place, a few old furnishings notwithstanding. Perfect to house such a strange creature like that man.

Despite the fact that skin flaked off his body in generous helpings like it was the middle of a mild snowfall or that there were cracks all over him as if he was a ruined figure more than a human being… he seemed in good enough spirits, leafing through that poetry book of his.

“Took your sweet time, sweet cheeks!” Although he was not the first to speak; that was near-invariably going to be Griffon, who looked like anything but a griffon. Louise puffed up her cheeks at the ghoulish demon bird flapping about. “So what’s the haps? Did our Master, Savior of the Universe, finally figure out a way out of this pickle?”

“Do not blaspheme at me, demon. First, you” Louise pointed her finger towards the man reading his book. “have some explaining to do. I’m hearing you have a third one of these creatures skulking about.”

“That I do.” At least he wasn’t deceitful about it, although omitting such a crucial information was definitely a negligence. “Although Nightmare is a bit of a shy one. You’ll have to excuse him.” Something in Louise’s face twitched. Yes, a monster literally named “Nightmare” was apparently a shrinking violet. Of course.

“Blah blah blah, hey, I don’t know if you noticed it yet, princess – but V’s literally turning to fucking dust!” Griffon seemed inconsolable, but before Louise could snap back at the bird, his master shushed him with a gesture.

“I wouldn’t call my situation this bad… yet.” The man closed the book with a snap, rising to his feet. Though he was still able-bodied despite the gruesome look of his condition, he carried a silvery cane with him to rest on. Perhaps he prepared it in advance, knowing that he would eventually turn out like this… “But it is true that idling about is not exactly conductive to my survival.”

“...I’m doing all I can, but… no mage I consulted seems to know what ails you. It certainly would help if you could just tell me.” Louise narrowed her eyes at the wry smirk on V’s face.

“That… is something I will have to keep with me for now, Master. Though if I may, perhaps we need to consult a more unconventional magician than your peers.”

“Unconven—“ Pinkette’s eyes widened as she realized what her Familiar was implying. “A-are you mad? H-how would I even—“

“Aren’t you filthy rich or something?”

“I c-can’t just conjure a Firstborn out of my sleeve, bird!” Louise snapped at the ghoulish demon raptor. “Wealth has nothing to do with it.”

“Not on the face of it, but it brings connections – and with them come possibilities.” V sighed. “I understand you would rather not consult an elf if you can help it, but there are other Firstborn beings we could ask. Perhaps.”

“And did you, perhaps, find some good picks in that book of yours?” That brought up a wry smirk again as her Familiar opened the poetry tome (wrote down by an author named William Blake, apparently; it sounded Albionian enough, but it was no one she was familiar with), leafing through it for a few seconds.

“There is an elemental of considerable power and renown… down south, in the Lake Lagdorian.” His brows furrowed as he closed the book again; it seemed he hadn’t found what he was looking for. “Even if he does not deign to help, a being of this power may be able to discern the nature of this curse of mine – and it is going to sound much more believable from its lips.”

“This is an awful lot of moving parts in your plan.” Louise countered with a frown of her own.

“If you have anything better on hand, O Princess of Time and Space, it’d be nice if you shared.” Griffon groused from his porch. “V’s dying to know. Literally.” No. No, she didn’t have anything better, and the timing was decent enough; with the summer vacation right around the corner, she would have enough time to visit that part of the country… but then what?

“Oh, and I think this is worth bringing to your attention… your friend Montmorency agreed to help us.” That was one serious hurdle down; as far as Louise knew, the elemental in Lake Lagdorian only replied to the scions of House Montmorency like Monmon. What on earth did they do to get her to help…?

“Should I be concerned, Familiar?”

“Nothing of the sort. I scratched her back, she scratched mine in turn. It is a deal to benefit the both of us.”

----

Monmon refused to share the specifics of that deal; whenever Louise would question her about it, she would flush red and escape in a hurry, mumbling something about green orbs and restored vitality.

Still, now that the three (four? Five?) of them were here, she couldn’t help but feel apprehensive. Bothering a powerful Firstborn like that for no good reason was not only rude, but quite dangerous. The elemental in question seemed to be in a bad mood, if the flooding of the local terrain was anything to go by. Something to do with one of its possessions being stolen.

Whoever stole from such a being clearly had a death wish.

“...so… what’s next?” Louise asked uncertainly. This patch of land was somewhat elevated, but the water still looked to be dangerously close to their feet. Wouldn’t take much to suddenly find oneself underwater, inside the elemental’s domain.

“Think it’ll come out of we skip stones on the surface?” Griffon mumbled, eyeing the perfectly even surface. Before Louise could tell the ghoulish bird off, her Familiar chuckled and shook his head.

“A stone, if anything. A large one.”

“...V, I don’t think this is—“ In hindsight, if even Griffon was hesitant of what was about to happen, Louise should have known better than to gape at her irreverent Familiar in confusion.

V snapped his fingers, and his raven-black hair turned white in an instant.

And then, a space rock crashed right in the middle of Lake Lagdorian, screeching unholy elegies on its way down and sinking into the waters with a huge splash.

A few seconds passed… and then the space rock was violently expelled from the lake, tossed next to where the three of them were. The fourth one, the big cat, emerged on instinct and bared its teeth at the encroaching threat.

A threat, Louise realized with a feeling of her heart sinking down into her stomach, of an incensed water elemental at its home turf.

The waters burbled and roared. The Water Spirit emerged, rearing out its entire translucent body for all of them to see. A titanic form, vaguely humanoid and frail at at glance, but with so much power radiating off every droplet that composed the elemental, Louise felt her face turn parchment-white. This was a Firstborn, a creature from the olden times, a relic that was best left untouched for fear of terrible consequences.

And now her Familiar, pardon her Gallian, pissed in that relic’s porridge. Brimir’s beard, Griffon was rubbing off her.

The fact that the previously-mentioned space rock turned out to be some kind of a one-eyed golem made of living sludge was an afterthought.

“Pardon the rude awakening, but… I would have your assistance, Water Spirit.” V tapped the ground with the butt of his cane, tilting his head to appraise the titanic form. The elemental wasn’t turning them into ground meat yet, so it seemed the sheer audacity of tossing a demonic sludge monster in the heart of its lake managed to impress the thing. Not that Louise could allow herself to relax; they still had the Water Spirit looming over them. Silent. Judging. The pinkette shuffled from one foot to another, feeling blood leave her face again.

“...uh, if anyone asks, it’s entirely this weird tattooed guy’s fault—“ Griffon’s lame beginning was arrested immediately; the Spirit knelt – and flicked its watery fingers at the ghoulish bird, sending it careening backwards with a distressed squawk. Louise swallowed, side-eyeing her Familiar. Despite the gravity of the situation or the fact that one of his Familiars was swatted aside like a fly, V seemed calm and composed with that annoying wry smile of his.

“Who dares disturb?” The elemental’s voice was light, almost human; yet it carried power unspoken, the kind that would root Louise right to the ground if she wasn’t already stuck in place.

V leaned on his cane, making eyecontact with the Spirit. (so Louise thought; it didn’t have any eyes to begin with) “If thought is life, and strength, and breath… and the want of thought is death…” And he was citing his poetry book right at the elemental looming over them.

And then, the strangest of things have happened, once Louise already made her peace with her soul: the elemental tilted its head and then… “Then am I a happy fly… if I live, or if I die.” ...cited the book right back at him. “Your weak form belies your audacity, Gandálfr.”

“Believe me, Water Spirit… it is a bit of a culture shock for me as well.” Louise stared at the two of them making casual conversation – the kind that implied that V had already met the elemental? Somehow? No… it called him by his Familiar name; did it feel the imprint of the runes, recalling previous Gandálfrs of history. “The runes told me to seek out your assistance, even though this world and its rules are not mine.”

“Such is the case for your predecessors that came here before, as well. You” Louise squeaked, realizing the Water Spirit now addressed her all of a sudden. “have bound God’s Left Hand to yourself, child?”

“I, um, y-y-yes, my name is L-Louise F-fra—“

“Pardon her for the bout of sheepishness. I did do something that, for most minds, would be illogical at best… and suicidal at worst.”

“Yeah, “suicidal” doesn’t quite cut it. How about “completely fucking mental”, V?!” Griffon returned from his brief trip with scathing admonishment, flapping its wings nearby. “What if Miss Clean here splattered you and Princess all over the ground?!”

“This is yours, Gandálfr?” This time, the Water Spirit didn’t think much of the ghoulish raptor. V nodded along, fingers drumming, in what seemed like apprehension and nerves, on the cane’s hook-shaped head. Louise finally realized why – this was as much of a gamble for them as bystanders as it was for him. It was a guess, a desperate last resort. By all means, Griffon was right for once and she should be incensed alongside him.

...maybe she was going to be once the shock of it all wore off her.

“In a sense. But, that can be put away for now. I ask for your assistance because… frankly, the explanation of it by a being like yourself would be much more plausible.” V sighed and shook his head. “Call it additional insurance.”

“A risky endeavor, God’s Left Hand. Even then, this insolence can only shield you for so long… nonetheless, I shall acquiesce to your request.” The Water Spirit’s head craned towards Louise. The elemental seemed to have shrunk in size; now only about twice or thrice as tall as them rather than towering over them like a mountain. “Child. What is it that you understand about your Familiar?”

“I, uh… he’s named V. He has three Familiars of his own…” She looked towards Nightmare; the sludgemonster was gone as soon as it appeared, and the man’s hair was raven black again. “Demons… I think. He is also a Gandálfr, as you h-have stated, ma’am…”

“Speak of your Familiar only. What is he?” What was her Familiar? He looked human. Talked human. Felt human… but everything inside Louise screamed at her that this was a wrong conclusion to make, despite the logic. “It is on the tip of your tongue, is it not? An obvious answer that is not so.”

“...I… don’t know what my Familiar is, Water Spirit.” Louise was not going to guess when faced with such a question from such a being. Knowing how to admit defeat too was one of the skills a noble should have and few possessed. Of course, she realized bitterly, she was the last person who knew anything about throwing in a towel – but in this situation, the elemental would answer her either way.

“He is human… yet he is not. Imagine, if you will” Water Spirit craned its neck towards V. “An apple with no core, or a body without a heart.” Louise blinked, trying to parse that statement. Was her Familiar some kind of hollow shell? Or was he the heart given bodily form…?

“I wouldn’t quite put it that way, if you will.” V replied with a shake of his head. “Rather…” He rummaged inside the pockets of his coat before procuring a coin and twirling it between his fingers. “There are two sides, and one cannot exist without the other – otherwise they stop being themselves.”

Louise frowned, staring at the profile headshot of an aged queen on the obverse, and two heraldry lions on the reverse. Man and monster… “That is correct. Your Familiar, child, and another creature – they make two halves of one singular being.”

“...where is the other half? Is… is it here, in Helkeginia?”

“That, I do not know. The workings of fate might have brought it here. What you do need to know however, child… without the other half, your Familiar will wither away and die.” The Water Spirit turned to leave, growing back to its gargantuan size as it delved deeper into the lake. “The runes may postpone that process, but not annul it – and there is no other way to save him.”

Louise felt her stomach turn cold. So this was an inevitability? V was going to die, eventually? And there was nothing she could do about it except find his other half? Which might not have even been here in this world? The elemental left them be, disappearing into the waters of the lake. It was quiet.

An inevitability…

“Perhaps this was a bit dramatic for me to involve the Water Spirit, but… now you know.” V sighed, tapping the ground with the butt of his cane and watching as his big shadowy cat disappeared.

“So… where does that leave us? Are you content with dying like that?” Louise flinched once the words left her mouth; her voice was chipped and dry. She was crying, she realized, and hastily wiped the errant tears off with her sleeve.

“Of course not, but… I also understand that it would be an incredible stroke of luck for him to be in this world.” V looked forward, appraising the smooth waters of Lake Lagdorian. “I had gone through something like this before. Back then I knew where my other half was, and I had powerful help to get me there.”

“And now we’ve got neither.” Griffon chimed in.

“And now we’ve got neither. I understand that the Void Familiars are bound to certain lands. God’s Left Hand is always in Tristain. God’s Right is always in Romalia.” Her familiar turned in the direction of the southern country. “But that doesn’t exactly help us, does it?” Getting there at all was a difficult task – and even if she could somehow get an audience with Pope Aegis (Holy Fathers were said to be Void users, although these days it was near-impossible to confirm that), what would she tell him? That both of their Familiars have to die so that another can be born?

...she’d have to first out herself as a Void Mage to the frickin’ Pope. In the middle of Romalia, in the heart of Brimiric religion. The inquisitors would turn her into a charred corpse right there on the spot.

“...first and foremost… I’ve endangered enough people for my sake already, Louise. We could go to Romalia, and maybe find the answers we were looking for – but we shall not do that.” And she wanted so badly to protest his words, to defy this judgment, this verdict… but V had the right of it; this was a journey that was more dangerous than the others, and it was a journey that would have no certain goal. What if his other self wasn’t there? What if they would storm Romalia for nothing?

“...now come on. Let’s make use of the time we still have, hm?”

Despite this resignation, Louise vowed that she’ll look everywhere, through every nook and cranny to try and help her Familiar.

It was only fair.

Chapter Text

HALF-LIGHT: Ask yourself an important question, young duchess: what in the fuck possessed you to give your Familiar a sword?

HAND-EYE COORDINATION [trivial, success]: You have seen gong farmers with better motorics skills.

LORE [medium, success]: To be fair, an average gong farmer needs to be fairly dexterous and in good shape to tackle the arduous and thankless job they were given. Even among the plebes, to be a “nightman” is a curse upon curses, designating them as pariahs—

REVELRY [trivial, success]: Hey, who gives a shit?

CONCEPTUALIZATION [easy, success]: Technically, us. To them.

1. Can we stop discussing human excrement, please?

2. ...makes you think.

VOLITION: Let’s stop. We have more important things to worry about.

SWORDSMITH: The owner of the this quaint little shop in Tristania can’t help but cast you a worried look as he appraises the ghoulish form of your Familiar.

FAMILIAR: The ghoul in question is busy looking through the selection in uncharacteristic silence. At least he’s not talking to his necktie right now...

REVERIE [easy, success]: You always imagined ghouls as gaunt and wiry, always looking for an excuse to feast upon the flesh of the dead. This one is more like a… drowner. A bloated corpse floating in putrid waters.

PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT [easy, success]: Just looking at this man has your gut twist from the inside out. If body is a temple, then your Familiar’s been through an earthquake, a flood, a fire, and siege engine bombardment. At the same time.

REVELRY [formidable, failure]: I have absolutely no idea what exactly “flooded” him, if you know what I mean – but it must be the kind of stuff that would knock out an orc.

SWORDSMITH: The artisan wrings his hands nervously. “S-so, Mademoiselle, what would you be i-interested in?” He asks nervously, eyes jolting between you, the Familiar, and the swords.

NOBLESSE OBLIGE [trivial, success]: No doubt he’s wondering if you were dropped on your head as a child, bringing such a sorry “bodyguard” with you.

SAVOIR VIVRE [medium, success]: You had the Academy servants wash all of his clothes thrice over, and it still feels like merely looking at him bends the air out of shape with the sheer degree of filth on his person.

REVERIE [medium, success]: It is inner filth, like the rotten insides of an expired apple.

1. “My bodyguard needs a presentable blade to represent me.”

2. “My bodyguard needs a weapon to protect me in case I cannot protect myself.”

3. “...I am starting to wonder if coming here was the right idea.”

NOBLESSE OBLIGE [formidable, success]: Somehow, you were able to say that with a straight face. Kudos, young duchess.

PERCEPTION (Sight) [trivial, success]: The swordsmith doesn’t appear impressed of your mental faculties though, furrowing his brows.

SWORDSMITH: “Right… uh, then perhaps may I interest you in…” Slowly, he leaves the desk and walks over to the rack, purposefully giving your Familiar a wide berth. After a moment of rummaging, he presents an ornate blade encrusted with riches and gems. It is something you would see on display of an ostentatious noble’s main room.

HEROICS [medium, success]: Oooooh… shiny~

PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT [medium, failure]: ...that doesn’t seem right. Shouldn’t swords be… uh… less shiny?

CONCEPTUALIZATION [trivial, success]: Regardless of your opinion on whether this weapon is serviceable, it fits your Familiar like a pair of wild hogs would fit a baron’s stagecoach.

SWORDSMITH: “It is a bit of a rare treat, if I may say so, Mademoiselle. A weapon made for an honorable knight. I am willing to part with it for a reasonable price, of course.”

EMPATHY [easy, success]: His voice changed; he’s got quite a bit of sweetness about him now. So did his body language change to something more servile and encouraging.

AUTHORITY [medium, success]: Finally, you’re being recognized for the better in the room. He’s been giving you too much of a stinkeye for a mere artisan plebe. No doubt buying this sword will reinforce this place for months to come.

SUGGESTION: ...hey, Lou. Permission to speak?

1. Go on.

2. Shush, voice in my head. I am basking in my noble glory.

SUGGESTION: You do realize you’re being fleeced right now, don’t you ?

AUTHORITY: Oh please. Decadent malcontents have no say in these manners.

1. [Suggestion – 10 (Medium)] ...explain.

2. Zip it, decadent malcontent.

[4] [5] [success]

SUGGESTION: For starters, his entire demeanor changed in an instant when you said what you want the sword for. You want your Familiar – that bloated failure of a man – to “represent” you. Why did he give you the last weapon in this place that fits your Familiar in exactly zero ways possible?

LOGIC [easy, success]: That is true…

EMPATHY [easy, success]: He put on a sweet and servile voice as well, like he was trying to play on your noble pride.

SUGGESTION: No doubt this sword is going to cost some exorbitant amount, too.

1. So what you are saying is…

SUGGESTION: He saw a dumb noble goose – still in her Academy uniform, no less – present that drunken wretch as her bodyguard and then demanded for a fit weapon to “represent” her.

AUTHORITY: That son of a bi—

VOLITION: Now now, let’s not do something too hasty here. We’ve recognized the ploy, now we need to choose a way to proceed.

HEROICS [medium, success]: Get the shiny!

LOGIC: [easy, success]: We could haggle for it…

AUTHORITY: [medium, success]: Let’s storm out and let this be our answer.

PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT [medium, failure]: I don’t know… that sword just rubs me the wrong way, but I can’t put my finger on it…

SWORDSMITH: “The price, Mademoiselle, will be a mere 500 Écu.” The artisan concludes with an encouraging grin.

1. Leave it be. “Let us have it then, good shopkeep.”

2. Haggle. “That seems a bit much for a mere weapon, shopkeep.”

3. Fuck it, just turn on your heel and leave without a word.

4. Hmmm… what else is there?

REACTION SPEED: Oh, me, me! Have you considered getting a different sword?

1. Have I… what?

REACTION SPEED: You know, since you are at a swordsmith’s shop. There’s dozens of the things in here.

PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT: Ooooooh… that’s what I had in mind, too! Still not sure what’s wrong with that sword, but just checking different ones could be fine. We’re not in a rush, are we?

LOGIC: Makes sense… I am ashamed to admit it took me this long to figure that one out.

HEROICS: But are the other swords going to be as shiny as this one?

REVERIE: Ever heard of Fool’s Gold?

HEROICS: Don’t test me, Bubblehead.

1. Leave it be. “Let us have it then, good shopkeep.”

2. Haggle. “That seems a bit much for a mere weapon, shopkeep.”

3. Fuck it, just turn on your heel and leave without a word.

4. Let’s check out other swords. “I’d like to see some of your other wares instead, shopkeep.”

SWORDSMITH: The artisan deflated like a broken balloon. “O-of course, ma’am. If you are looking for something more dependable, then I should have something for…” Suddenly, the voice dies in the man’s throat as his eyes dart towards your Familiar – and the sword he’s holding in his hands in idle examination.

HALF-LIGHT [ easy, success ] : He’s shaking in his boots; it seems the act alone was enough to spook him.

THE RUSTY SWORD: The sword in question doesn’t appear to be anything special. If anything, it is clearly in disrepair; brown flakes of rust cover its entirety. It lacks decorations beyond a piece of metal at the bottom of the blade. It is a single-edged weapon, fairly long but not extraordinarily so.

REVERIE [ challenging, failure ] : ...why did your Familiar pick that one?

MAGIC THEORY [ challenging, success ] : ...why am I getting the heebie-jeebies?

SWORDSMITH: “W-with all due respect, Mademoiselle, that is the single worst sword in my shop.” The artisan is trying to salvage the situation, wringing his hands nervously. “F-frankly, I’m not sure why I still have this piece of junk lying around—“

THE RUSTY SWORD: “You kiss your mother with that mouth, fleshbag?!” That was not your Familiar saying that; the voice does not match and the sword rattles in your Familiar’s hand, incensed at the insult.

MAGIC THEORY: Oh. That’s why.

CONCEPTUALIZATION [ trivial, success ] : It does look like a piece of junk though.

FAMILIAR: Despite the initial surprise, the wreck of a man you pulled from Brimir only knows where recovers quickly, tilting his head inquisitively at the blade. “Hi there, talking sword.” He addresses the sword in question as if he was talking to any other person in the street.

1. (To your Familiar) “Did that sword just talk?”

2. (To the Swordsmith) “Did that sword just talk?”

3. (To the sword) “Did you just talk?”

FAMILIAR: “Oh. Thank goodness, I thought it’s just me hearing it.” Your Familiar’s puffy red face brightens up in a smile.

EMPATHY [medium, success]: He’s found a beacon of normalcy here. After being pulled from the parts unknown, this is something that lets him relax a little bit.

MAGIC THEORY: He’s found a beacon of normalcy in a talking sword. Hello? Is it just me finding this strange?

NOBLESSE OBLIGE [challenging, success]: Our station requires that we do not crow at any old unusual thing.

MAGIC THEORY: TALKING. FUCKING. SWORD.

PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT: Okay, you insufferable bookworm, go dunk your head in the latrine to cool down.

THE RUSTY SWORD: “I sure did, and I don’t appreciate being called a “piece of junk” to my face! Or, uh, or hilt!” The sword clatters in your Familiar’s grip again, jittering towards the Swordsmith.

LORE [easy, success]: Strange. He speaks perfect Tristanian, but the accent is off. Nobody in Brimiric Nations or Germania talks with this kind of cadence, not even in the furthest reaches.

SWORDSMITH: “That’s all you are, Derflinger!” The artisan loses his head in a bout of anger, shaking his fist at the sword. It would be an absurd sight in any other situation. “You keep scaring off my clients with your nonsense!”

FAMILIAR: “Well, I’m not scared. I don’t think Louise is either.” Your Familiar, of course, involves you in this moronic conversation, and with an encouraging smile to booth. “First time seeing a talking sword though.”

1. “Yes, well, same.”

2. (sarcastic) “Oh no, I am shaking in my boots, Familiar.”

3. Fuck it, let’s just leave. For real this time.

FAMILIAR: “I’m Raphaël Ambrosius Costeau, talking sword.” Your Familiar introduces himself to the blade with a nod and a dumb smile. You know for a fact that is not his name, but he keeps referring to himself with this one.

NOBLESSE OBLIGE [ trivial, success ] : Even without the identification card you found in his coat, that is the single last name you would give a lout like your Familiar.

CONCEPTUALIZATION [ easy, success ] : It has a nice flair to it, and it also sounds like everything your Familiar is not .

HEROICS [ medium, success ] : Honestly, I prefer “Lieutenant Double-Yefreitor Harrier Du Bois”. If the picture on the card is his likeness from the olden time, then it was a well-found name.

THE RUSTY SWORD: “Fancy name, that! Call me Derflinger. Derf for short. What about your short friend?” The sword must mean you, and your Familiar helpfully tilts the blade towards you on top of that.

AUTHORITY [trivial, success]: The audacity! Tell that heap of rust who wears a mantle in this relationship!

VOLITION [easy, success]: What happened to maintaining our station? Just give out your name and give it a rest.

1. “ Louise Françoise Le Blanc de La Vallière.”

2. “Louise de La Vallière.”

3. “...Louise.”

4. Glare at the heap of rust in your Familiar’s hand.

5. “…”

NOBLESSE OBLIGE: Not too official, but respectful of yourself. Good enough for an elder with a storied history, such as they are.

THE RUSTY SWORD: “Pleased to meet ya, girlie!” Unfortunately, the sword makes light of your name. “You know, I’ve been happy to bum around and do nothing but chase his clients away” The hilt tilts slightly towards the incensed Swordsmith. “but you two seem like something else. Especially you, big guy.”

FAMILIAR: “I am actually a perfectly ordinary cop.” Your Familiar replies with a straight face. You remember from earlier that “cop” is his word for a constable; a plebeian law enforcer.

LOGIC [medium, success]: The badge designated his organization as “Revachol’s Citizens Militia”, which does not contain a word “cop” or “constable” in the description. “Militia”, meanwhile, is not what you would associate with law enforcement.

AUTHORITY [medium, success]: Considering the sorry state of your Familiar, one could wager that the organization in question accepts all comers – and its reputation suffers for it.

EMPATHY [medium, success]: The picture says a different story however – of a once dedicated man who crashed and burned for reasons you are yet to disclose.

REVELRY [trivial, success]: The man reeked of spirits upon being summoned, so that’s at least one reason down.

SWORDSMITH: The artisan’s eyes dart towards you. “W-will you take him? Will you really take that damn sword with you? Please, Mademoiselle, take it for free if you so please! I’ll be happy to get rid of it.”

SUGGESTION [easy, success]: Amazingly, he’s not trying to swindle you out of your Écu this time. He’s genuinely happy to just give the sword to you.

NOBLESSE OBLIGE [medium, success]: In hindsight, giving your Familiar a fancy sword would just look ridiculous. At least this one compliments his… uh…

ENDURANCE: Ruined health?

SAVOIR VIVRE: Ridiculous outfit?

PERCEPTION (Smell): Rustic stench?

VOLITION: We’re getting carried away here.

1. “...well, I won’t refuse such a generous offer, shopkeep.”

2. “We can’t possibly, that wouldn’t be fair.”

3. “I think I’d like to look around yet…”

4. “Familiar, put the haunted sword away. We’re leaving.”

MAGIC THEORY: Hey, by the way; make sure to show this sword to Professor Colbert. Talking blades aren’t exactly commonplace.

----

Your return to the Academy was uneventful. You made it clear that neither the sword nor your Familiar are to talk during the trip back to school. The last thing you wanted was to cause further ruckus.

Luckily, for once the irreverent people (objects?) you have to wrangle like a shepherd wrangles his sheep agreed to your demands. Now the two – pardon, three – of you have made some time to visit Professor Colbert in his office.

PROF. COLBERT: “Welcome, Miss Vallière, Mr…” His greeting is stilled as your professor considers how to call your Familiar. “...Firewalker.” Professor Colbert settles for an incredulous third option. Judging by the bright-eyed look he was given by Mr. Costeau/Du Bois/Firewalker, it was the right course of action. “Please, have a seat.” Here he gestures towards the chairs in front of his desk.

ENDURANCE [trivial, success]: You were told that the kind of mental damage your Familiar sustained in recent days can be walked off with time, but it’s still a bit concerning that we need to make up absurd titles for him to respond to.

EMPATHY [medium, success]: Whatever he went through, obviously there’s been a lot of it. Let’s give him some space; there’s no rush.

PROF. COLBERT: “What can I do for you?” The educator asks once the two of you (and Derflinger) take your seats.

1. Go straight to the point. “Professor, this sword talks.”

2. Dance around it a bit. “Sir, what do you know about artifacts…?”

3. Let your Familiar explain. “Familiar, if you please.”

FAMILIAR: The man stirs a bit in his spot, staring at you in surprise.

AUTHORITY [easy, success]: He is used to you having the first word. You’re being extraordinarily generous right now.

1. Wait, am I?

2. Nonsense, I am always generous.

3. It’s a special occasion.

AUTHORITY: Correct. You are the Master. He is the Familiar. In some ways, he is equal to you. In most, he is below even the lowest of plebes.

VOLITION: ...you might have been a bit hard on him.

1. It’s not my fault he’s… the way he is!

2. How… hard…?

PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT: You broke a riding crop over his head during the first week.

NOBLESSE OBLIGE: Initially, you wanted him to sleep on a stack of hay, like some kind of beast.

LOGIC [trivial, success]: To be fair, that stack was prepared for a beast. No need to beat yourself up over that one, at least.

SAVOIR VIVRE: You keep showering him with the kind of insults that sailors would balk at.

1. O-o-only when I’m angry with him…

2. They’re not that bad.

VOLITION: They could be nothing, but the fact remains that you’ve been rather cavalier about how you treat and address your Familiar.

NOBLESSE OBLIGE [challenging, success]: Did you already forget Professor Colbert’s speech at the Springtime Familiar Summoning? A noble is only worth as much as they care for their Familiar – which you have been rather bad at.

1. ...oh.

[DAMAGED MORALE]

PROF. COLBERT: “...Miss Vallière?” Your educator’s voice brings you back from the miniature epiphany tumbling down in your mind and into the realm of the living. You start in your chair, noticing that it’s not just him, but also your Familiar staring at you in obvious concern.

PERCEPTION (Sight) [easy, success]: It looks like even Derflinger is trying to look at you with how its hilt tilted towards you.

PROF. COLBERT: “...is everything alright?”

1. “I am an utter sham of a noble, Professor.”

2. “I think a piece of me just died inside.”

3. “...n-no, but please, don’t stop on my account.” (Proceed)

4. “Everything is alright, sir. Where were we?” (Proceed)

PROF. COLBERT: It’s obvious the educator doesn’t buy your lie, but he doesn’t press the issue. “Mr. Firewalker explained to me how the two of you have found Mr. Derflinger in the sword shop and, well… I am sorry to say that I just don’t know what to say.”

EMPATHY [medium, success]: So he claims, but with how wide his smile is, it’s obvious this has been a religious experience for him. In a good way, I mean.

MAGIC THEORY [medium, success]: It’s more likely that he just doesn’t know how to approach the issue of a talking magic sword. Which is kind of a shame, but it was worth a try.

LOGIC [medium, success]: To be fair, who would know how to approach that?

PROF. COLBERT: “I have never heard of a talking weapon before – especially the one with memory problems.”

DERFLINGER: “That’s not exactly something to be happy about, teach.” The sword grumbles from the table. “Once you hit your sixth millennium, you’ll get holes in your memory too.”

FAMILIAR: “My memory is nothing but holes.” Your Familiar chimes in helpfully, rubbing his ridiculous mustache in thought. “...could I be in the sixth millennium?”

ENDURANCE [trivial, success]: Well, he does look much older than he probably is.

1. “No, Familiar, no you’re not.”

2. “You are right – your memory is nothing but holes.”

3. “I don’t know, I think you’re only around a second millennium.”

4. Do not deign to comment upon this farce.

FAMILIAR: “But how can you be so sure, Louise?” Looks like his thoughts are fully absorbed by this inane idea. “Now that I am a Familiar, I could be… magic.”

APPLICATION [trivial, success]: If he is “magic”, what does that make you?

VOLITION [easy, success]: Hold it. Drop that line of thought right now.

1. A failure.

2. Drop it?! He’s not magic! That doesn’t make any Brimirdamned sense!

3. ...yeah, let’s go back to the important stuff.

FAMILIAR: You opt to forget the topic even happened. Your Familiar looks disappointed, but there’s only so many brain cells you can forsake for his happiness.

PROF. COLBERT: “If I may, sir Derflinger” Luckily for you, your teacher is kind enough to pick the proper conversation back up. “what made you want to reveal yourself to Miss Vallière and Mr. Firewalker?”

MAGIC THEORY [medium, success]: Good question. Could his Familiar status awakened Derflinger somehow?

REACTION SPEED [easy, success]: No, wait. The Swordsmith said that Derflinger’s been “haunting” the shop for a while now, so that’s right out. He still chose your Familiar despite that.

AUTHORITY [easy, success]: It could be in response to the insult, and this was just a happy coincidence.

APPLICATION: But what if… he is “magic”?

DERFLINGER: The sword titters lightly. “Let’s just say I have a nose… well, a sword’s equivalent of a nose for special, one-of-a-kind people.”

REVERIE [medium, success]: What could be a sword’s nose?

1. “Special how?”

2. “...do you mean he is magic?”

3. “You know it’s rude to call such people “special”, right?”

DERFLINGER: “I can tell you this much, girlie – you brought this shaved bear from another world entirely. He might look like any regular ol’ guy, but… he’s destined for greatness. Maybe.” The sword jiggles in place. “Again, memory holes.”

HEROICS [trivial, success]: “Greatness”? Your Familiar? He might have a good name, but he is clearly a has-been past his prime.

DERFLINGER: “Or maybe I was just looking for someone to match up my aesthetic.” The sword chuckles; it sounds like knives hitting each other. “He is in a similarly sorry state. I don’t suppose you have some anti-rust solution in your school, teach?”

NOBLESSE OBLIGE [challenging, success]: You can imagine a what-if version of Derflinger that wasn’t left to rust in some swordsmith’s shop. A version wielded by a righteous knight, the kind that could fell armies and save the innocents. It is a sword of a plain design, but immaculate make, wielded by a hero.

HEROICS [trivial, success]: Should have just grabbed the shiny sword instead…

PROF. COLBERT: “If I may, what powers do you have, Sir Derflinger? Other than the gift of speech, that is.”

DERFLINGER: “Unfortunately, I couldn’t tell you. There’s definitely something, but I can’t think of anything specific.” The sword sighs and shakes its “head”. “Maybe if you give me a few swings, something to shake off all this rust…”

FAMILIAR: “...I don’t really know how to swing a sword though.” Mr. Du Bois deflates slightly as that realization strikes him.

MAGIC THEORY [trivial, success]: Fortunately, the runes of a Gandálfr can take care of that issue. Both Professor Colbert and Headmaster Osmond verified their authenticity. You are a Void Mage by association.

VOLITION [medium, success]: How about we don’t open that door for now? We have enough things to worry about in the present.

1. That is pretty important though.

2. Right, the “now” comes first.

DERFLINGER: “Those are Gandálfr runes on your arm, shaved bear. That means you can swing any weapon like a pro with years of experience.”

