Every morning Clarissa found herself in the cathedral, eagerly awaiting the waking sun, as she basked in the comforting weight of holy expectation. Today was no exception; although, she found the cathedral’s usual comfort lacking. Her typical spot on the front pew sat vacant as Clarissa chose instead to stand closer to the front, her typical conversations with the morning clergy caught in her throat, as she stared somewhere far beyond the windows. Her thoughts were a maelstrom she struggled to escape.

Sleep failed to find her, only bringing back images of those she’d help and those she’d lost. The poor and downtrodden weeping at the wreckage of their homes, at the loss of their loved ones, at the burns and cuts that littered their own bodies. Their cries haunted her on the carriage ride back but what was even worse were the quiet ones. The ones who only stared vacantly at the shattered remains of their homes. The ones who set to work with no tears nor cries at burying their dead. The ones who barely reacted as bandages and magic washed away their physical pain, like they were barely even living. The ones that were ghosts in all but name. Those were the ones she remembered, asking for a name, trying to wake them for naught. Maybe it was a mercy for them but her heart broke over and over seeing them denied their rightful grief.

She barely even noticed the light start to creep into the cathedral.

Auberon wasn’t a stranger to morning services, but his attendance was far from perfect either. Personally, he found that his room seemed a far better place to quickly greet the Goddess in the morning before breakfast or hitting the training grounds. Still, he had access to the highest church in the land, and he wasn’t one to squander the opportunity if his morning was otherwise free. After that tragedy at Luin, he was less than eager to get out and flail his axe around again so soon, and he doubted any would-be sparring partners would feel up to it either. Once he’d finished reading through the letter addressed to him that morning, the cathedral all but called to him as an ideal spot to organize his thoughts.

The young Galatea slipped in just after the break of dawn and paced solemnly toward the front of the chamber. He paused near a statue of Saint Seiros in contemplation, eyes searching for some unspoken wisdom in her stone features. He found nothing, and thus moved on to stand beside Clarissa, heedless of her apparent consternation. He had enough of that for himself, honestly.

It took Clarissa a few moments to register the body next to her. The quiet steps drew her from her thoughts and she cast a brief glance at the newcomer. Auberon wasn’t the first person she’d expected, especially considering the hour, but she supposed she wasn’t as surprised as she could have been either. Regardless of the parts they’d played, tragedy was tragedy and those who kept the faith would always flock when comfort was needed. She left him to his thoughts, content for just a while longer to watch the sun creep it’s way across the floor and bask in the company she hadn’t thought she needed.

“I feel I ought to be angry.” Clarissa broke the silence. “Senseless violence inflicted upon the innocent chosen for nothing other than the slaughter should fill me with some sense of rage or determination but I feel. I was certain I could reason with them, return to them some semblance of empathy but I was wrong. They found purpose and delight in their bloodshed, chose to turn their faces from light, and yet I am not angry, not frustrated, not vengeful. Just sad. Sad that we couldn’t save more, sad that we weren’t there sooner, and unbelievably, sad that none of the bandits wanted to be saved. We did what we had to, I recognize that, but why was that the answer?”

Auberon’s gaze shifted over curiously once Clarissa spoke. He wasn’t even sure of the topic at first, confusedly applying her words on anger to the nonsensical images of random Blue Lions wielding Thunderbrand and other vague musings about House Charon that had been on his mind the whole morning. Right. The village. He’d been trying to forget that. He took a moment to consider her words, with only a hum offered at first to confirm he had heard her.

“Sometimes words just can’t solve everything,” He muttered simply, “Even small disagreements can come to blows with the right people involved. I can’t imagine what would possibly compel someone to do what they did, but evidently they thought it worth dying for.” That was a thought he liked to dwell on even less than the carnage they’d witnessed - that people were capable of that much malice with no visible gain.

“I don’t think there’s anything wrong with what you’re feeling. They made their choice and they got what they deserved, but everything about that situation was regrettable - for both sides.” Auberon hung his head reverently as he finished speaking, as if some explanation would come from on high if he just listened. “I’m hardly someone who can speak on giving up anger - I put every bit of spite I could into my swings on those monsters - but I don’t believe in dwelling on anger either. Feel it, use it in the moment if you must, but let it go afterward. It’s poison for your soul.”

“At home, words are more powerful than a sword. We’re the smallest territory on the Roundtable but with a single word, we could crumple every sea bound trade route in an instant. Words are worth thrice their weight in gold there; they’re the Roundtable’s lifeblood. This may be the first time my words failed me.” Clarissa fell silent for a period, her furrowing brow breaking the blank look she’d worn since she woke. “But you’ve made an excellent point. A blow requires weight behind it for it to be effective and what better weight than righteous fury. I’ll sharpen my tongue for next time and lend it that weight, break through the armor of their sin and find that last shred of humanity.” She straightened as she spoke, the empty, hollow feeling plaguing her filling with resolution once more.

“A distraction, by the way. The bloodshed and violence was all part of a greater plot. The Eastern Church was the true target.” Clarissa offered, her father’s letter still in the back of her mind. “At the same time Luin suffered their losses, House Hyrm of the Empire and House Gloucester of the Alliance answered a call for aid from the besieged Eastern Church.”

Evidently, the Galateas and the Edmunds had very different ideas on what constituted politicking. His family might collapse trade routes with a word, but that word would be ‘Pegasi’ and it would be repeated a few hundred times for effect. The concept of debate holding so much meaning was as foreign to him as the concept of a Roundtable. As far as Auberon was concerned, debate was either the preamble to military action, or a means of pacifying both sides before the conflict reached that point.

“For what it’s worth, I don’t think any fault that they couldn’t be convinced rested in your words. What you said almost had me throwing my axe down,” He joked mirthlessly, his tone still weighed down by the solemn atmosphere of the dawnlit cathedral. “In Faerghus, political power grows along the tip of a lance. Actions are what’s measured, and words are only as persuasive as the implied threat of violence behind them. When people won’t listen, we fall back to a simpler language that everyone understands - force.” Auberon raised a hand in a placative gesture, as if to imply he meant no offense. “Still, you did more than talk. You threw yourself out there with every bit of compassion you preached beforehand and then some. It’s a Faerghian victory if not a Leicester one, at least.”

