Fleo Plector – the Pinnacle
Among all those who receded into the land of fancy at night, drifting through the veil of sleep to any number of incredible worlds, Fleo could boast a singular blessing. Seldom if ever did her imagination cruelly trap her consciousness within a realm of nightmares, for she lived with no regrets. Instead, her mind conjured up for her azure skies to soar through, sunset lakes to swim, mountains to climb, and forest to explore. Fantastical creatures, bizarre but by no standard asinine or ridiculous, infested her dreams. More remarkable than even the wildest settings or strangest beasts, however, were Fleo’s arms and legs, for in her dreams they were whole. Filled with boundless energy, she would traverse the fleeting worlds in joy, yet rarely hate to wake up. As nice as dreams were, only the waking world was true, and Fleo meant to enjoy it just as much.
Such immaculate wonder could only occupy her, however, if her mind permitted her to sleep. For the first time in a long time Fleo suffered a restless night. In the dead of morning, she rose from her bed, leaving caked dust and her bandages behind, and the window open. Quietly, she made her way out of the hotel, dressed only in her underclothes, shorts, and a tank top. Her fake limbs could clearly be seen, if only someone stood by to see. Standing beside the door, Fleo rose in silence on an escalating pillar of gathered dust, and after a few moments she stepped onto the room. Once at its center, she recalled her dust and rose higher still, ascending straight upward a hundred feet, two hundred, three. Only when the purest of breezes ruffled her hair did she halt the construction of her dusty monolith. Afraid but undeterred by the height, she composed herself carefully. With the wave of a hand, the dust formed into the shape of a bed, and she rested herself upon it. Thoughts about her guild troubled her, but up here, she could feel only sweet air and the caress of moonlight. She sighed, like someone trained to hold in her stomach relaxed, and the dust that constituted her limbs fell apart. Only fleshy stubs existed where her arms and legs should be, serving as a grim reminder of that trying time, but nevertheless it felt alright to be her true self away from any prying eyes. Though she did not smile, Fleo felt at peace, and when sleep finally took her, she dreamed.
The next morning, sounds drifting up from below awoke her. Instantly, her limbs reformed from dust, and she sat upright. From a bird’s-eye view, the city appeared uniquely beautiful, but she could not focus on it enough to forget her troubles. Staring at her fingers of dust, she flexed them, and experimentally urged her hand to change shape. Spurred on by her unspoken desire, her entire arms altered shape into dusty wings. Fleo, delighted, rose to her feet and looked out over the city. The next moment, she leaped down. Using her wings to glide, she descended at a brisk pace until she could swoop cheekily in through her window. Feeling lively, she snapped her fingers, and her bandages flew to encircle her limbs. Once the façade lived once again, she made her way downstairs.
The excitement of yesterday meant that Joakim slept soundly indeed. Few men slept more deeply than soldiers, not just because of exhaustion and the paucity of sleep available, but also because of a clear conscience. In war, one could not simply choose to believe in a cause. One had to. Nevertheless, Joakim did not sleep especially late, despite the festival atmosphere of the Grand Magic Games and the additional chance at respite such times for celebration afforded. He cleaned himself up, neatly dressing and grooming himself, not to mention refreshing the Arctic Aura that protected him from Fiore’s sweltering heat, before heading at a leisurely pace for the food center.
Gabriel’s choice to cook did not surprise him, and with only a nod of thanks the northerner accepted his food and dug in. He said nothing while eating, but to guess he heard nothing would have been to shoot way off the mark. Joakim listened with a discreet intention to Ike’s advice to Gabriel, and to Argus as he brought up Isla. The memory of yesterday’s fight, which the demon next mentioned, still lay heavily on his mind, truncated only by the disturbing events with Argus soonafter. Not long before the northerner expected to finish eating, his red-eyed ally requested a story of some kind, though a glance at him suggested an annoyed unhappiness on the demon’s part, giving the attempt at conversation a hollow-feeling ring. Nevertheless, Joakim deigned to oblige him.
”General Sanders, you say? Well, you will never see him display his magic. Many of us still do not really understand what he does. He works subtly. The closest I have ever seen was when I was once selected to run back from the front lines to base to give a mid-battle report. I entered the General’s tent, and I got this feeling. It was like a pressure, very intense, and I feel like something important has changed or is changing, and I cannot figure out what. I see Sanders sitting in a little chair behind a fold-out table, and on the table is a chessboard like I’ve never seen. It has all sorts of extra parts, and too many figures. I thought, ‘the weird feeling is coming from that chessboard’, but I cannot say for sure. The only thing I can say for sure is that we won that fight. Thousand Spears didn’t know what hit them. When it matters, Frenzy Plant doesn’t lose.” Any knowledgeable soldiers present might recognize Thousand Spears as a fellow light guild, one that had in fact applied for the Games but failed to qualify.