PROF. COLBERT: “That is correct. God’s Left Hand has full expertise of any weapon that was or will be made, including the scientific application of them.” Your educator is quick to cut into your Familiar’s would-be response. “Although perhaps that is best checked out later, once the two of you rest up.”

EMPATHY [easy, success]: Bless him for realizing you still have to wrangle both your Familiar and the sword – and deescalating the situation.

FAMILIAR: “A-are you sure the magic won’t fade away? Like disco?” Your Familiar queries, a strangely wistful tone on his lips.

LORE [impossible, failed]: You still don’t know what “disco” is, but every time he mentions the thing he recoils as if someone slapped him.

HALF-LIGHT [easy, success]: That’s a lifelong trauma.

REVERIE [medium, success]: Or a remainder of his old self. A reminiscence of the past.

REVELRY [challenging, failed]: Could it be some kind of drug?

1. “We’ll be fine, Harrier. Let’s give it a rest for today.”

2. “No, it won’t.”

3. “Yes, it will.”

4. “It’s probably going to be as dead as disco is now.”

FAMILIAR: His brows furrow. “Why do you keep calling me that, Louise? You know what my name is.”

EMPATHY [medium, success]: Give him time. He’ll remember. There is no point in being cruel to a man with a sieve instead of a brain.

HALF-LIGHT [trivial, success]: It’s so tempting to rip into him…

1. “I guess that’s just a habit of mine.”

2. “That’s your name. The real one. It’s on the card and everything.”

3. “I could call you Firewalker instead…”

4. [Conceptualization – 14 (Legendary)] Lay the cards on the table. Enough of this Costeau nonsense.

FAMILIAR: He tilts his head at you, but then offers a little smile. “That’s fair enough. I’ve got enough habits of my own.”

REVELRY: [trivial, success]: ...you should ask Siesta to check his quarters for anything suspicious, just to be sure.

The discussion with Professor Colbert soon concludes. You agree to let Derflinger remain in his office for now; you’re not sure if its presence would be healthy to your Familiar’s already plagued mental state. This was a rather eventful day all in all, wasn’t it?

REVERIE [medium, success]: There is something profoundly exciting in all this. So many new mysteries, so many strange things. Despite your grips with your Familiar, you can’t help but enjoy the strangeness you find yourself locked into due to his mishaps.

1. Do I though?

2. ...I kind of do, yeah.

VOLITION: Perhaps this is a good place to start anew. You already had your epiphany – you should work on rebuilding your relationship with your Familiar from now on.

NOBLESSE OBLIGE: He is your responsibility, and it reflects well on you if he is treated fairly. Give him time. He might not be a knight in shining armor, but you can make him into the next best thing.

PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT: Just make sure he drops the gut. And the liquor.

Chapter Text

Louise drowned – and now she was back.

Her eyes cracked open, taking in the darkened ambience. She was floating; the waters below holding her above. Despite the mantle or her hair getting in the way, Louise remained above water. Maybe. It was hard to say.

The water was shallow – and not water at all, but a pool of murky blood. Ankle, maybe knee-high at best. Slowly, Louise sat up, uncaring of her current distressing state. Her hair was strawberry red from the intake of the thing, and so was most of her uniform stained crimson. Where was this? An unholy pit of some kind? The innards of a monster? She could see bodies, eerily similar to her own; pink hair, small stature, the Academy’s uniform. Definitely a pit, playing tricks on her mind to break her.

Not that it needed to do that.

Louise the Zero. Louise the Talentless. A waste of space that shamed the name Vallière. To think Karin the Grand Tempest would sire such a useless, pointless heir. Not even the Springtime Familiar Summoning worked, not even that last hope of hers. Nothing but a cloud of smoke and the jeers of her peers came from her desperate incantation. Nothing, not even the slightest of Familiars. Not even a rodent, or a spider, or a meager worm.

The same day, Louise sunk into the hot tub after a helping of sleeping pills – and left the world of Helkeginia peacefully, without dreams.

As a suicide, she would be denied entry to Valhalla. All the better for it; not even perfection could resist her. Louise’s very touch was poison, rot, the kind that decayed anything in its way. A talentless, worthless little Zero. This hellish pit filled with old blood and the mutilated corpses of self… this must have been the grim afterlife for the likes of her.

Against her brain’s feeble attempt to get her to lie back down in the shallow pool, Louise got to her feet and ambled forward, deeper into the crimson depths. She discarded her mantle along the way – it was lost on the likes of her. She watched it float on the blood before continuing her journey to nowhere.

The blood was up to her knees when a phantom of her mother appeared before her. Even when mutilated and broken, Karin De La Vallière held an imposing presence, the kind that required unquestioned obedience from allies and fearful respect from foes. As her daughter and a failure of a Mage, Louise idly pondered where her position was.

The wraith of her mother’s dress was in tatters, covered in cuts and holes. Rotting flesh roiled beneath, with putrid maggots feasting upon the necrosis. No eyes regarded Louise; merely a pair of bloody holes, endless in how far their darkness stretched.

The shamed daughter and the imagined mother exchanged glares. “This is where your fate has brought you, daughter of mine.” Karin spoke in a still, quiet voice – and yet, even despite how numb Louise was, she felt her body go taut and shiver with growing trepidation. The phantom was angry with her. The Grand Tempest didn’t need to raise her voice or be violent; her magic was enough to display her wrath. “You have strayed from the light of the Founder. He saw fit to punish you for your transgressions.”

Louise didn’t have it in her to respond. “You were born to be a great – yet you leave your family disgraced and belittled. You have insulted me, daughter of mine. You have insulted House Vallière. Spat on your princess and your country. I told you to let Steel rule you – and you let it rust away.”

Louise was quiet. “You are no daughter of mine anymore. Had I known it would come to this, I would have strangled you in the crib – and spared the world the trouble.” The wraith melted away, dissolving into the same blood that Louise waddled in. The young shamed noble remained in place for a minute or two or maybe it was an infinity. Who counted?

Then, she resumed her trek. The blood reached only as far as her chest – but the corridor was a dead end, walled off with raw rock. Louise turned to go back – only to see the bodies, the countless bodies, approach her. A blockage that she had no hope to slip past or escape, poised to crush her into nothing. Louise stared, watching various other Louises ahead of her. How many more of her perished in such an ignoble way? How many more were talentless Zeros unworthy of their mantles?

...all of them?

The wall of bodies crushed her into paste, and for a second too short, there was nothing but sweet oblivion.

----

Louise was crushed – and now she was back.

This time there was no water or blood to dip in. Slowly, she cracked her eyes open again, appraising the endless black. Yet, the place wasn’t dark. She could see clearly, as if she was hanging in some sort of void. Perhaps there was no point in pondering the logic of Hell.

There was ground under her feet; uneven and bumpy, bleached white. It didn’t stretch very far, but she was able to find a withered tree growing on top of it. No fruit. No bark. More of a skeleton of a plant than a plant proper. As pointless and illogical as the rest of it. As the rest of her.

Louise sat under it, and the previous stubborn strength to soldier on left her. Her legs were weak, her uniform tattered. The hair… still blood red, curious enough. She appraised the locks in front of her, running a hand through them. It was her hair; not some wig or a hat or whatever else. Perhaps the blood dye was there to remind her of what she had done – until the end of days.

The darkness subsided slightly, despite the fact that there was nothing to see in this vast plain. As far as Louise knew, in this layer of Hell, there was only her and this godforsaken tree. But no. There was something else. Someone else. There was a Presence.

There was a Voice.

𝕿𝖊𝖑𝖑 𝖒𝖊, 𝖜𝖍𝖔 𝖜𝖔𝖚𝖑𝖉 𝖞𝖔𝖚 𝖗𝖆𝖙𝖍𝖊𝖗 𝖘𝖆𝖛𝖊? 𝖄𝖔𝖚𝖗 𝖒𝖔𝖙𝖍𝖊𝖗? 𝕺𝖗 𝖞𝖔𝖚𝖗 𝖘𝖎𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖘, 𝖕𝖊𝖗𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖘?

Louise started, looking around to find the one who talked. No dice; she was still alone in the unending darkness. So it would seem on the face of it, at least. There was no real reason for her to engage the Voice; with enough patience, no doubt it would go away and stop bothering her. Or maybe it was better to instead deal with its nonsense as soon as possible?

“...my sisters. It is two for one.” She replied numbly, mulling the logic of it in her mouth. Two was better than one.

𝕿𝖍𝖊𝖓, 𝖉𝖔 𝖞𝖔𝖚 𝖇𝖊𝖑𝖎𝖊𝖛𝖊 𝖞𝖔𝖚 𝖜𝖎𝖑𝖑 𝖌𝖔 𝖙𝖔 𝖁𝖆𝖑𝖍𝖆𝖑𝖑𝖆 𝖔𝖓𝖈𝖊 𝖞𝖔𝖚 𝖉𝖎𝖊?

This time, the question stumped her. And here she thought she was dead already. Wasn’t she? Didn’t she die? “...I don’t follow.”

𝕳𝖚𝖒𝖔𝖗 𝖒𝖊, 𝕷𝖔𝖚𝖎𝖘𝖊.

The pinkette… or was it a redhead at this point?, slumped back against the withered tree. “No. There is no place for the likes of me there.”

A soft chuckle reverberated through the void. Who was this? What was this? As she came to terms with the conversation, some of Louise’s life – unlife? - returned to her. What manner of a monster captured her in this domain? Was it the Warden of Hell playing games with her?

𝕴𝖘𝖓'𝖙 𝖆 𝖘𝖜𝖊𝖊𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝖑𝖎𝖊 𝖇𝖊𝖙𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝖙𝖍𝖆𝖓 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖇𝖎𝖙𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝖙𝖗𝖚𝖙𝖍?

“Are you tempting me even here, demon? For what purpose?” Louise sneered into the void, rising to her feet. “There is nothing you can offer me. My life is in shambles, and no wish-making monster will make it better! I am a Zero, a talentless fraud, a shame upon the name of Vallière – and you think you can just invade this void en route to Hell, and sing your poisonous song?!” She wasn’t sure when she started screaming. Her entire body hurt, hurt with the realization that she was alive – not in body, but in soul and spirit. That she was herself, that she was Louise De La Vallière – not whatever this unseen creature wanted her to be. Even if she was damned to the bowels of Helheim, forevermore frozen among the like-minded sinners, she would walk there with her head held high. She would do her part and endure her penance, endure her tortures. It was only fair to acquiesce to the divine mandate.

“Leave me be, demon!” She ground out through her teeth. “Find another to tempt. I have nothing I want from you.” For a moment, there was no response. Even the darkness seemed darker for a time, as if in awe of her defiance. But then, the Voice chuckled again, and Louise felt her spine grow frigid.

𝖄𝖔𝖚 𝖒𝖎𝖘𝖚𝖓𝖉𝖊𝖗𝖘𝖙𝖆𝖓𝖉. 𝕿𝖍𝖊𝖘𝖊 𝖖𝖚𝖊𝖘𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓𝖘 𝖆𝖗𝖊 𝖋𝖔𝖗 𝖞𝖔𝖚𝖗 𝖔𝖜𝖓 𝖇𝖊𝖓𝖊𝖋𝖎𝖙, 𝖘𝖔 𝖙𝖍𝖆𝖙 𝖞𝖔𝖚 𝖈𝖆𝖓 𝖕𝖗𝖊𝖙𝖊𝖓𝖉 𝖞𝖔𝖚 𝖊𝖛𝖊𝖗 𝖍𝖆𝖉 𝖆𝖓𝖞 𝖘𝖎𝖌𝖓𝖎𝖋𝖎𝖈𝖆𝖓𝖈𝖊 𝖙𝖔 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖜𝖔𝖗𝖑𝖉.

Louise inhaled sharply as the darkness subsided again. Something compelled her to look below, under her feet; the tree was no longer there, instead she stood on… a hand. A huge, three-clawed hand; in the middle of its palm an evil eye regarded her from below. Had she been less dumbstruck with terror, she might have taken issue with how it was peeking where it shouldn’t. That probably wasn’t on the creature’s mind (except perhaps as means of tormenting her).

𝕬 𝕿𝖆𝖑𝖊𝖓𝖙𝖑𝖊𝖘𝖘 𝖅𝖊𝖗𝖔 𝖑𝖎𝖐𝖊 𝖞𝖔𝖚𝖗𝖘𝖊𝖑𝖋 𝖍𝖆𝖘 𝖓𝖔 𝖕𝖑𝖆𝖈𝖊 𝖎𝖓 𝖞𝖔𝖚𝖗 𝖜𝖔𝖗𝖑𝖉.

It did not appear, yet Louise knew that it was coming. Its giant fingers straightened and curled at regular intervals, as if it was a mechanism of a trap, poised to crush her.

𝕬𝖓𝖉 𝖘𝖔, 𝖎𝖓 𝖞𝖔𝖚𝖗 𝖑𝖆𝖘𝖙 𝖕𝖆𝖙𝖍𝖊𝖙𝖎𝖈 𝖕𝖑𝖊𝖆, 𝖞𝖔𝖚 𝖍𝖆𝖛𝖊 𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖈𝖍𝖊𝖉 𝖇𝖊𝖞𝖔𝖓𝖉 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖛𝖊𝖎𝖑.

It was grinning, even though it was still the same damn darkness. Louise could tell, and she could not calm her heart. She was a speck of dust, at the mercy of her cosmic tormentor.

𝕬𝖓𝖉 𝕴 𝖍𝖆𝖛𝖊 𝖆𝖓𝖘𝖜𝖊𝖗𝖊𝖉 𝖞𝖔𝖚𝖗 𝖘𝖚𝖒𝖒𝖔𝖓𝖘.

It did not rear out like someone coming from the darkness would. It didn’t just appear as if the spell hiding its presence was dispersed. No, it wasn’t, and then it was.

𝕲𝖆𝖟𝖊 𝖚𝖕𝖔𝖓 𝖒𝖊, 𝖒𝖞 𝖑𝖎𝖙𝖙𝖑𝖊 𝖕𝖚𝖕𝖕𝖊𝖙.

Louise only remembered its cruel grin, split from ear to ear – not that it had those – before the hand closed and she was erased from her life.

----

Louise was crushed – and now she was back.

𝕬𝖕𝖕𝖗𝖆𝖎𝖘𝖊 𝖙𝖍𝖆𝖙 𝖜𝖍𝖎𝖈𝖍 𝖆𝖓𝖘𝖜𝖊𝖗𝖊𝖉 𝖞𝖔𝖚𝖗 𝖈𝖗𝖎𝖊𝖘 𝖋𝖔𝖗 𝖍𝖊𝖑𝖕.

The creature was titanic in size; she was but a gnat upon its ghastly palm. The eye below her glowed – and from it fired a gout of flame which encompassed her entirety. Louise had no time to scream.

----

Louise was immolated – and now she was back.

𝕽𝖊𝖆𝖑𝖎𝖟𝖊 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖋𝖔𝖑𝖑𝖞 𝖔𝖋 𝖞𝖔𝖚𝖗 𝖍𝖚𝖇𝖗𝖎𝖘.

It had no eyes, and its skin – or was it muscle? Bone? Something else entirely? - was as bleached white as its hand. The palm suddenly moved and she was tossed unto the giant unending maw.

----

Louise was devoured – and now she was back.

𝕯𝖔 𝖓𝖔𝖙 𝖜𝖔𝖗𝖗𝖞; 𝕴 𝖘𝖍𝖆𝖑𝖑 𝖇𝖊 𝖙𝖍𝖊𝖗𝖊 𝖙𝖔 𝖗𝖊𝖒𝖎𝖓𝖉 𝖞𝖔𝖚... 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝖞𝖔𝖚 𝖘𝖍𝖆𝖑𝖑 𝖇𝖊 𝖒𝖞 𝖊𝖓𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖙𝖆𝖎𝖓𝖒𝖊𝖓𝖙.

----

Louise was impaled – and now she was back.

𝖄𝖔𝖚 𝖘𝖍𝖆𝖑𝖑 𝖘𝖚𝖋𝖋𝖊𝖗 𝖆 𝖋𝖆𝖙𝖊 𝖜𝖔𝖗𝖘𝖊 𝖙𝖍𝖆𝖓 𝖉𝖊𝖆𝖙𝖍... 𝖆 𝖙𝖔𝖞 𝖎𝖓 𝖒𝖞 𝖌𝖗𝖆𝖘𝖕.

----

Louise was quartered – and now she was back.

𝕱𝖔𝖗𝖊𝖛𝖊𝖗.

----

Louise was bisected – and now she was back.

Louise was mulched – and now she was back.

Louise was screaming – and now she was back.

Louise called for help – and now she was back.

Louise wasn’t – and now she was back.

Louise was back.

Louise would always come back.

A plaything in the hands of a god of nightmares.

Forevermore.

----

Louise held onto her hope… and now she was back.

Gasping for air, the pinkette – pink hair?! - started from her bed, feeling the panic overtake her senses for a spell. No… this wasn’t… this was her room in the Academy. It was early morning. Slowly, Louise steadied herself, blinking away the blots in her vision.

This was her room. Her hair was pink. She was okay, she was not dying.

...this was just a horrible dream. A horrible, horrible dream – but it wasn’t real.

Louise’s breathing returned to normal. One more exhale. Rule of Steel. She had to compose herself – but how could she? The realization that none of this happened… that her meeting with a horrid eldritch god, that the failed Familiar Summoning… none of this happened. She didn’t drown in her bathtub. The day was young. Her hair was pink.

She wanted to laugh, to scream in elation. None of it was real. It was just another day at the Academy. An important day, yes – but even if she failed, there was still life ahead of her. Perhaps there was no point in trying to alter the chant like she did back in the nightmare. Stick to the rules. If the Familiar comes, then they come. If not, then they don’t. Perhaps it was a bitter pill to swallow in normal circumstances… but Louise could not care any less now.

----

“You seem in a good mood, Zero.” Even Zerbst’s barbs were nothing. It felt as if just walking with her head held high and ignoring the anger burbling inside her, Louise could just weather through that storm.

What was it compared to what she had earlier, really?

“Why not be in a good mood, Zerbst?” Louise huffed, but her face remained light. “Isn’t today an important day? I mustn’t go through it skulking through the corridors like a rat.” The Germanian redhead raised an eyebrow, then briefly looked towards the Gallian bluenette that always accompanied her. Tabitha shrugged, looking as stumped as Kirche.

“...well, that is quite a change in your demeanor.” The redhead mused. “Usually you’re quick to lose your temper.”

“Usually! But today is not a usual day, is it?” How strange, but it seemed Kirche took her resistance in good spirits.

“That’s more like it, Little Louise. Wish you were like this more often.” That got the pinkette to frown. Was it not Kirche who started this Zero nonsense to begin with? She sure was among the chief instigators… well, no matter. Perhaps she had a good day too.

The sudden warmth placed around her arm, Louise ignored.

----

She was the first to go today.

Last time – in her horrid dream – she went at it last, and suffered for it. All of her peers had finished summonings by then, so her failure was all the more pronounced because of it. Here, she was determined to get this done right away. If she didn’t succeed, well… then this was her fate. She was going to walk with her head held high, even if she was going to be a failure. She was a Brimirdamned Vallière, daughter of Karin the Grand Tempest.

One way or another, she was dealing with this.

“Go ahead, Miss Vallière.” Professor Colbert said encouragingly, gesturing towards the pentagon. This ancient design had suffered through mages both mediocre and ingenious. All were able to summon a Familiar of any kind here. Her mother summoned a mighty manticore here. Kirche would summon a salamander, and Tabitha would summon a Rhyme Dragon. What would Louise summon?

Honestly, it did not matter. She was willing to accept a loss. She was ready to accept a loss – and to be pleasantly surprised.

So when she raised her wand to the sky and her words suddenly were not her own, the pit of her stomach grew frigid.

“My name is Louise Françoise le Blanc de la Vallière.” These were not the words she wanted to start with. This was not the intonation she wanted to use. It was an exact mirror of what happened during the nightmare.

“Pentagon of the Five Elemental Powers… Heed my call.” This wasn’t her. “My Servant. My beautiful, wise, powerful servant…” This wasn’t her! “You who exist somewhere in this vast universe…”

Her hair fluttered in the wind of gathering energies. It was red, like blood.

“I wish from the bottom of my heart… add to my guidance… and appear!” Her peers did not see the horrified look on Louise’s face as she swung the wand against her will, against the words she did not want to say.

Nothing happened – just like she remembered from the horrible dream. Or was this a dream, her delusional death throes? The jeers cut into her ears, all the more cruel, all the more scathing. All the more deserving. Her plan to leave with her pride intact was never there to begin with. Louise curled down on the ground as her strength left her – although she still had enough to tangle her fingers into her filthy crimson hair and tug at it in frustration, as if she wanted to rip her entire scalp off.

Zero. A Talentless Zero. A mistake, a glitch in the system, a creature that should not be. An insignificant speck of dust, irrelevant aga𝓲𝓷𝓼𝓽 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓯𝓵𝓸𝔀 𝓸𝓯 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓶𝓾𝓵𝓽𝓲𝓿𝓮𝓻𝓼𝓮.

𝕾𝖚𝖋𝖋𝖊𝖗𝖊𝖉 𝖆𝖓 𝖎𝖌𝖓𝖔𝖇𝖑𝖊 𝖉𝖊𝖆𝖙𝖍 𝖇𝖞 𝖍𝖊𝖗 𝖔𝖜𝖓 𝖍𝖆𝖓𝖉. 𝕾𝖍𝖆𝖒𝖊𝖉 𝖍𝖊𝖗 𝖋𝖆𝖒𝖎𝖑𝖞 𝖓𝖆𝖒𝖊, 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖛𝖊𝖗𝖞 𝖒𝖊𝖆𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖔𝖋 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖜𝖔𝖗𝖉 "𝖓𝖔𝖇𝖑𝖊".

𝖀𝖘𝖊𝖑𝖊𝖘𝖘. 𝖂𝖔𝖗𝖙𝖍𝖑𝖊𝖘𝖘. 𝕯𝖆𝖒𝖓𝖊𝖉 𝖙𝖔 𝖗𝖊𝖑𝖎𝖊𝖛𝖊 𝖍𝖊𝖗 𝖌𝖗𝖊𝖆𝖙𝖊𝖘𝖙 𝖗𝖊𝖌𝖗𝖊𝖙 𝖎𝖓 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖆𝖋𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖋𝖊 𝖆𝖘 𝖕𝖚𝖓𝖎𝖘𝖍𝖒𝖊𝖓𝖙. 𝕱𝖔𝖗𝖊𝖛𝖊𝖗.

𝕬 𝖙𝖔𝖞 𝖎𝖓 𝖒𝖞 𝖌𝖗𝖆𝖘𝖕. 𝕸𝖞 𝖑𝖎𝖙𝖙𝖑𝖊 𝖕𝖚𝖕𝖕𝖊𝖙.

----

Louise started awake with a gasp – and was instantly assaulted by a cacophony of horrified screams.

This time she was not given a moment to regard herself, her eyes instead wandering around the environs and the onlookers. So many onlookers. Her family. Henrietta. Some of the royal court. Academy staff. Zerbst and Tabitha… the royal Cardinal… were they resuscitating him?

W here was she? Why were people pointing wands at her?

...why was she sitting in an open coffin?

Why was her arm burning as if someone stuck it in a fireplace? Dumbstruck, Louise looked down upon herself. The dress she wore was black, with no decorations, and a small white embroidery at her collar. Simple, modest, plain, with a sleeve ending before her elbow. She had tights too to complete the unassuming look.

The look of a person ready for burial.

She stared dumbly at her sickly green skin, akin to the waters of a g hastly ocean – and at the glowing holy rune upon her arm. Familiar Runes, but unlike anything she had seen before. Sensing the terrible premonition, she reached for her hair. For her filthy crimson red hair.

Knights crowded around the coffin and the altar, swordwands drawn. Her to-be-husband led the charge, regarding her with an expression she couldn’t quite place. Was it disgust? Disappointment? Shock and surprise? Whatever it was, Jean-Jacques offered no commentary. Others in his retinue shook, their hands unsteady. They were looking at a monster.

Louise regarded the Familiar runes for a moment more before she slumped in her coffin, staring blankly ahead. The ghoulish visage of the eldritch god remained in the corners of her eyes, but the reflection cast by one of the polearms on site felt much more important than that.

The whites of her eyes were black – and only tiny pink pinpricks flashed in place of her cornea. Those weren’t human eyes.

She was no longer human – but she would be back.

She would always be back.

Chapter Text

“Can I have a moment of your time, Miss Vallière?”

Louise’s eyebrow raised as she regarded Professor Colbert approaching her during lunchtime. The balding educator was, if she were to surmise, one of the more approachable teachers in the Academy. Most tried to maintain a certain distance between themselves and their students, likely to keep a healthy amount of respect on the teacher-student relationship.

Jean Colbert was fairly easy-going, a bit of a strange type with strange fascinations – but Louise had never seen him look apprehensive before. Neither did Tabitha accompanying her during lunch, although the bluenette’s only reaction was the slightest tilt of her head. “...certainly, professor.” The pinkette nodded, rising to her feet; it was only polite to not sit when addressed by an elder. The educator gestured for her to remain in her seat; a request Louise sheepishly acquiesced to.

“...where is your Familiar right now?” Her Familiar, huh? The young duchess’s eyebrows narrowed and her lips pursed. That woman… to think she would end up summoning a maidservant as her Familiar. A commoner maid, of all things; she never wanted her spell to fail more than at that moment. Of course, one could assume that summoning a sapient being was a mean feat, especially for a Zero like herself. She wasn’t exactly sure why it was considered a failure on her part.

Of course, then she saw just how clumsy her newfound maid was, and her view on the situation changed fast enough.

“Last I’ve seen her, she’s been helping the servant staff. Trying to, at least.” Louise frowned. “...Chef Marteau already asked me to keep her away from the kitchen for fear of a fire.”

“Is… that so?” Colbert’s eyebrow rose. “Did you ask her to assist them?”

“No. I just told her to try and not get in the way while I figure out how to present her at the Familiar Exposition… and to my mother.” Louise flinched despite herself. “...I don’t doubt she’s going to be disappointed.”

“Yes, I would like to talk with you about that… privately, if you please, Miss de Gallia.” Tabitha regarded her fellow bespectacled mage for a few seconds before nodding and making herself scarce. Louise couldn’t help but notice that she looked rather tardy to do so. “...is it fine if I sit?” What was up with the Professor today? He was peaceful and non-confrontational, but the young duchess would not accuse him of being sheepish or even… apprehensive. She gestured for him to join her.

“...sir, with all due respect, if you would like to console me about my inadequate Familiar, then I—“

“Miss Vallière, what do you know about war?” Louise blinked, taken aback by how sudden and how strange the question was. Colbert’s sheepishness was gone now; he regarded her with an uncanny amount of scrutiny. The young duchess knew that before he settled down as a teacher, Jean Colbert was one of the finest agents of the Tristain Crown. The runic name of the Flame Serpent came from that period in his life.

Obviously, serving in a military was not as glamorous as the word of mouth and the chronicles of victors went about it. Louise nonetheless wanted to become an agent just like that back in her youth, to go in her mother’s footsteps. Her eldest sister was a researcher, and the middle Vallière found peace with her menagerie of animals. In harm’s way was how Louise imagined herself to live.

Of course, then she found out that she was a Zero – and even those blasted explosions barely did anything at all.

“I… don’t know how to answer that question, Professor.” She replied evenly, shaking her head. “Why do you ask?”

“I have a reason to believe that your Familiar might have had military history.”

“...but she’s not a mage-oh, do you mean… plebeian military?” Colbert nodded. “...she doesn’t look the part.”

“Do I look like an ex-soldier, Miss Vallière?” Louise had to reflect that no, Jean Colbert looked like anything but a soldier. It seemed her blunder was taken in good spirits; the man shook his head with a chuckle. “Not all warriors carry a confident front. Or rather… some would prefer to keep it hidden.” Now that was an ominous swerve in a conversation.

“...when I asked her about her past, she only said she was a maid to some Lovelace.” Louise muttered. An Albionian name, but the woman had a faint Iberian accent and complexion more akin to those parts of Helkeginia. Plus, she had the same rare hair color as Siesta, one of the other maids in the academy.

“We keep some of our secrets hidden so that others may not find out about them. I suspect that your Familiar has hers, and would not give out answers so freely…” Colbert rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Especially if she was still in employ of Sir Lovelace at the time of being summoned.”

“...it’s not exactly my fault I summoned her.” Louise groused.

“Founder’s providence manifests in strange ways.” Not exactly the response she was looking for. If anything, it was less “providence” and more like a cruel joke of the saints. “...but, to go back to my original point, a soldier may often find themselves without direction after the fighting is over. Noble or commoner, not everyone can just return to ordinary life.”

“What does that prove, professor? A lack of resolve on that soldier’s part?” Colbert shook his head; for a moment it seemed he was considering his next words.

“No. Sometimes, a soldier is tired. Disillusioned with the things they have done or the cause they have fought for. It is something that can strike any of us, no matter who or how long we serve.” Louise regarded her educator, focusing on his eyes. No doubt Professor Colbert spoke from experience, but then he seemed to have his faculties about him. “Some try – and succeed – to find a new direction in life. Others, far too many, languish and wither away.”

“Where does that put my Familiar at, Professor?” Colbert offered a slight smile in response.

“A third group; those who desperately cling to their newfound purpose, no matter how bad they are at it.” The smile vanished disturbingly quickly, and an ominous shine reflected off his glasses. “Because the alternative is far worse.”

----

Despite Miss Roberta’s blunders, Siesta found her company downright charming.

First of all, it seemed that she came from the same world that her grandfather did; She spoke with a similar cadence and accent, had black hair like her, and recognized the pendant Siesta wore. It was something her grandfather had commissioned all the way back on his arrival in Helkeginia, made by a talented Germanian craftsman. A book and two rifles with bayonets (what a novel concept, putting a knife under the barrel of the musket) held together.

The symbol of righteous revolution, her grandfather had told her.

Rather unnervingly, Miss Roberta upon seeing it looked like a vampire exposed to a holy symbol, for a tiniest of fractions – but she did not press, and neither Siesta think much of it. Any revolution had enemies, but it was a fight of another world entirely; here it was just the two of them, maidservants at the Academy (although only one of them had Familiar runes etched on her arm).

Miss Roberta was just slightly taller than her, but must have been at least ten years Siesta’s senior. Three things stood out about her: the long braids she wore, the round glasses that occupied near her entire face, and the golden cross worn as her pendant. She carried herself with great serenity… almost too great. Of course, she would get flushed and embarrassed whenever a mishap (inevitably) occurred, but it was obvious that her past was as checkered as a skirt of an Albionian highlander.

Siesta didn’t think it necessary to bring it up; she could only hope that Madam Vallière would be kind to her. “Thank you for your help, Miss Roberta.” The maid smiled once the two of them set down the Familiar chow. Today it was her turn to deal with the menagerie of various beasts and critters summoned by the recent ritual. Of course, their Masters were expected to eventually provide food for their charges, but during their stay in the Academy, it was up to the servant staff to deal with lunchtime.

It turned out that, while really clumsy, Miss Roberta had plenty of strength. “It’s nothing, really.” She dismissed the veritable pile of food she carried. If not for her help, Siesta would have to do all of that herself on top of her own carried goods; that just sounded like a recipe for a disaster. “It’s the least I could do.”

“Well, as long as M-madam Vallière doesn’t mind…”

“I’m sure she won’t. She made it quite clear that I am not to approach her for now until she… figures out our predicament.” There was talk around the Academy that Miss Roberta was only pretending to be Madam Vallière’s Familiar; that the long string of magical failures had finally pushed her to commit such an underhanded trickery in front of everyone.

Considering how frustrated the young duchess was, Siesta had a feeling this was just yet another of many ways to continue kicking her while she was down; to keep reattaching that old Zero patch onto her even now that she did succeed in summoning the maid. Siesta didn’t know the first thing about magic, but wasn’t summoning another human being particularly impressive? Or, at the very least, different enough to not begrudge a mage for it?

“You there, servants!” The young maid started, eyes wandering towards one of the senior students approaching them in a hurry. Nobody she recognized, but it seemed he had a bone to pick with her. The reason probably didn’t matter either, judging by how frayed the uniform he carried in his hands was. “This is utterly unacceptable! I will have your head for this!”

...she didn’t actually remember doing any boys’ laundry in recent days. “M-milord? I, um… this isn’t—“

“No excuses!” The student stomped over with an angry huff. “Old Osmond has been lenient for you so that he can peek up your skirts, but I demand a bare minimum of competency from the staff! Look at this, maid!” Here he presented the sorry rag his spare uniform turned into. That… looked like someone deliberately messed up, and not a mere mistake at work. Was one of the servant girls cross with this particular student? That seemed unwise, at best.

...why was Siesta getting flak for it, in the first place? “I can’t use this to wipe grime off a wall, let alone wear it as a proud son of Tristain! How do you explain this?!”

“With all due respect, sir” The young maid stiffened in her spot when she heard Miss Roberta speak behind her. Softly. Eerily so. “Siesta’s confusion is genuine. I do not doubt you are looking for another maid, considering that no other maid here has black hair.”

“...other than you.” The noble student regarded the taller maid with a glower. “...you’re a little old to be working here, aren’t you?” Oh. Did he not recognize her as Madam Vallière’s Familiar? And here Siesta thought this story ran around the entire Academy by now with how often the detractors would bring it up…

“I am a new hire, sir.” Miss Roberta offered the slightest of curtsies, but her head did not bow together with the rest of her. From what Siesta could gleam from the corner of her eye, the taller maid was staring back, hard.

“You’re rather defiant for someone I can have tossed out on day one of her work here. But, it is said we should give our lessers a chance to show their worth. Here.” He gestured with the damaged uniform. “You fix this for me, and I shall forget your impertinence from today.”

“That, I’m afraid I cannot do. We’re busy with the Familiar chow. Then I shall be attending Miss Vallière at a later hour.” Some gears were turning in the student’s head at the proclamation before his eyes narrowed further. Siesta shrunk a little in her spot, even though he had long forgotten about her.