Her admission about the motives of the group was almost welcome, at least for the purposes of Auberon’s thoughts. He’d assumed there was more to the event than they’d witnessed, but to be presented with actual information gave sense to their actions. The attack on Luin was still senseless slaughter, but it had a tactical purpose and fit into a larger scheme. It became less of a question of how people could be so evil and more of a question of intent. Cold, logical; more like an impersonal game of chess than a village full of innocents whose lives had been ruined needlessly. Still, an attack on the Church was worrisome. Were they just bandits after all, intent on looting whatever treasures the Eastern Church kept within? Or did the plot grow larger yet, and could the attack on Luin even be repeated elsewhere to suit this group’s goals?

He didn’t like it.

“I guess we were lucky the Goddess placed us there to help,” Auberon sighed, “I don’t feel very lucky, but…” His statement trailed off as his eyes came to rest on the altar at the front of the chamber. “What do you think they were after?”

Clarissa huffed softly in amusement at Auberon’s joke. It was a sad truth about the world, that threats of retribution were more powerful than loyalty and faith. Still, there were more pressing matters to consider than the lamentable position of the world at the moment. “I cannot claim enough familiarity with the Eastern Church’s holding to even begin to consider what their target was. But, I do not think it a coincidence that someone attempted to steal from the Central Church and then there was an attempt on the Eastern Church shortly thereafter.” Clarissa considered, her fingers tapping as she considered it. The thief’s dire warnings echoed in the back of her mind. “I would not be surprised to hear of another attack on the Western Church in the coming weeks, in fact. If the heresy spouted by the thief gives us any indication, we should see more activity against the church on a wider scale in the coming months. Assuming it is all connected but from where I’m standing, I can’t imagine any other possibility.” Clarissa tracked the sunlight as it grew closer still.

“We count ourselves among an unprecedented break from tradition, a unit hand chosen by the Archbishop himself, on the threshold of two heretical crimes and an affront to life itself. I feel less a child who wandered into the wrong street than I do a chess piece carefully positioned. I am not one to put much stock in fate but as we are, I cannot discount it.” Clarissa could feel the familiar conviction filling her as she moved away from thoughts of their battle and onto the future and their position in it. “Do you have any thoughts on their target?”

“You think- Hmm.” Auberon hadn’t considered that strange event in the cafeteria a few days ago could be connected to, well, anything really. It seemed a big step from thievery to outright besieging the Church, but Garreg Mach was a far less accessible target than the other branches. If Clarissa’s prediction was correct, it might be evidence of attempted thievery of Church artifacts on a wide scale. For what purpose, he couldn’t even guess.

“I’m not sure I fully agree with the connections you’re drawing, but I can’t discount them either. Assuming what you said is true, they clearly intend to steal for reasons that extend beyond wealth. Going through the effort to plant a lone operative in Garreg Mach only to have him pilfer one thing rather than, I don’t know, open the gates for an attacking army suggests they wanted a specific item rather than to pillage everything and sell it off.” Auberon glanced around the room at the extensive ornamentation. If a bandit group large enough to even consider attacking the whole Church of Seiros wanted money, they’d need more than a gold statuette or two. “I’m sure the Church has relics that date back to the saints or the War of Heroes. Powerful relics. That’s the only thing I could think of that would be worth stealing.”

Auberon turned his head toward Clarissa assertively after he’d finished his speculation, eyes now hardened with certainty in the face of what he was about to say. “I absolutely believe we were put there for a reason, though. Our arrival in Luin was no accident.”

The nature of these attacks made Clarissa inclined to agree that these ruffians knew what they wanted but she believed they were after things to discredit and undermine the establishment of the Church. The words of that thief were still clear in her mind as the day they were spoken and if they were connected, it made sense that the goal of these attacks were meant to impede the Marked ones from bringing the world down around them. Powerful relics would certainly help with that but considering the Eastern Church's position, generally weaker than the other two as it was situated in a land that mostly ignored it, Clarissa wasn’t certain that the Eastern Church would have been trusted with relics powerful enough to draw their attention.

But she could contemplate this for the rest of the day and not get any further with what they had so she turned when Auberon did, taking in the resolve permeating his words. “You’re surprisingly unphased by that assertion. Why do you think so?”

Auberon furrowed his brow at the question, as if the very act of asking was absurd. After a moment, his face evened out and he simply shrugged. “Gut feeling, I suppose. No, that sounds too… uncertain. You have a group directly chosen by the Archbishop, most of whom are bearing Crests, conveniently arrive in the right place at exactly the right moment to prevent a massacre likely orchestrated by some blasphemous cult from nearing completion. I won’t believe the Goddess’ eyes weren’t upon us that day. It was too convenient.”

He was surprised she questioned the assertion at all. They carried holy blood, destined to be the instruments of the Goddess. The fact that they’d all made it out mostly unscathed in a battle they weren’t prepared for was a testament to Her grace.

Clarissa couldn't keep her composure any longer, laughing as quietly as possible at the brief flash of emotion after she asked. After what Clarissa had already said, it certainly was an absurd question; She’d already expressed she believed it was fate but to see Auberon go from utterly convinced to the flash of disbelief and then back again was apparently just what she needed. “Our opinions on the matter coincide then! I’m glad. I can’t claim I find comfort in it. My life has demanded I believe in the power of our own choices, that the Goddess gave us power and will to find our own ways to become shining examples of Her will as best we could, that our individuality is the greatest testimony to Her glory that we could offer. If I simply accepted we were where we were supposed to be, what would that make everything I’d strove for until now? Just another mark for me to have hit, just another achievement handed to me as the status of my birth? What would that make…” Her words trailed off, the sentence left unsaid. She needn’t bring Auberon into her personal issues like that but if this was all but fate, then she was fated with everything she’d struggled against to get here.

The blond listened in quiet contemplation, though as Clarissa continued, his brows ever-so-slightly knitted back together again. Of course, he wasn’t opposed to the discussion of such philosophy, but he couldn’t help but think she had put too much thought into the matter. To him, it was simple.

“I don’t necessarily think it has to be one or the other. You said earlier that you felt like a carefully positioned chess piece. I don’t find that to be an apt metaphor. A chess piece cannot move in any way except dictated by the rules of the game and the moves you make,” Auberon gesticulated vaguely in the air, as if willing an example to come to him, “Suppose you were in command of a pitched battle instead. You would move battalions and soldiers around like pieces, but a flank might rout, circumstances might change and a sergeant might issue new orders without having time to consult the chain of command; they’re pieces on your board, yes, if you want to be callous, but they’re independents as well.”

“The Goddess can maneuver us into place, show us the smoke on the horizon, but at the end of the day, we had to consciously take Professor Michail up on his offer to march in and help,” Auberon finished, his eyes aglow with pride and passion and a flurry of other emotions that could only be described as aflame with the heat of excitement. He already assumed she may not match his enthusiasm, but she seemed to understand, at least.