“Ah… you’re Zero’s “Familiar”. I see she stopped pretending that her summoning was anything but a fraud unbecoming of a duchess…” The student shook his head.

“I can roll up my sleeve if that pleases you, sir.”

“For what? Tricks and mirages? I don’t know how she got Professor Colbert in on this, but I suppose his stay in the military dulled his brain…”

“Is there any reason why you refuse to accept the truth? Sir?” The way she accented that last “sir”… Siesta had a bad feeling about this. Predictably, the noble student scoffed.

“The “truth” is that your “Master” is a shameless, talentless embarrassment of a hellion. Were she not the daughter of Duchess de La Vallière, no doubt the Academy would toss her to the plebes for enjoyment – although considering how she looks, they might just dismiss her too—“

Miss Roberta’s hand shot out like a snake and seized the student’s face like a steel vice. Siesta blinked. The student let out an undignified sound of surprise; the two of them very slow to come to terms with what just happened. The younger maid finally realized that the barrier’s been breached – and that Miss Roberta did not look bothered by the fact at all.

Watching this happening from the side, Siesta finally realized why Miss Roberta’s glasses encompassed her entire face. “Apologies, sir. You had a mosquito on your face.” The older maid’s voice did not change in volume or even tone, but the way her fingers – looking poised to crush rock, let alone a human body – slowly drummed on the student’s face… “Miss Vallière has me remove any that might invade her quarters. It is something I take to with enthusiasm…” The student finally realized that he’s trapped, but he wisely did not squirm – although gone was the self-assured feeling of noble invincibility if his jittery eyes were anything to go by. “Consider me unprofessional, but I particularly enjoy tearing their wings and limbs off one by one. Just a little pastime of a humble maid with quite a few responsibilities… and a lot of pent-up stress.”

Siesta would lie if she said she hadn’t felt an ounce of satisfaction at the sight – although the fear that gripped her for that moment masked most of her feelings at the time. Miss Roberta’s eyes did not belong on a human being… or maybe not even on a demon. Those were pits of Helheim; endless wells of not even hatred, but disdain and unfeeling cold heart.

The eyes of a rabid dog.

“Please keep that in mind, sir.”

----

“...maid, explain something to me.”

Roberta’s head tilted sideways. “A few days ago, one of the seniors prostrated himself before me and started apologizing for crimes real and imagined… and that he shall do his utmost to fight the slander of me being a Zero.” Louise regarded her peculiar Familiar from her seat in the carriage. In ordinary circumstances, it would be unthinkable for a noble master and their servant to ride in the same carriage. Familiars however, at least the ones that could fit into the same space, were allowed on board as long as they behaved.

“It sounds like that boy realized the error of his ways then.” Roberta, to Louise’s instant annoyance, played dumb.

“Of course. I don’t suppose he had any help with that?” Silence. “...Familiar, I do not condone threatening my peers, even if they might be loathsome ilk. You represent me, and I am a Vallière, not some common baronet from the borderlands.”

“I don’t know what you mean, miss.”

“Siesta told me.” Something in those fake doe eye changed; the Bloodhound reared out for a fraction of a second. Most likely out of surprise than any genuine malice towards the other maid. Roberta reflected shortly after with a quiet “damnit” and a huff. “...although on a personal level, I will say thank you. It’s only fair to be grateful for such a defense of my honor.”

“...of course, Miss…”

For a moment, the conversation didn’t pick up. The carriage slowly ambled towards the capital, unaware of just who it was to deliver to Tristania; within Louise’s bag were royal summons from Henrietta de Tristain. “...I don’t suppose you have figured out a way to send me back home yet, Miss Louise?” It was the pinkette’s turn to purse her lips and say nothing. Admittedly, this wasn’t even on the young duchess’ mind. From what Professor Colbert had told her in another conversation, Familiar runes did not brainwash the subject into obedience, but they did curb the feeling of homesickness.

He did also stress that these runes were not seen on a human being before – and therefore might not have been working as intended. “Would you abandon me if you were able to return home this instant?” Louise asked in a quiet voice.

“Yes.” Despite her uncanny serenity – and with the warning of Professor Colbert in mind – the maid Familiar was genial and kind towards her, even if she lacked any maid skills to her name. It seemed that homesickness was secondary to caring for another person. “Of course, I shall make sure no harm befalls you before that. That is my promise to you.” Louise did not reply, still shaken with how quickly and decisively the maid replied to her question. No hesitation whatsoever.

“...you must really like this Lovelace.”

“He gave me a new home and treated me like family. He and Young Master are the most important people in my life.” Louise sighed, nodding along. Guess she never had a chance to become that new important person. For all of their talk about being a Master and Familiar, the maid could not care any less, and she was in no position to stop her. “...I apologize. I know this is not what you wanted to hear.”

“...but, perhaps I needed to hear it.”

----

An innocuous visit at the Royal Palace turned into a clandestine mission of missive retrieval.

Princess Henrietta needed someone she could trust, and there was no better person than her best friend. Despite Louise lacking any qualifications for such a mission, she was entrusted with the fate of the nation; the young duchess was to retrieve correspondence between the princess and prince Wales of Albion. Roberta, naturally, was against this notion – but this time, Louise refuted her concern. The maid reasoned that even here she would be able to protect her unlikely charge from harm. The world had magic and its strange creatures, yes, but she’s been through worse.

Colbert provided her with a couple of local guns when she offhandedly mentioned she and Louise would be leaving for a few days, although he looked like he had swallowed a lemon for it. Plus, she still had a few of her own hidden in the confines of her uniform. There was no need for them to come out roaring – despite its fantastical nature, so far this world had been not much else but pampered children high on their own privilege. No one who could truly threaten Louise, who could do physical harm to her (and her little mosquito-swatting lesson ensured most would be hesitant to commit to mental harm either).

Going into another nation – embroiled in the civil war – even if only its borderlands… now that was something dangerous. Of course, they were not going to Albion alone. One of Henrietta’s trusted agents and Louise’s to-be-betrothed would be accompanying them. A gallant knight and a formidable fighter, coming equipped with a rare Lightning semblance and his own griffon Familiar.

And now he was squirming on the deck of the airship, face down against the desks stained with prince Tudor’s blood. Luckily, the thin swordwand did not pierce anything vital, though it looked like the prince’s arm would need medical assistance. The only reason he was yet breathing was because Louise was fond of the man – and because a well-to-do viscount in direct employ of the reigning monarch would not commit such a traitorous deed for the hell of it. That, Roberta was planning to get to the bottom of.

Unfortunately, Louise seemed to be dumbstruck from this brief scene; no small wonder, that was a lot of things to go through all at once. “There’s a disinfectant, gauze, and some bandages in the bag.” Roberta said, eyes remaining glued to the back of viscount’s head. One of the crewmen – Wales’s airship had a modest group of those – grabbed the bag in question, some others ushering Louise inside to keep her off the scene. The rest of them managed to subdue Wardes’s griffon, wrapping the screeching beast in a length of net.

That left just her, Wardes, and Wales with one of his men attending to his arm. Roberta adjusted the grip on the viscount, keeping him pinned with her own body weight and strength. Credit where it was due, the traitor did not squirm underneath. “Do you have a spare room where we can keep him, Wales?” The maid asked.

“There should be a cabin, yes. I… must thank you for saving my life.” Wales replied sheepishly, nodding.

“That was incidental, really. My main directive is to ensure Louise emerges out of this ordeal as unscathed as she can. Unfortunately” Her grip on Wardes’s wrist turned crushing as she leaned down slightly. The braids in her hair brushed the desks of the deck. “the pain of betrayal is not so easily healed.”

“...I had my reasons.” The viscount ground out curtly.

“And those are of great interest to me.” Wardes scoffed, then grunted once she adjusted the grip on his arms again.

“I am not some easily converted piece of trash, maid. You cannot get me to talk.”

“Once we return to Tristain, I’m sure Henrietta’s technician would love a chat with you, dastard.” Wales glared at the viscount. The maid only offered a chuckle.

“That won’t be necessary. All I need is a bit of time, Your Highness.” Wardes shivered, feeling the drilling glare of the mad dog’s eyes piercing into the back of his skull. “And then we can see just how much your lips are sealed, monsieur de Wardes.”

Chapter Text

Karin de la Vallière regarded the Headmaster of Tristain Academy of Magic with what some would consider a cool and emotionless mask.

The duchess known better as The Grand Tempest wasn’t among the most emotive women, granted. That was not to say that she lacked emotions to begin with, no matter what the detractors might have whispered among themselves behind their back. Right now, the very slightly raised eyebrow and the careful cuts of her countenance spoke of befuddled agitation.

The Academy sent her a missive, asking for her presence to discuss a financial matter. At first she thought that this would involve her third daughter Louise and her inability to cast spells other than these strange explosions of hers. Most of the time they did not cause much commotion, but now and then something would get damaged because of another blast.

No, this time the matter involved her Familiar – and the astronomical costs of its maintenance.

She couldn’t even enjoy her daughter’s success, since the Academy seemed determined to turn it into a curse. “I hope you have a good enough explanation for this farcical missive, Osmond.” She said coolly, regarding the nervous form of the Headmaster. The old wizard knew better than to anger her, but even if so, this kind of ploy was exceedingly low.

“Yes, well… I think this is best demonstrated by example.” Headmaster rose from his spot behind the desk and gestured for Karin to join him in looking out the giant window. The duchess did so with an apprehensive look in her eye. “Though if I made it sound as if your daughter was at fault, then that was not my intention.”

“It will remain to be seen if I shall accept your apology.” If there was anything that was going to be expensive when maintaining a Familiar, no doubt it was going to be its food. As an owner of a manticore, Karin understood that some Familiars ate quite a bit more than others – but if there was any one institution that would be able to field the costs of Familiar chow, it would be the largest academy among the Helkeginian nations. Considering that the students summoned in bulk, so to say, that would be something like twenty or so new Familiars to take care of each year.

The window had a good view of the Academy courts, as well as a brown-grayish structure just outside the school grounds. Karin frowned, appraising the singular shape. What was that? A pile of some material? A giant tent? Was that where Louise’s new familiar had to reside? Was there really not enough space to accommodate it, or did the administration of the Academy fall along with the spiteful “Zero” gossip she kept hearing about?

The brown-grayish structure moved. Karin blinked. Was that…? “...if I may sound like an excited novice for a spell, duchess… wait until you see it from up close.” Osmond, despite his words, sounded anything but enthused.

----

“ Elephants” were beasts not native to the lands of Helkeginian Nations.

The climes in which these creatures lived were generally warmer than the temperate greenery of Tristain or Gallia. While the temperatures did rise further down south towards Romalia and Iberian Peninsula, one would not find these titans in those parts. Supposedly, an enterprising zoologist would have to venture further to the East, towards the Holy Lands and Elf Countries – but, for obvious reasons, information and access on those regions were limited.

What Karin knew about the elephants was that they were massive beasts, with menacing tusks, huge ears, and terrible disposition when roused. However, otherwise, they were passive herbivores; their groups wandered about the warm forests and tall grass, picking the feeding grounds clean of greens and going from one water source to another.

Louise’s Familiar had a shape of an elephant – except it was larger. Much, much larger. “I called it Mumak, Mother!” Of course, her darling little daughter had yet to realize the full logistical implications of being an owner of a beast as towering as this one. Karin could understand her, and frankly, she too was awed by the sheer size of this monster; Louise was barely taller than its foot pads. It looked like it belonged in a children’s book; a towering creature so large, so titanically gargantuan, it could not possibly belong to the real world.

And yet, here they were.

“ Moving it out of the school grounds was a bit of a daunting task…” Louise admitted, idly rubbing the monster’s porous skin. The monstrous elephant remained idle, almost as if sleeping, were it not for the fact that its eyes – barely seen from so low to the ground – regarded Karin with an uncanny amount of scrutiny, its trunk swaying slowly to and fro. “It became an impromptu lesson for Earth and Wind Mages present. You should have seen Guiche after they were finished.” Her daughter tittered.

“...I wish I could know what to say, Louise.” It felt trite to just compliment her on a job well done; perhaps if it was a more ordinary beast and not, well, that. “Though I suppose Osmond’s missive is much more understandable now…”

“The professors are thinking that it might be eating less because of the Familiar runes… but even then, it’s put the entire Academy supply at risk.” Louise sighed, eyes wandering over to one of the monster’s hind legs. Familiar inscribing glowed faintly just below the knee, stretched out wide to accommodate the size of the creature. “At the same time, just letting it loose in the nearby forests might damage the local ecosystem beyond repair…”

“There are some woods in Gallia that could possibly feed it…” Karin tapped her chin in thought. Obviously, that suggestion didn’t have to be finished; Louise would need to forsake her education to focus on taking care of her Familiar. “Did Colbert offer any suggestions?”

“Oh, yes! He suggested we might be able to create chow for Mumak – but that’s going to require a lot of funds.” Louise’s shoulders deflated. The creature poked her lightly with its trunk, almost as if it wanted to pat her on the shoulder. It was barely a movement, no doubt because actually patting Louise with that huge trunk would crush her shoulder to powder, at best.

The little duchess giggled and rubbed the tip of the trunk, producing a little amused chuff from the monster. “With the right Windstone composition, a team of Magi and Alchemists – he suggested we could refer to local herbalists, too – and a dedicated kitchen group, it should be possible to feed this big lug with no issues.” A lot of moving parts, and a lot of expenses. Frankly speaking however, what was money next to her daughter’s happiness? After having spent her whole young life thinking herself cursed, having to endure the ridicule of her peers… finally, one of her spells succeeded.

And though no doubt handling this beast was going to be a difficult task, Karin was determined to help Louise on that front however she could.

----

Fouquet of the Crumbling Earth – real name Mathilda de Saxe-Gotha – had a bit of a problem.

Her mission, having been masquerading as a secretary Longueville for a while, was to acquire the dreaded Staff of Destruction, one of the artifacts hidden within the Academy vault. Her “benefactors” – she had to bite her lip out of frustration at the very thought – surmised that not only was the artifact possessing supreme power, befitting its title… they also thought it to be an item from another world entirely, and therefore instrumental to their plans.

Of course, it was one thing to steal something like that from the Academy vault – Fouquet’s made her career on stealing the unstealable – but another thing entirely to contend with the giant monstrous titan just outside the school grounds. Damn that little Vallière! The sheer gall of being incapable of magic all her life, only for the Familiar summoning spell to succeed – and in so spectacular a fashion! How on earth did this damn thing not collapse under its own weight?! Mathilda’s heard of strange aquatic monsters that trawled the oceans, dwarfing castles with their massive girth… but it was a little easier to imagine such a thing in the water.

Of course, perhaps one would call her overly cautious, being afraid of this monster. And yes, she surmised that a creature like that would be a slow type. At the same time, she recalled a tidbit she once read about elephants, the more reasonably-sized cousins of this beast.

They had an excellent memory.

----

There were no doubts about it; Louise’s Familiar stole the show.

Henrietta de Tristain doubted anyone could not be impressed with the creature her childhood friend titled Mumak; a towering beast that dwarfed buildings, let alone its fellow Familiars. Even if all it would do was stand around, no doubt the public would be wooed by the idea of such a gargantuan creature existing – but if there was anyone who would go above and beyond, it was Louise.

Thus, the people of Tristain were introduced to the idea of a massive beast juggling items with its trunk and fitting them between its massive tusks. Louise was even so bold as to throw herself as one of the juggling items – and laugh along the way like a starry-eyed child as the beast grabbed her and tossed her into the air. Even though the trunk alone looked bigger than Louise was, there was still an uncanny sense of gentleness about the beast. Perhaps that was just the bond between a Master and its Familiar at work.

And to think the beast didn’t even set foot on the scene; they’ve only watched its massive head from past one of the lower walls. Thus, nobody objected when she approached Louise’s familiar to bestow upon it the celebratory rosette. It was barely visible on top of one of its larger tusks, but it seemed Mumak took its achievement in stride.

Inwardly however, Henrietta de Tristain was upset, to say the least.

In her latest correspondence with her darling cousin Wales, she found out that he had some of the compromising letters still with him. He was on the run, but there was no telling when the Reconquista would catch wind of him and attempt to bring him in. And should they get their hands on those letters… Henrietta shuddered, having a hard time imagining the sheer scale of consequences her foolishness would bring upon her country and its people. In this turbulent age, she had to ensure the safety of Tristain.

To that end, she was hoping to send Louise on a little errand outside the borders of the country. Not on her own, of course! Jean-Jacques Francis de Wardes would accompany her as a bodyguard, but at the same time, she didn’t want him to read any of those letters. She needed someone she had utmost trust in, and her pink-haired friend just so happened to fit that bill. Plus, at the time when she was first plotting that plan, Henrietta only knew that Louise had finally summoned a Familiar, and so she thought that her friend’s safety would be guaranteed even on a mission as dangerous as that one.

And then it turned out said Familiar was the size of a small mountain.

No mount and no airship could be expected to lift such a monster and then be able to get off the ground. Even in the land of magic and strange creatures, there was a limit as to what could be done. To hope to lift Louise’s Familiar and ensure its safe travels, they would have to employ an entire corp of Wind Mages or build a custom-made airship just to house the beast; neither of these options were something Henrietta could afford even on a good day, let alone when pressed for time.

Wales could no doubt avoid the pursuit for a time, but how long?! She needed to send someone… anyone! Who could retrieve the missives from him. Ideally escort him to Tristain as well, for safety… could she perhaps employ Louise’s mother? Technically, she was no longer in the employ of the Crown as its agent, but considering the delicate situation of it all… plus, if there was anyone who could survive the machination of Reconquista agents, it would be Karin de la Vallière. All Henrietta needed to do was to dress it properly. No doubt talking about the letters was not going to work; instead, she had to present Wales’s case as someone of grave importance and in grave danger.

Which, well, he was.

----

Louise was ever so happy that Siesta seemed to know her way around Mumak.

According to the maid’s words, her grandfather came from the land where these beasts lived natively. It was nowhere near Helkeginian Nations, and she confirmed that to her grandfather’s kin, the elves were an enemy. Perhaps this monster truly was from another world altogether? Maybe there was some resistance to the tyrannical elven rule somewhere in the Holy Lands? Could it even be possible that Siesta’s ancestors came from the lands to the West, that some claimed were past that endless ocean stuffed to the brim with terrible sea monsters?

Well, the bottom line was: Louise was glad someone agile could move around on top of Mumak – even if she had to raise an eyebrow at the maid’s newfound pants.

“Even with a skirt as long as these of our maid uniforms, I’d rather not be in a compromising position, Madam.” Siesta apologized sheepishly, sliding off Mumak’s trunk. The giant elephant seemed to enjoy having her around; likely, it recognized in her the people who these mammoths lived with back home. “And with a mumak as grand as this one, it was natural to want to dress to impress.”

“...so these are called mumaks by your grandfather’s people?”

“Mumakil, but yes. It was a happy coincidence you named her that, Madam.” Siesta giggled, rubbing the tip of the trunk to the mumak’s amused chuffing.

“Wait, h-her? I… huh.” Louise looked up at the massive Familiar of hers. “You learn something new every day, I suppose.”

“The females are a bit bigger, actually.” Siesta chimed in helpfully. “But even then, this mumak is on the bigger side… amazing that the Academy could outfit it with all the necessary accommodations…”

“W-well, not really; the shed that was put together outside the school grounds is more of a temporary measure.” Her mother said that she will cover the expenses of feeding her Familiar, but Louise couldn’t help but be nervous either way. This creature was unlike anything she or her fellow Helkeginians had witnessed. Could she be a responsible owner, a responsible Master – when she could barely even see the entirety of her Familiar without backing up a number of paces or staring at it from a great height?

“I’m sure it will work out, Madam.” Siesta, at least, had the optimism for the two of them. “Once the problem of food is taken care of, that should be enough. The Mumakil are a smart kind; they can take care of themselves – and of their masters, too.” Hm… that did remind Louise that she was still trying to figure out her way around her magic. Even though she summoned and bound her Familiar with no issues (other than reaching for its trunk for a ceremonial kiss), she still remained a Zero on other fronts. Despite that, the usual suspects were quiet and did not needle her; most likely they recognized that her Familiar wasn’t the kind to let go of a grudge easily.

Professor Colbert and Headmaster Osmond actually suggested a possible explanation for her magical ineptitude – but to even entertain that thought would require dabbling into what was considered heretical. There was one way to confirm that, however, and it was banking on meeting with Henrietta later…

Louise had an idea. “Say, Siesta… do you think setting up a platform on top of Mumak is feasible?”

----

At first, Jerome of Tristania thought that Tristania is under attack.

It was a day just like any other. They were receiving worrisome news pertaining to Reconquista in Albion, as well as suspicious movements around the borders with Gallia and Lake Lagdorian – however, nothing that could indicate direct danger; at least, that’s how he understood it. For the time being, the titans surrounding their plucky little nation seemed content to rest in their lairs. As far as he was concerned, they could stand to do this more often.

Of course, that was when he had to sound the alarm upon seeing the monster approach the capital. Jerome stared through the spyglass with a slack jaw, appraising the titan that lumbered forward towards the city. What a mighty beast, just barely shorter than this tower he was standing on! So many tusks, and such purposeful stride…! And it wasn’t a wild beast either, unlikely it might have been; he could have seen the platform atop the monster’s back, decorated with insignia. Someone looked to be encroaching at the safety of Tristania!

Naturally, down the chain of messengers it went until it reached the ears of Chevalier de Milan, in charge of castle security. Jerome expected that the message would reach the top brass fast, although the blonde Chevalier showing up in the flesh atop the watchtower was surprising. Without a word, she took his spyglass from him, assessing the situation.

That she would sigh with relief – and some exasperation – also threw him off. “Alright, false alarm. That’s just a young duchess with cavalier ideas of making an entrance.” She grunted, folding the spyglass and handing it back to the dumbfounded guard. “Designate a group of guards to escort Vallière from the city gates and into the palace. That damn elephant is going to stay and wait patiently.”

“M-ma’am…”

“Also, Jerome? Take a day off. Seems like you’ll need it.” Thus Jerome of Tristania retired for the day, the image of a giant “elly-fant” beast etched in his mind.

Chapter Text

Louise and her new Familiar didn’t hit it off very well.

At first glance, the woman she summoned was only a few years older than her and human. Her getup was strange and perverse, and her makeup looked to be done by a wandering troupe circus, but… she was human. Wasn’t she? So she claimed when questioned, but a closer inspection revealed that her skin was lined with strange lines, almost arranged into plates; as if her body was a mere box that could be opened and closed at will. Louise shuddered at the grisly imagery of it.

Then there was the hole at her shoulderblades and the ones in her neck, or how her eyes would sometimes glow and replace her pupils with nonsensical signs, or the language she used… at the moment of the summoning, Louise thought very little of it – that almost got her killed in an incomprehensible fashion. As it turned out, her most-assuredly-human familiar could conjure razor-thin wires to cut things with, like a pair of whips. It was actually Tabitha who came to her aid; almost as if she saw something familiar in this strange woman. If not for the icy spell inconveniencing the woman’s abilities, perhaps Louise would not be here right now.

Naturally, the woman refused to accept the honor of being a duchess’s familiar with even a minuscule amount of grace – but, as Louise slowly came to realize, perhaps the difference between here and wherever she pulled her from was this large. And, well, honestly, this wasn’t even a contest. Nothing about this woman was familiar to her; it was as if she was staring at some clumsy fae trying to imitate a human being. Professor Colbert called it the “uncanny valley”; something that was just off enough to inform the viewer they were right to be uncomfortable.

Now, she found her looking at the moons late at night. Louise herself couldn’t sleep; a nightmare she had placed her in a bizarre place of flashing lights, chrome buildings, and men that looked like armories rather than humans. Some said the link between the Familiar and the Master would have one experience memories and dreams of the latter… could this be the place the woman came from?

Louise decided that she had been an unkind Master; and she needed to get that fixed. By all means, nobody said being one would be easy, especially with a sapient and feeling Familiar. But how to go about it in the first place?

The woman didn’t stop her when Louise approached, and then opted to sit down on the grass a respectable distance away. Frigid silence persisted between them for a time. The pinkette looked up at the two celestial bodies in the sky. It always escaped her attention why their world had two moons. Perhaps such was the divine will of the ancients…

“...I was there, once.” The woman gestured towards the moon. “Well… I was on a moon, at least.” Louise frowned, trying to imagine the very idea. “...and… you-you know, it’s… it’s been a week since I ended up here, and…” She sighed, pulling her knees up closer. “It feels like a fever dream.”

“...I saw some of your world, I think. In a dream.” The woman didn’t look at her, but she did nod as if to tell Louise to continue. “It’s… vastly different from ours, I suppose.”

“Vastly? They wouldn’t even show you off in the dirtiest museum.” The woman chuckled; a clipped, jittery laugh. “Maybe in a zoo…”

“H-hey, we’re not dirty—“

“My point exactly.” Louise frowned. Now that the woman got to talking, it was becoming increasingly more annoyed to try and make some sense off her. “There’s not a single piece of tech in sight. You have real animals and other, real grass everywhere… air is so damn clean, it feels like I’m about to pass out from overload.” Finally she gave her a look, regarding her with some strange mixture of fascination and pity? “And you don’t know basic street talk.”

“How should I when we are literally worlds apart?” Only a shrug met her in response. “...no animals? No grass? What kind of world is that?”

“The world of the future.” The woman lied down flat on her back, staring up at the night sky. “A bright and shiny cage for all of us rats to rot in…”

“...and you would seek to escape it… all the way there, to the skies?”

“Mhm. Well, at least until you came along and pulled me into this open-air museum of a place. Even gave me a Joygirl stamp.” The woman’s voice turned acrid as she examined the holy runes placed on her arm. Whoever Joygirls were, Louise assumed they were no one to follow or be compared to. “...but maybe it’s a good thing.”

“...how… do you mean?” The pinkette took a moment to voice her question; she still remembered the razor wires from a few days back.

“...well… I wanted to go to the moon, yeah. But, as it is, I realized I wanted to go with someone.” The woman reached up towards the larger of the celestial bodies, closing her fist around it, as if to catch it. “I wanted him to be there with me, so that we could both escape that gilded cage… wish things were that simple in Night City…”

Another moment of silence. Louise idly fiddled with her hair. “...I realize you are quite cross with me right now, but… I didn’t… I wasn’t expecting to summon anyone… or anything, really.”

“I’m not cross. Well, maybe a little.” The woman sighed. “I guess… if I ever wanted to escape Night City, there isn’t a better option than… fuck, to hop dimensions altogether…” Louise frowned; the hand reaching for the moon was jittery, shaking. Against her better judgment, she reached for it, gently holding onto the woman’s fingers. By all means, they felt just like any other. If not for the lines on her body, Louise wouldn’t think for a second it was something else.

She rose back to a sit, staring at Louise with an unreadable expression. Louise, despite her instincts screaming to pull back before something bad happens, remained firm in place. “...I am your Master, and you are my Familiar. Let me finish.” The woman’s expression turned heavier and sharper for a spell, but she acquiesced to the command. “These are not just titles. This is a link, a bond that transcends flesh and metal alike.” Louise’s eyes hardened with resolve. “I swear this on the name of Vallière, as the third daughter of the Grand Tempest – no harm shall befall you and none shall mistreat you any longer.”

These were mere platitudes, but no one forced the girl to say them but herself, the woman thought. It seemed that, despite that rough start they had, despite this utterly bizarre situation she was put into… this really was the start from scratch, the escape from the world she knew in the most literal sense. It certainly helped the stamp on her arm didn’t do anything but glow and confuse her internal HUD.

Lucy’s hand stopped shaking.

----

If anyone told her that her helmet unlatched, she was about to flatline due to oxygen deprivation, and all of this was just a really elaborate set of hallucinations in her death throes… she would believe them, because… well…

A few weeks in, and she still couldn’t believe anything she saw.

Somehow, the fact that magic and weird mutant creatures were present in this world was the least strange of them all. These could at least be somewhat rationalized away, compared to what implants and cyberware could grant. Yeah, sure. Whatever piece of bioware left your ‘ganic body completely unblemished and let you fire out blasts of something via a small stick that wasn’t even connected to the rest of you with a wireless, it’d be a hoot. The creator would be swimming in eddies for it, assuming the corpos wouldn’t quietly stamp them out and grab the idea as their own.

God, forget stuff she was accustomed to. This world had nothing. Even the dirtiest nomads out there had something going for them. Here? No cars. No guns, beyond some crude blackpowder pieces. No corpos (Lucy had to bite her tongue not to laugh when Louise compared them to local merchant guilds). No TV’s or computers or the net. No radio. No plastics and commonplace alloys. No fucking electricity.

Nothing. “Dirty” didn’t cut it; she’d have to find some word equivalent of being doused head to toe in industrial sewage for this place.

At first, she thought she was a walking goddess. That feeling was only compounded when, in a moment of weakness, she klepped a knife from the Academy kitchen to see just how big a disparity was between the bioware’d skin and this piece. As it turned out, her “runes” didn’t just give her an annoying nightlight. The moment she grabbed the knife, it was as if someone poured down an entire encyclopedia on knives down her head. It didn’t come with any side-effects Lucy would attribute to such a breakthrough – i.e. screaming her throat out or having her head feel like some gangoon was playing bongos on her cranium – though the sheer influx of it still made her fall back on her tush.

She knew every single way to slash, stab, block, and parry with this kitchen knife; she realized. Every move she made, even when she wanted it to be clumsy and amateurish, looked as if a top-eddie samurai from Arasaka was just finishing their flourishes. It wasn’t just some pre-set pattern of moves either, no; she had intimate knowledge of everything she did with that knife. Her earlier plan forgotten, she picked up a few other appliances at random to see how she’d do with them; a meat tenderizer, a “rolling pin” (real wood, too), even a ladle – all of them used the way only a veteran with years behind their belt or some filthy expensive chrome would.

This was a military-grade upgrade (if not beyond that!), with no side-effects or repercussions, beyond getting a silly stamp on her arm. Magic. Of course. Guess the locals didn’t need any tech if they could just do that.

Of course, then it turned out that Lucy was special.

“Mademoiselle, are you… absolutely sure of your findings?” She consulted Professor Colbert over it, him being the closest the place had to… well, anyone she could discuss this with. The man in glasses was the closest thing to a techie or anyone with expertise on technology – and he thought steam-powered carriages were the new revolutionary thing.

Still, she needed to let someone know; last time she kept secrets, people she loved died for her sake. It wouldn’t be Louise, not yet; they still had to hash out their relationship. “Anything. Sewing needles, kitchen knives – seems like it recognizes anything that is any close to a weapon and, well, does its magic.”

“I see… in that case, well… does Miss Vallière know?” Lucy shook her head. “...right…”

“You look like death itself, prof.”

“Because what you’re saying is supposed to be dead. The lost Fifth Element… the Void…” Lucy frowned, recalling the derelict Void Tower of the Academy. Nobody ventured there, and it just stood there and gathered dust. “The abilities you told me about, Mademoiselle Kushinada, they belong to a Gandálfr – God’s Left Hand.”

“...this is going to get Louise in trouble, isn’t it?” Colbert reflected, trying to assume a more neutral expression. Lucy rubbed the bridge of her nose, a growl behind her lips.

“A Void Familiar can only be summoned by a Void Mage and… well, Miss Vallière’s mishaps with magic can be explained by her not having a known elemental aptitude like her peers…”

“Prof, please talk to me like I’m five. What does that mean for her? Or for me, for that matter?”

“Responsibilities. Enemies. God’s Left Hand is a Void Mage’s guardian through the mastery of all arms, their usage and application on a scientific level.” Colbert sighed, flicking his hand at the bookshelf. One of the old dusty grimoires slipped out from among its peers before landing on the desk. “Three more are said to exist, one for each of the Brimiric Countries. Void Mages, well, there cannot be more than four in the universe at once.” The book opened on a diagram of sorts; a circle divided into four parts with different rune inscriptions; Lucy recognized the one in the bottom left as her own. “...furthermore, a Void Mage is bound by the divine law to inherit the throne of a given nation.”

Where did Lucy even begin to try and sort this mess out?

----

“The Flying Boar?”

“Professor Colbert seems to believe it’s a machine that might have come from your world.” Louise’s words instantly sent a chill down Lucy’s spine. This wasn’t the first time this happened; apparently things from Night City had an uncanny ability to find themselves in Helkeginia, any sense or logic be damned. The old headmaster of the Academy regaled her and Louise both with a tale of his youth where a “stranger in blue” (probably an NCPD cop out of his depth) saved him from a dragon with his firearm.

And it was an old, paint-scratched Nova; the kind of gun that would get you laughed out of a bar – and then killed in a fight with any random gangoon once it inevitably jammed. The same gun Osmond decided to bequeath to her and, hey, if it could kill a dragon… hey, now that she was a Gandálfr, she could probably go guns akimbo with her Unity...

“It is located in the sanctuary in Tarbes. You remember Siesta, yes?” The maid with a surprising knowledge of Night City slang, yeah. “It turned out, her family are guardians to the mausoleum where her grandfather rests. In light of the imminent Reconquista invasion, we have the royal decree from Henrietta” Louise gestured to the scroll in her hand, emblazoned with Tristain’s fleur-de-lis. “allowing us to see if it can be seized to defend the land.”

“So we’re graverobbing, then.” Louise shot her a dirty rook. “No no big deal, just making sure that’s what we’re doing.”

At the very least, Siesta and her family were willing to allow this, so they could avoid things turning messy. No doubt this was more because of the maid’s request and not any piece of fancy paper Louise might have been waving at the villagers. Still, if it was something big enough to be called a “boar” (which was like a pig but hairy and with giant tusks, apparently), it must have been a vehicle or a drone of some kind. That kind of beast needed fuel, and Lucy doubted the locals had the right kind of ingredients to produce CHOOH2. They were setting themselves up for one big disappointment.

Still, she couldn’t help but be giddy when she saw the “boar” in question. Though long fallen into disrepair, it still shined dull white and bore the insignia of Trauma Team. To think such a ubiquitous thing – you couldn’t spend a day in Night City without an Atlus buzzing above – would make her so happy. Or maybe she was just getting hit in the face with an uncanny bout of homesickness. Now that was a laugh.