“If I get anything out of my time here at Garreg Mach, I certainly hope it’ll be your unwavering conviction. Here in the Cathedral or even out on the battlefield, you found your footing and moved without hesitation. The Goddess certainly does have her eyes on you, Auberon.” Clarissa let her eyes wander to the altar at the front. In the face of Auberon’s pure and earnest devotion, she found herself embarrassed. Would it matter if the Goddess put them at the scene of that massacre? Would she have made any other choice? No. She would have rushed in to help in any way she could. She shouldn’t be focusing on the hypotheticals, she should be focusing on learning, getting stronger, and making the connections needed to better the lives of those she can help. She bowed her head in reverence, offering a prayer for all those who they hadn’t been in time to help.

“You flatter me, but I think you sell yourself short too,” Auberon responded as he mirrored the dip of her head and shut his eyes. The act felt almost improper, given how he was still buzzing with turbulent feelings that had no place in a dreary morning cathedral. Still, it was what he had come to do, and he quickly centered himself with a few deep breaths. Maybe he would find his way to the training grounds later after all.

Michail was tempted to skirt his responsibilities and make a mad dash to the cathedral, but he was sure Lady Arianthe was probably getting swarmed by the clergy. Letting out a sigh, he figured he may as well take the chance and talk to Auberon before he would leave. The Blue Lions were shaping up to be a solid group overall, judging from both the fight and the aftermath they encountered when they returned to the carriages. He had an uneasy suspicion about Lienna’s social skills, but at least she proved she could hold her own.

As he made to leave, however, Derec blocked his path. The blond raised an eyebrow at the boy. “Something wrong, Derec?” He asked him.

“I was hoping I could go over your observations of my skills in the fight,” Derec said. “And...there’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you.”

Michail’s smile didn’t leave his face, but he couldn’t really hide the sudden cold in his eyes. “How about you meet me in my office? For privacy’s sake,” He replied cheerfully, patting Derec’s shoulder as he walked past him. “We have a lot to talk about.”

He brightened considerably up as he approached Auberon. “Have a sec? I wanted to talk to you about something,” He grinned.

Auberon paused in his walking and dutifully straightened his posture as the professor approached him. He shot a curious glance Derec’s way, but refocused on the issue at hand quickly.

“Of course. Is this about the fight?” He wagered a guess. Michail and Derec were clearly about to sort out the redhead’s failings during the attack, so Auberon might’ve ended up roped in by means of being in charge of the Lions. Or… it could’ve been another commendation, he supposed, though he honestly thought even the first was unnecessary. In retrospect, there were a million little things he would’ve changed about his performance.

“Kinda. Walk with me, will you?” Michail gestured for Auberon to follow, though he didn’t keep him in the dark as he started to speak once they left the classroom. “I was curious about your previous experience. You moved out there like you really belonged on the battlefield--have you ever defended a town before?”

Auberon fell into step obediently, only to flinch slightly at the question of prior experience. This was embarrassing - or it would be if Auberon Galatea was capable of the emotion.

“Ah, no, that was actually my first time ever taking a life,” Auberon admitted in the closest thing to a bashful tone he’d likely ever reach in his life, “I’ve served as a squire, as expected of Faerghian nobility, and been through extensive mock combat exercises, but… never actually on the front lines. I just… moved like I was trained I was supposed to.”

“You did all that from training?!” Michail was shocked to hear it, even going so far as to stop for a second. Remembering himself, he resumed the walk, albeit he did let out a laugh. “The Goddess really does bless people. I assumed otherwise! I’ll have to think of better ways to up your training since you’re ahead of the grain.”

He gave a nod to some passing students, speaking once they were out of range. “I’ll admit I’m not entirely in the political sphere ever since I joined the Knights of Seiros, but from what I remember, you were adopted into the Galatea house, correct?” He asked. “Have you been able to tap into your Crest at all?”

Jeez, this conversation only grew more awkward as it went on. Auberon didn’t think it was particularly impressive - he just kept his range in mind and played from there. Honestly, a lot of what he did felt useless once that monster arrived on the field. His family situation wasn’t a welcome topic either, at least in conversation. He never knew whether to respond arrogantly or humbly.

“Not officially,” He confessed, “I mean, I was born into House Galatea, but not the main branch. As the sole Crestbearer of this generation, everyone seems to think I’m next in line for the title. And with the Count sponsoring me here, I’m inclined to agree with them.” Auberon paused and looked down at his palm briefly at the mention of his Crest. The spring heat was present, but he still felt quite cool in comparison to the blazing inferno he felt back in Luin. “It comes up sometimes. It did back there, too. I feel… really hot, like I’m on fire, and the only way to put myself out is to hit something.”

“Oh, right. Sorry, I’m clearly not the one to talk about that sort of thing,” He acknowledged Auberon’s discomfort. “I’ll be honest, I ended up becoming a knight to distance myself from all that. But that’s a story for another day.”

Michail thought to himself for a second. “Well trained, good composure in an actual fight, and already having access to your Crest...you’re a perfect package all wrapped up into one,” He mused out loud, flashing another grin at him. “I’m used to seeing more kids like Kellen, so seeing you and Jorah gave me a lot of hope for this little unit. This teaching gig might be worth it after all!”

Composure? That little daze after he cut the first bandit down was probably the muddiest his mind had been in years. Well, Auberon supposed he still looked good in comparison to Kellen, Goddess bless his heart, but how could he cower when he was the divinely ordained bulwark between the helpless and the evil? Maybe the students here just didn’t go to mass enough.

“You’re flattering me, sir.” And concerning him a bit, being lumped in with Jorah. Still, during that battle, Auberon couldn’t find much complaint with his fellow House Leader. He did his job to the best of his ability and even charged to the front to back the blond up when he could’ve easily gotten away with staying in the rear. An admirable performance on all accounts; perhaps that was why Clarissa insisted on supporting him despite his demeanor.

“I had no answer to a lot of what went on back there, and I don’t know what I would’ve done if someone had gotten seriously hurt on my watch,” Auberon assessed honestly. He sounded like Kellen now, with the excuses that came from his mouth. Kellen usually resorted to apologies instead of excuses, but it was the same sentiment. “But thank you. I hope I can continue to meet your expectations going forward.”

“None of us know what to do until it actually happens. And as you saw, it’s either make or break in moments like that,” Michail pointed out. “Honestly, if it wasn’t for you, I would’ve regretted making the decision to go to Luin.”