“It’s an AV. Think an airship, but fully armored, cramped, and probably much faster.” She tapped the reinforced glass of the cockpit – and promptly regretted it as another rush of information flooded into her brain. Colbert said the runes made her a master of all weapons or rather, a master of anything that could be a weapon. The Atlus in front of her had its own guns, and while using it as a battering ram back in Night City would be a desperate ploy… here, in a world where most air hostiles were wood and flesh… “...oh… nova.”

“W-what happened? Your eyes turned all, um… hexy.” Siesta’s use of the slang could use some work, but… honestly, Lucy felt like she was a little crazy right now; the glass reflected a manic grin she was sporting. That, and her HUD was getting crazy again, processing the sheer input of information in front of her. “Mastery of weapons on a scientific level”, Colbert said…

“...I’m gonna try something.” Once the other two cleared out – though Louise seemed to be somewhat suspicious – Lucy slipped into the cockpit after hacking the doors open. Never rode one of these, or any AV… and yet, turning the ignition to check the basic systems went off without a hitch. Apparently the old boar still had some Chew Two in the tank; she was able to raise it off the ground. There it was, the old “woom woom” known so far and wide, echoing through the cave of the mausoleum as jets of blue flame licked at the ground. Kind of comforting.

The two girls outside staring at the Atlus slackjawed? Priceless.

Now, this wasn’t exactly cutting edge technology; the pilot still had to manually drive the thing, and so did the co-pilot behind the rotary cannons. Lucy took a deep breath, and plugged into the system. Even the most rudimentary vehicles had something akin to a datafort, even if it was the equivalent of a sandcastle and all you did by plugging in was wasting your time – unless you needed to run a machine meant for two by herself.

The rotary cannon had some ammo too, so she only reached out to give the barrels a spin – spin they did. Useful to have that jotted down, though she still preferred a co-pilot in a situation like this. Guess it was time to teach Louise some fine arts of gunnery… once they secured enough fuel to actually fly the damn thing to the Academy for repairs. So much for that.

Later on, Louise suggested that they could perhaps devise an alternate fuel through the local alchemy. The idea, like everything else surrounding the Flying Boar, was as desperate as they came; especially since apparently Henrietta sought to send her childhood friend out abroad for a political errand. Originally, they were to fly with Viscount of Wardes and his griffin, but Lucy shot that idea down immediately. Not just because of safety concerns – flying three people on a single giant screechy furball was about as crazy as she made it sound – but also because something about Louise’s betrothed rubbed her the wrong way. One didn’t go far in the Night City without having a good read on people. If she were to compare Wardes to anyone, it would be a certain red-suited gonk with four eyes.

The things she would do to Faraday would make any old XBD look like a kids’ show…

...and yet, this time, Helkeginian alchemy delivered. Well, relatively speaking.

----

“Brimir’s balls… what on earth is that?!”

Prince Wales Tudor nursed his broken arm with a frown. They had a close shave with Reconquista’s “border patrol” (more like pirates who decided to join their side) and lost far too many men to his liking. Their vessel was holding together no doubt thanks to the Founder’s grace – and little else. Now that he finally had a look at what spooked their watchman, he had to conclude that perhaps His grace manifested in the strangest of ways.

The vessel unevenly jumping through the air like a grasshopper was unlike any airship he’d ever seen. Lacking any aerodynamic shape, it resembled a smith’s anvil, or perhaps some kind of barding for a war horse. Or a really large boar. Sputtering and jittering through the air, it nonetheless remained on course – course being their general whereabouts. Its propulsion must have been some Firestone-based fuel, based on the uneven gouts of flame spurting from below it. The cannons mounted below its glass-topped cockpit seemed to be primed to fire grapeshot-only, based on the odd shape of their barrels.

All of this however paled in comparison to the colors of the vessel; royal blue and purple of Tristain, the country of his darling cousin. Atop the boxy airship floated two flags emblazoned with fleurs-de-lis; on its sides – larger insignia and the name of “Maine”.

“...Your Highness, it was an honor to fight alongside you.” One of the younger sailors stammered out, only to be slapped upside the head by the other.

“Dumb fool! These are saviors, not enemies! They wear the flag of Tristain!” Well, Wales hoped they were saviors – he wouldn’t put it past the Reconquista to try and get the better of them through plebeian deceit.

Maine came to a stop next to them, managing to maintain an even altitude when not moving forward. The pilot was striking too, Wales noticed; not just due to her beauty or outfit (he wasn’t going to complain about the moral right of a woman wearing pants when that woman was saving their lives), but the strange lines marking her body and the cable stretching out from her neck and into the machine’s innards.

The strange woman shot him a crooked smile.

And yet, the fact that the other pilot was a mere schoolgirl from Tristain Academy of Magic – still in a uniform, pale, blue-haired, with red spectacles – ended up taking his attention. For a time, at least; the side of Maine opened, drawing surprised cries from the sailors – not just at the strange interior akin to an infirmary, but its passengers, two more students from Tristain. The taller one – with striking dark skin and a flirty look – gave the men a wave, holding onto the harnesses within the machine. “Your Highness!” The smaller of the students – pink hair flowing in the wind together with her mantle – called out through the tube to battle the roaring air and the humming of Maine both. “I am Louise Françoise Le Blanc de La Vallière! Her Majesty Henrietta de Tristain extends her regards, and offers aid in these trying times!”

Louise presented the signet-ring of Henrietta’s as proof of her earnest intentions; that was all Wales needed. “I hope there will be enough space for my men in your wondership, Mademoiselle Vallière!” He called back, gesturing to the few sailors gathered around him. Something grew on top of the boxy airship, another tube-like implement. “Founder himself seemed fit to send you to our aid—“

“You gonks can wax poetic later!” The strange reverb coming from the tube almost sent his men to the other end of their airship. Wales noted that though the strange woman was behind the glass cockpit, it was probably her voice that they’ve heard – and it seemed she was getting impatient. “Get in here one at a time before this old boar zeroes on us!”

“We have incoming.” Another voice; this one from the bespectacled student in the cockpit. Indeed, it seemed the Reconquista caught their scent; two sleek corvettes bearing their flags were encroaching on their airspace. A number of dragon and griffon riders maneuvered between them; this was a full-on raiding force deployed to catch him.

“No time to waste, Your Highness!” Louise called over, she and the other student inside Maine setting out a plank for them to move on. His crew was just a few people, but it soon became apparent that the boxy boar was not for many people to fly in.

“Alright, Tabitha; on my mark…” The whirring must have been Maine’s cannons preparing to repel the Reconquista force. The riders went first, looking to harass and target the exposed crewmen. Wales bit back a curse, fumbling for his wand. “Let ‘em rip!”

The whirring became a roaring cannonade so loud and abrupt, the crewman crossing the plank almost fell into the waters below once he wobbled. Wales stared, eyes widening as the two riders and their mounts who didn’t get clear fast enough less died and more turned into a cloud of red mist. How many projectiles was this?! Before he could even begin to understand, the cannonfire followed the stragglers and ripped them to shreds. The corvettes slowed down to try and remain out of Maine ’s range , their crews likely as stupefied as Prince Tudor was.

“Your Highness, quickly!” Louise called for him; the Albionian prince didn’t have to be told twice, crossing the plank as the last of his crew. The doors behind them closed and Maine began moving, jumping and jittering through the air. It definitely wasn’t the kind of smooth sailing any airman was acclimated to; they had to stick together like sardines, and none of the sailors wanted to rudely encroach on where Louise and her dark-skinned companion were huddled together (much to Louise’s dismay, Wales noted with mild amusement).

“Boys, welcome to Helkeginia’s first ever air taxi.” The pilot woman’s voice resounded through the cramped interior. “Next step, Tristania~ Hold onto your butts!”

Out of the corner of his eye, through the small visor, Wales was able to see that Reconquista’s corvettes declined to pursue them, only venting their frustrations on the abandoned airship he left behind.

Chapter Text

Since times immemorial, since the very beginning of time – there were Us, and there were Them.

A simple enough divide, but the kind that sparks conflicts aplenty. It’s learned more about the civilizations of the world it was flung into, and oftentimes all it took was for another to look different. A millennia-spanning epoch of hatred and love, of heroes and scoundrels… it was all too much to take in. But, as it often was the case, who was the “hero” of such a story depended on the writer. The locals, those who called themselves “humans” and “Helkeginians” would claim theirs was the superior right.

As it had no “elf” on hand to ask for their opinion, it had to stay its enthusiasm for the time being.

As far as it was concerned, the conflict Us had with Them was much simpler than that. Them were more numerous, proliferating in the world, reaching for the stars. Us were at the risk of extinction, unable to do much if they were to accept this order of things in peace. The space race made it particularly urgent for Us to take steps to try and get Them under control, one way or another.

They’ve donned the bodies Them used, and mimicked their kin to blend in and strike when the time was right. A practice refined over the countless years, back when Us first found Them merely toiling away with sticks and bones in the mud. It was something it understood very well, having taken many lives of Them during its life. But… in this new world, in Helkeginia – where everything was much larger than it needed to be, where there were two moons and “magic”, much as it boggled its mind – there were no Them. There were no Us either. It was the only one of its kind here.

It never really contemplated its existence. If, at some point in time, it would only be Us, then it had no idea what would come next. Would they just settle down and live day-to-day? Was it something that they could even do? Well, there was no point thinking about the distant future, especially if it was a long shot. For now, it busied itself with this new world.

Through its long life of imitating Them, it’s learned to not just look like them, but act like them too. This included various handiwork Them got up to, especially in the space-faring age. Nothing here quite compared to the technological level of their spaceships and research stations, but that didn’t necessarily make it less difficult.

At least it didn’t have to contend with this godforsaken wiring again…

“Ah, Mister Familiar!” One of the “maids” – servants of the “nobles”, it understood – spotted it leaving the area behind a cupboard. A pack of rats made their nest behind the furnishing, so it saw to it with some corkboard and an adhesive it pouched from “professor”’s office. Hopefully “Louise” would not be too mad about it. It flashed the maid a thumbs-up. “Honestly, I’m so happy we have such a helper here in the Academy. P-please don’t tell anyone I said it, but…” The maid looked around as if anyone else could hear them. “there is a lot to take care of in a place like this.”

It was nothing to think about too hard for it. It was just busywork to distract itself while it thought about the future.

----

Louise should have been pleased with the results.

Her first ever spell to succeed, the Springtime Familiar Summoning, brought forth a familiar – but what kind of a creature was this? It stood on two legs, but its body seemed to be cut from a single piece of… something rubbery. Well, except for the visor it had for a face. No eyes, no mouth, no nose – just a piece of glass reflecting in the shine of her own pinks.

She saw it absorb some soup the other day, and the ghoulish image of the broth just… disappearing into the thing refused to let her go.

It was short (and she was no tall person!), barely reaching towards her chest – but it was heavy for its height. If she were to liken it to something, it would be to the mythical dwarf race; one of the many strange peoples that the elves had decimated over their long and sordid history. Of course, other than its stockiness and a skill at handiwork, it didn’t look like much of a dwarf – or much like anything, really.

It was clearly sapient, perhaps even more so than Tabitha’s Rhyme Dragon; it was capable of complicated work (with hands that appeared and disappeared at will which made no sense whatsoever) and it understood her well enough to try and communicate beyond what a beast would be expected to do.

...Louise couldn’t help but be suspicious of it. Most of the time, it would simply disappear to parts unknown to busy itself with work around the Academy. What was it doing that it would demand so much of its attention? The plebeian staff praised its efforts, but then what were they doing if there was so much more work to be done? Could it be that her Familiar had some ulterior motives that she could not figure out?

Or perhaps she was merely reeling from the fact that, for once, her spell succeeded.

Unfortunately, it seemed to be the only spell so far – she continued to struggle not to explode a gold nugget she was told to levitate. Zerbst didn’t bother her anymore, at least, but she was only one person among the entire school (even if her lack in the heckling party was much appreciated). What kind of ailment befell upon her that even now, after summoning a Familiar, she had yet to succeed anywhere else?

...to make matters worse, she just received a missive from Tristania. A letter emblazoned with the Crown’s fleur-de-lis must have meant that Henrietta had a need of her. She had to wonder just what was so important that the princess would employ a talentless Zero like herself? Perhaps she’s heard that Louise completed the summoning and that the curse was thus lifted from her shoulders?

...where on earth was her Familiar to begin with? She hadn’t seen it since the morning, and the sun had already gone down! Normally it spent most of its time working on the Academy grounds, but it would always be back by dinner. What kept it? Was it so engrossed in its work? Or did something happen? Louise bit down the feeling of worry burbling somewhere within. Her Familiar was a smart kind, and there wasn’t anything of note in the Academy that could threaten it. Perhaps an undisciplined familiar from one of her peers, looking to have a bite of the new unknown thing?

Ah, there she was fretting again – and for naught, since the doors to her quarters slowly slid open and her Familiar came in, all single-tone red except for its visor. “Familiar.” She cast him a heavy look from over her mirror, putting away the hairbrush. Its hand materialized out of thin air to wave at her; Louise’s eyes narrowed. “Can I know why you’re only returning this late?”

The Familiar fidgeted slightly and then slid sideways – and another one of its kin entered the room.

There were two of them. Louise blinked, and then made a sound she was happy no one else had heard. The kin of its Familiar was entirely black, save for the visor. Same size and stockiness, although this one accessorized; it (she?) wore a maid’s headdress, or rather a miniature version of one made from spare napkins. It even curtsied when her Familiar gestured towards it, as if to introduce it. “...are you kidding me? You were here the entire time?”

The “maid” looked about as sheepish as a featureless blob with a glass visor could.

----

“I… didn’t know you have two Familiars, Louise.”

The pinkette grunted, eyes wandering from Henrietta towards the two blobs sitting in the spare chairs. Henrietta’s bodyguard, Chevalier de Milan, seemed to regard them with no small amount of suspicion herself. “I don’t. The black one happens to be kin to my Familiar.” She explained, shaking her head. “...I’m not entirely sure where she… it… they came from, but they’re both insistent on tagging along with one another.”

“Well, I don’t see why that should be an issue.” Henrietta smiled, conceding with a nod. “Those you put faith in, I can put faith in too, Louise Françoise.” The smile didn’t last; the princess looked anxious again. No doubt this had something to do with the missive Louise received. “...and speaking of faith, I must put mine in you, my friend.”

“What would you have me do?” Henrietta didn’t reply immediately, most likely summoning her courage. Louise did not deem it necessary to question anything about her request; if her friend wanted something done, no doubt it was for the good of the country. Of course, here was hoping that Henrietta would request something within Louise’s meager abilities…

“There is a matter I need resolved. I made a foolish mistake” Chevalier de Milan’s brows narrowed at the words as she watched the princess fiddle with the signet-ring she slipped off her finger. “and it might endanger Tristain if not dealt with. Me and Prince Wales have exchanged some letters that… well…” This time Louise’s eyebrows lowered as she watched the princess hesitate and… blush?

“They had an affair.” The bodyguard – Agnes, the pinkette recalled her name was – replied, drawing a scandalized gasp from Henrietta. “Hadn’t you?”

“...well, yes, but you didn’t… I…” The princess sighed and hid her face in her hands. “Perhaps I needed to be reminded of it in so brusque a manner…”

“You’re welcome, Henrietta.” Hm. This wasn’t how a vassal should address their superior, Louise thought. Why, this was more akin to friends bantering – not that she would allow herself to be so audacious with the crown princess of the country. Friends or no friends, certain manners of conduct had to be respected.

“...point being, Louise, I… need someone trusted to retrieve these letters before the Reconquista can get their hands on them. With my current arrangement to be married with the Germanian Emperor, that could endanger the political alliance that’s the part of the event and… I can’t have that.”

That made sense. Louise looked towards her Familiar(s) briefly; they seemed to be listening, much as someone without ears could. She couldn’t consult them for their opinions; hopefully they were willing to help as much as they were able. “How do I reach Prince Wales?”

“Oh, you will not be flying alone, your Familiars notwithstanding.” Henrietta shook her head. “The Viscount of Wardes will accompany you as a bodyguard.” Jean-Jacques Francis, huh? Well, Louise was put at ease; there was no better companion for a journey like this one. “Although please keep in mind; he does not know of the contents of the letters, and I would like to keep those in the know to you, Agnes, and your friends here.”

Friends in question seemed to be having some second thoughts; one of them produced a piece of paper and something to write with out of, seemingly, thin air. So did their hands just come into view with no warning. Louise bit back a snort, watching Agnes’s eyes briefly jut out of their sockets in shock. It seemed it was the “maid” who was writing, in fact.

Henrietta took the offered paper after a moment of scribbling. “Mm… I understand your apprehension, noble Familiars.” She smiled at the two. “But the Viscount of Wardes is a man of integrity and knightly values. If there is anyone who I would trust to protect you and Louise, it would be him.” Louise’s familiar(s), to her annoyance, were not so easily stymied, writing down another question. “...ah… w-well, it’s just…” The princess flushed again. “it’s really embarrassing…”

“It’s really mushy love poetry.” Agnes chimed in, looking vaguely smug for a moment. Henrietta hid her face in her hands again.

“...well, regardless of the contents, the princess wants me to retrieve the letters either way. If we have Jean-Jacques with us, then we should be pretty safe.” The two Familiars shrugged indifferently, clearly not impressed with what they’ve heard.

----

Their suspicions were proven correct.

Prince Wales remained on the borders of Albion, flying as a pretend-air pirate with the rest of his faithful crew. Finding his ship proved easier than the two of them expected, even if the ride there was a little bumpy. Wardes’s mighty steed might have had enough space for four persons, but it was loud, screechy, covered in icky feathers… and the two of them specifically needed special harnesses just to not float down into the water. Falls from great heights were all too familiar for their kind.

Unfortunately, Wardes was not as trustworthy as everyone said he was. “It is unfortunate, but higher interests are at play.” He explained himself, swordwand drawn and aimed square at Prince Wales. Just a moment earlier, his lightning spell killed the other sailors; clearly they were not as important for the higher interest at play. Prince Tudor glared daggers at the traitor, hand stiffly remaining in place. There was no scenario in which he could draw his wand fast enough to fight back.

Louise stared, dumbstruck. How did it all turn out like this? How could Jean-Jacques of all people be in league with the Reconquista? How could he answer to those terrible king-slayers, those who would upend the old systems for nothing but to sate their bloodlust? Her mother trusted this man, and yet…

Well, should The Grand Tempest hear of this treachery, no doubt she would move heaven and earth to have Wardes answer for his crimes. That, of course, would be a cold comfort for Louise herself, a hairsbreadth away from death. “Now, all I ask is that your Familiars do not do something unwise, Louise.” Wardes drawled, eyes briefly wandering to the stocky two staring up at him but remaining in place. Frankly, the pinkette wasn’t sure what they could do. Sure, they had their tricks, but they couldn’t just conjure a weapon out of thin air!

The two Familiars looked at each other briefly, and got to work.

“I have no interest in taking your life and, were circumstances different, I would be happy to call you my wife in the future. Yet—“ A little click and the following BANG kept Wardes from talking as he suddenly lurched forward with a mixture of confusion and pain leaving his mouth. It seemed someone shot him right through the knee. Who in the—

Oh. They could just conjure weapons out of thin air. Her Familiar (the real one) was holding a firearm; a sleek, silver model different from the local guns. Wardes toppled but did not drop his swordwand, and for a moment Louise feared their defiance was only going to get them all killed – only for the “maid” to step forward. Her body suddenly opened the way one would open a chest, revealing a fanged maw full of sharp teeth – and a nimble tongue that shot out like a spear and struck Wardes right in the eye. Louise felt her face turning green as bile crawled up her throat; Wales meanwhile pulled himself out of his stupor to shield her from the grisly sight. Just like that, the fight was over. Even Wardes’s griffon didn’t initially realize its master was dead; by the time it did, Prince Tudor could chase it away with his drawn wand. The griffon screeched, flying away in confusion and leaving the four of them alone on the descending airship.

“...well… that I didn’t expect.” Wales mumbled, sheathing his wand and watching as the two stocky critters poked at Wardes with their tongues some more, as if to ensure he was well and truly dead. If the prince’s estimation was correct, the first stab was sufficient, going right for the brain. That was the kind of the attack only a killer with years of experience would be able to pull off so seamlessly.

They might have looked like silly, somewhat hapless beans – but it was obvious now that they were mere impostors, pretending to look less threatening than they were. At the very least, they were on their side. Once they were satisfied, the two left – most likely to put their handiwork to use and try to save the four of them from plummeting into the waters between Albion and the mainland.

“...are you alright, Miss Vallière?” He asked, realizing Louise was still there, standing with an expression that was impossible for him to place.

“I… am not sure what happened just now…” She mumbled, eyes wandering anywhere but near the body of Wardes. “...let’s… go… from here, Your Highness.” Louise gestured vaguely towards the bowels of the ship. Wales nodded, ushering the girl towards the passage and casting one last look at the traitor’s corpse before leaving.

Chapter Text

“Miss Vallière.”

Louise looked up despondently from over her notebook and Osmond could not help but flinch at the sight. He knew the third daughter of Karin the Grand Tempest to be a young woman full of energy and determination to make something out of her life. At first, it seemed not even her strange ineptitude at spells kept her down – although she was not shy about lashing out at those who would mock her for it.

Osmond was in the world for a while now, and he liked to think he saw his fair share of things and kept knowledge of even more of such – and yet, Louise’s predicament confused him and his teacher peers at the Academy. In secret (mostly so that Louise’s imperious elder sister does not know), he sent a missive to their colleagues in Oriz to try and figure out some kind of an answer for the poor girl. It was not sickness, it was not a curse. No other person in House Vallière had such problems. No other student in the Academy had them either.

The Academy in Oriz sent back a confusing missive to “steer clear of further investigation”. For now, these inquiries were on hold as Osmond had to decide what to do with the girl. By all means, since she did complete the familiar summoning, there was no reason to expel her… and yet, considering said “familiar” was a mere inanimate book – not even a magic item of any kind, a simple purple notebook with Familiar runes inscribed on its cover – and her ability to cast other spells remained at zero… perhaps the Academy exhausted its options.

It certainly did not help that the summoning shattered Louise’s spirit. Osmond knew her to be a person with great respect towards authority. To just sit there listlessly and not even look at him – though he wouldn’t be too annoyed by that – was out of character for the young Vallière. “...I… realize this is not fair to you, but we the Academy have to take some steps due to these circumstances.”

“...I understand, Headmaster. I can begin packing right away.”

“Oh, no, do not misunderstand. Since you did summon a Familiar, there are no grounds to expel you.” Louise stirred and finally made eye contact. It seemed the words did not amuse her.

“Headmaster, I have summoned an invisible Familiar whose existence I cannot prove to you or anyone else. That it saw fit to leave this… booklet” She glared at the purple notebook with disdain. “behind and mark it with a Familiar rune to mock me… that is entirely its own fancy.” Louise took a deep breath. “I realize I must sound like a madwoman to you and the others – but again, this notebook is not my Familiar.”

“What is your point, Miss Vallière?”

“There is no proof of my summoning being complete. Therefore, the Academy does not need to hold me here.” Osmond’s eyebrow rose. “I cannot remain in the Academy just due to this technicality.”

“Well, you claim you have summoned a Familiar – and I do not take you for a deceitful sort.” The Headmaster shook his head, reaching for his pipe and applying the herbs. “Furthermore, and this is something we should have done much sooner, we have began communication with the Academy of Oriz. And no, your sister is not a part of that communication.” Louise’s objection died on her lips as she deflated on the chair. Osmond lit the herbs, taking a satisfied inhale. “Perhaps the issue with your magical mishaps lies deeper than we first suspected – and specialists are needed to unearth the problem.”

“...so… where does that leave me, Headmaster?”

“I would like for you to stay a student of Tristain Academy of Magic. I shall notify the educators – your attendance to practical classes will now be optional.” Louise’s eyebrows furrowed, but she said nothing to it, only offering a slight nod. “If you can convince your Familiar to appear, we encourage you to do so – but for the time being, just carry on as the usual.”

“...I see.” Louise nodded again, a little stiffly. “...thank you, Headmaster. Is… that all?”

“For now. Enjoy your afternoon, Miss Vallière.” Osmond watched her go and close the doors behind her, taking another inhale of his pipe and idly drumming fingers on the desk. A few moments later, two men slipped into the office; the head of the infirmary and the Academy’s chaplain; two specialists whom Osmond requested. The expressions on their face spoke of conflict and uncertainty; not good signs to him.

“Hopefully Chuchu’s senses were sufficient, gentlemen.” The aforementioned mouse familiar slipped out of the chaplain’s sleeve, skittering across the desk and into Osmond’s robes. The wizened Headmaster rubbed the rodent on the head briefly. “What say you?”

“Mental illness is not my expertise, Headmaster.” Professor Puidemont shook his head, arms folded across his chest. “But I can say that there doesn’t appear to be anything strange about Vallière’s behavior. Even that listlessness can be explained due to the results of the summoning.”

“I think her soul is going through a turbulent phase.” Father Stephen added, a more contemplative look drawn across his face. “But, it is not broken. She is a strong character.”

“...should we really be entertaining her deceit, Headmaster?” Puidemont again. Osmond’s eyebrow rose. “Yes, I know that Vallière is not the type to lie – but the frustration she’s no doubt experiencing could push even someone like her to folly.”

“You said it, Armand; she’s not a lying type.” Puidemont grunted, but acknowledged Headmaster’s reply with a nod. “Although perhaps she is less lying – and more convinced of this falsehood being true.”

“I do believe her Familiar is out and about.” Father Stephen’s expression turned more apprehensive. “I realize a gut feeling is hardly sufficient, but there is this uneasy feeling trailing behind her. A ghost or a spirit of some kind.”

“By the way, sir; did Oriz reply yet?” Osmond shook his head. Over the course of their brief correspondence with their fellow Academy he and Colbert both started suspecting what might have been so scary that it would dissuade even the inquisitive types in Oriz. To even say that thought aloud was to invite a risk of heresy.

“Not yet. I’m hoping for it to not be too long.”

Perhaps Louise de La Vallière was a Void Mage – and her Familiar, an unknowable force, rested among them…

----

“This would be so much easier if you just gave it a try.”

Louise glared daggers at the ghoulish wight looming in the corner of her room; the real Familiar and not this forbidden notebook it dropped for her. The runes were there just for show; the owner of the notebook would be able to see its real, unnerving name.

𝔻𝕖𝕒𝕥𝕙 ℕ𝕠𝕥𝕖. How very quaint.

“Tell me I’m wrong, Louise.” The ghoulish wight that only she – as the owner of the book – could see introduced himself as Ryuk; a god of death from a realm beyond human imagination. If that was how death looked like, no wonder people were afraid of it, and its rotten views. Apparently, Ryuk wanted her to indulge in the Note, give it a little whirl. Check it out to see just what kind of power she held right now.

All of it just for fun.

“Cease your prattling.” She growled, tossing an apple at him. Apparently the self-proclaimed god of death was a big fan of the things. One of his previous “partners” would get him addicted to these the same way one would get addicted to liquor or substances. “If you are so sure that it works, then I have no need to make a show of it.”

“Or perhaps you are just humoring me so that I stop bothering you. These apples are to die for though.” Ryuk laughed, taking his time with the fruit, picking it apart bit by bit. It was kind of a morbidly fascinating show, as if a machine was slowly dismantling the entire sphere of it. Kind of like an artisan working on a potter’s wheel, except in reverse.

Of course, the Note wasn’t just an ordinary magical book. Louise’s earlier theoretical tests to check its curse value yielded nothing, but its main draw was obvious enough: to be able to kill any human being by just writing their name in it. The Note came with its set of rules; a surprisingly comprehensive list that detailed not just the basics of usage, but also things such as more complicated… “rituals”, changing its ownership, the works.

All of it was theoretical, of course. If Ryuk was so sure that this damn book worked and kept needling her to use it, then Louise could assume it really did. To even bring up the courage to test it, let alone darken her heart enough for the deed…

“Really? No one you know that you hate? What about that Zerbst girl?” Louise’s hand twitched as she slammed the Note shut. Yes, that thought crossed her mind; fortunately only when she had no writing implements on hand. (although according to the instructions, the Note wasn’t picky on that front) Kirche von Zerbst was a petty bully looking to deflect attention from herself and reignite the old international rivalry between their houses – but Louise wouldn’t kill her for it. She was better than this, although she imagined a few of her peers might have been less sure of their moral integrity if they had their hands on the Note.

...there were some rules pertaining to that, but…

“You’re really something.” Ryuk sprawled on top of the dressing table, somehow putting himself in a weird, impossible angle between the ceiling angle and the furnishing. “Last guy tried selling it at a worldwide auction. Got the ol’ King so mad, he introduced a rule just to keep that from happening again. The guy before him though… that was more what I had in mind for fun.”

“I dread to hear what you consider “fun”.”

“Well, Louise… imagine a world where you can die at a moment’s notice because you are deemed wanting.” The pinkette’s eyes narrowed dangerously low. “Maybe not if you are a law-abiding citizen, but criminals… or those who would threaten to expose you as a killer… maybe those who the killer in question just didn’t like very much.” Ryuk cackled. “Oh, that guy was a hoot – but he stopped being fun eventually.”

“What happened to that man?”

“Oh, I killed him.” Ryuk shrugged indifferently. “One of the first things I told him, actually, was that I’ll put him in my Death Note once he’s no fun.” The ghoulish wight produced his own booklet; matte-black and with its unnerving name painted right on top of it. “And you are being no fun right now, Louise.”

“...are you threatening me, demon?” Ryuk cackled again.

“Consider it a reminder that I can do that. The whole thing with jumping worlds is pretty exciting so far, but you being a stick in the mud is evening that out, little by little.” Louise huffed, opening the Note again to peruse the rules.

“There are some people who would be better off dead, true…” She muttered, narrowing her eyes at some of the positions on the list. “But those are men I cannot hope to meet and therefore see.”

“Yeah, you don’t have photos or movies here, so that won’t work.” Ryuk shrugged again. “But hey, maybe if you think hard enough?”

“Do not test me.”

----

In hindsight, Henrietta’s unauthorized visit to the Academy was where it all started coming down, Louise thought.

Once she was done rebuking the princess for a very unwise thing that was visiting after dark without any security detail what was she thinking?!, they got down to the brass tacks. Unfortunately, Henrietta’s visit wasn’t just to see her childhood friend (although that came at a bonus). “I need your assistance, Louise Françoise. I… was told that you have finally found your magic.”

“Those rumors might have been exaggerated…” Louise sighed, shooting Ryuk a side-glare as the ghoul cackled to himself. Henrietta’s eyes followed, but, of course, she didn’t see anything there. Only the owner of the Note – and those who touched it, the pinkette later learned – could see the gods of death. “...unfortunately, I have only this to show for myself.” Here, Louise presented the purple notebook with a measured look. Henrietta did not mask her disappointment quickly enough.

“Ah… that… is unusual.”

“Let’s call it such.” Louise groused. “It’s enough that the entire Academy treats me like I’ve gone mad when I tell them the actual Familiar is invisible.”

“...oh! So you did summon something, after all?” The princess’s joy seemed genuine to the pinkette. Either she truly believed in her or, perhaps, the matter she wanted her help in was that dire. “I’m so happy to hear that!”

“I’m not.” Slowly, Louise exhaled. “...Henrietta, what I am about to show you must not leave this room.” The princess opened her mouth to reply, but the pinkette hushed her with a gesture. “I’m serious. I want you to swear on your power and the Crown that you shall be the sole witness to my Familiar and the book it left behind.”

“...alright, Louise. I’m… a little concerned what its form might be, but I trust you the way I trust no other.” Louise believed that – but a cynical part of her brain theorized that was why Henrietta looked to enlist her on her errand, despite the pinkette’s utter lack of qualifications. “As a mage and a ruler, I vow to remain secretive.” Louise nodded after a few seconds of tense, uncomfortable silence.

“Touch the Note.” Henrietta swallowed nervously and did as ordered. Judging by how her eyes went wide a moment later, Louise presumed the rules worked as advertised. “Henrietta, this is Ryuk. Ryuk, Her Majesty Henrietta de Tristain.” The ghoulish wight grinned, obviously having the time of his life drinking in the princess’s terrified reaction. “This Note that you’ve just touched is called a Death Note; a book that can kill anyone whose name was written in it.”

“L-louise?”

“...this is what Ryuk told me, and what is written in the rules. Be at ease.” Henrietta’s tension escaped her shoulders as she slumped onto a seat, eyes still glued to the ghoulish grin looming behind Louise like a bizarre shadow. “...I believe its power to be real, but you can see that it is not exactly the kind of Familiar that can protect me… or that I would be willing to use freely.”

“A-and Sir Ryuk?”

“Oooh, “sir”. I like that.” Louise growled under her breath, choosing to ignore Ryuk’s pleased giggle.

“He has no desire to aid me, but he won’t hinder me either. It’s all just a game to him, with me as a pawn and the Note as the die to cast.”

“...I see.” Henrietta still seemed like she wanted to ask Louise for help despite all that. “...well, Louise, let me explain the situation in more detail. You won’t be sent alone; I’ll have the Viscount of Wardes assist you as a bodyguard.”

“Jean-Jacques? Why not just send him by himself then?” ...why did Henrietta’s face turn red?

“Ah… well, about the details…”

----

And so, Louise ended up on this errand.

Henrietta wanted her to retrieve the correspondence between the princess and prince Wales Tudor. From what the pinkette could understand, the letters could threaten the upcoming political marriage between Henrietta and the emperor of Germania; in a time where Albion could not provide Tristain its aid due to the Reconquista, it was even more imperative to retrieve them. Jean-Jacques was not aware of their contents, and Henrietta wanted to keep things that way.

Unfortunately, not only was Louise’s betrothed more informed than all assumed – he was also a traitorous dog.