Huh? Auberon blinked a few times as he processed what he heard. Those people clearly needed help, as a Knight of Seiros, Michail had no other choice. Unless he meant the decision to bring the students along, which was reasonable but otherwise unfounded. No one had been seriously hurt, the plan had gone about as well as it could’ve; he knew the Officers’ Academy included live combat in the curriculum eventually, so throwing the lesson at them early was only an issue if something had gone wrong.

“I’m not following. I don’t think anything that occurred there was regrettable except the massacre that happened before we arrived and the circumstances out of our control.” Auberon glanced at the professor searchingly. “And I don’t think anyone in the class would’ve chosen to stay behind instead if they could live the day over again, either.” At least, he wouldn’t. Everyone else probably felt the same. Probably.

Michail frowned, keeping his eyes ahead on the path. “Is that so?” Despite coming out as a question, it was obvious it wasn’t one to be answered. He looked like he was going to say something in response, but he remained quiet for the most part, though he came to a halt.

“I’m not supposed to say this, but I sorta got torn a new one for endangering you all. And in hindsight, I did realize they had a point,” He ended up outright admitting. “I was knighted when I was a little younger than you were, actually. And even before that, all I wanted was to be a knight. In a sense, I’ve forgotten what it’s like to think as a normal person. Most normal people would think twice before throwing themselves into a battlefield, and with Kellen and Isolde’s reactions, I…” He trailed off, staring at Auberon for a moment.

After a second, however, he laughed at himself. “Ah, no use mulling over it, right? Like you said, we all came back in one piece,” He said cheerfully. “Anyway, I’m getting off topic. If you ever find yourself looking for a challenge, I’m happy to train you. I’d like to polish up that potential before you graduate.”

So Michail had been punished for that. Understandable, all things considered, as were all of the grievances he voiced. So why did Auberon think they all sounded so pathetic? He was probably placing too much importance on the experience he’d gained there, and he certainly could’ve done with a few rounds of training in formation with the rest of the class before he’d been thrown into something like that, but he still would’ve happily answered the call to war if offered again.

“Professor, can I be honest? I still think what you did, as a teacher, was incredibly negligent. I won’t argue with you or whoever chided you for your actions on that,” Auberon stated flatly, “But, as you said, everyone came out in one piece, and I think you made the best call you could’ve at the time. If there are any regrets I’m not aware of,” Namely from Kellen and Isolde, because now that Michail mentioned it, they definitely seemed the type to reconsider their involvement, “I doubt any of them blame you for your actions.”

The blond was quiet for a moment, letting Auberon speak freely. He let out a small chuckle, scratching the back of his head. “Don’t let Euphemia hear you, she doesn’t like it when people encourage me,” He joked, though he did give him a more genuine smile as he perked up considerably. “At least it’s a good insight to what the rest of the year will be like. And imagine what it would’ve been like if Lienna came--did you see those icicles? Actually, I take it back, I think she might’ve accidentally impaled us in the frontlines.”

“Yes, she was impressive,” Auberon admitted, “I honestly had intended to chastise her when I saw she was capable of all that and still chose to stay behind, but… I think we’d all had enough conflict by then.” He shook his head and straightened up again. Goddess above, his posture was slipping lately. All these heavy talks must’ve weighed him down. “And I’d be honored to take you up on your offer to train- err…” He still had more heavy talks to go, unfortunately. “Another time. I told Kellen and Lienna I’d meet up with them later. Let me know when is good for you.” He gave a final, grateful bow of his head, then hovered away from Michail, as if waiting to be dismissed.

Michail looked a little surprised, but nodded. “Alright, then, I have somewhere to be, too,” He offered him a wave. “Try not to drill them too hard, they’ll fall in place eventually!”

They’d fall in place faster if they listened when he ordered them to do something, but Auberon couldn’t say he found anything to earnestly complain about in his housemates yet. He gave a second, shorter bow, then promptly took his leave. He deliberated mirroring the sentiment on Derec’s behalf, but lecturing Michail on how to do his job was likely a waste of breath.

Lienna blinked when a knock on the desk grabbed her attention, and she followed the offending arm up to see Professor Tomai, looking not entirely pleased. Wanted to talk, did he? Confused as to why he wouldn’t have brought whatever this was up at the end of their earlier black magic class, she glanced around the room for a possible cause, only to find a murderous-eyed Veronica pouting across the room. Ah. The Imperial Rose was still mad, and pressuring her countryman to do her dirty work. It took all Lienna had not to openly sigh, but she stood regardless, making her disinterest known—at least to anyone who was looking—as she followed Tomai out of the room. What exactly did Veronica expect out of this? Expulsion? Well, probably, but it was Veronica’s word against hers, and Lienna had a sneaking suspicion that the four bodies outside of Luin and the (mostly) intact Princess fell more on her side of the dispute than Veronica’s.

But rather than be frogmarched across the Monastery like a prisoner out for questioning, she picked up the pace a bit to fall into step with Tomai, straightening up to look at him. “And where will we be talking?”

"I'm going to my office, but we can talk on the way and get it over with. If we finish before, great, if not we finish there," He stated, though he decided not to leave her in the dark for too long. "I'll admit, I took you for a shrewd one, but using other people as bait did end up surprising me."

Lienna’s eyebrows raised in surprise that he’d just come right out with it, but her expression quickly turned outright unamused. “Bait?” she scoffed, “Like I said before, it was—”

"You knew the cover of the fog was just enough that you could escape your enemies, and in an opportune moment chose to get them all together to take them all out at once," Tomai cut in, deciding that he wouldn't hear whatever excuse she had. "Truthfully, it’s a practice best used when you have the edge over the enemy. That said, when you enact such a plan, someone usually volunteers to act as bait, they don’t get thrown in unawares."

Lienna’s mouth was still open to continue her explanation, but after a second of thinking she closed it, narrowing her eyes at her professor. “Fine,” she conceded, dropping her innocent act. She crossed her arms, straightening her back a touch as she turned her face resolutely forward. “I suppose the excuse that there wasn’t much time for explaining won’t help me, so what’ll it be, then? Expulsion? I shall write to my fiancé. Or do you mean to throw me at the mercy of the Imperial guard?” She wasn’t sure if such a thing existed, but surely there was some branch of the Adrestian military responsible for disposing of would-be assassins.

Tomai openly rolled his eyes. "Spare me the theatrics, will you? I had enough having to listen to the princess consort's tales, I'm not in the mood to listen to more babbling," He ended up replying flatly. "I have to assume you're old enough to realize when you're in the wrong, and despite protocol stating that I need to bring this up to Michail, my time is more valuable than his, so I'd rather nip this in the bud as soon as possible."

He opened up the book he had, withdrawing a page to read off. "Truthfully, I'm more concerned that you don't have as much control over your magic as you believe. The princess consort was injured in the process, but with the strength of the spell used that each bandit was dealt with, I can deduct that while you cared little of her fate, you weren't actively looking to kill her. Am I correct?"

Resisting the urge to groan, Lienna looked off somewhere in the other direction, though curiosity drew her eye back when Tomai produced a page from his book—not that she could read it. Where she expected a dire warning, however, she got something much more baffling. Tomai didn’t think she had as much control as she thought? It took all she had not to burst into laughter. She was lucky any of those icicles went in the right direction! She only trusted her life to her magic because she had only a split second to think and no other options; no way in the seven hells would she ever have thought that she was good enough to go toe-to-toe with four murderous bandits, however dull they might be. Preserving Veronica had been an afterthought at best; it was a miracle she didn’t get skewered with the rest of them.

“No, of course not—” she began to answer, though as she finally looked Tomai in the face again, her half-lie died in her throat. It wasn’t like she owed this man any explanation, but… well, there was something piercing about him that she wasn’t sure she could hide from. Tomai always gave her the impression he could see right through her, so she sighed, deflating a bit. It would be pointless to lie to him.

“... well, I was really more focused on dispatching the bandits,” she confessed coldly, ripping her eyes back to the path ahead of her. “But no, I didn’t intend to kill her.”

He gave a noncommittal noise of acknowledgement, never really taking his eyes off her. “Glad to hear it,” He muttered, clearing his throat. “But in the spirit of fairness as the Goddess so loves to decree, I would like to hear your side as well.”

Well, that was a lot tamer than she expected.

Lienna looked to Tomai in surprise, though if he was content to get right along with the conversation, she certainly wouldn’t stop him. But what was there to say? She’d given Michail all the highlights, and Tomai read between the lines all on his own.

She glanced up at him suspiciously. “Are you asking as an investigator, or as a professor of magic?”

“Both,” Tomai replied bluntly.

Narrowing her eyes, Lienna stopped walking, weighing her options for a moment. If Tomai really was acting at Veronica’s behest—and not Veronica the student, but Veronica the future Princess Consort—then she wasn’t interested in incriminating herself further. But, at the same time, she couldn’t see Tomai interested in wasting his time to placate a noble of a country he didn’t even appear to live in anymore. And, well… she’d be lying if she said she wasn’t itching to get his insight into what she’d managed to do that day.

Staying in her spot, she tapped her chin for a moment, putting her thoughts in order. “Well, we were alone with the carriages,” she began. “Veronica went off into the forest for a moment, and while I was alone, those bandits approached on horseback.”

She paused a moment as a chill crept up her spine, the fear that struck her in those long approaching moments still fresh, even in memory. “When I realized they weren’t going to pass by, I hid in the weapons’ cart and tried to arm myself. They came closer, so I activated that wand Professor Michail gave me, creating the smoke.” She twined her fingers together, eager for a distraction. “I had a bow, and when they opened the cart, I shot one of them. I thought I got him, but I later learned that the arrow just glanced off his helmet. In the confusion, I jumped out of the cart and tried to distract them.”

“But the injured one found me first, and by then, my weapon was gone.” She swallowed. “He, uh— he grabbed me, so I stabbed him with the wand.” The last few words came out as a humourless chuckle, the image of a frail girl stabbing at a grown man with a stick ridiculous even to her. But as her thoughts turned to what happened next, the tint of distress that was creeping onto her face melted into an expression of pure concentration, her eyes focused in the distance, as if on the man she’d killed in the fog.

“I squirmed out of his grip and moved back. And since I didn’t have anything but the wand, I focused into it, and cast Blizzard.” Lienna waved her arm out before her, miming the motion she’d taken with the wand. “A rune flashed before me, and the spell resolved stronger than I’m used to. The area of effect must have been at least twice as large as normal.”

Her voice turned monotone, calculative. As if she were examining the evidence herself. “The other ones heard the commotion and approached; I hid, and made a run for the edge when I got the chance. I didn’t expect to get so lucky again, let alone take them all at once. And then, well,” she shrugged. “You know the rest.”

Tomai ended up listening intently, his eyebrows raising a few times, but he otherwise remained completely silent. Whether or not he was looking for something was unclear, but it was obvious he wasn’t going to say anything until Lienna finished. Once she did, however, he remained quiet for a second, thinking to himself as the two of them resumed walking.

Taking in a breath, he finally decided to respond. “So the reason your magic was greater than usual was because of that ‘rune’—which would be your Crest,” He started there. “It may have been an unconscious decision made under duress. Interesting...did you feel anything different? A surge of power, a chill, a change in your subconscious?”

Lienna furrowed her brow. “My Crest?” she repeated disbelievingly. Really? She’d lived with this thing her whole life; she was under the impression that she didn’t have any of those fancy superpowers some people seemed to have with them. Or was magnification of magic something all Crests could do?

She chewed her cheek in thought, but finally replied, “I suppose the magic felt more… willing. Like it jumped out of me rather than being pushed. I thought it was the wand, though; it felt like it was pulling energy from me when I used it for the fog.” She looked back up to Tomai incredulously. “Are you sure it couldn’t have been the wand? The rune wasn’t familiar to me. Or… I don’t know, maybe a little, like I might have seen it in one of those tomes of yours or something. But I’m fairly sure it wasn’t the Gautier symbol. Or is the rune that appears when that happens not necessarily the symbol we draw to denote a Crest?”

“The wand’s gem would have given you a small boost of magic, yes, but not to the magnitude that I saw when we returned,” He corrected her on that much first, albeit he was a touch confused on her second point. “If you have the Crest of Gautier, then that is the symbol that appears before you. Are you certain that you have said Crest?”

“Yes,” Lienna blurted out, almost laughing. “What other Crest would I get that deep in Gautier territory? Besides, with the rumours I heard about some of the Gautier men in history, it’s a wonder every peasant up there isn’t red-haired and promiscuous.” It was a crude joke, fine, but it got the point across. She would certainly hope it was the Crest of Gautier she had, seeing as she upended her whole life for—she held up a hand, remembering something. “Oh, and when I arranged my engagement with Count Francis, he had a priest from his territory confirm it with one of those machines the churches have—a Hanneman machine,” she corrected herself, recalling the Professor’s explanation at the start of classes. “Lots of people would falsely claim to have Crests to get the sort of deal I got, see.”