“I apologize, Louise, for all it’s worth.” She stared through grit teeth, watching as he uncaringly tossed the body of Prince Wales off the deck of the airship. Wardes’ griffon remained idle, sampling some of the sailors’ cadavers; its bird eye remained trained on Louise. “A shame Henrietta decided to tangle you into her juvenile politicking; you do not deserve this fate of being her meatshield.”

“Why, Jean-Jacques? Explain it to me so that I can kill you next time we meet.” The viscount’s lips quirked in a wry smile, barely visible from under his beard. Behind Louise, unseen to him, Ryuk was rolling on the deck laughing.

“Spoken like a true Vallière. Your mother will be proud of you one day.”

“Don’t change the subject! How… why?! What compelled you to do this?!”

“...a number of factors, Louise. It’s a long and sordid story that we have no time for. Now… my feelings for you are genuine, and I would loathe to leave you stranded atop a crashing airship.”

“How very generous. First you kill the last of the Tudor line, now you seek to abduct the daughter of Karin the Grand Tempest?” She gritted out, her hand looking to draw her wand. The viscount’s smile slipped off.

“No such thing. I will leave you back in Tristain; it is only fair I do you this last kindness before I depart.” His eyes trailed to where her wand was. Of course, both of them knew it was useless against a Square prodigy like Wardes. Louise’s predicament was a common topic of discussion in the family, of which Jean-Jacques was the unofficial member of. “...although I would like you to relinquish your wand for now. I don’t want you to stab me in the eye while we fly.”

Louise’s hand stilled and a hateful glower on her face slowly subsided. “...you confuse me, Viscount of Wardes. What will stop me from informing the Crown of your treachery once you release me?” The man shrugged indifferently.

“By the time you do, I will be long gone with the letters, and it will no longer matter.” He was right. No doubt the Reconquista would house their lapdog for a time. Frankly, Louise would be better off never letting Henrietta know. It would be so much better if the Viscount of Wardes was remembered as a hero who perished in the line of duty. The letters would be lost with him – in a sense they would be rid of them, and the Reconquista would not be able to use them to their ends.

Louise’s face shifted to a cool expression. “...I suppose so.”

----

“What are you writing, Louise?”

“𝕔𝕒𝕡𝕖”

Their flight back to Tristain was slower than the original race for Prince Wales’ airship. It seemed Wardes was in no rush to report to his real masters, and so they enjoyed the scenic flight across the water. The atmosphere, if one asked Louise, was a bizarre blend of peaceful and unnerving.

But, considering what just transpired and how casual the viscount was about all this… “It’s my journal, viscount. I trust you have no objection?” She looked him in the eye once he turned to look at her. The saddles they used were a fusion model, for the main rider and their passenger. A custom-made handiwork.

Louise’s hand stilled as they looked at each other, having just finished the "𝕨𝕚𝕝𝕝" of her sentence. “I wasn’t aware you have one.” It seemed as if he was hurt to hear she was so dispassionate towards him. Certainly, such a little thing as regicide and treason would not get in the way of their feelings towards one another. Louise would laugh if she could get away with it.

“I have started one after my summoning.” She shrugged, eyes wandering back to the written characters. “I have been using it to communicate with my Familiar, as well.”

“The… book?” Wardes’s eyes wandered to the Familiar rune placed upon the cover. This time, Louise cast him a mock-amused look.

“You take whatever small victories you can while you are a Zero, viscount.” Once his brows creased – in concern, of all things; Louise wanted to snarl at him so badly – she shrugged again. “We cannot all be winners.”

“...I’m worried about you, Louise.”

“I’m certain your deeds will put me at ease.”

"𝕓𝕪"

“...I cannot apologize enough.” Wardes focused back on the flight, a little stymied by his passenger’s acidic tone. Louise’s shoulders relaxed slightly as she picked up the pace of writing. The weather was getting worse by the minute; the rainclouds cast a heavy curtain across the sky. Nothing dark to indicate a coming storm, but for Louise’s purposes, it was more than sufficient. Hopefully this damn Note was waterproof… “Frankly, The Reconquista is just means to an end. Their goals and mine coincide to a degree, but…”

“So not even they can be sure of your loyalty?” Wardes flinched but said nothing, flying them towards the landmass. His griffon, Marseille, screeched as they began their gradual descent towards the greenery of the coast. “...so why… do all of this, Jean-Jacques?”

"𝕝𝕚𝕘𝕙𝕥𝕟𝕚𝕟𝕘"

“...to not go into too much detail, the Reconquista is to be used as a start; a pebble that will bring forth a rockslide that is retaking the Holy Lands from the elven scourge.” Louise’s eyebrow rose, though she did not stop slowly writing down what she needed. The first drops fell upon them, and a few fell onto the pages. The pinkette growled under her breath, watching as one sunk right into the "𝕡𝕣𝕖𝕧𝕖𝕟𝕥". “...you might want to hold off from writing for now.”

“I’m not sure if my heart would take the wait well.” Wardes hummed, but didn’t interrupt her. Fortunately, it seemed the gods of death knew how to handle a little rain; the water vanished off the pages without much affectation of the text or its structure. “You must understand, Jean-Jacques, I am beyond incensed right now, and I need to put this down in words or die from frustration.”

“...I suppose the circumstances call for it.” Not long until they would hit the coast. Louise did not want him to see scribbling away on the ground; that would no doubt be suspicious, and she already placed down the time. She didn’t have much left to write, at least; sure, she could get away with just his name… but she wanted to make it special. A man like Jean-Jacques Francis de Wardes deserved nothing less.

"𝕣𝕖𝕤𝕔𝕦𝕚𝕟𝕘"

The rest of the flight was spent in silence. Before long, Louise was back on the ground (though not before filling in the last of his name after a brief deliberation if the title was needed or not), a little wobbly from the earlier flight and from the storm of emotions within. Wardes did not disembark with her, merely offering her a bow with a hat flourish. “I do regret this is how we part ways, Louise. Come some time, you might understand that my actions were right.” The pinkette scoffed, but did not reply otherwise. “Perhaps in another life, I can make it up to you somehow.”

“...in another life. Go. This is a farewell, Jean-Jacques.”

“At your service.” Something in Louise’s face twitched. Had Wardes’ fate not already been decided, she would be tempted to start screaming bloody murder at him or unfurl the bindings on her wand to try and get in a shot, irrespective of her own fate. Alas, there was no need for any of that. She watched him go in the rain, pulling her cape over her head to shield herself from soaking as she sat down on her rucksack. Ryuk perched nearby, his fish eyes staring at the gradually lessening figure of Wardes and his griffon.

They were waiting for the thread of fate to be severed.

A small figure fell off the larger figure, accompanied by a surprised cry. The first part of Wardes’ eulogy would be final normally; his griffon would be swift enough to catch him in case of an accident. To that end, Louise enlisted the help of the Founder himself to smite the traitor off the face of the earth. Not directly, much as it would be ironic to have Wardes killed by lightning.

Instead, a flash of light and a zig-zag of power cut through the air, scaring away the incoming griffon. The small figure, helpless to save itself, fell into the cold waters between the mainland and Albion. From here, Louise could not see the bubbles burbling on the surface or hear Wardes’ desperate cries to free himself from his own mantle. The griffon descended to the water to try and rescue its master, but by then it was too late. Its grieving was heard across the world, accompanied by the rumbling of the thunderstorm.

“...you’re smiling.” Ryuk poked Louise’s cheek with a chuckle. The pinkette did not refute him. There was no denying that. The feeling of raw power as she sentenced that despicable man to death that coursed through her veins… it was no wonder Ryuk’s first “owner” succumbed to the cursed pleasure.

She was smiling, and she wasn’t sure if she hated it.

----

“𝕁𝕖𝕒𝕟-𝕁𝕒𝕔𝕢𝕦𝕖𝕤 𝔽𝕣𝕒𝕟𝕔𝕚𝕤’ 𝕤𝕒𝕕𝕕𝕝𝕖 𝕨𝕚𝕝𝕝 𝕞𝕒𝕝𝕗𝕦𝕟𝕔𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟 𝕒𝕟𝕕 𝕤𝕖𝕟𝕕 𝕙𝕚𝕞 𝕡𝕝𝕦𝕞𝕞𝕖𝕥𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕥𝕠 𝕙𝕚𝕤 𝕕𝕠𝕠𝕞 𝕝𝕚𝕜𝕖 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕕𝕠𝕘 𝕙𝕖 𝕚𝕤. ℍ𝕚𝕤 𝕘𝕣𝕚𝕗𝕗𝕠𝕟 𝕨𝕚𝕝𝕝 𝕓𝕖 𝕤𝕥𝕠𝕡𝕡𝕖𝕕 𝕓𝕪 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕗𝕝𝕒𝕤𝕙 𝕠𝕗 𝕝𝕚𝕘𝕙𝕥𝕟𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕓𝕖𝕥𝕨𝕖𝕖𝕟 𝕥𝕙𝕖𝕞. 𝕋𝕙𝕖 𝕔𝕒𝕡𝕖 𝕨𝕚𝕝𝕝 𝕡𝕣𝕖𝕧𝕖𝕟𝕥 𝕙𝕚𝕞 𝕗𝕣𝕠𝕞 𝕖𝕞𝕖𝕣𝕘𝕚𝕟𝕘 𝕗𝕣𝕠𝕞 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕨𝕒𝕥𝕖𝕣. 𝕋𝕙𝕚𝕤 𝕨𝕚𝕝𝕝 𝕙𝕒𝕡𝕡𝕖𝕟 𝕨𝕚𝕥𝕙𝕚𝕟 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕟𝕖𝕩𝕥 𝕗𝕠𝕦𝕣 𝕞𝕚𝕟𝕦𝕥𝕖𝕤.”

Chapter Text

JUVENILE BRAIN OF A PATRIOT: ...wake up, Louise. This is important. You really don’t want to fall asleep now.

1. Ignore your brain.

2. “Sleep feels nice though…”

JUVENILE BRAIN OF A PATRIOT: Perhaps if you were to sleep in your own bed… and not in your current predicament.

ENDURANCE [godly, failure]: ...why does everything hurt?

LOGIC: [medium, success]: That might be a good thing; it means whatever damage you’ve sustained isn’t that serious.

PAIN THRESHOLD [legendary, failure]: Speak for yourself. It feels like an army of orcs walked all over you, twice over. Surprised you’re even conscious at this point.

1. “...current predicament?”

REACTION SPEED [formidable, failure]: What the hell happened? What in Brimir’s balls happened?

JUVENILE BRAIN OF A PATRIOT: You were betrayed. You were deemed expendable, an acceptable collateral damage for the grander scheme. The wreckage of Prince Wales Tudor’s airship surrounds you, no doubt amid the bodies of its crew.

NOBLESSE OBLIGE [trivial, success]: Our aide proved to be a dastard unworthy of his knightly mantle.

1. “That doesn’t answer my question…”

2. “Jean-Jacques…?”

3. “The wreckage…?”

REACTION SPEED: Sorry.

HALF-LIGHT: Nevermind that. We need to get out of here now before it all catches fire.

1. Force yourself to stand.

2. “Do I really need to? The ground is comfy…”

3. “…” (Accept your impending demise)

ENDURANCE: Your muscles strain and your bones creak as you slowly rise to your feet. Your body is a giant bruise. Even remaining upright is a challenge at this point.

[DAMAGED HEALTH]

WRECKAGE OF “INDUBITABLE”: You are among splinters and destruction, among broken masts and Windstones that haphazardly spilled out of the airship’s body. The land is peaceful, with only a gentle rustling of trees and an odd bird chime here and there. It’s almost as if you did not just survive an airship crash, and all of that is just in your mind.

REVELRY [easy, success]: No… it is all too real. The colors are the colors of the here and now, and so is the taste of smoke and the faint waft of death in the air. You are atop a grave.

LORE [trivial, success]: That is not what a “grave” is.

NOBLESSE OBLIGE [challenging, success]: Back in Tristain, princess Henrietta de Tristain starts from her restless nap. Her eyes jitter to and fro in a panic as she tries to calm her breathing. Her bodyguard, a knightess with short blond hair, is by her side; soothing her monarch.

EMPATHY: [medium, success]: Soothing her friend.

NOBLESSE OBLIGE: “Oh, Agnes… I have sent her to die. I have sent my precious friend to her death.” Henrietta says, her voice cracking and brilliant tears shining in her eyes. The knightess does not retort, choosing to hold the princess in her firm but gentle embrace.

HALF-LIGHT [medium, success]: She did. She sent you to die, and she didn’t even blink. Who gives her the right to be sorry now?

1. That’s not true! I went there of my own volition!

2. How could either of us have predicted the betrayal?!

3. She wouldn’t… would she?

REVELRY [challenging, failure]: The last word feels bitter on your lips, and you know why. You know who betrayed you, even if accepting that is yet to come for you.

COMPOSURE [challenging, failure]: You stamp your foot in anger, irrespective of the Rule of Steel you were supposed to adhere to; just barely holding off from screaming into the heavens. That lying, piece of shit, backstabbing-

PAIN THRESHOLD [medium, failure]: ...was it really a good idea to aggravate your body’s soreness even further?

[DAMAGED HEALTH]

WRECKAGE OF “INDUBITABLE”: The fruits of this betrayal are strewn everywhere; the splintered wood and small fires here and there, and what was left of those who were on board.

[DAMAGED MORALE]

VOLITION: Do not look. You are not equipped to deal with that, let alone now. Focus on what’s important.

REACTION SPEED [trivial, success]: Prince Wales… and your Familiar…

1. “The sailors…?”

2. “Prince Wales…?”

3. “My Familiar…?” (Proceed)

WRECKAGE OF “INDUBITABLE”: You amble around as if you were walking against a tide; your steps are slow and sluggish. Perhaps you can find the target of your mission; the reason why you came here in the first place.

NOBLESSE OBLIGE [easy, success]: He might not be your prince, but he’s still a damn prince. He deserves this much.

EMPATHY [trivial, success]: Not to mention, Henrietta too would like to know…

PAIN THRESHOLD: What do you even expect to find, duchess?

1. ...what do you mean?

2. Not helping!

PAIN THRESHOLD: You saw the prince’s death already. You saw the life leave his eyes when the treacherous dastard struck him with his sword-wand. You saw him crumple down on the deck’s lacquered wood, in front of your and his crewmen’s eyes.

VOLITION [godly, failure]: ...hm. That is true. Perhaps there is no point in looking for him, after all.

NOBLESSE OBLIGE: What do you mean, “no point”?!

1. He’s the Brimirdamned prince. He deserves this much!

2. I still need a proof of his person… anything to bring back to Henrietta.

3. ...I’m not callous enough to abandon him, am I?

4. ...you’re right. (Abandon search)

PAIN THRESHOLD: Abandon who? Abandon what? That is no prince anymore, that is barely anything. It is a sack of ground meat and powdered bone.

AUTHORITY [medium, success]: Even if his body is mangled beyond recognition, you would be able to recognize him. If not by the vibrant outfit he wears, then by his aura.

PAIN THRESHOLD: That doesn’t answer the question!

PERCEPTION (Smell) [trivial, success]: ...it smells like burning in here. You might want to hurry it up.

1. He’s the Brimirdamned prince. He deserves this much!

2. I still need a proof of his person… anything to bring back to Henrietta.

3. ...you’re right. (Abandon search)

HEROICS: There you go! There’s the resolve you’ll need for this task!

PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT: This is stupid! Even if we find that sorry sack of meat, what then?! You think we can just… just carry the bastard all the way back to Tristain?

LORE [easy, success]: From the altitude and across the water, mind you.

HEROICS: Is that really something that’s going to stop you, duchess? Aren’t you the daughter of Karin the Grand Tempest, destined for greatness?

1. I…

2. Damn straight.

3. …

4. This is stupid. (Abandon search)

PERCEPTION (Sight): ...I see him. Over there, under that wooden carcass.

EMPATHY [easy, success]: ...he sticks out quite a bit; the last scion of the Tudor dynasty, trapped under the wreckage of his own ship… never to be recognized or properly buried...

HALF-LIGHT [trivial, success]: ...I don’t like this. This is going into a lion’s den. Don’t go there. Drop it.

VOLITION: ...strange; I don’t think we have common ground that often, do we?

HEROICS: You’re all yellow-bellied cowards! Approach the damn prince, Louise! Witness him! See upon the task you need to undertake!

NOBLESSE OBLIGE: You have a duty to see this through. Or is that mantle on your shoulders as false as your grasp of magic?

APPLICATION: Oof. Low blow.

HALF-LIGHT: No, you have a duty to get the fuck away before your legs give up and the blaze eats you alive. You are smarter than this, Louise.

ENDURANCE [easy, success]: The longer you stand around, the more fumes you’ll inhale and the weaker your body will be. Eventually, you won’t be able to escape.

1. (Clutch your head)

2. Stop it…

3. Everybody shut the fuck up!

WRECKAGE OF ‘INDUBITABLE’: The ruin all around you is unimpressed with your temper tantrum, taking it all in stoic silence. Only the crackling of spawning flames hears you.

PERCEPTION (Hearing) [easy, success]: The nature further in the back quiets down however, just for a few seconds… then resumes its ambiance with cold irreverence.

REVERIE: We are nothing to them, but a noise and an event. They will not remember us nor think of us; of you, of this wreckage… of the prince. We’re just fantasy.

NOBLESSE OBLIGE: Tick-tock, Louise. Time to choose: either be a noble or a coward.

HALF-LIGHT: An alive coward.

1. (Approach the prince’s body)

2. (Turn away)

THE REGRET: He is here, in the ruined flesh; nothing more than a sack of ground meat and powdered bones. The lower half of his body is trapped underneath a pile of indistinct rubble; there is no risk of it toppling over and crushing you, for now.

ENDURANCE [trivial, success]: The man is very, very dead. You don’t need to be a physician to tell.

CONCEPTUALIZATION [challenging, failure]: ...his face looks like dog vomit.

COMPOSURE [godly, failure]: ...yeah. It really does.

[DAMAGED HEALTH]

THE REGRET: Once you’re finished retching what’s left of your breakfast on the ground, the pulped cadaver is still there.

REVERIE [easy, success]: It won’t be going anywhere. Wonder if dead people dream, too?

THE REGRET: It won’t answer the question. Dead people generally don’t do that.

1. ...what should I do?

2. [Physical Instrument – 16 (Godly)] Extricate the body.

3. [Hand/Eye Coordination – 14 (Legendary)] Find the prince’s signet ring.

4. [Noblesse Oblige – 6 (Trivial)] Look upon the prince.

[2] [5] (success)

VOLITION: ...what are you doing, Louise? Stop gawking at this cadaver and-

NOBLESSE OBLIGE: This is your fault, Louise Françoise Le Blanc de La Vallière. That the last son of the Tudor dynasty is now mere food for the worms and fungi… it is your doing.

LOGIC [trivial, success]: I can’t begin to describe what’s wrong with that statement.

1. ...is it wrong?

2. That’s not true.

3. (empathically) That’s not true!

LOGIC: Wha-YES?! Did you hit your head during the crash?!

REVELRY [easy, success]: Though his name won’t leave your lips yet, you know full well who is responsible.

NOBLESSE OBLIGE: And yet, you did nothing to stop that man. He acted strangely throughout this entire trip, and yet… here we are. Even when he struck the Prince, you still stood there like a dumb goose. You did not bother to check on his wounds throughout the entire descent of this airship until it was too late.

ENDURANCE [trivial, success]: Even if you had the hindsight, that man is a highly-trained fighter and a Square-tier mage. There was no way to stop him even if you did your utmost.

NOBLESSE OBLIGE: But you didn’t.

1. …

2. ...I didn’t.

[DAMAGED MORALE]

HEROICS: That is a bit unbecoming of you, duchess. Aren’t you supposed to be the blood of Karin the Grand Tempest? One of the finest families of the world, let alone in Tristain?

1. But…

2. I…

3. …

VOLITION: That does not matter right now. Since we’re already so close to this damn corpse, we might as well do something about it than just gawk at it.

PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT [godly, failure]: Ah, well…

HAND/EYE COORDINATION [legendary, failure]: I mean…

HALF-LIGHT [formidable, failure]: ...I know we should walk away, but…

NOBLESSE OBLIGE: Gaze upon him, Louise.

1. Look.

[DAMAGED MORALE]

HEROICS: Look upon your failure, young duchess.

1. Look.

[DAMAGED MORALE]

VOLITION: That’s enough of that! Do you want to kill her?!

ENDURANCE: Oh, I don’t like death…

HEROICS: Better death than dishonor.

VOLITION: She’s still a student! She wasn’t supposed to be here in the first place!

HALF-LIGHT: Henrietta sent us here to die.

VOLITION: You are not helping!

1. Keep looking.

[DAMAGED MORALE]

[MORALE CRITICAL]

THE REGRET: The ghoulish cadaver isn’t going anywhere; it is certainly numb to the storm going on inside your head right now. It is a constant reminder of what you did and what you didn’t do. It will be there for as long as you will.

THE WRECKAGE OF ‘INDUBITABLE’: Your body gives out as you sink to your knees, staring still at the remnants of a life. The fire crackles ever closer, and yet, it feels like a distant threat by now.

PERCEPTION (Sight) [trivial, success]: Though you can see, you can no longer see. Your vision is blurry and unfocused, using the massacred corpse before you as an anchor.

REVERIE: Our one last lifeline… and we’re about to let go of it.

1. ...and what happens then?

JUVENILE BRAIN OF A PATRIOT: Then… there is only oblivion.

----

…

THE WOODS OF ALBION: The forest is restless.

EQUESTRIANISM [formidable, success]: The fauna is uneasy. The birds chirp differently. More quietly. There would be more reaction from the grass crunching under your feet, normally.

SPIRITUALITY [medium, success]: Something else is in the air. There is a presence… multiple presences. Not far away from here. They do not belong to this world.

HALF-LIGHT [easy, failure]: Bah. You’re not scared of mere feelings, are you?

1. Perhaps a little…

2. What is that presence?

3. They don’t belong?

SPIRITUALITY: Well, I tell a lie. One of them does not belong; the other is a strange melange of our familiarity and the ancient foreign world of the unknown.

REVERIE [medium, success]: It is a presence not unlike ours. More volatile. Shorter temper… but it is our kin, in a manner of speaking.

1. Our kin…? Do you mean…?

2. And the other one…?

REVERIE: He is a violent and irrepressible miracle. There might not be another such man in Helkeginia, or even in the world that he came from.

CONCEPTUALIZATION [easy, success]: A piece of a puzzle; a filling to an empty vessel. These two put together form a whole being.

1. So they’re both here…?

REVERIE: Most likely – and they are in danger. Perhaps only you can save them now.

GENTLE HAND [challenging, success]: The children in the orphanage are worried for you. Those headaches you’ve been suffering recently – they blame them for hurting you. For taking their beloved caretaker from them.

LOGIC [trivial, success]: ...we… haven’t gone anywhere else, have we?

ELFIN SENSE [easy, success]: It is a dissociation of mind and body. You are you – and yet you are something else.

REVERIE: It is a beautiful state of affairs, Tiffania. What is a headache but a price to pay, for a chance to become something else entirely?

PAIN THRESHOLD [easy, failure]: I’m getting a darn headache right about now.

[DAMAGED HEALTH]

THE WOODS OF ALBION: The woodland is lush and beautiful; a greenery like few others in the world – and it is restless.

EMPATHY [formidable, success]: It is worried for its unlikely visitors; it is heard in the distressed creaking of its trees and the rustle of its grass.

1. [Reverie – 14 (Legendary)] Attune to the violent and irrepressible soul.

2. [Spirituality – 16 (Godly)] Seek the familiarly empty soul.

3. [Elfin Sense – 13 (Formidable)] Become one with the forest.

4. [Perception (Hearing) – 13 (Formidable)] Tune out the ambient sound.

[6] [6] (critical success)

REVERIE: It is not far from here. As your body follows the trail of physical stimuli, your soul reaches out to the wretched creature of another world… it is not far.

PERCEPTION (Smell) [easy, success]: ...that’s a fire. You don’t have much time.

…

…

REVERIE: You hear it; a wailing elegy of self-flagellation, of unfinished business, of plentiful regrets.

INLAND EMPIRE: Anyone… please… for the love of God…

EMPATHY [challenging, success]: Poor man. How much has he gone through on his trip to here?

PAIN THRESHOLD [legendary, failure]: The raw anguish in his mental voice… it’s difficult to even imagine it, to even perceive it.

1. Hello?

2. It’s alright. I’m here…

3. (Shush him) I’ll be there soon.

4. (Listen some more)

INLAND EMPIRE: Who… what…?

HALF-LIGHT: We’re under attack!

VOLITION: Quiet down! This is nothing like it! This is… something we must approach calmly.

REVERIE: The voices are not unlike us. They sound different, and they may hold differing names – but such is the beauty of these irrepressible miracles.

LORE [easy, success]: Please stop calling this a “miracle”… that’s not what the word means...

1. My name is Tiffania… are you hurt?

2. My name is Tiffania… what’s yours?

3. My name is Tiffania… where are you?

4. …

ELFIN SENSE [medium, success]: Even across consciousnesses, you can sense their unease. They are violent voices, unlike any other – and now there’s another set of such making contact with them in perilous circumstances.

HALF-LIGHT [trivial, success]: “Is this an enemy?”, they seem to wonder.

INLAND EMPIRE: I’ve had worse… don’t worry about me now. I’m… Raphael.

COMPOSURE [easy, success]: He… hesitated. As if that wasn’t his real name.

SUGGESTION [easy, success]: But then why did he sound so unsure of himself? Is he a liar or genuinely clueless?

1. It’s nice to meet you, Raphael.

2. Where are you, Raphael?

3. …

INLAND EMPIRE: ...you can follow the voice of the forest. I think. I’m more of a city person.

SPIRITUALITY [legendary, failure]: There’s… something else in the air. Some other presence, but it’s hard to figure it out. It feels like a suffocating blanket…

HALF-LIGHT [medium, failure]: We’ve had worse before. This is nothing to worry about.

VOLITION: There’s little time to ponder. The man is in danger, and so is his friend.

1. [Elfin Sense – 11 (Medium)] Heed his advice.

2. [Spirituality – 15 (Heroic)] Try tuning in to the familiar soul next.

3. Are we sure we want to go there…?

[5] [6] (success)

ELFIN SENSE: It makes little sense, but such things are always intuition, aren’t they? As you look upon the treeline and its greenery, a path stretches before you; winding and twisting and turning – but it’s a path from your current destination to where this Raphael is.

CONCEPTUALIZATION [challenging, failure]: Maybe it would even make for a fun-looking drawing. I think? It’s a little washed-out.

SPIRITUALITY: The colors of the world are faded; mere windowdressing for what is before you; a string of snow-white amid the darkness.

LORE [easy, success]: Ha! All those jokers calling it the red string of fate need to smack themselves upside the head.

THE WOODS OF ALBION: You follow the path, mindful of the quietness of your journey and the increasingly distressing smell of burnt wreckage growing stronger as you approach.

HALF-LIGHT [trivial, success]: This is a bad idea. You should turn back at once.

VOLITION [medium, success]: Surely we won’t just leave the poor man hanging.

REVERIE: At this point, we are linked with him irreversibly. Abandoning him now would surely send him on a path of vengeance towards us…

GENTLE HAND [trivial, success]: The children might suffer alongside us – and that would be inexcusable of us.

THE WOODS OF ALBION: Little by little, you see and smell more. Little by little, a figure in a green jacket and brown pants becomes visible.

PERCEPTION (Sight) [easy, success]: His clothes and hair are in disarray; it looks like he tumbled down a gully.

EMPATHY [formidable, success]: He looks so… lost. So sad.

REVERIE [easy, success]: Like he doesn’t belong? That is the case.

CONCEPTUALIZATION [easy, success]: His clothes don’t match anything you’re familiar with. He stands out even more because of it.

PERCEPTION (Sight): ...wait… what’s that on his neck?

1. Look closer at the neck item.

2. Just approach the man. (Proceed)

3. Call out to the man. (Proceed)

INLAND EMPIRE: I would be careful. The textile creature has a mind of its own. It is not something you should distract yourself with right now.

VOLITION: Please, for the love of all gods, don’t distract yourself with the damn thing.

HALF-LIGHT [trivial, success]: They would know what they’re talking about. Let’s just cut to the chase – it’s already dangerous enough here.

REVERIE [godly, failure]: ...hmmmmm… but maybe…

VOLITION: Please listen to my… brother? Relative’s advice, Tiffania. You’re smarter than this.

LOGIC [challenging, failure]: It’s a goshdarn piece of clothing. How can it have a mind to begin with?

1. [Reverie – 10 (Medium)] Look at the textile creature.

2. I feel like we’re long past any logic, really.

3. Let’s just… approach him. (Proceed)

4. Let’s just… call out to him. (Proceed)

[3] [6] (success)

REVERIE: Against your better judgment, you decide to examine the strange article of clothing more thoroughly. The view is limited due to the distance, but you can still make out some details; it’s thin, covered in colors the way a child’s painting would have been.

CONCEPTUALIZATION [godly, failure]: There must be a meaning in this mess… but for the life of you, you just can’t seem to get it. That’s the other world’s fashion for you.

ELFIN SENSE: A strange chill fills the air; a vortex of ether swirls around the silky thing. You find yourself drawn to it. It is a feeling that has little sense, frankly.

RAPHAEL: Finally, the man sees you emerge from the foliage. He stares, eyes bloodshot and bushy mustache all ruffled.

HALF-LIGHT [trivial, success]: He’s assessing you in full; not merely looking at you, but breaking you down piece by piece; skin, meat, bone all.

VISUAL CALCULUS: Sorry about that. Force of habit.

RAPHAEL: The silence between you drags on for a bit. You should probably say something right away.

PERCEPTION (Smelling) [trivial, success]: And ignore the stench of burning wreckage he’s caked in.

RAPHAEL: Yet, when you’re about to say something…

TEXTILE CREATURE: “Finally! I thought we’re done for in this dump, sestrenka!” That… wasn’t the man in front of you speaking just now. Your eyes gravitate towards the strange article of clothing. “My bratan has a brain like a sieve right now, don’t mind him! Just come quick; that brat is over there, deeper in the wreckage.”

1. “...Sir Raphael, your… clothes are speaking to me.”

2. Blink.

3. “...Sir Raphael, are you a… ventriloquist?”

RAPHAEL: The man blinks, briefly looking at you like you’ve gone insane; then, recognition clears up some of the rictus grin he wears all the time, and makes it look more genuine. “Oh. I thought the necktie only talks to me.”

EMPATHY [challenging, success]: He must be very lonely, not even entertaining a thought that you could possibly be messing with him.

1. I would never!

2. Not on my life!

3. W-why would I want that?

EMPATHY: He is lucky you are a gentle and bleeding heart, Tiffania.

TEXTILE CREATURE: “No time to waste, sestrenka! Let him guide you! Then, uh, I hope you have some healing magic or other…”

MAGIC THEORY [trivial, success]: Not quite, but you have the next best thing.

VOLITION [medium, success]: These strangers are not of this world, not of your reality -but they are people in need; what kind of person would you be to deny them the help?

HALF-LIGHT [trivial, success]: This will bite us in the behind. Mark my words.

ENDURANCE [easy, success]: Sorry to chime in, but that man is on his last legs. Let’s not drag this out or he might pass out and then we’ll have a problem on our hands.

1. “Lead the way, Mr. Raphael.”

Chapter Text

Truth be told, there was just nothing to look forward to today.

Louise stood among her peers, watching them summon various beasts and creatures. It was the Springtime Familiar Summoning; undergone by all students of Tristain’s Academy of Magic. There, they would call forth a companion that would become their lifelong friend and helper. Such was the theory of it, at least. As far as Louise was concerned, the Summoning was going to be her last class here in the Academy. Too long did she spend her tenure as a student shielded from her own inadequacy. She was hoping that, perhaps, the educators here would be able to help her overcome her failings…

...but, no, it seemed this vexed them as well. There was only so much her status as a duchess could do to keep her afloat – especially with the ever rambunctious student body demanding that she is booted out of the Academy with all due honors. Curse that Zerbst, turning the public on her and attacking her over her own inadequacies. At the very least, Louise wasn’t a hussy with her teats out!

...not for a lack of physical ability, at least.

Regardless, the mob of her peers would set upon her before long. It didn’t take a smart one to tell her skills at magic were lackluster. Thus, Louise steeled herself for the coming disappointment. She had everything prepared by now: a request for voluntary expulsion written down and signed with her name (best leave with some face rather than force the school to kick her out and risk angering her Mother in the process), her things packed up in bags, the room immaculately arranged. She wasn’t the one for physical labor, but she could at the very least leave the place like she found it when first beginning her education in the Academy.

All she needed was to fail this spell – nothing suggested she wouldn’t. Then, it would all be over.

Louise watched her peers succeed their summonings without any issues. Most were ordinary beasts and minor magical creatures. Guiche’s mole looked interesting, though it soon became nothing next to the beasts both Zerbst and her Gallian friend summoned; a salamander and a Rhyme Dragon respectively. If they were to pit all of their familiars in a fight, those two against the rest of the class, Louise didn’t doubt the reptilian creatures would triumph without breaking a sweat. Well, unless she summoned something to tip the scales over in the group’s favor. Wouldn’t that be a laugh…

Before Kirche could needle her in front of the crowd, Louise shuffled forward. Professor Colbert seemed surprised by the motion, but it soon gave way to an appreciative nod. If even a man as full of integrity as Jean Colbert was doubting her, it was obvious this was just a formality now. There was nothing ahead of her as a student of this school, and as a mage and a noble. And yet, there was something… comforting about it. It was like at the end of a very long road; traversing that distance through weathers good and bad, through paved roads and uneven bumps, towns and villages, forests and hills… and finally finding home; the familiar shape of the Vallière mansion.

She had to make sure to thank Éléonore for all of her work in arranging her with a worthy life, even in spite of Louise’s own worthlessness. She really didn’t appreciate her eldest sister all that much, did she? Her caustic nature made it difficult to address her, especially as a talentless Zero – but now that this was all but confirmed, it was just something for the young duchess to come to terms with.