She twined her hands behind her back, getting back to the topic at hand with a thoughtful frown. “Why would a different symbol appear before me, then?” Hopefully there was some small detail they were overlooking—it would be embarrassing, to say the least, if it turned out she simply couldn’t recognize the symbol of her own Crest after all.

“If you have the Crest of Gautier, then the Crest of Gautier is what appears whenever your Crest is activated. That’s just basic Crestology,” he insisted. “Other Crests don’t appear on accident, this is the only consistent part of Crests that’s been confirmed for hundreds of years.”

“Then are you sure it was a Crest I saw?” Lienna shot back, crossing her arms. “What if it was just a rune? Runes appear when some spells are cast; maybe it was a remnant of the cloaking spell within the wand. Or maybe the combination of my Blizzard and whatever the fog spell was ended up casting something different entirely?”

Tomai leveled a flat look, coming to a stop. They had reached the long bridge, and he figured this was as good a spot as any. Looking around, he made sure there wouldn’t be anyone else walking towards them as he extended his hand. Several runes appeared in a magical circle, slowly gathering power; it was obvious that he was charging up the spell to specifically show off the circle to Lienna. He carelessly fired off the spell, turning back to her without looking at where it went.

“That is a runic circle—you can’t do anything with a single rune, you have to weave them together in order to create a spell,” He explained before closing his eyes. Holding up a finger, he concentrated hard, a flash of a Crest appearing before him before fading away. Opening his eyes, he opened his hand as he gathered a small amount of magic, the same Crest appearing in the center.

“And this is a Crest, same symbol that appeared before, and this is specifically the Crest of Lamine. There’s a clear distinction between the two,” He stated plainly.

Lienna peered carefully at Tomai’s demonstrations, but was no more moved in her evaluation. “I’m telling you, it wasn’t my Crest that appeared before me. And it wasn’t that one either, for the record.” She chewed her cheek, puzzling over the problem despite having none of the knowledge required to solve it. Could single runes “break” off of larger matrices and fly out with a particularly strong spell? Did that even make sense? She paced a little in place, trying to come up with something useful to suggest.

“And I know what the Crest of Gautier looks like, before you ask,” she added defensively. “It’s… it’s like— like a circle holding two lances, one up and one down.” She vaguely drew out the symbol in the air before her, and crossed her arms once more, clearly frustrated.

While he was willing to listen to her, it was clear that Tomai wasn’t swayed. “I’ll agree that that doesn’t sound like the Gautier Crest, but as I said, if you have that Crest, then that’s what showed up. Either that, or you were mistaken in the Crest you initially identified with,” He stated calmly.

“Shh!” Lienna hissed, quickly looking around the area for anyone who might overhear. She froze for a second, hands curled up to her chest like a panicking grandmother, before throwing them down and stepping closer to Tomai.

“I-I mean, please don’t go saying things like that like it’s nothing. Someone could hear,” she explained, her voice barely over a whisper. She felt a little foolish for spouting off like that, but it made the situation no less dire. Nonetheless, she straightened her posture, and did her best to wipe the sudden panic off her face.

“Listen, Professor. I’m sure it’s not surprising that my whole arrangement here hinges on me having a Crest,” she continued. “But Count Francis won’t just take in a peasant from Hima and send her to the best school in Fódlan for someone else’s Crest. You don’t understand, the Gautiers are the most Crest-intensive House in Faerghus. They disown their own children for it! And they don’t just need a Crest, they need their Crest, Gautier’s Crest, so they can secure a strong bloodline and wield the Lance of Ruin and—”

Lienna cut herself off when she noticed her voice was rising. She took a slow breath, bringing her hands down in front of her, and her tone of voice as well. “I don’t know what’s going on, but there must be some other explanation because I have the Minor Crest of Gautier, okay?”

“There really isn’t any other explanation,” He replied, albeit in a lower voice. “The study of Crestology has its rules laid out, there really aren’t any exceptions or rarities in the basics. While the study of the secondary abilities are still in question, never has there been a case where the actual Crest appears as another.”

Despite having said his piece, he figured there was another way to confirm. “But if you’re so certain, I have a Hanneman machine in my office. Let’s go ahead and confirm it for ourselves, shall we?”

Lienna shifted on her feet, glancing around the area once more. The logical part of her brain told her to drop the issue, let Tomai puzzle over it on his own, and pretend nothing ever happened. Something in her wondered if she’d put her hand over Tomai’s Hanneman machine and really see another Crest pop up, and thereby watch the life she’d so carefully built for herself go up in smoke. But that was impossible, right? She’d been tested on not one, but two Hanneman machines, and even if the dusty old one in Hima’s rundown church malfunctioned, surely the newer model Count Francis requested himself wouldn’t make the same mistake. Other Crests were all but unheard of in that area, and even if one managed to weasel in, the odds were overwhelmingly in Fraldarius’ favour. It would be foolish to even agree, and let whoever was watching her witness that tiny sliver of doubt in the Count’s contract.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t those logical voices that won out, but the burning curiosity behind them. She drew a shaky breath, but nodded. “Alright.”

For just a split second, Kaira was caught off guard. She was so caught up in her own moment that she plain forgot the type of person Jorah was. Still, her mouth ended up curving into a smile as she let out a genuine laugh, her troubles pushed aside for the moment.

"And if I told you I was going somewhere you didn't like? Then what?" She asked him curiously.

Jorah’s smile got a bit more sincere as he watched Kaira sprout one of her own, though to her question he simply shrugged. “I haven’t been here long enough to find the places I don’t like,” he reasoned airily, “Though you’d have to forgive me for nodding off if you take me to the cathedral.”

Slowly shaking her head, Kaira let out a sigh. "And here I was, thinking you'd say, 'Anywhere with you is fine'! I'm impressed by your self-restraint."

Jorah chuckled, crossing his arms over his chest. “Come on, that’d just be re-hashing what I said first!” he laughed, “If I was that repetitive I wouldn’t be so popular.”

"I'll take your word for it; you're the expert, after all," Kaira seemed to agree. She had another comment on the tip of her tongue, but the words died in her throat as a few guards got together, speaking in low tones to one another. Her previous worry came back in full force, though she turned her back to them, looping her arm through Jorah's.

"I won't be taking you to the cathedral, I'm trying to avoid that place right now, anyway," she confessed, lightly pulling him along as she started to walk.