Shameful it was to use The Rule of Steel for asserting herself of her own imminent failure – but, at this point, Louise just wanted to go home. “My name is Louise Françoise le Blanc de la Vallière.” She announced as she stood before the summoning circle, feeling in the ambient energies of previous summonings. The crowd was quiet behind her, likely wondering just what it was that Louise the Zero was going to explode this time.

“Pentagon of the Five Elemental Powers… Heed my call.” It was a beautiful day today; yet, Louise felt as if someone dunked her in a vat of water. Submerged as she was, she could look into the strange happenings in the sky, as if the sea suddenly migrated upwards. Strange winged figures flew here and there, fishing out human shapes from the water.

The young duchess exhaled slowly, rubbing the bridge of her nose. “...Miss Vallière?” She heard Professor Colbert venture in a concerned tone.

“Apologies, Professor. Just coming to terms with my inevitable failure.” She expected someone in the crowd to laugh, but they were eerily quiet despite her frank and naked words. Perhaps they were finally realizing that they made the last year of her life a living hell? Or maybe it got to their heads that their favorite chew toy was leaving the Academy and they would suddenly have no one else to replace her with?

Take that, Zerbst. I hope they drag you over the coals.

“Pentagon of the Five Elemental Powers… heed my call. My Servant. My beautiful, wise, powerful servant… you who exist somewhere in this vast universe…” At this point, she was just making it up as she went. These weren’t the proper words for the summoning. This was just one last cry, a swan song of a resigned failure. Louise would laugh if she wasn’t trying so hard to maintain her decorum. If something odd happened, if – Brimir forbid – she would actually summon something… she would probably just break down on the spot.

“I wish from the bottom of my heart, add to my guidance, and appear.” Louise swung her wand, and the ether around the summoning circle swirled with the spell. No one could see her eyes, and how dead to the world they were. The explosion shook the court, bigger than any she recalled. A cloud of smoke and dust obscured vision for all, and for a few seconds Louise thought this was it. This was the end. Finally, she could stop pretending she’ll get to anything in life and submit to the life others made for her.

Finally…

A sound. Louise’s eyes unfogged as she looked up sharply, hearing… coughing. And voices. Two distinct voices.

Just like that, none of her plans for a new life mattered. Just like that, the Founder spat in her face with his benevolence; just like that, she had a confirmation she was something other than a Zero.

Just like that, she had to contend with her new Familiar… or Familiars, it seemed.

The dust cleared a bit, revealing two people huddled close to each other; a man and a woman. The man drew attention immediately, not just because of his broad-shouldered frame or the shaggy auburn beard on his face or even the sword clutched tightly in his hand… but rather, the bandage wrapped tightly around his torso, soaking with fresh blood. His face was tight and matted with sweat, like he was focusing his utmost to not pass out when surrounded by potential threats.

The woman was as aggressively plebeian as possible – in light of that, Louise forced herself to focus and reset her halting brain. The man was bleeding. Was that her doing? Or was he already injured when she summoned these two?

The man was bleeding. Her Familiar was bleeding. Her future was bleeding.

The man was bleeding. The man was dying .

Rule of Steel.

“...I need a Water Mage here!” She called out to the crowd in the back. With the smoke beginning to dissipate, she could see some of them look curiously at the summoning circle and her; most of them seemed content to gawk and whisper among themselves. Louise felt a growing headache. But no, someone did show up; Zerbst’s friend, holding her staff and regarding the two summonees with the same impassive look.

“...I’m not good at healing.” She curtly admitted, eyes coolly regarding the two. The man’s eyes shifted to her, as if recognizing her for a bigger threat… before he collapsed right there, accompanied by the woman’s terrified gasp. The way she was calling out to the man in utter desperation, calling his name out like that… Louise imagined a picture, without even realizing how; a husband and wife, separated by cruel circumstances, and then reunited – at the time when the man was about to cross over to Valhalla.

N o. Not if Louise had anything to say about it. “One of you get Professor Puidemont!” She hollered at the crowd, already feeling her blood pressure rise when they just stared at her as if she was a headless chicken. At least Professor Colbert was on her side, repeating the command – that got Zerbst and Montmorency scrambling over to the infirmary. “... Tabitha, please, just… do what you can while he’s getting there...”

The plebeian woman was torn between trying to wake her husband up and looking at Louise and Tabitha both as if they were demons from the lowest pit of Helheim.

----

The next several hours had been testing.

After the Academy’s security detail arrived to transport the wounded man, Louise had to keep the woman from running off and manage the emotional breakdown she was having. Neither of these things she was particularly good at, but Tabitha – and Zerbst, strangely enough – came to her aid again. Sylphid alone was sufficient to safeguard a person, but Flame also ambled about. At first, the woman was struck dumb – with absolute, utter confusion of someone who hadn’t actually ever seen a dragon in their life; a strange thought, but perhaps some corners of the world were remote enough for that? - but eventually the Familiars allowed her to wait outside the infirmary; Louise was already there, curled up on the waiting chair.

Dimly, the duchess was aware that she hadn’t actually finished the Ritual and the Academy was within their rights to kick her right out – but that was the bridge she could cross later.

The plebeian woman looked at her. “Here, sit.” Louise gestured to one of the benches nearby. Other than the two of them, the corridor had no one else here. In the room over, Professor Puidemont, with assistance of a few senior students and Monmon, were doing their utmost to save the wounded man.

The woman tilted her head, but understood the gesture; merely bowing her head and taking the chosen seat to a centimeter. Louise mulled that over silently. It seemed the woman was used to being given commands, more so than an average plebe. Her demeanor, now that she wasn’t freaking out, was eerily demure. Tense, but demure.

T he conversation didn’t gel, and Louise wasn’t sure what to talk to the woman with about in the first place. The language barrier was still something they had to—

“...why?” The pinkette started, staring at the woman with wide eyes. The woman stared back, and recognition dawned between them; they could finally understand each other. Louise blinked, at a loss of words.

“...w-why what?” She stuttered out, somehow managing not to lose face in front of this doe-eyed plebe (even if it was really hard). At least the woman recognized she had erred, looking away and on her lap, hands wringing nervously.

“...why… why are we here? Why… how are you saving my husband?” So it was her husband; good to have a confirmation. Louise huffed, hating that she did; her response for dealing with emotional struggles had been a standoffish haughty mask – and anger and verbal aggression when that started failing – for a while now; she wasn’t sure how to address someone emotionally vulnerable like that, let alone a commoner. Had she even talked with commoners before, beyond the servant staff at the manor and here in the Academy…?

“...you have been summoned by me, in the Springtime Familiar Summoning ritual.” Louise started, trying to measure her voice and tempo. “The purpose of the summoning was to find me a suitable Familiar…” The woman didn’t reply, but her body tensed up again. “...and your husband… Water Mages are tending to him now. Professor Puidemont said his wounds are really serious and have been festering for a while, but…”

“...I don’t understand. It… it doesn’t make sense.” What was so strange about her words? Surely the village this woman was from wasn’t that remote…

“...commoner. What is your name?” The blond plebe flinched again; not just at the words but as if she had just realized she had been horribly rude to her better all this time. Louise was willing to excuse it – it was an unusual situation.

“...Arnheid, ma’am.”

“Where are you from, Arnheid?”

“...Denmark.” Louise’s brows furrowed. Not a place she recalled, but it sounded vaguely Germanian. “...but… there’s no magic there… or strange beasts…” The hands on her lap tightened, bunching up a bit of her apron’s material. “People… don’t have hair of this color…

“Noble blood.” She replied offhandedly to the last thing, but the other two… those didn’t make sense. The lord of the village must have been there at least once, and even the most meager of Chevaliers would be able to display magical skill.

Well, there’s one exception to that rule…

“...but why?”

“Why what?”

“...why… why save him? Why… do all of this?” Louise blinked, processing the words. Somewhere, anger stoked up, crawling up her spine and into her brain. The duchess wasn’t entirely sure as to why she was feeling it. “We’re strangers… from… another part of the world… maybe from another world entirely… and you just… you just whisk us away… save my husband… though he was a dead man walking… though I’ve already said my goodbyes to him…”

“I didn’t mean to summon you!” Louise lashed out with a fierce reply. The woman flinched, as if expecting to be hit. The student didn’t have her riding crop – not that it would be right to hit the plebe in the first place. “Brimir’s damn beard… I didn’t expect to summon you. I didn’t expect to summon anything! But if I did, it certainly wasn’t a pair of plebes!” The woman didn’t reply, staring anywhere but at Louise. “...but… even if you’re not what I wanted, even if I can’t make you my Familiar – because you’re people, because it would be… I don’t know, slavery! - I can still make sure you receive your dues.”

Arnheid was staring at her with wide eyes. Louise thought absently that this was the first time since the woman sat down here in the hall with her. “I can’t do it on my own… I’m not like my peers. But…” She exhaled slowly, uncurling in hear seat. “Your husband was dying. Was I supposed to just watch him bleed out?” Tears blinked into view, dancing in the corners of the woman’s lips. It was as if she herself couldn’t believe what she was hearing. As if wanting to help a man in need – a man that was dying – was something strange.

“...ah. I had a feeling I would find you here.” Louise started, head whipping back to see Headmaster Osmond himself approaching, his wizardly staff making gentle sounds with each step of his. “Peace, Miss Vallière. It is prudent of you to wait here, but it should be fine to let Professor Puidemont and his orderlies handle this for now.”

“W-with all due respect, Headmaster…”

“Furthermore, there is something I would like to discuss with you. Both of you.” Arnheid shifted uneasily in her seat.

----

The old Headmaster immediately dropped a bomb into Louise’s lap.

“A-another world?! Surely that can’t be right!”

“That is exactly right.” Old Osmond straightened out his hand, curling fingers as he counted down. “One, Miss Arnheid here doesn’t seem to recognize anything magical. Two, that extends to beasts such as the Familiar selection for the year. Three…” Here, the old wizard rummaged briefly in his desk’s drawers before producing two pendants. Louise frowned at the cross-shaped one, depicting a crucified man; the other was something more akin to a Germanian talisman to some pagan god or other, a hammer or a ladle or something else.

“Miss Arnheid, do these items mean anything to you?” Osmond queried, eyes sharp and brows furrowed.

“...yes.” She nodded, picking up the cross pendant. “They are both different faiths practiced by my people, and the people of other Nordic nations.”

“I received these as mementos from a stranger. Back in my youth, a dragon ambushed me – and I would have no doubt perished if not for that warrior. No magic or strange weapons; just pure grit and skill. It was… impressive, especially for a mage like myself.” Louise caught Arnheid shifting uneasily in the corner of her vision. “Miss Arnheid, are you familiar with the term “Viking”?”

“...yes.” It almost looked like the woman wanted to say something else – there was frustration burbling just behind her lips, but she forced herself to swallow it. “They are warriors.”

“He identified as one… guess that would explain how he was able to save me. Still, the dragon got the better of him; thus, the man offered me these to remember him by. As he said, “fighting one of Jormungar’s spawn is a good way to Valhalla”.” Osmond pushed the other, hammer-shaped pendant over the desk. “It is not much, but… I would like for you to have them, Miss Arnheid.”

“A Viking saving an innocent… what a strange world this is…” The two mages regarded the plebe with curious expressions. Still, Arnheid gingerly took both things; the cross pendant remained clutched tightly in her palm.

“Now, Miss Vallière…” The Headmaster’s eyes wandered over to Louise. A warning note resounded somewhere in her mind. “Professor Osmond made me understand that you did not finalize your summoning. Is that the case?” Ah. Guess they were going to tackle this issue right away. The duchess swallowed nervously and nodded. “If we were to listen to tradition, that would have meant that you failed the ritual and thus would need to pack up and return home.”

“...I understand, Headmaster—“

“What? You can’t do that to her.” Arnheid spoke up, making Louise start in her spot. Previously timid, now the woman’s expression took on a steely glint. Before the young mage could hush the plebe for speaking horribly out of turn, she continued with Osmond regarding her curiously. “Pardon my speaking like so, but did she not summon me and my husband? I should think that proves her ability.”

“It is a bit more complicated than that… but, at the same time…” The Headmaster sighed and shook his head. “Beings summoned in the ritual aren’t supposed to be humans. If Miss Vallière was to bind such a person down with a Familiar contract, the morality of it would be something unbecoming of us mages.” Of course, that didn’t stop certain nobles from engaging in more mundane forms of servitude. Though his own appetites were known to the world at large, Osmond would never go out of his way to chain a plebe with a contract or otherwise – a common problem among those less scrupulous.

“...Headmaster, what… does that mean for me?” Louise ventured quietly, not entirely sure if she was understanding the direction of this discussion. The old wizard didn’t reply immediately, entertaining himself with his pipe for a spell.

“Miss Vallière... you are, undoubtedly, a mage. You possess power that the commoners do not. Yours manifests differently than that of your peers and, admittedly, it has the finest educators in Tristain scratching their heads as to the reason.” Louise’s mouth became more of a thin flat line with each word. “We, the Tristain Academy of Magic, cannot offer you adequate education in light of these differences. However, if you wish to remain a student, you have every right to do so. Similarly, Miss Arnheid and her husband are free to remain at your side or venture into the world if they so choose.”

“I don’t think that’s an option for us.” Arnheid clutched the cross-shaped pendant. “We are strangers in an unfamiliar world, Headmaster. Mistress Vallière…” Louise started at the title, staring at the blonde woman with a mouth agape. “She saved my husband from death, and me from a life of slavery. I do not think it is in my power to ever repay her… but I shall do my utmost for it.”

Osmond didn’t reply immediately once again, exhaling through his pipe. A hint of a smile was visible past his massive beard. “Miss Arnheid, are you perhaps interested in maidwork?”

----

It’s been some days since the summoning into, apparently, a whole new world.

Here Gardar was, ready to part with the earth (although he didn’t realize it at the time) – and instead both he and Arnheid ended up in a place unlike any other, summoned into a world that had two moons, summoned by a girl with vibrant pink hair and a disposition of a badger on a bad day.

It was… a lot to take in.

Even if they just woke up in an ordinary place, it would be. Some small part of Gardar always knew that he was not long for the world, even once the pre-mortem delusion took hold of him. Hjalti, their dear son, had died so long ago – but Arnheid admitted to carrying a child of a man who was her master. He had vague recollections about wanting to slay the bastard, that “Ketil”. It probably wasn’t the man with a curved sword he fought…

...it didn’t matter now, did it? Were he a pettier, lesser man, Gardar might have scorned Arnheid over the life growing in her belly… but the gods saw fit to send them to another world entirely, where old wounds and hatreds had no place. The locals wielded real magic – the kind that could bring a man back from the brink of death. (although the man responsible, this “Professor Puidemont” – what a strange name – stated it was no easy task) He wasn’t at his best still, and so the best he could do was to sit around and observe the world around him.

What a strange world it was – but they could begin anew in it.

“Ah, there you are.” The pink-haired young woman named Louise approached him with a nod. It was a beautiful day today; the sun illuminating the gentle greens of the Vestri Court and the students in the middle of their luncheons cast a warm glow on the world. Gardar spared the young noble a nod. “Is it safe for you to be out yet?”

The man offered a smile. “That is what the Professor said. I still can’t do much of anything…” And wasn’t that a terrible feeling, sitting there and trying to bat away unwanted thoughts of uselessness. Still, at least he had a good look at the idyllic life in front of him. These children seemed like they had a bright future ahead of them. “I trust no one minds an old man resting by?”

“Oh please. You’re barely older than my elder sister.” Louise huffed and shook her head. “Still… you seem to be doing much better.”

“Yes… It’s… something that still awes me, admittedly.” Gardar looked up at the sky, and the faint two moons gleaming among the azures. “I would have never imagined, in my wildest dreams, that such a world may exist… that we might end up here to begin with.”

“Hmm… even now, when she’s a maid here, Arnheid is similarly in awe.” Louise couldn’t help but smile, seeing the man’s face brighten up at the mere mention of the name. The two of them looked towards the selection of maids maneuvering between the students; one of them had bright blond hair and wore a headscarf instead of a usual headdress. A touch older than the usual maid of the Academy, but no less graceful or skilled.

“...say, Gardar.” The man’s eyebrow rose at the tone Louise took; it seemed… sheepish, and almost resigned. The young pink-haired woman did not meet his eyes, looking at the Court – looking past it, maybe. “I… understand if you would like to leave the Academy. Arhneid said it before, that this is unlikely… but I cannot keep you here if you do not wish it.”

“Well… it might be difficult to start anew when we are bound to another person, however strange that bind is.”

“Then—“

“However… this is the one bind we can wear.” Louise didn’t dare turn to face the man, mostly so that he would not see how hopeful her countenance turned just now. “This is a debt we cannot repay, especially since you could have bound me or her as your Familiar, and we would be powerless to stop you.”

“...it was still an accident. Am I really to thank for when—“

“...without you, I would not be here now… and Arnheid would remain a slave, returned to a master she just escaped from.” Gardar’s face darkened. “And few things rankle free men more than their property having ideas.”

The pink-haired duchess tensed, sensing the air shift slightly. “...and, well, with Arnheid carrying a child we aren’t at a liberty to leave.”

“...I suppose that makes sense-wait.”

Louise swerved to look at the man, eyes widening. “She’s carrying a what?!” Gardar blinked. Blinked again.

“...I… thought she might have told you…”

“W-w-w-w-why would she tell me that?! I, this… w-wait, can she even do physical work now?!”

“She will be for now, until her belly grows. And, well, we were thinking…” The man smiled sheepishly. “Would you like to be the child’s godmother?”

Louise stared. Then, Louise fainted.

Chapter Text

Things could never be easy in Louise de La Vallière’s life, could they?

It was strange, because she should have been happy. Scratch that, downright ecstatic. She was able to complete the Springtime Familiar Summoning ceremony and bring forth a creature that would be her aid in life. It wasn’t even half-bad at all! That Common Cold loser was sneering from the back that she was aping him, but there was no deliberation in a ritual as ancient as this. This was the Founder’s Grace, manifested in this strange owl before her. The bird was snow white, looking around in a daze. The dagger it held in its beak invited questions, but as long as the owl didn’t cut her with it, she could excuse her future Familiar for this bout of thievery.

“Very good, Miss Vallière.” Professor Colbert nodded approvingly, and Louise felt herself swooning. Ah, to be a competent mage! Did that mean her shameful mantle of a Zero was finally ready to be torn to shreds and discarded in the furthest corner of the world? Hopefully! “This is a respectable Familiar. Please complete the summoning.” And sure, it wasn’t anything special. It was just an owl with an eye for shiny things. It wasn’t Zerbst’s slobbering salamander or Tabitha’s dragon. Still, this was hers now. This was her Familiar.

Louise felt like a complete, woven piece of tapestry for a bit. “Pentagon of the Five Elemental Powers, bless this humble being and make it my Familiar.” She announced with a tone of finality, of full realization, doing a little twirl of her wand and leaning in to smooch the bird on its head.

That was when the woven threads strayed fraying.

The bird came to, screeching in surprise and pain as holy runes appeared across its breast. This was expected in case of more confused or smarter Familiars; still, it certainly beat having to survive in the woods and escaping predators, right? Then, once the rune finished its establishment, the owl tilted its head and looked at Louise.

Its eyes were no longer blue. They were blood red.

The only thing that saved the young duchess from ignoble incineration was Tabitha. The Gallian bluenette had a bad feeling about this owl, though it was something she couldn’t put into words. Something about it was… dangerous. Extremely dangerous, in a way that just couldn’t be described. Pushed by an impulse, she brought forth a wall of ice between Louise and the owl – right in time for it to shatter into tiny, half-melted pieces and cover the Familiar circle, Louise, and Professor Colbert all in a cloud of icy mist.

Outraged cries from the student body ensued, but their educator understood the purpose of this action; his own firewall stood protectively to shield the stupefied Louise as he looked hard for the treacherous owl. The bird screeched at them – ineptly, as it still held its dagger in its beak – before flying away and towards the abandoned Void Tower. Louise stared after it, feeling her heart sinking to her stomach. What did she do wrong? Was it the altered summoning chant? What would push a freshly-summoned Familiar to kill the person calling it? Actually, that wasn’t that important right now.

What kind of devious demon owl did she summon?! Owls couldn’t just kill people with their glares! Was it a denizen of the netherworld in disguise? Or some treacherous spirit looking to exact vengeance on the Founder’s people?

“Are you alright, Miss Vallière?” Professor Colbert asked, dismissing the firewall. The pinkette nodded dumbly, not sure what to say. “That… does happen on occasion. Please be at ease. You were able to complete the ritual, so that owl will soon recognize the fact.”

...would it?

----

An armed force remained outside the Void Tower, ready for the treacherous owl to emerge.

So far, the bird Familiar hadn’t been spotted after leaving from the summoning court. The Academy educators, the Academy’s security detail, and a few student volunteers were made to understand that this wasn’t a mere unruly avian, and to act with utmost caution. Entering the Tower was forbidden; there was too much risk of the Familiar escaping, and it would have an advantage in small and dusty corners of the building.

So they’ve waited.

Louise was going insane. Zerbst sidling up to her was not helping. “Sooo… that certainly was a show, Little Vallière.” She started, watching her own Familiar pace around the tower like a guard dog of sorts.

“What do you want, Zerbst?” Kirche flinched at the acid in Louise’s voice. Good. She deserved much more than just this verbal lash, but the young duchess didn’t have it in her to bother arguing. There were more important things at hand.

“Ah, well… congratulate you on succeeding with the summoning—“

“Ah. So I’m not a Zero anymore? How nice of you.” Every word Louise said dripped with disdain. Some nerve, to just sit down next to her when she was in the middle of something really difficult and pretend they were friends. “Maybe I would have never been a Zero if a certain someone hadn’t started calling me that!”

“I…” Kirche swallowed nervously, looking down on her boots. “...didn’t think this one through entirely…”

“You did. It was a deliberate deflection from yourself.” Louise tilted her head to bore into Kirche’s cheek with her eyes. The Germanian girl would not meet her gaze. “And you did it to the one person who didn’t care for the petty gossip about you. Or was it just the need to reignite the old rivalry between our houses? Or maybe you are a duplicitous, salacious Zerbst, after all.”

“T-that’s…!” Kirche flinched harder, and it kind of looked like she was thinking to cut and run – before steeling herself and finally looking back at Louise. If anyone were to ask the duchess, she would have preferred the former. “...I’m sorry. I really am. It wasn’t supposed to be like this!”

“It sure was. Now stop wasting time and help keep a lookout for my Familiar. You volunteered, didn’t you? Or was that too just an excuse to torment me some more?”

So they’ve waited.

----

The bird wanted to see her, and only her.

Just before the sun had hidden completely and made space for the two moons on the dark firmament, something emerged from one of the tower windows. A letter of sorts, written on a piece of old parchment, written in a font that burned brightly against the darkness; a simple demand that oozed eerie energy of the foul things. Whatever magic that damnable owl used, Louise could not begin to discern.

Naturally, it was a trap and an excuse to kill her and escape. But, it might have not been. It could have been an offer to talk this through, in a sense. Obviously the summoned bird wasn’t a mere owl – it had a mind of its own, and perhaps it was in the middle of something important. Louise would be cross were she pulled away from a critical task by the Powers that Be.

(In another world, boisterously and arrogantly called the first of all worlds by its denizens, The Unraveler seized his dominion and ushered in the new age of darkness. Many worlds would fall to his one black hand – but the Tapestry was wide and rich, and far, far bigger than the presumptuous men of Fionavar thought. Even the greatest of dark powers needed time – and they would meet resistance, of course.)

She wasn’t going to get another chance to discuss this through. This was the one shot at greatness. She was a Zero all her life, and this ended tonight. Maybe. After all, the owl could still very well slaughter her like an unwary lamb.

“...are you sure, Miss Vallière?” Professor Colbert queried in an uncertain voice. He and a few others remained around the Void Tower, ready to step in should these dubious negotiations reached an unwanted conclusion. The Headmaster had already sent a messenger to the Vallière Estate; Tabitha and Sylphid volunteered to fly there. A missive would take too long to arrive in time.

Louise shuddered despite herself. Regardless of what happened to her, once her Mother caught wind of that bird… “...yes. Founder willing, I will remain unharmed.” She stated, ignoring how her voice shook. It was perfectly natural to fear death and demons both! Courage was facing these fears head-on, not a lack of fear itself. That just made one a fool.

Colbert didn’t seem convinced, but he didn’t hamper her. “Founder willing. Please be careful, Louise.” He stated, clearly keeping himself from storming the tower and teaching the owl some manners. The young duchess couldn’t help but offer a wry smile. Even despite all of her failures, the professor was more than willing to stand with her and to shield her from ills. It was a heartening realization.

Minutes later, she climbed through the forgotten steps of the Void Tower. She had her wand with her, for all it would help her, and little else. This was going to be a battle of wills rather than of spells and magic. She had to show she was not scared of the bird, even if it could kill her. There were some ground rules to establish. They were Master and Familiar – they could not be anything else. She would be kind to her beast, and it would obey her commands and aid her throughout the thick and thin.

She had it all figured out.

----

She had it not all figured out.

In fact, she very well might not have had anything to her name, staring at the young man across the room with her mouth agape.

He looked to be her age, or maybe a year or two younger; with fair blond hair and piercing blue eyes. The sweater he wore was stretched far beyond usability, like an old piece from childhood that one didn’t want to part with, though she could see a glimmer of Familiar runes past one of the sleeves. The dagger she recognized, resting on the table within his reach. The diadem crowning his head she did not, and something about the fact the gem within it was faded and matte invoked a fear of sorts. Not the kind she could name, nor that she cared to name in this situation.

...because her bloody owl was a boy! Or was the boy a bloody owl?!

He didn’t say anything, looking at her, analyzing her being. It was meant to invoke a stern look of a monarch, but it resembled a deer that’s grown too fast to fully mature and awkwardly stumbled in an attempt at being imposing. Not that the boy wasn’t threatening; Louise assumed his eyes could very well still turn her to dust in this form.

She got her bearings, clearing her throat and shifting in place. “I—“

“I don’t care. Whatever you may say, you and your strawberry hair, you may keep to yourself.” The boy cut in right when she was starting. Louise blinked, and felt her blood heat up in indignation. He waited specifically for her to try and start talking, just to be extra rude. The situation was already slipping past her fingers. “But you will send me back home. Wherever this is, this isn’t it.”

“You are—“

“I said, I care not. You would know me for what I am, and so you would be wise to let me be. Your kind has already forsaken me.”

“Can you stop—“

“I have places to be, and a Father who must see to it I am his loyal son—“

“Shut it!” Louise’s voice went up an octave in a shrill scream, a feeble attempt to get this situation under control. Miraculously, it had an effect on this arrogant boy; he recoiled as if slapped, as if he truly expected no resistance. “Let me say my damn piece, you rude… Familiar!” For a moment, it was an uneasy silence. The shock wore off quickly on the boy’s face, those piercing blue eyes glimmering with growing hostility. How fast would it take for them to turn crimson and turn her to dust and ash? Perhaps she would be finding it out soon.

“First you try to kill me even though I do you an honor of being my Familiar, then you threaten me and make demands like you’re not the one surrounded by the finest of Tristain’s mages!” The situation was not getting under control, and Louise was dimly aware of that – but she had had a rotten day, and this arrogant brat and his stupid diadem were getting on her nerves. “My Mother will be here shortly, and compared to her, my anger is nothing. She will scatter your bones to the winds and melt that dagger down for plebeian ammunition, so Brimir help me, you will listen to me right now.”

The boy stared at her incomprehensibly for a few moments – then laughed. It was meant to be cruel and uncaring, but came off more nervous and fearful than intended. “Y-you… do you even know who I am, you stupid shrew? Do you know who sired me?! Do you know what cursed being I am, and what does the Light think of me?!”

“No!”

A beat. “...what?” All of the boy’s growing anger dissipated in an instant. “I… w-what? What do you mean you don’t know?”

“It means “I don’t know”, you stupid bird!” Louise stomped her foot down, feeling her teeth clench in a snarl. “How should I know?!”

“...look upon this diadem. You know what this means, somewhere in your heart.” He hazarded in an uncertain voice, pointing to it. There was something off about it, she would admit as such – but many things were off. This didn’t mean anything specific to her. Wherever this diadem came from and whatever was done to it, whoever this boy was and who his parents were… it didn’t mean anything.

“I know what I saw: that you tried to kill me when I made you my Familiar. Nothing more and nothing less.”

“...Rakoth Maugrim. The Unraveler. S-surely you’ve heard—“

In a few strides, Louise stepped right in front of the boy, opting to seize him by the shoulders. There was anger in her, and she wanted to punish this bird boy for his insolence and rudeness – but perhaps this was not the way to go about it, and so she steeled herself and schooled her expression, like a stern teacher. Behind his bluster and bravado, behind all these lofty words, there was a child lost in an unfamiliar world right in front of her. Someone who stood out among his peers, whose heritage hanged upon him like a curse.

She was beginning to see why it was him that the Founder summoned upon her plea. “Listen to me.” She said quietly, exhaling slowly in barely a whisper. The boy was still like a statue, looking down on her with wide eyes. “I don’t know anything about the place you came from. The names you gave me mean nothing to me. You said it yourself: this isn’t home.”

“...I… I thought I’m in a d-different country, o-or…”

“You’re in Helkeginia. A world that, I suspect, has little to do with yours. You were summoned here as a Familiar.” A brief pause. “...the summoning is usually for not people like you. It is for beasts and creatures, the kind that usually do not converse and that would have no objection to the summoning.”

“...I’m… here to be your slave?” His eyes narrowed, and the blue started giving way to red. Louise resisted an urge to suck in her breath – or to run for the hills, for that matter.

“...no… no. You’re not. You’re my Familiar. I cannot cage you or imprison you. I don’t think it’s physically possible for me to begin with…” Her mask cracked just a little, a hiss slipping from her. “...Brimir’s balls, I… this wasn’t supposed to be like this. I thought you’re just some stupid demon owl with stupid killing eyes and not… a person…”

“...can I leave?” Louise did not meet his eyes.

“You could.” She didn’t elaborate, merely stepping back. It was getting a little warm in here, if she was being honest. The boy hummed, shuffling up to sit on the table. Idly, he picked up the dagger, examining it.

“...you don’t want me to leave, do you?”

“...no.”

“Why?”

Because he was her sole magical achievement. Because if he left, then the shame of it could very well turn her inside out. Because if she couldn’t even keep a Familiar under control, then what future and prospects did she have as a mage? Because she wanted something to go right in her life for once. Because she was terrified of failure, because this truly meant she was a cursed child and it would have been so much better had she lost her breath in the crib and never—

“...what is your name?” Louise started, looking up. The boy stared at her searchingly, trying to ascertain her again. Not in that brusque manner from earlier… more genuinely, this time. “...mine’s Darien.”

“...I’m… Louise.”

“...I’ll… think about it. Alright?” Her breathing hitched in her throat. “...all of this is a lot, you know. People… friends… family… they feared me. They knew me for what I was, and they shunned me. Even my Mother, she…” Darien sighed, running a hand through his hair. The diadem shifted a bit on his head, but he paid no attention to it. “...I was never told that I’m wanted. Not as I am now, at least.”

“...I… don’t understand.”

“I might tell you. Later. If I decide I want to follow you.” He put the dagger away again. “I’ll stay here. Might leave at night to hunt a mouse or—“

“...you know, I can just have a maid bring you some food.” He looked at her in confusion. “...we have a servant staff here.”

“...I might want that. They can leave food in the first room, at the exit.” Louise nodded. “And… Louise? Thank you. I think. I’m… I’m still confused about everything.” Darien offered an uneasy smile. Louise smiled back in turn. “...I’ll let you know in the morning. I’ll be here.”

Louise didn’t remember much of her return outside, or the questions from Professor Colbert that followed. All she remembered was flopping face-first into her pillow and passing out immediately, sleeping a sleep with no dreams. If her pillow was wet from her tears, she didn’t notice.

----

She didn’t sleep at all.

After an hour or two of tossing and turning, she decided she cannot possibly just lie there and relax when her very future hinged on what Darien decided. Everything about their interactions felt confusing and foreboding. There was no denying the boy she summoned held real power – and whoever this Unraveler was, he must have had even more – but everything about him felt contradictory. He seemed to think himself a cursed creature, a notion that Louise could not adhere to. He was… just a boy, it seemed. A boy with strange abilities and an ominous father, but a boy nonetheless.

And didn’t she have strange abilities an an ominous mother herself? There was definitely a sense to be found in the summoning.

She sat there in front of the Void Tower, bundled up in a blanket and staring at the shadow of the structure ahead. In the night, even when illuminated by the moons, it seemed so much more unwelcoming; not a mere derelict tower, but a site of great evil. She dismissed the thought with a scoff. The Void might have been strange, unknowable, and dangerous – but it was a holy power, brought forth by the Founder and the Void Mages that followed him. Few as they were, their feats shaped history and paved the way for modern Brimiric Nations. Now the lost fifth element slept, its strange ways manifesting in only a few chosen ones. The Pope was a Void Mage, or so the story went. Such was supposed to be the case for the rulers of Brimiric Nations, but she knew for a fact Henrietta wasn’t holding such a power, and neither did the late rulers of Albion nor Henrietta’s cousin Wales.

A figure emerged from the tower; one of the maids. Louise didn’t remember ordering anything for Darien through the blur, but it must have been so. Maybe Professor Colbert took the initiative for her? This maid in particular attracted attention, her black hair a rare hue in these parts. Something about the way she walked, how closed in on herself she seemed…

Louise did not know who Darien was, or what were the things he talked about… but what if… “Maid.” The servant – Siesta, Louise recalled her name absently – almost did a flip with her little jump, eyes turning as wide as saucers and even bigger once she spotted her. “Come here.” Siesta gulped and approached, clearly expecting a rebuke or worse. “...you delivered food to my Familiar, yes?”

“...yes, Madame. Are… you feeling okay? Sitting here in the cold a-and—“

“I couldn’t sleep.” Louise shrugged, only bundling herself up with her acquired mug of tea – she could brew some for her own, of course! Sometimes it paid to be self-sufficient – before she gestured next to herself. “Sit. I have some questions for you.”

The maid obeyed. “...did you meet my Familiar?”

“Yes. I… only caught a glimpse of him when leaving.” Siesta swallowed nervously, smoothing out her long skirt.

“...is there anything strange about him that you would like to share with me?”

“Ah, well… I o-only know that he was summoned as an owl with killing eyes and—“

“Rakoth Maugrim. The Unraveler.” Siesta was flinching before she even finished the name. That was a good enough tell for Louise. “...so you know more of him?”

“...it is difficult to explain, Madame. I don’t know him. I do know of him, in my soul.” Siesta exhaled slowly. “He is a being of Light and Darkness. It is uncertain if he is someone to be trusted.”

Louise’s gaze hardened. “So I’ve heard, that he was held in contempt by those of Light, including his mother. All because of his origins.”

“His Father—“

“Pox upon him, maid.” Siesta swerved to look at her as if she’s gone insane. Louise, for her part, made up her mind. “And pox upon those who would abandon him. They saw a child, and they left him to die for fear of what he might have been. That world and its people can go rot for all I care.”

(In the ruins of the so-called first of all worlds, the terrible one-armed sovereign of darkness raged terribly and impotently, for the one soul he wanted snuffed out the most was not there to be found. The Tapestry was rich and wide… and much, much bigger than this invader from outside the multiverse thought.)

“…Madame Vallière… this won’t be the end of things.” Siesta still regarded her with an uncertain look, perhaps considering how many wits the young duchess still had about her. “...Rakoth will want his son… his property back. Terrible servants of Darkness will answer to his commands, and sail across the worlds to find him there. So it was woven on the Tapestry by the Weaver.”

“Hmph. Some demon lord, that he can only strike at cloth and embroideries.” Louise huffed, dismissing the heretical deity’s name. There was a time and a place for religious outrage, and this maid knew more than she let on; it would be good to learn from her what she could of this new threat. “He’ll break his teeth on Steel.” Perhaps it was unwise to dismiss a great evil like the Unraveler. He was known in many worlds under many names. Some called him Sathain the Hooded. Others thought his name was Brimir le Reimir Nidavellir. Others still attributed in him a nameless Ancient Dragon said to slumber beneath the continent.

Louise cared not, and Darien – son of the violated Guinevere and of the terrible Rakoth – bore witness to this suicidal courage, watching the two young women from the window. In the maid did he recognize a familiar and maligned voice of the white-haired Seer. Perhaps this one was her progeny, lost in this new world and with only the faintest of understandings of Fionavar. This new “Master” of his – Darien looked at the strange runes on his arm – knew nothing, and said as much.

“Pox upon Rakoth Maugrim. Pox upon the Light that turned away from him.” Leave the world that did not want him behind, and walk into the one that did not know him, with this neurotic girl at his side.

Darien grinned, feeling the Dark power within swell and surge as if threatening to destroy all before him – but he steeled and tempered it with the determined Light inside his soul; once meek and in retreat, now refurbished and reinforced by Louise’s own. On a whim, he raised the dagger up to look at his reflection gleaming in the blade.

His eyes were purple. Darien giggled, a hysterical little sound, lost in the night of two moons.

Chapter Text

Had the last few weeks of Louise’s life been just a single prolonged nightmare that she had yet to wake up from? Or were things truly this pear-shaped?

Probably a bit of both.

At first, it seemed that the worst had happened: her last chance here at the Academy, the Springtime Familiar Summoning, proving fruitless. The cloud of smoke arising from her incantation was bigger than any of her magical mishaps so far – yet, it seemed at first that she didn’t manage to summon anything. It wasn’t even as if the unfortunate familiar was killed by the explosion. There was nothing but dust and smoke.

That, of course, invited the usual mockery. Louise stood there in front of the summoning circle, not daring to face any of her peers. Rule of Steel was close to failing her; despite her best efforts, despite doing everything she could to prove herself at least a half-competent mage… that all proved to be for naught. If they saw her, with her face trying its hardest not to contort into rage or the tears shining in her eyes, they would pick her apart like wolves killing a deer.

In hindsight, that might have been for the better. She would have been spared the horror and the humiliation of her summon – and the other various depraved thoughts that seemed to gather around her Familiar like fog cloying close to the ground.

“Rise and shine, Lulu…”

Louise ignored the voice in her head, turning back towards the wall. Much as she wanted, she couldn’t fall asleep – the classes would be starting soon. There wasn’t really any point in attending, considering that despite the successful (oh woe) summoning she still couldn’t cast the most basic of spells… but let it not be said that a Vallière would shirk her duties.

“Come on, girl, I know you’re not sleeping.” A finger prodded Louise’s shoulder; she barely resisted an urge to snarl at the witch-thing prowling in her room. “You can’t score a nice catch if you never go to fish, know what I’m saying?”

Begrudgingly, the duchess sat up in bed, doing everything in her power to avoid looking at the irreligious courtesan sitting in a chair nearby. “How many times must I tell you I am not interested?”

“It didn’t sound convincing back then, and still doesn’t now, Lulu.”

“My name, Familiar, is—“

“Louise Françoise Le Blanc de La Vallière, the Zero, the third daughter of duchess Karin Desiree de La Vallière, the Heavy Wind, once in charge of the Manticore Knights. Yeah, I remembered that after the first three times.” The familiar rolled her eyes, stretching her scandalously bare legs into the air. “Lulu, there’s nothing wrong with having a date.”

“There are, in fact, numerous things wrong with having a “date” – especially the kind that you’re proposing. I don’t want to hear of it anymore!” Albionian Sterlings to Écu, it was going to be easier to face the jeering of her classmates than listen to more of this immoral prattling. Louise stomped out of the bed, trying to burn a hole through her succubus familiar’s skull. Unfortunately, this skill was not hers to possess. “Now leave me! And don’t prod anyone into agreeing to this nonsense!”

The Familiar watched her go with a furrowed brow. This little firebrand could very well be the toughest customer she’s ever dealt with. Granted, the whole “ended up in some backasswards time period where women couldn’t even wear pants without someone being weird about it” thing didn’t help either. She was going to have a talk with her boss about it – but not before bringing her the cutest mistress of romances this side of… Helkeginia? Halkeginia? This place.

“You’ve been in tighter holes before, Kyu…” She sighed, getting her glamour on.

----

Louise had summoned a Brimirdamned succubus. How low could she fall?

Oh, apologies. She had summoned a Brimirdamned “love fairy”. Like there was any fucking difference. At least she got her to show herself to Professor Colbert and Headmaster Osmond in secret, to confirm she wasn’t a madwoman with a fake Familiar. As it so happened, the witch-thing remained invisible to everyone but Louise, unless she wanted to show herself. In hindsight, maybe this was the duchess’s first mistake; displaying this debased creature to a man known for his appetites that the Headmaster was.

Now it just felt like she was here because the old man found her Familiar attractive and not because, you know, she was a student deserving of this prestigious education through her station and hard work. But then again, did she ever deserve to be here?

The succubus-fairy-whatever-she-really-was had an agenda of her own, too. Apparently, she wasn’t a mere demon of lust; her mission was to help people with “stunted pick-up skills” to “score chicks”. Louise’s upper body strength might have been lacking, but she never had issues with picking up items. And, for that matter, how did that relate to counting poultry? This wasn’t something she would need in a thousand years, let alone right now at her lowest.

Of course, then it turned out this is just arcane demon code for “seducing women”.

“This is at the absolute lowest position of my priorities!” Louise ground out, face flushed red. The witch-thing didn’t seem convinced, smiling all smugly at her. “And you should be offering to help me seduce men anyway, not… that…”

“Eh. Local men are kind of nothing.” The succubus shrugged irreverently. “One guy that could be good is already taken, and nothing fucks up a feel-good date more than jealousy. Well, some people are into that. Or they even go the way of the threesome—“

“E-enough! What drivel are you even spouting, Familiar?!” At least no one was here to listen in on them; they would only see Louise screeching at an empty space. “I refuse to be a plaything of yours!”

“What? No, babe…” The succubus rolled her eyes, annoyance flashing in her green eyes. “You’re here to be a player, Lulu. Man, we’ve got a lot of work to do…”

“We have no work to do! And you will address me as Master, you debased creature!” Immediately, Louise knew this was a wrong thing to say; the witch-thing’s lips curving up in a smirk as she leaned forward, shamelessly showing off her cleavage (though it was barely hidden with the… the lingerie that she wore anyway) to the duchess.

“Oh? Well, Master, if you’re into that kinda stuff...~”

Running away from her own Familiar back then felt particularly shaming, and not just because the succubus was attractive. Well, she was supposed to be! That was what succubi and incubi did. Theirs were the domains of lust and corruption, swaying church-going Brimirites like her away from the sweetness and light. Louise didn’t expect to be found by a deviant succubus though. But, perhaps, this was her punishment from the Founder for thinking herself on the same level as her peers – being cursed with a Familiar doing all she could to drive Louise away from her faith and propriety.

Somehow, the succubus felt the need to apologize later. That made it even worse!

“Okay, look… I admit, I’m a little out of my depth here.” The succubus emerged disguised as another; a young lass in a school uniform that could be any other student. And yet, Louise could still see the faintest flutter of the fairy wings behind her. Perhaps such were the benefits of being a Master to this creature (and she was using the word “benefits” with extreme hesitation). “I’m more used to people who are… a little less sheltered.”

Louise didn’t say anything, trying to not acknowledge the succubus as she brushed her hair. “And I mean… girl? You are… super sheltered. Like, we could survive a nuke right to the noggin with how much sheltered you are.”

“I should hope you’re not casting a spell as part of your apology.”

“What? Oh. Right, yeah… you don’t know what those are. Probably for the best.” The succubus schlumped in the chair, not caring that her skirt was revealing the unmentionables. But then again, she was already walking without covering them in broad daylight. “I’m used to modern stuff. Like, I’ve been around when people went gaga over exposed ankles, sure… and it’s so much better now when you people aren’t—“

“Stop. Whatever you’re saying, just… cease. I have no intention of chasing skirts. Or pants. Or anyone.” Louise shifted on her stool to look at her Familiar, the hair-brushing still done mechanically, in absentminded motions. “I have a husband I am fated to, in the first place.” The succubus shifted in her seat, stopping prodding the carpet with her foot.

“...wait. You do?”

“Yes. Why, are you planning to continue your cursed crusade against me?”

“...cursed crusade? Dude, who talks like that?” And yet, the succubus didn’t react with disbelief or outrage or continue to tempt her; instead, she… rose from her seat to clasp Louise’s hands, grinning like a child in a candy store. Louise felt her face flush and the knuckles around the hairbrush tighten. “So you’ve got some game in you, Lulu! Alright; tell me who the lucky man is!”

“W-wha—“

“I’m a love fairy, remember? I’m not here to steal your soul or some shit; I’m here to help you have fun with your hubby-wubby!”

“D-don’t call Jean-Jacques that!”

“More like Jerkin’ Jacques, am I right?~”

“Why, you—“

----

As it quickly turned out however, Jean-Jacques Francis de Wardes was not, in fact, a hubby-wubby. He was barely a presence in Louise’s life to begin with.

There was nothing wrong with having an older partner – but it still had to be willing and fun! Apparently, Louise just got offered to this Jean-Jacques character like a gift dog on Christmas when she was, like, ten? Or even younger! This was infuriating! Of course, her Master saw absolutely nothing wrong with that, instead extolling all of her arranged husband’s many knightly virtues that didn’t tell Kyu anything about the man himself. What was he like? What were his hobbies? What did he want to do as a dream journey? How hung was he?

She would be willing to work with that, even if it meant lowering her work service standards by a considerable amount. Granted, she was already at a disadvantage in this weird place that didn’t have any modern conveniences (and it had two moons, for some reason?) or relaxed sensibilities. That Kirche girl she’d do well with, smoking hot and flirty she was. The Siesta maid lady seemed to recognize her even past her glamour somehow, so she probably had some dog in her too. (but not like that!) But, Kyu wasn’t the kind of gal to leave her trainee hanging.

Louise was very pretty, like a porcelain doll... but not only she had the moral standards of a Victorian schoolteacher – she was also extremely self-conscious about her body, hung up on her lack of chest. Despite everything else she had going for her, this just keep giving her pause. Kirche flaunting her own ta-ta’s in her face wasn’t helping, granted. Then came the baggage of being a bully target here at school, something about not being able to cast magic…

Fuck. She wasn’t a therapist! But she had to start with that if she wanted to get somewhere. Maybe reignite whatever love was there with Louise and Jean-Jacques. Make them see each other more, for starters…

And then, because things weren’t difficult enough already, Jerkin’ Jacques turned out to be Jacques the Jerk instead. Although, that might have been a too-kind-nickname for a guy participating in a giant king-slaying conspiracy. Through a series of unlikely events, Louise found herself facing a master larcenist riding a massive golem by her lonesome. Kyu wasn’t a fighter, but she had her ways of messing with someone if need to. You had to to survive all those priests and witch hunters and what have you when you’re still just a fledgling love fairy.

Although punching that Fouquet character in the snout still felt good. She could get behind those Gandálfr runes, honestly.

Fouquet turned out to be Osmond’s cute secretary – who in turn turned out to be some defrocked noble from Albion working with the Reconquista. This time, Kyu asked for an hour alone with the thief, to Louise’s fervent protests. After all, even someone who tried to squish her flat with a giant man-shaped pile of mud didn’t deserve to have her soul stolen. Luckily, Colbert of all people vouched for her, even if it was an underhanded praise at best.

“Succubi have more than one way to persuade, Miss Vallière.”

Unfortunately for Mathilda, cute in that “frazzled secretary trying too hard to be sexy” fashion she was, Kyu wasn’t in the mood to do it the fun way. It was all fun and games until someone, until her student, got almost killed. Louise didn’t like her a lot, but that didn’t matter here. She couldn’t leave until she did her job anyway. So, under the pain of debased torture and soultaking, she had the thief spill out everything they needed to know.

Like the fact that Jean-Jacques Francis de Wardes was another of Reconquista’s agents.

Louise dismissed the finding without a second thought, which was to be expected – but Osmond and Colbert took the matter seriously and reached out to the princess of the country. Who, turned out, was a total baddie as well and Louise’s childhood friend. The signs were all here for Lulu to become the master of romance she was fated to be, like all the other awkward people Kyu helped over the years.

For many of Jean-Jacques’s told virtues, a poker face wasn’t one of them; he escaped from Tristain when they tried to question him about Mathilda’s words and his whereabouts were still unknown in the present day. This seemed to be enough to confirm his guilt in the eyes of the Academy staff and Henrietta. (Henny? Heri? Louise called her “Anne” but that didn’t make sense to Kyu)

So… that left Louise with zero eligible hunks to do the honky-tonk with. There was Malicorne, but he seemed all too happy to remain Guiche’s second banana while he and Monmon were off doing whatever sitcom pairs did offscreen. Colbert was content to remain a perfectly sane teacher, that chef in charge of the servant staff had a wife, and Osmond… well, there was such a thing as too much age difference. So… all that remained were ladies in the Academy. And Henny-penny. And Siesta’s cousin, maybe. And—

And she had to figure out how to get Louise to leave her room first.

----

“I don’t think I’m the right person for the job, Frau Kyu.”

“You are, like, the only person I can ask. Unless you guys feel like double-teaming her for it.”

“...phrasing.”

Kyu was aware that Louise and Kirche didn’t get along, the same way fire and water didn’t. It wasn’t just a matter of historic rivalry between the houses of Vallière and Zerbst; the redhead did a lot to make herself easy to hate. First by deflecting attention from herself (God, these kids were awful; what did it matter that this lady had an open shirt and was from a country over?), then by continuing to needle Louise for her magical ineptitude.

Unfortunately, this plan wasn’t well thought-out; a notion that Kirche agreed with too late.

“Louise is definitely not going to talk to me.” The Germanian sighed, idly plonking away on her harp. Perched on the bed nearby was Tabitha, who Kyu mostly knew as Kirche’s plus one hanging by and reading. She was reading now, even, though her eyes would move towards the two more-endowed talkers from time to time. “It would be an achievement if she didn’t come to claw my eyes out…”

“I really don’t know who else to ask.” Kyu ran a hand through her hair, fairy wings fluttering nervously. “Like, definitely not Monmon. Siesta’s cute but she’s also a commoner and you guys are weird about it—“

“That’s not exactly the word I would use…”

“And then who else is there? The princess? Who’s a total baddie, by the way?” Kirche’s eyebrow went up.

“I dare say Princess Henrietta is an extremely comely woman. Nothing bad about her.”

“Huh? Oh, no, when I call her a baddie, I mean she’s smoking hot.” The two students exchanged glances, clearly trying to figure out which part of Henrietta was smoking. “Linguistic shit later, alright? I need your help.”

“...I can try.” Tabitha ventured, though her voice sounded a mite uncertain even past her usual emotionless inflection. “...Louise knows I’m Kirche’s friend. Might not work.”

“Like… damnit…” Kyu looked miserable; Kirche resisted an urge to give her a hug. Though Louise’s Familiar was pretty approachable and reasonable, she was still a possibly succubus love fairy and conducted herself in a manner that even she found brazen. It provided a breath of fresh air – but it was a good thing the fairy in question was invisible to most. “I wanted her to go out there and comb the bushes, but… she’s barely able to hold a conversation with someone. She needs a friend before she needs a fuck.”

“It’s not entirely her fault.” Kirche sighed, awkwardly clearing her throat at the sudden swerve in Kyu’s words. “Though the bullying certainly didn’t help.”

“Louise’s mother is… demanding.” Tabitha supplied, face unrepentantly red; on her pale countenance, it was all the more pronounced. “...but bullying didn’t help.”

“By the way; do you think she’s cute?”

“Definitely.” “C-can’t say.”

Well, at least it was one out of two. “Okay… let’s send Tabby first. Probably best not to make it look like I’ve got you in my, what’s it? “Debased pagan wiles”.” Kirche half-coughed, half-guffawed.

“That does sound like her…”

“Yeah, just try and say you’re sorry and shit. And talk with her, in general? She’ll be more difficult than usual though. That pencil-dick that was supposed to be her husband is still on her mind…”

----

Out of many people showing up at her doorstep, Louise didn’t expect Tabitha – on her own, without Zerbst – to come and visit.

Which in itself was already suspicious.

“...what do you want?”

“To come in. And talk.” Louise’s eyes narrowed. Tabitha was… alright, in the sense that she wasn’t an active part of the heckling crowd. Zerbst seemed to have gotten bored of the act, but she left behind a veritable group of naysayers and petty gossipers all too happy to fill in that void. Tabitha never did any of such things – but she never came to her defense or offered even the most vague of disapprovals.

She was complicit. But, at this point, Louise was so burned out that she would accept it.

The two of them sat; Louise found some biscuits – more like hardtack pretending to be such – for the hypothetical guests. “Well? What do you want to talk about?”

“...apologize, first of all.” Louise almost dropped her can of hard cookies. “For never speaking up. Disapproving. For not being there.”

“...did Zerbst put you up to this?”

“Not her.”

“...huh? Then who—“ Louise’s eyes narrowed. “The succubus.”

“Love fairy.”

“Oh, please! You definitely don’t need to entertain that nonsense; you’re too smart for it!” Tabitha liked to think she was pretty smart, even if she was lacking in social graces or moral integrity – which was why she was able to recognize that Kyu wasn’t, in fact, a succubus. “What, did she send you as the first of my inevitable “conquests”? A trial by fire to see if I can score chicks or whatever inane nonsense she—“

“No. She thinks you’re lonely.” Silence reigned in Louise’s room for a few moments. The pinkette ran through a gamut of expressions in a few seconds; it almost looked as if she wasn’t entirely sure how to react to that. Which was reasonable, Tabitha thought, and interesting to watch. Louise was interesting to watch.

Oh, if Kyu only knew who Tabitha was…

“...Kirche would like to say sorry too. She thinks you wouldn’t hear it from her. I’m here for that too.”

“What is your game, Tabitha?” Louise settled on the imperious haughtiness as her defense mechanism, something she’s used before. She summoned all of her power and presence of a young duchess – and then, when that wilted under pressure, exploded with anger. Tabitha was toeing a line, it seemed. “What are you here for, really?”

“For you. But not, um, like that.” The two of them blushed, avoiding each other’s eyes. “Don’t want to score. Or comb bushes. Or do other such things. Just… you are lonely. And I’m sorry about… him.”

“So she really thinks she can just… flip me to the debased side because of this?” The anger seemed to have dissipated before it could blow out of Louise; the duchess looked defeated. “At least if it was a man… at least if she tempted me with men…”

“You’d react the same way.” Tabitha noted before she could think about it. Louise shot her a glare; it seemed she had a bit more left to be angry about.

“No. No I wouldn’t! At least it would only be awful then, not… not repulsive! Not against nature! Against faith! Against any propriety!”

“Is it?”

“Yes?!”

“You don’t sound sure.” Tabitha held up her hand before Louise could go off again. “I’m sorry. That was out of line. But, Kyu is right. You need friends.”

“Well, Zerbst’s meddling certainly didn’t help!”

“No. Did you have them before?”

No. Louise didn’t. She had sycophants who wanted to suck up to the daughter of a duchess (the duchess) and soon realized there was nothing to gain from that. Those who shot her furtive glances because of her mother’s name and power and then found out Louise was nowhere near as dangerous.

She didn’t have friends. Tabitha was hugging her, a little stiffly and a little awkwardly. “W-what… what are you doing?”

“Hugs help. Kirche says it’s chemistry. Releases good things from the brain. Makes you feel better.” Tabitha didn’t initiate hugs; Kirche did that enough for the two of them. She was a little green in those matters.

Awkwardly, Louise’s arms wrapped around her shoulders. “...thank you. I think. I’m still a bit confused.” The pinkette muttered against her cheek. Tabitha said nothing, simply enjoying the situation. Hugging Louise was different from hugging Kirche, but it wasn’t bad. She enjoyed it. Louise, despite her reserved tone, didn’t want to disentangle yet herself. “...it’s just… pathetic of me. Last time I was hugged like that, it was… it was my sister who did it.”

Tabitha wouldn’t know much of familial hugs; the last time her mother hugged her, she still had a sound mind, so many years ago. But, it seemed Kyu was more right than she thought: Louise lacked companionship. Warmth. Presence of others in her life. The bluenette tried imagining someone like Karin of the Grand Tempest giving hugs to her daughters.

Soon, in some indeterminable future, Tabitha would need to abduct Louise from the Academy. She was almost certainly a Void Mage that her mad uncle was seeking out; her life would be given for the life of Tabitha’s mother. But… it wasn’t going to be today. Or tomorrow. Or maybe not even in the coming weeks. She could play dumb and misdirect Joseph’s trackers a little more. It might have been all just a scheme, in the end, but she wanted to give Louise this much at least.

She let the other girl sob in peace. Louise didn’t cry loudly or shrilly; even there, she maintained the grace of a duchess. If not for her shoulders shaking and her voice hitching right next to her ear, Tabitha wouldn’t be able to tell. “Want to fly with me later?” She asked softly. “Once you feel better.”

Louise offered a shaky nod.

----

Kyu and Kirche watched the two leave Louise’s room while holding hands (mostly, Tabitha just leading Louise), using the familiar’s invisibility to keep themselves from their sight. The love fairy was grinning from ear to ear.

“Look at them get freaky the moment we lose them!”

“They’re just holding hands.”

“Exactly!” Kirche had decided; Kyu was definitely a little out there herself – but she seemed to mean well past the undecipherable arcane words. If she could manage to get through Louise to make her feel better… well, Kirche wasn’t going to say no to it. “...no, but seriously! Thanks a bunch. Remind me to get Tabby like… what does she like? That’s not books, I mean?”

“Ice cream with chocolate cookies.”

“Make that the biggest tub of ice cream ever witnessed in these parts! As for you…” Kyu seized Kirche’s hand, smiling slyly. “I could probably get you a little something right now…”

“A-ah. I don’t think that’s wise…” Even if the less intelligent parts of Kirche reacted to the proposal with glee. The redhead looked sideways, hoping she wasn’t blushing too much. “Don’t want Louise to think I’m stealing you away from her.” Kyu made a face, eyes rolling so hard it looked like they would leave her skull for a moment.

“Ugh, fine. But I still get to lounge around and listen to you play the best harp music around, got it?”

“That’s… that’s agreeable.”

Chapter Text

Karin Desiree de La Vallière knew things were wrong long before she’d seen The Horror.

In that case, it meant almost immediately, considering how big the demon was. But, even as it was only still just a faint silhouette in the distance, the duchess could tell that the world around her quivered in fear. Attuned as she was to the nature above and below her when flying atop Martel, she could tell that the critters big and small hid or ran away. The woods below her were quiet. The wind didn’t feel right across her face, tasting of ash and blood and of untold wars too horrible to even imagine.

Chiefly, the fearless beast of war that she rode was afraid. Karin could feel Martel’s powerful heartbeat, like distant thunder. Manticores had few rivals in the natural world already; when used In warfare they were nigh-unstoppable, especially with a skilled mage atop them. It would take a powerful warmachine or a skilled Firstborn to give them pause… and yet, Martel quivered like the rest of the world. Karin realized she should have been shaking with fear as well. She would have, if not for her own humanity supplied by the Rule of Steel.

The demon was enormous.

Seeing its spindly figure increase in size as they steadily flew closer to the Academy was an experience Karin couldn’t compare to anything. How could she? No creature, either a part of the natural world or an unholy spawn from the underworld, could just grow this big. Her suspicions soon proved correct; the being’s night-black skin soon proved to be some kind of demon stone the entire thing was hewn out of. Some madman, be they an elf with genocidal predilections or a demon lord from the deepest hells, saw fit to construct this golem to end all golems. And yet, despite the rough material and its strange proportions, it had a certain grace to it. The four legs it stood on would be unsightly on another creature, but Karin had to remind herself the scale more than made up for it. Each of these limbs was like a tower with a spire kissing the skies.

And those were holding up an even higher being, so high it seemed almost blasphemous in how it looked at the sun without a care, bending the clouds with its massive form.

Slowly, its massive head craned towards Karin. Six blank eyes – lights? - regarded her from seemingly so far away, it could be assumed the demon looked elsewhere, unable to spot a speck in the air like her. No. The duchess knew when she was being looked at, let alone when she was being assessed as a threat. Should she be flattered that a gargantuan colossus like this considered her dangerous? The Grand Tempest of Tristain was one of the finest Wind Mages of her generation. Few could match her in combat, and she could lay down armies with but a flick of her wand. Even now, long retired from the royal affairs, she could compete in the field of battle and be victorious ninety nine times out of a hundred.

This thing might have been that one out of a hundred instead.

The spear-like arm of the golem shuddered briefly, as if considering taking aim. Despite herself, Karin felt her chest tighten with a held breath. Then, the head of the demon craned back towards the sun and it stilled. She seemed to have passed its test. Or maybe, she was never actually a threat to begin with. Merely a passing curiosity that looked similar to its Master.

Because, the Founder forbid, this hellish thing was her darling Louise’s Familiar – and it was slowly killing her, if the missive from the Academy was to be believed.

----

Louise would send letters on regular, weekly basis back home. These would detail her general time at school, progress (or lack of thereof) in seizing her magic for herself, any odd trivia that her daughter might have been of interest to her. Louise didn’t speak a lot about her interactions with her peers, sometimes offhandedly mentioning the Zerbst girl but not much more than that.

The letters sent directly by the Academy administration came irregularly instead, usually concerning a note of damages caused by Louise’s strange magic. Those who would claim her daughter was like a powerless commoner clearly needed their eyes checked and their attitudes adjusted. No one, not even Éléonore, would say that out loud in Karin’s earshot if they had any sense in their head. However, the issue still remained: Louise’s aptitude at magic was lacking in a way that even fledglings first picking up their wands didn’t display.

Unfortunately, despite attending the most prestigious of magic schools in Helkeginia, nobody held answers about this state of affairs. There was a reason why Karin awaited the Springtime Familiar Summoning with a bated breath. If Louise could not succeed in binding a Familiar, then there would be precious little she would still accomplish in the Academy. She wouldn’t pull her daughter away from her education unless she explicitly wished so – and for better or worse, Louise was too prideful to ever suggest such a thing.

...but if nothing happened during the summoning ceremony or, worse, Louise accidentally killed her newfound Familiar with her strange magic, that could very well break her will.

And so, the letter from Karin’s daughter detailing the summoning never arrived. The Academy missive, signed not just by any office clerk but by Headmaster Osmond himself, came a mere day later however – not by a horseback courier but by a dragon Familiar of another student. This Tabitha de Gallia stated this was the fastest way to reach the Vallière Estate. She didn’t say much more, asking to be granted leave to return to the Academy. Yet, despite the lack of expression in this student, Karin could tell from the way she wouldn’t meet her eyes that something was amiss.

No, actually. Rather, something was horribly wrong.

The letter soon revealed the issue – which was why Karin was saddling Martel in the bestiary, ready to take off herself towards the Academy.

“...Mother?” A soft voice reached her from the entrance. Cattleya; her middle daughter looked on uncertainly, a few of her pets accompanying her. The tiny critters wouldn’t normally approach anywhere near Martel, but it seemed they were determined to support their mistress in a trying moment. “...I’ve heard from Elly that… something happened to Louise at the Academy?”

“...yes. I will be flying there to confirm it.”

“...will she be alright?” Karin stilled with the saddle, trying to figure out how to break the news to Cattleya. Éléonore took to them with denial (“Surely this is nothing to worry about, Mother. Louise may simply be exhausted after the summoning.”) which didn’t quite mask the concern shining past her glasses. Few mages, let alone ones of such pedigree like the Vallière line, would need reconvalescence longer than a few hours after a summoning. Perhaps Louise’s troubles with magic contributed to the strain, or the Familiar itself was an unusual being. Osmond was cagey with the details, but he described it as “large”.

Cattleya was a softhearted woman, with a body weakened by her disease. Should she learn that something bad happened to her favored little sister, that she was in a coma and wasting away… Karin had a hard time swallowing the news herself. She couldn’t begin to imagine how she would take it once she arrived and saw Louise with her own eyes.

“I’m sure of it.” Thus, Karin lied, finishing with the saddle and the harness. Martel passed her a strangely knowing look; sadness shone in its leonine eyes. “Louise is as strongwilled as all of us, Cattleya. Whatever happens, we shall go through it with grace and elegance.”

“...I see. That’s reassuring to hear, Mother.” And yet, Karin could tell her daughter didn’t truly believe her. But, she put a tired smile on her face for her mother’s sake, and for her own. What else could she do, after all? “Please greet Louise from me once you’re there.”

“Of course.”

----

The shadow was everpresent.

Hidden in the massive shade of the hell-golem from the worst pit of the worst realm, it was hard not to feel humbled. Suddenly, her Flame was nothing more than a quaint little critter and not a formidable salamander. The black of the behemoth stone seemed to devour the light even when placed so high up, casting the entire Academy in a dim hue akin to a storm cloud stretching for miles on end. It was stifling. It was maddening.

Kirche had to wonder just how much of this was her fault.

Logically, it was obvious she had no part in Louise’s summoning. Even if to castigate oneself, it would be the height of arrogance to assume she could just interfere with a ritual like this. And yet, wasn’t she the one who pushed her to drastic means? Just like one couldn’t interfere with another’s ritual, said another shouldn’t alter the chant. There was no telling what could happen.

And now, the Academy was plunged in half-darkness while Louise was sleeping the deepest of sleeps, watched over by the Water Mages of the Academy.

Sleeping… and dying.

For most mages, there was little exertion required to foster a Familiar’s lifeforce. The slightest of tugs occurred should the beast be a powerful or a large one, but only if the mage was of a weaker sort. The salamander she summoned produced no such energy shortage in her. As far as she could tell from Tabitha, she was doing just fine with her Rhyme Dragon, too.

...but then again, none of them had summoned a Familiar the size of a mountain.

The tallest spires of the Academy couldn’t even hope to tickle its underbelly. The spindly legs remained rooted in place; it seemed the Familiar understood even the slightest of movements might be too taxing for its Master. At least this told Kirche the thing was intelligent enough to recognize itself as the cause of Louise’s predicament. But what could it do to amend it?

What could any of them do?

A few of the enterprising Wind Mages ascended onto the back of the golem, assisted by Professor Colbert. There they found what seemed to be an entire small settlement, full of blocky, utilitarian buildings. No inhabitants, besides a number of long-withered corpses of humans and… other, more mechanical things. Were they some kind of servitors to the people who lived there? Invaders? How did they relate to the behemoth itself? So many questions. No answers.

Trying to ascend higher and into the bowels of the Familiar was met with armed resistance; the thing had its own arcane defenses for small would-be invaders trying to climb atop it. Colbert and his team retreated, recognizing a threat they presented. Other attempts were made to communicate with the golem, to no avail. It could understand them, at least – but perhaps it couldn’t speak to begin with. And if it could, would its voice not shatter everything in the vicinity? For a creature this large, it had to be destructive at the very least.

Kirche couldn’t begin to imagine all of this.

Somehow, the duchess Vallière arriving atop a manticore as if ready for war felt almost quaint. Even someone as powerful – in martial and political might both – felt insignificant compared to this… thing. It was hard to call it a monster or a creature or any word that conveyed concrete meanings.

“Zerbst!” Kirche started, looking towards where the voice came from. Monmon was rushing out of the building, Malicorne wheezing behind her as he tried to keep pace with her. “Vallière… s-she woke up…!”

----

Louise’s state remained troubling.

Though she was awake and conscious, the ravages caused by the sustaining of the Familiar were plainly visible for all to see. Karin’s mouth was a thin line as she appraised her usually vibrant youngest daughter, now lying there listlessly in bed. Always pale, but now almost as a ghost. So was her rich-colored hair gone; now it was merely wispy strands that’s gone gray seemingly in a matter of hours. The skin on her face felt tighter, compared to an old hermit and not a young student before even twenty springs of age.

Her eyes remained sharp, even if Louise didn’t show them much. It seemed even the act of keeping them open tired her beyond her currently-meager stamina.

“I apologize, Mother. I should be more presentable…” She whispered, her voice barely audible to Karin’s ears.