Jorah gave a satisfied nod, and was even more pleased with himself when Kaira looped her arm through his—though that cautious look at those guards was a bit odd. Avoiding the cathedral seemed odd too, not that he was keeping a list. Still, he was happy to let Kaira lead the way, enjoying the soothing balm of her aura as much as the usual cheer of a pretty girl on his arm.

“Avoiding the cathedral, eh? Seems we have even more in common,” he commented once they’d cleared out of the guards’ earshot, the pair of them passing under an archway into a more sparsely populated courtyard. “But I thought you people liked it there? Not that I’m complaining.”

Kaira tried to find the words to explain things better, albeit she did level a look at Jorah. "You people?" She asked, raising an eyebrow at him.

Jorah mirrored Kaira’s look with an innocent one of his own, shrugging. “You know, nurses, doctors, chirurgeons, all you medical healy people,” he explained, raising an eyebrow. “Aren’t you all trained by the Church?”

"Mmm...I'm...a little different than they are, but...I can see it does come off that way, so I can’t blame you entirely for thinking so," she said slowly. "Most white magic practitioners do tend to come to the Church to train, but I was taught by Lord Asclepius and Lady Arianthe personally since I was a small child." She frowned as she mentioned the lady, letting out another sigh. "But if it were up to her, I'd be put in a room all day with no one to talk to."

Wow, Lord Asclepius and Lady Arianthe personally trained Kaira? Saints above, did Jorah ever not know who those people were. But it sounded impressive! Although that last part did sink his spirits just a touch, his brow furrowing at Kaira.

“Well, we couldn’t have that,” he told her, “I can’t fathom why anyone would want to keep you cooped up all day, away from the world—well, except to keep you away from risky young gentlemen like myself.” He chuckled and gave her a gentle, reassuring nudge, opting to keep the second (less proper) half of that sentence to himself considering the melancholy look on Kaira’s face. Instead, he added, “So, where are we going?”

“Risky young gentlemen like yourself are so much more fun than the stuffy Church people, too!” Kaira joked as she eagerly pulled Jorah along. “But if she met you, she would definitely insist on keeping you away.”

Looking around, she hummed to herself as she tried to decide where to go. She supposed it didn’t actually matter, did it? They could go to the marketplace, but there were a lot of guards stationed there. Going somewhere private wouldn’t do, either—the guards would probably come knocking the second any of them spotted her going to the dorms. Maybe somewhere with less traffic?

“I don’t think you’d be very interested in a pond, so how about the Greenhouse?” She suggested.

Jorah stood a little straighter, grinning in self-satisfaction. Lady Arianthe would want to keep him away? Well, mission accomplished; Clarissa would be far too impressed if he suddenly became the type of man holy ladies wanted influencing their tender young apprentices. However, it seemed Kaira herself wasn’t even sure where to go—Goddess, how much did she dislike this woman to work so hard to avoid her? A slight bitterness toyed at the edge of his mood. He didn’t expect to relate to Kaira on that level, but he knew just how that felt.

“A pond?” he repeated, shaking his gloomier thoughts away with a grin. “Well, unless it’s of a size to hop over to another continent, then you’re probably right.” A greenhouse, then? “Derdriu has a large municipal greenhouse, you know,” he mused as they adjusted their course to the South, “It wasn’t too far from the Roundtable, nearer the docks. Something about the more humid air being good for the plants, I don’t know. But it was really something.”

Kaira’s eyes widened a touch, a small spark clearly having been lit. “Really?” She asked, walking just a touch closer. “That’s right, you’re from Derdiu, aren’t you? I’ve heard that a lot of the plants around there are some of the most beautiful in all of Fódlan.”

“Yep; we might not head off the Alliance anymore—much to the Duke’s chagrin—but we Riegans still have Derdriu,” Jorah joked half-heartedly, sounding more exhausted than anything. But he perked right back up as Kaira continued, eager for the chance to start telling stories—though his fair companion might come to regret it when she found him difficult to stop.

“But yeah, it’s pretty cool,” he began, “Derdriu might be a city, but it’s integrated with a ton of plants; there are trees on almost every street, and some grow right out of the middles of houses.” He smiled fondly, if a little bittersweet. “Gardens are everywhere, too. Some are just full of flowers, and some have fruits and vegetables that people grow for their restaurants or their families—and who get very annoyed when you nab them, by the way,” he gave Kaira a look, chuckling.

“But more than that, it’s known for the ocean,” Jorah continued, the pair of them approaching the end of the courtyards and a set of steps. “It’s called the City of Water, remember. That’s because half of Derdriu expands out into the harbour. The streets eventually become like long stone wharfs—still with markets and houses and stuff on them, like the other streets—and you can either walk along the roads or go between them and under them with these long, skinny boats. Very handy for slipping nannies,” he winked. “But it’s really something to see if you’ve never been; I think it’s supposed to be that way because there was no room to expand out the back or something, but I like to say that the city tripped and fell into the sea.”

The green haired girl listened intently, hanging on his every word. On the outside, she probably looked like some silly floozie, but really, she was fascinated. He painted a good picture of his home, her head following along to the best of its ability. She couldn’t help a laugh at his comment about slipping away, but otherwise she greatly enjoyed his description.

“It sounds beautiful,” Kaira told him. “I wish we had the temperature for more plants like that here, too. Though I will say, our greenhouse is a little unique in that it has something from just about everywhere!”

The pair reached the entrance of the greenhouse with little issue. No one really gave them more than a passing glance, much to her relief; she wanted to delay going to the Cathedral as long as possible, and it was easier when people weren’t looking for her. Of course, she didn’t want to give them a chance, either, making sure to playfully pull him along. Said greenhouse was a nice size, filled to the brim with a variety of plants as Kaira had mentioned. It was pleasantly warm and surprisingly empty, albeit a small sign indicated that the groundskeeper was taking a small break and would be back.

Releasing Jorah at last, she knelt down as she examined a pair of tiny, barely noticeable bulbs hiding underneath a much grander flower. “I bet they’ll bloom before winter comes,” she said, poking one before standing again. “It’s probably not as impressive, but it does bring on the theme of a united Fódlan, just as Lord Asclepius and Ioannis would like. It’s nice and comfy, right?”

Jorah followed dutifully where Kaira guided him, picking up his step as she sped up toward a tall stone building near the aforementioned pond. The building was gilded with more windows than most, reaching up to the vaulted ceiling with a minimum of interference—aside from the towering silhouettes of strangely-shaped trees and flora. Jorah stayed put when Kaira released him, feasting his eyes: it wasn’t as large as Derdriu’s greenhouse, but no one could deny its beauty.