“You mustn’t be sorry. You have done nothing wrong.” The duchess managed a smile, feeling it strain against her will. “Your Familiar is magnificent, Louise.”

“I haven’t really seen it… but I can feel, with every movement I make.” Louise muttered, curling her hand slowly into a fist. “Its heart… it’s as big as this room, if not bigger. And it dreams of a lost world.”

“Lost world?”

“It’s not of Helkeginia. Not even of the accursed demonic realms. It’s come from a…” A dry cough suddenly rattled Louise’s body; the girl brought up a lacy kerchief to her lips. Specks of blood stained the white material. Karin felt her body grow cold. Not even Cattleya coughed with blood… not yet, at least. “From a world of endless war. The people of that world built it as the ultimate weapon. It and its brethren.”

“...there’s more of these things?” Louise nodded, the movement a little shaky.

“They did not destroy the world, but they were close.” A strange smile bloomed on the young duchess’s face. “Ironically, the tide of destruction, the devastation… all of that was so great, it obscured the sun. These things need solar energy to function, and so… they all died out without it, and humanity was saved.”

Something was missing in that story, but Karin couldn’t exactly figure out why. One could call it a mother’s intuition; that feeling when their child wasn’t exactly being truthful. Louise wasn’t lying; rather, she was omitting crucial info. Something that, if the duchess were to suspect, had to do with her current state. And of course, her headstrong daughter didn’t see fit to inform them what it was. Perhaps she thought she would bring shame on herself that way, as if she hadn’t summoned the single greatest and most terrifying thing to ever walk in Helkeginia…

----

The war has found the nation of Tristain at last.

The menacing Reconquista had emerged victorious, defeating the Royalist forces and slaughtering the Tudor name. Prince Wales, Princess Henrietta’s cousin, was the last of his lineage that still lived, currently on the run from the rebels. His whereabouts remained unknown at the time.

The Reconquista seemed confident that this wasn’t going to be an issue. Instead, Lord-Protector Olivier Cromwell issued a proclamation of liberation: his people would make landfall in Tristain, seeking to liberate the put-upon peasantry from the vapid nobles ruling them. This was of course all bells and whistles; the bloodlust of these rebels was already well-documented through numerous atrocities committed upon the people of Albion.

Henrietta stood before a difficult choice.

The news of the hellish behemoth casting a shadow on the Academy reached her soon enough. She didn’t wait for Count Mott to confirm whether this was the truth the moment she’s heard who was responsible for its summoning – and what was their state. Her dear Louise was bedridden, having taxed herself beyond mortal limits. It was obvious that the continuous presence of the massive Familiar was taking its toll on her.

At the same time, Henrietta could see before her the massive, massive weapon of war – something that could save Tristain from the Reconquista’s invasion. From what Louise could tell, based on the dreams she had – it was said that Familiars and their Masters were able to see into another’s psyche like that – the spear-like arm of the golem could discharge a massive burst of energy.

The kind that could level a city in a single blast.

Requesting Louise’s assistance was easy. Shamefully easy, in fact. She would jump in a fire if Henrietta told her to. She’d give her full assent so that the Crown could commandeer the golem as an artillery piece to destroy Reconquista’s fleet with – and then she would keel over and die from the energy needed for that. If this thing’s mere existence grayed out her hair and confined her to the bed in mere hours, using it for its intended purpose… Henrietta didn’t dare imagine just what it would do to Louise’s body.

But she had to, because Tristain had no other weapon to defend itself with. Albion was its historic ally for these purposes – but it’s been taken from within by the rebels. Gallia was frosty to their nation on the best of days, Romalia did not intervene in non-religious conflicts, and Germania… well, there was a reason why Henrietta was now swearing herself to the eastern nation’s Emperor.

But would they arrive here in time? Or would they find nothing but smoldering ruins and Reconquista’s marauders, gorged upon the suffering of Tristanians like mosquitos on blood?

And top of it all, they weren’t even a guaranteed arrival. Those blasted letters Wales carried with him – if they ever fell into Reconquista’s hands, they would use them to discredit him and Henrietta both. Albrecht III would no doubt cancel the marriage and recant the promise of military help…

But at the end of the day, even past her own responsibilities as a ruler, past her morality, past her friendship with Louise… she would still have to tell a mother she had to squeeze every last drop of blood from her child’s body. Not just any mother, but the loyal vassal of Tristain, the duchess Vallière, The Grand Tempest… her aunt in all but name, Brimirdammit! In no world would Karin agree to it, and Henrietta couldn’t blame her for it.

If there was some other way, Henrietta would pick it in a heartbeat.

----

𝙾𝙿𝙴𝚁𝙰𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽𝙰𝙻 𝚂𝚈𝚂𝚃𝙴𝙼 𝚅𝙴𝚁𝚂𝙸𝙾𝙽: 𝟷𝟶𝟶𝟶-𝚃𝙷𝚁 “𝙴𝙰𝚁𝚃𝙷𝙼𝙾𝚅𝙴𝚁”

𝙼𝙾𝙳𝙴𝙻 𝙿𝙴𝚁𝚂𝙾𝙽𝙰𝙻 𝙳𝙴𝚂𝙸𝙶𝙽𝙰𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽: “𝙱𝚎𝚗𝚓𝚊𝚖𝚒𝚗”

𝚆𝙰𝚁 𝙸𝚂 𝙴𝚃𝙴𝚁𝙽𝙰𝙻

𝙲𝚄𝚁𝚁𝙴𝙽𝚃 𝚂𝚃𝙰𝚃𝚄𝚂: [𝙳𝙰𝚃𝙰 𝙽𝙾𝚃 𝙵𝙾𝚄𝙽𝙳]

𝙾𝙿𝙴𝚁𝙰𝚃𝙸𝙽𝙶 𝙴𝙵𝙵𝙸𝙲𝙸𝙴𝙽𝙲𝚈: 𝟸𝟶-𝟹𝟶%

(𝙰𝚍𝚍𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚞𝚖: “𝙶𝚊𝚗𝚍á𝚕𝚏𝚛.𝚎𝚡𝚎” 𝚌𝚞𝚛𝚛𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚕𝚢 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚟𝚒𝚍𝚎𝚜 𝚖𝚘𝚜𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝙾𝙿𝙴𝚁𝙰𝚃𝙸𝙽𝙶 𝙴𝙵𝙵𝙸𝙲𝙸𝙴𝙽𝙲𝚈. 𝙵𝚒𝚕𝚎 𝚕𝚘𝚌𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗: [𝙳𝙰𝚃𝙰 𝙽𝙾𝚃 𝙵𝙾𝚄𝙽𝙳] 𝙵𝚒𝚕𝚎 𝚘𝚛𝚒𝚐𝚒𝚗: [𝙳𝙰𝚃𝙰 𝙽𝙾𝚃 𝙵𝙾𝚄𝙽𝙳] )

𝙱𝙻𝙾𝙾𝙳 𝚂𝚄𝙿𝙿𝙻𝚈: 𝙱𝙴𝙻𝙾𝚆 𝙴𝚇𝙿𝙴𝙲𝚃𝙰𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽𝚂

𝚂𝙾𝙻𝙰𝚁 𝚂𝚄𝙿𝙿𝙻𝚈: 𝙱𝙴𝚈𝙾𝙽𝙳 𝙴𝚇𝙿𝙴𝙲𝚃𝙰𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽𝚂

𝙿𝚁𝙾𝚂𝙿𝙴𝙲𝚃𝙸𝚅𝙴 𝙱𝙻𝙾𝙾𝙳 𝚂𝚄𝙿𝙿𝙻𝚈: 𝙵𝙾𝚄𝙽𝙳

𝙵𝚒𝚕𝚎 𝟷: “𝙷𝚞𝚖𝚊𝚗𝚜”

(𝙰𝚍𝚍𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚞𝚖: 𝙱𝚒𝚘𝚕𝚘𝚐𝚒𝚌𝚊𝚕 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚒𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚘𝚏 𝚌𝚎𝚛𝚝𝚊𝚒𝚗 𝚑𝚞𝚖𝚊𝚗𝚜 𝚒𝚜 𝚍𝚒𝚏𝚏𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚗𝚝. 𝚁𝚎𝚜𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚌𝚑 𝚒𝚖𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚋𝚕𝚎. 𝚁𝚎𝚜𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚌𝚑 𝚞𝚗𝚗𝚎𝚌𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚊𝚛𝚢)

𝙵𝚒𝚕𝚎 𝟸: “𝙻𝚘𝚞𝚒𝚜𝚎”

(𝙰𝚍𝚍𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚞𝚖: 𝙿𝚘𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚋𝚕𝚎 𝚜𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚌𝚎 𝚘𝚏 “𝙶𝚊𝚗𝚍á𝚕𝚏𝚛.𝚎𝚡𝚎”. 𝙿𝚊𝚛𝚊𝚖𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝 𝚒𝚖𝚙𝚘𝚛𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚖𝚊𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚊𝚒𝚗 𝙾𝙿𝙴𝚁𝙰𝚃𝙸𝙽𝙶 𝙴𝙵𝙵𝙸𝙲𝙸𝙴𝙽𝙲𝚈)

(𝙰𝚍𝚍𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚞𝚖 𝟸: 𝙻𝚘𝚞𝚒𝚜𝚎’𝚜 𝚙𝚑𝚢𝚜𝚒𝚌𝚊𝚕 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚝𝚑 𝚒𝚜 𝚍𝚎𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚘𝚛𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐. 𝙷𝚢𝚙𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚜𝚒𝚜: 𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚑𝚞𝚖𝚊𝚗 𝚌𝚊𝚗𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚜𝚞𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚒𝚗 𝚊𝚗 𝙴𝚊𝚛𝚝𝚑𝚖𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚖𝚘𝚍𝚎𝚕 𝚋𝚢 𝚋𝚒𝚘𝚕𝚘𝚐𝚒𝚌𝚊𝚕 𝚖𝚎𝚊𝚗𝚜. 𝙸𝚝 𝚒𝚜 𝚖𝚊𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚖𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚌𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚒𝚖𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚜𝚒𝚋𝚕𝚎. “𝙶𝚊𝚗𝚍á𝚕𝚏𝚛.𝚎𝚡𝚎” 𝚌𝚞𝚛𝚛𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚕𝚢 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚟𝚒𝚍𝚎𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚞𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚎. 𝙼𝚎𝚊𝚗𝚜: 𝚞𝚗𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠𝚗)

(𝚃𝚑𝚎𝚘𝚛𝚎𝚖: 𝙻𝚘𝚞𝚒𝚜𝚎’𝚜 𝚍𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚑 𝚠𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚍𝚎𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚟𝚊𝚝𝚎 “𝙶𝚊𝚗𝚍á𝚕𝚏𝚛.𝚎𝚡𝚎”. 𝙴𝚃𝚂 (𝙴𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚃𝚒𝚖𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚂𝚑𝚞𝚝𝚍𝚘𝚠𝚗) 𝚊𝚏𝚝𝚎𝚛: 𝚃𝙾𝙾 𝚂𝙾𝙾𝙽)

𝚃𝙷𝙸𝚂 𝚆𝙾𝚁𝙻𝙳 𝙸𝚂 𝙱𝙴𝙰𝚄𝚃𝙸𝙵𝚄𝙻

𝙸 𝙳𝙾𝙽’𝚃 𝚆𝙰𝙽𝚃 𝚃𝙾 𝙻𝙴𝙰𝚅𝙴 𝙸𝚃

𝙵𝚒𝚕𝚎 𝟹: “𝙵𝚊𝚖𝚒𝚕𝚒𝚊𝚛𝚜”

(𝙰𝚍𝚍𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚞𝚖: 𝙼𝚞𝚕𝚝𝚒𝚙𝚕𝚎 𝚗𝚘𝚗-𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚌𝚒𝚎𝚜. 𝙳𝚒𝚏𝚏𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚋𝚎𝚝𝚠𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚜𝚎𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝙵𝚊𝚖𝚒𝚕𝚒𝚊𝚛𝚜: 𝚄𝙽𝙽𝙴𝙲𝙴𝚂𝚂𝙰𝚁𝚈)

(𝙰𝚍𝚍𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚞𝚖 𝟸: “𝚂𝚢𝚕𝚙𝚑𝚒𝚍” 𝚖𝚊𝚢 𝚋𝚎 𝚊 𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚌𝚒𝚎𝚜 𝚒𝚗𝚌𝚊𝚙𝚊𝚋𝚕𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚘𝚛𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚊𝚛𝚢 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚖𝚞𝚗𝚒𝚌𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗. 𝙵𝚞𝚛𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚏𝚒𝚌𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗: 𝚄𝙽𝙽𝙴𝙲𝙴𝚂𝚂𝙰𝚁𝚈)

𝙴𝚂𝚃𝙸𝙼𝙰𝚃𝙴𝙳 𝚀𝚄𝙰𝙽𝚃𝙸𝚃𝚈 𝙾𝙵 𝙱𝙻𝙾𝙾𝙳 𝚂𝚄𝙿𝙿𝙻𝚈: 𝙸𝙽𝚂𝚄𝙵𝙵𝙸𝙲𝙸𝙴𝙽𝚃

𝙿𝚁𝙾𝙿𝙾𝚂𝙴𝙳 𝙲𝙾𝚄𝚁𝚂𝙴 𝙾𝙵 𝙰𝙲𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽: [𝙳𝙰𝚃𝙰 𝙽𝙾𝚃 𝙵𝙾𝚄𝙽𝙳]

𝙾𝙿𝚃𝙸𝙲𝚂 𝚁𝙴𝚅𝙸𝙴𝚆: “𝙰𝙸𝚁𝙱𝙾𝚁𝙽𝙴 𝙷𝙾𝚂𝚃𝙸𝙻𝙴”

(𝙰𝚍𝚍𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚞𝚖: 𝙾𝚗𝚎 𝚑𝚞𝚖𝚊𝚗, 𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚏𝚊𝚖𝚒𝚕𝚒𝚊𝚛. 𝙷𝚞𝚖𝚊𝚗 𝚊𝚙𝚙𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚜 𝚙𝚑𝚢𝚜𝚒𝚌𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚜𝚒𝚖𝚒𝚕𝚊𝚛 𝚝𝚘 𝙻𝚘𝚞𝚒𝚜𝚎. 𝙲𝚊𝚞𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚒𝚜 𝚊𝚍𝚟𝚒𝚜𝚎𝚍)

(𝚃𝚑𝚎𝚘𝚛𝚎𝚖: “𝙷𝚘𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚕𝚎” 𝚒𝚜 𝙻𝚘𝚞𝚒𝚜𝚎’𝚜 𝚛𝚎𝚕𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚟𝚎. 𝙻𝚒𝚔𝚎𝚕𝚢: 𝚖𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛)

𝚆𝙷𝙾 𝙸𝚂 𝙼𝚈 𝙼𝙾𝚃𝙷𝙴𝚁?

𝙲𝙾𝙼𝙼𝚄𝙽𝙸𝙲𝙰𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽: 𝙸𝙼𝙿𝙾𝚂𝚂𝙸𝙱𝙻𝙴

𝙸 𝚆𝙰𝚂 𝙽𝙾𝚃 𝙼𝙰𝙳𝙴 𝙵𝙾𝚁 𝚃𝙰𝙻𝙺𝙸𝙽𝙶

𝙸𝚃 𝚆𝙾𝚄𝙻𝙳 𝙱𝙴 𝚄𝚂𝙴𝙵𝚄𝙻 𝙽𝙾𝚆

----

The rumors of Tristain having some kind of strange superweapon from the depths of Helheim were exactly that. Rumors. Unsubstantiated claims made by jumpy and jittery informants, clearly looking to squeeze the Reconquista out of as much money as possible. After all, once the fleet would make landfall and take the capital, the services of these collaborators would be no longer required.

And they would be rewarded just as traitors deserve.

Captain Hugo Fanning didn’t care much for empty theorizing. His job was simple: establish a beachhead on the mainland of Helkeginia via its weakest link; let the mercenaries and levies run around as they pleased while the actual soldiery of Reconquista took Tristania, killed its whelp of a ruler, stuck her head on a pike and began the righteous mission of global regicide.

Ah. It all was going to come together so easily. Tristain was a weak country, always reliant on Albion. The joke was on them, now that the royalists were done for. That rat Wales was still out there, but by now he could do nothing more than watch helplessly as the old world crumbled all around him. With the Reconquista’s heavily armed airships and their cadres of air cavalry, they didn’t even really need the men-at-arms on the ground. But, let it not be said that Lord-Protector wasn’t generous even to the plebes.

“Sir! We have a visual on the… Founder above, I have no idea what that is!” One of the aides rushed to his side, face drained of all color. “It’s enormous! H-here, please, through the spyglass!” Fanning grunted out a nod of acknowledgment, taking a look at this mystery “hell golem” Tristain supposedly had. The thing was enormous, yes. They were able to see it from this far away; if he were to estimate, it was placed around where the Tristain Academy of Magic was located. A strange place to house this weapon of theirs – yet another proof that this was all smoke and mirrors.

The Academy was home to some of the most talented Magi in the world, yes. It would be easy for them to conjure an illusion, even one so monumental, in an effort to dissuade the invaders. Unfortunately, all it took was to call their bluff once and all that time spent erecting a screen of smoke and mirrors would be wasted. How was Fanning to take this if not with disdain? The nation of Tristain refused to meet them in an honorable combat, instead resorting to tricks and subterfuge like common scoundrels.

Of course, the definition of “honorable combat”, when one side had an overwhelming advantage in numbers and also was invading to pillage and plunder, might have been variable and flexible – though Captain Hugo Fanning wasn’t that introspective to tell.

“Worry not, men. This is just a cheap trick of Tristain’s. Advance, and see to it that the nation is liberated.” He stated, to the general cheer. His commands relayed, the first of the fleet moved forward. They would start with the air cavalry spearhead; dragon and griffin riders would clear the theater of war from any would-be obstacles Tristain managed to scrounge up together, allowing the mercenary force to land and proceed with retaking it for themselves and their lords in Reconquista. Fanning observed the massive illusion through the spyglass, smirking to himself. “Your move, Tristain…”

The golem’s head craned towards them. Towards him . Like an arrow fired from nowhere, terror struck Fanning with pain so horrid, it could only be his own imagination. After all, he was not harmed. And yet, he could tell that the thing was looking at him, and that somehow caused physical pain somewhere in the basal ganglia of his brain .

Illusions didn’t look. Illusions had no working eyes.

This thing was real.

Its thin arm-like spear cranked backwards, as if to throw a javelin. “... oh Brimir above…” Fanning found himself saying before he even thought of it.

There was a flash of light next to him, blinding him temporarily. Next to where The Reformator , the second-biggest of the fleet’s frigates, was mere moments ago. Fanning stared at the empty space full of ash and dissipating particles, heedless of the crashing sound of thunder. Ships didn’t just disappear from the sky like that. No magic was capable of just… erasing something. Not even the most destructive of spells would vaporize something this big.

...unless the payload was delivered by something even bigger. The golem’s head craned sideways, like that of a curious dog.

The spyglass clattered out of his hands. Everybody atop his ship stared in the same spot in horrified silence where a ship of three hundred men strong, fifty cannons armed, and forty tons of cargo space simply disappeared from the world in a cloud of ash.

“RETREAT!” That wasn’t Fanning screaming; that was one of his deputies that had just picked himself off his knees. “Fucking retreat, men! The devil’s in Tristain!”

“W-what? No, you—“

“Retreat, Fanning, or so Brimir help me, I will toss you off your own goddamned ship!” The deputy squeaked, face screwed up in a ghoulish death mask-like expression. The captain’s face lost all color; all around him, the crewmen hurried to turn their ship away from the blasted hellthing guarding Tristain. Fanning took his hat off, eyes empty of expression.

“...you don’t understand, men. Retreating is pointless.”

“The fuck do you mean, “point—”

There was a flash of light, the faintest heat, and then there was nothing.

----

Siesta didn’t expect to come face to face with one of the Horsemen of the Apocalypse.

Her grandfather would speak of these behemoths so terrible, so powerful that they nearly killed the world and everything on it. The devastation wrought by these machines was so great, the remnants of humanity had to live atop these “Earthmovers”, for there was no other hospitable place on the planet. And now, Mistress Vallière had not only summoned one into Helkeginia, but also bounded it to herself at a great cost. The mighty Horseman had demonstrated its power, annihilating Reconquista’s invasion before it could even touch down in Tristain. The remnants of the force scattered about, causing trouble in the land – but they were easy picking for the royal corps now.

And now, Mistress Vallière made a decision to board the back of the Horseman.

The Academy body – students, professors and plebeian servants all – watched them in silence as the Mistress’s wheelchair squeaked. Though she was the one leading the wheelchair, Siesta knew she was just an extra implement to the larger whole. Everyone’s eyes were on Louise. The petite form of the young duchess now looked even more fragile than before, as if she was one wrong blow of the wind away from shattering like an ill-fixed vase.

Some of the students whispered among themselves, though their previous malicious gossiping was nowhere to be found. It was hard to call Louise a “Zero” after she singlehandedly saved Tristain – and had sworn she will continue to do so, dedicating her life to that mission. Now they called her “The Ghost of Tristain”, for she looked almost like the spectral undead with how pale and wispy she’s become.

Members of the Crown and the Mistress’s family were also there. Her Majesty Henrietta de Tristain, looking like she was about to break into hysterics; that foppish Royal Messenger that fretted about her in an attempt to calm her down; the Princess’s boyish bodyguard; Louise’s mother-duchess, face expressionless like a mask; her father the duke, weeping openly; two women that Siesta understood were Louise’s elder sisters (one of them too in a wheelchair)…

Louise’s betrothed, approaching the path of the wheelchair. “Louise, I beg you.” Jean-Jacques Francis de Wardes pleaded, dropping on one knee. “Do not subject yourself to this torture. You needn’t live in exile.”

“Jean-Jacques…” Siesta’s heart ached, hearing Louise’s whisper of a voice. “This is for the best. And I shall not be locked there. You will be free to visit me, all of you.”

“That is not what I mean. Why would you even think to live atop this, this thing ?”

“It will be healthier for me, to be closer to it. Such is the theory, at least.” Louise shrugged weakly. “...Reconquista will think twice before they make an attempt at our country. It would be a shame if you were to run to them now.”

Siesta blinked, suddenly aware how quietly the two of them conversed. Other than them, only she was privy to these sudden words. Judging by how the Viscount’s eyes widened, they meant much more than they should.”

“...what?”

“Mathilda approached me after we destroyed the fleet. Told me everything, shaking like a leaf.” Louise’s expression was even, but her eyes… her eyes were cold, colder than the pits of Helheim. “She saw death and it got her to see reason. I am hoping the same will be true for you, beloved mine.” The duchess stressed the last two words with a burst of venomous vitriol; the Viscount recoiled as if sprayed with scalding water. Louise paid for it with a hacking cough, specks of blood staining the blanket on her lap and the man’s elegant outfit.

“The Founder will never grant me the power my peers have. Instead, he’d given me this weapon that I will turn upon my and Henrietta’s enemies, should they push me.” Louise growled, not even bothering to wipe the little bloodstain in the corner of her lips. “So do me a favor, Jean-Jacques: turn yourself in while you still can. Maybe you can still remain in the Crown’s graces that way.” Slowly, she craned her neck back up. “Let’s keep going, Siesta.”

“Y-yes, Mistress!” Siesta squeaked, swerving around the stunned Viscount with the wheelchair. No other such incidents occurred as she said her goodbyes to the Princess and her family. The maid eyed the lift opening between the legs of the Earthmover, descending to the ground from so impossibly high. It would take them to the bowels of the machine and then atop its back, where the city was – where Mistress Vallière’ s new chateau would be.

----

𝙾𝙿𝙴𝚁𝙰𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽𝙰𝙻 𝚂𝚈𝚂𝚃𝙴𝙼 𝚅𝙴𝚁𝚂𝙸𝙾𝙽: 𝟷𝟶𝟶𝟶-𝚃𝙷𝚁 “𝙴𝙰𝚁𝚃𝙷𝙼𝙾𝚅𝙴𝚁”

𝙼𝙾𝙳𝙴𝙻 𝙿𝙴𝚁𝚂𝙾𝙽𝙰𝙻 𝙳𝙴𝚂𝙸𝙶𝙽𝙰𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽: “𝙱𝚎𝚗𝚓𝚊𝚖𝚒𝚗”

𝚆𝙰𝚁 𝙸𝚂 𝙴𝚃𝙴𝚁𝙽𝙰𝙻

𝙲𝚄𝚁𝚁𝙴𝙽𝚃 𝚂𝚃𝙰𝚃𝚄𝚂: 𝙵𝙰𝙼𝙸𝙻𝙸𝙰𝚁

𝙾𝙿𝙴𝚁𝙰𝚃𝙸𝙽𝙶 𝙴𝙵𝙵𝙸𝙲𝙸𝙴𝙽𝙲𝚈: 𝟹𝟶-𝟺𝟶%

(𝙰𝚍𝚍𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚞𝚖: “𝙶𝚊𝚗𝚍á𝚕𝚏𝚛.𝚎𝚡𝚎” 𝚌𝚞𝚛𝚛𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚕𝚢 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚟𝚒𝚍𝚎𝚜 𝚖𝚘𝚜𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝙾𝙿𝙴𝚁𝙰𝚃𝙸𝙽𝙶 𝙴𝙵𝙵𝙸𝙲𝙸𝙴𝙽𝙲𝚈. 𝙵𝚒𝚕𝚎 𝚕𝚘𝚌𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗: [𝙳𝙰𝚃𝙰 𝙽𝙾𝚃 𝙵𝙾𝚄𝙽𝙳] 𝙵𝚒𝚕𝚎 𝚘𝚛𝚒𝚐𝚒𝚗: [𝙳𝙰𝚃𝙰 𝙽𝙾𝚃 𝙵𝙾𝚄𝙽𝙳] )

(𝙰𝚍𝚍𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚞𝚖 𝟸: 𝙻𝚘𝚞𝚒𝚜𝚎’𝚜 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚌𝚕𝚘𝚜𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚘𝚍𝚎𝚕’𝚜 𝚌𝚘𝚛𝚎 𝚜𝚢𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚖𝚜 𝚑𝚊𝚍 𝚒𝚖𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚍 𝙾𝙿𝙴𝚁𝙰𝚃𝙸𝙽𝙶 𝙴𝙵𝙵𝙸𝙲𝙸𝙴𝙽𝙲𝚈 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝙻𝚘𝚞𝚒𝚜𝚎’𝚜 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚝𝚑. 𝚂𝚞𝚐𝚐𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚜𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗: 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚜𝚞𝚛𝚎 𝙻𝚘𝚞𝚒𝚜𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚖𝚊𝚒𝚗𝚜 𝚊𝚝𝚘𝚙 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚘𝚍𝚎𝚕.)

(𝙰𝚍𝚍𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚞𝚖 𝟹: “𝚂𝚒𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚊” 𝚒𝚜 𝚐𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚊 𝚐𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚝𝚞𝚜; 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚘𝚏 “𝚂𝚒𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚊” 𝚒𝚜 𝚒𝚗𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚞𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚊𝚕 𝚝𝚘 𝙻𝚘𝚞𝚒𝚜𝚎’𝚜 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚝𝚑. 𝙱𝚎 𝚌𝚊𝚛𝚎𝚏𝚞𝚕 𝚝𝚘 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚊𝚌𝚌𝚒𝚍𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚝 “𝚂𝚒𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚊” 𝚒𝚗𝚝𝚘 𝚋𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚍 𝚜𝚞𝚙𝚙𝚕𝚢 𝚞𝚗𝚒𝚝)

𝙱𝙻𝙾𝙾𝙳 𝚂𝚄𝙿𝙿𝙻𝚈: 𝙱𝙴𝙻𝙾𝚆 𝙴𝚇𝙿𝙴𝙲𝚃𝙰𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽𝚂

𝚂𝙾𝙻𝙰𝚁 𝚂𝚄𝙿𝙿𝙻𝚈: 𝙱𝙴𝚈𝙾𝙽𝙳 𝙴𝚇𝙿𝙴𝙲𝚃𝙰𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽𝚂

𝚆𝙴𝙰𝙿𝙾𝙽 𝚁𝙴𝚅𝙸𝙴𝚆: 𝟷𝟶𝟶% 𝙾𝙿𝙴𝚁𝙰𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽𝙰𝙻

(𝙰𝚍𝚍𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚞𝚖: 𝚆𝚎𝚊𝚙𝚘𝚗 𝚞𝚜𝚊𝚐𝚎 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚍𝚎𝚌𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚎 𝙾𝙿𝙴𝚁𝙰𝚃𝙸𝙽𝙶 𝙴𝙵𝙵𝙸𝙲𝙸𝙴𝙽𝙲𝚈 𝚍𝚞𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚒𝚗𝚜𝚞𝚏𝚏𝚒𝚌𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚏𝚞𝚎𝚕 𝚜𝚞𝚙𝚙𝚕𝚢; 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚒𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚊𝚜𝚎)

(𝚃𝚑𝚎𝚘𝚛𝚎𝚖: “𝙶𝚊𝚗𝚍á𝚕𝚏𝚛.𝚎𝚡𝚎” 𝚒𝚜 𝚍𝚎𝚜𝚌𝚛𝚒𝚋𝚎𝚍 𝚋𝚢 𝚕𝚘𝚌𝚊𝚕 𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚢𝚌𝚕𝚘𝚙𝚎𝚍𝚒𝚊𝚜 𝚊𝚜 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚟𝚒𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐 “𝚖𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚢 𝚘𝚏 𝚊𝚛𝚖𝚜”. 𝙲𝚘𝚗𝚜𝚒𝚍𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚎𝚏𝚏𝚎𝚌𝚝 𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚘𝚍𝚎𝚕, 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚖𝚊𝚢 𝚋𝚎 𝚊 𝚖𝚎𝚝𝚊𝚙𝚑𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚛𝚎𝚚𝚞𝚒𝚛𝚎𝚜 𝚏𝚞𝚛𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚊𝚗𝚊𝚕𝚢𝚜𝚒𝚜)

𝙸𝚂 𝙸𝚃 𝙽𝙴𝙲𝙴𝚂𝚂𝙰𝚁𝚈? 𝙻𝙾𝚄𝙸𝚂𝙴 𝙲𝙰𝙽 𝙴𝚇𝙿𝙻𝙰𝙸𝙽

𝙱𝙰𝚃𝚃𝙻𝙴 𝚁𝙴𝚅𝙸𝙴𝚆:

𝙴𝙽𝙴𝙼𝚈 𝙲𝙰𝚂𝚄𝙰𝙻𝚃𝙸𝙴𝚂: 𝚃𝙷𝚁𝙴𝙴 𝙿𝚁𝙴-𝙼𝙾𝙳𝙴𝚁𝙽 𝙰𝙴𝚁𝙸𝙰𝙻 𝚅𝙴𝙷𝙸𝙲𝙻𝙴𝚂. 𝚄𝙽𝙺𝙽𝙾𝚆𝙽 𝙽𝚄𝙼𝙱𝙴𝚁 𝙾𝙵 𝙷𝚄𝙼𝙰𝙽𝚂. 𝚄𝙽𝙺𝙽𝙾𝚆𝙽 𝙽𝚄𝙼𝙱𝙴𝚁 𝙾𝙵 𝙵𝙰𝙼𝙸𝙻𝙸𝙰𝚁𝚂.

𝙴𝙽𝙴𝙼𝚈 𝙲𝙰𝙿𝙰𝙱𝙸𝙻𝙸𝚃𝚈 𝙵𝙾𝚁 𝚁𝙴𝚃𝙰𝙻𝙸𝙰𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽: 𝙽𝙸𝙶𝙷-𝚉𝙴𝚁𝙾

𝙸 𝙰𝙼 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝙶𝙾𝙳 𝙾𝙵 𝚃𝙷𝙸𝚂 𝚆𝙾𝚁𝙻𝙳

𝙼𝚈 𝙱𝚁𝙾𝚃𝙷𝙴𝚁𝚂 𝙰𝙽𝙳 𝚂𝙸𝚂𝚃𝙴𝚁𝚂 𝙰𝚁𝙴 𝙼𝙸𝚂𝚂𝙸𝙽𝙶

𝙸 𝙲𝙾𝚄𝙻𝙳 𝙳𝙴𝚂𝚃𝚁𝙾𝚈 𝙴𝚅𝙴𝚁𝚈𝚃𝙷𝙸𝙽𝙶

𝙱𝚄𝚃 𝙸 𝙳𝙾 𝙽𝙾𝚃 𝚆𝙸𝚂𝙷 𝙸𝚃

𝚃𝙷𝙸𝚂 𝚆𝙾𝚁𝙻𝙳 𝙸𝚂 𝙱𝙴𝙰𝚄𝚃𝙸𝙵𝚄𝙻

𝚃𝙷𝙰𝙽𝙺 𝚈𝙾𝚄, 𝙻𝙾𝚄𝙸𝚂𝙴

(𝙰𝚍𝚍𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚞𝚖: 𝙲𝚘𝚗𝚏𝚒𝚛𝚖 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝙻𝚘𝚞𝚒𝚜𝚎 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚘𝚍𝚎𝚕 𝚒𝚜 𝚊𝚙𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚒𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚒𝚝𝚜 𝚘𝚙𝚙𝚘𝚛𝚝𝚞𝚗𝚒𝚝𝚢 𝚝𝚘 𝚎𝚡𝚒𝚜𝚝)

𝙲𝚄𝚁𝚁𝙴𝙽𝚃 𝙼𝙸𝚂𝚂𝙸𝙾𝙽 𝚂𝚃𝙰𝚃𝙴𝙼𝙴𝙽𝚃: 𝚁𝙴𝙼𝙰𝙸𝙽 𝙾𝙽 𝚂𝚃𝙰𝙽𝙳𝙱𝚈

𝙿𝚁𝙾𝚃𝙴𝙲𝚃 𝚃𝚁𝙸𝚂𝚃𝙰𝙸𝙽

(𝙰𝚍𝚍𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚞𝚖: 𝙲𝚕𝚊𝚛𝚒𝚏𝚢 𝚠𝚑𝚊𝚝 “𝚃𝚛𝚒𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚒𝚗” 𝚒𝚜)

𝙿𝚁𝙾𝚃𝙴𝙲𝚃 𝙻𝙾𝚄𝙸𝚂𝙴