Looking toward Kaira, he approached behind where she knelt, leaning over with his hands on his knees to peek at what she was looking at. He couldn’t really tell the difference between bulb and soil, but the flower sheltering them drew his eye up along its curves and valleys, until he was able to feast his eyes on the main event of the blossom on top—shockingly like a pretty girl, come to think of it. No wonder they loved getting flowers as gifts!

“Are there any plants here from outside Fódlan?” he asked eventually, peering around at the foliage.

Kaira looked around, a finger to her chin. “Hmm...I think this one is an Almyran blossom here,” she pointed to an exotic looking flower that was roughly the side of a hand with five petals, its pink color bleeding into a white background. “And there’s a winter rose from Sreng, but I can’t tell them from regular white roses—wait, I think their thorns are different somehow…?”

She scrunched her face as she thought, albeit she gave up quickly. “Maybe I’ll study botany next, I’ve been looking for a new hobby,” she mused out loud. “Unless you can think of something more interesting?”

Jorah followed Kaira’s gestures, moving from plant to plant to soak them all in—until the next caught his eye, of course. Almyran blossoms… he almost laughed. So many of his noble compatriots—and many commoners besides—thought of Almyra as a desolate red desert where things only grew on battlefields watered in blood, but Jorah knew better. Enough Almyran travelers slipped into port to wring stories out of, and he’d heard of the flowers in the mountains and the gnarled and twisted trees that lived longer than whole civilizations. The same could be said about every other continent, really. His time on the docks, under the creative moniker of “Torah”, had planted visions in his head of the white sands and crystalline waters of Brigid, and even fantastical landscapes of a Dagda that stretched out three times the size of Fódlan, far larger than the tiny remote island so many thought it to be. Hmm… He had to wonder if anything from Dagda lived in this greenhouse. The one in Derdriu was sadly lacking in that department. Maybe he could ask the groundskeeper one day.

Of course, more pressing matters arose when Kaira’s voice reached his ears once again. Oh, she made it too easy! With mischief glinting in his eyes, he turned and sauntered slowly toward Kaira, meeting her eye. “Well, I know you must be an expert in anatomy by now...” he closed in, backing Kaira up against a low wall and leaning over her, a sultry tone on his lips. “...But I could use a lesson.”

Kaira’s eyebrows shot up—honestly, she didn’t know why she was surprised, she should have seen that coming. Leave it to him to spin an innocuous question like that! He was a little more forward than she anticipated, especially as he closed the distance. She could hear the bells in the distance ringing, the mischief in his eyes giving her an idea.

“A private lesson, perhaps?” She asked coyly, raising a hand to her chest before she gasped. “Oh, we mustn't! What if someone sees? Wouldn’t that be scandalous?”

Jorah chuckled at Kaira’s antics, admittedly a little excited she didn’t totally balk at his advances. Though, considering he managed to get her to that party last week—and everything that happened after—maybe he owed her some more credit. Whatever, it was a win-win for him!

“Then you may pick your locale, my dear,” he purred in response, inching ever closer over Kaira. Eventually he had her off balance enough that she had to sit down on the top of the wall, where he could anchor his hands on either side of her, putting their faces within inches of each other. Jorah smiled, drawing his gaze up to meet Kaira’s eyes. “I’m not a picky student.”

He wasn’t just forward, he was confident! Kaira might’ve been joking before, but she was definitely sure Lady Arianthe would do everything in her power to keep Jorah as far away from her as possible. Especially if anyone saw them like this! It really was too bad, up close like this, she could tell he really was handsome. Honestly, she should have put a stop to things before they got here. But she was having too much fun to stop just yet, having to do everything she could to keep her composure.

The bells finally stopped ringing as Jorah neared, and the sudden change had her accidentally hold onto him so she didn’t outright fall. Her other hand, however, rested on his chest, her eyes never leaving his. She dared herself to get as close as possible, practically feeling his lips brushing hers. Hm, maybe she was a little too close, her heart was starting to pound so loudly she could hear it clearly in her ears!

Unfortunately for him, the game was over.

Kaira placed both hands on his chest and promptly pushed him away in time for the greenhouse door to open. The smile on her face never wavered, especially as she wagged a finger at him. “Ah, ah, ah, that wouldn’t do, now would it?” She couldn’t help but tease him. “We may be around the same age, but you’re still technically my student, you know?”

Jorah drank in every moment, relishing the slightest brush of Kaira’s lips on his—ah, it just never got old! No number of paramours could dull him to the excitement, and Kaira was no exception. He could feel the heat of her skin on his, tantalizingly close, and leaned in until—

Until she pushed him away?!

Jorah was caught so off-guard that he stumbled back, taking a few steps to regain his footing. Aw, man! His disappointment was palpable, but that didn’t stop the laugh bubbling out of his throat. Damn, she got him! But he’d get her someday, too. And get her back extra for that!

“Aw, but I have so much to learn!” he theatrically lamented, throwing his arms out to his sides. “And I admire teachers so much; I admire their legs, their hair, their… well,” he laughed again, trotting back up to Kaira to scoop up her hand and kiss it. “Fine, leave me pining,” he pretended to pout, though his act was less convincing behind a sizable grin. “I’ll just have to seek comfort and guidance in the arms of Professor Euphemia instead—ooh, and maybe Priscilla as well,” he joked, winking.

“You have a better chance at getting acquainted with Priscilla, myself, and the stubborn mare in the stables. Mind you, your best chance is with me at one percent,” Kaira returned his joke with one of her own, cautiously hopping off the wall. Straightening up, she brushed off something from his shoulder. “Besides, I’d rather see you pine after me. I get jealous easy, you know.”

She giggled, ready to chide him once again before noticing that the footsteps that had entered were armored. Her eyes widened as they got closer, albeit she didn’t have to look to know who had entered. The joy in her face evaporated as she turned towards the culprit: a minor knight of the church.

“Miss Kaira, Lady Arianthe requests your presence,” The knight stated.

Her shoulders dropped considerably, and she looked down at the ground. “I see. I’ll be right there,” she replied.

“She asked that I accompany you to the Cathedral.”

“...very well, then,” Kaira said quietly. “I’ll meet you outside, I just need to finish this lesson with my student. Then I’ll go with you.”

The knight nodded, clunking away and standing at the now opened door of the greenhouse. Kaira found it incredibly difficult to look up even when she lifted her eyes, albeit after taking in a deep breath, she managed to muster a small smile for Jorah. “I’m sorry, it looks like I’ve taken enough of your time,” she apologized, though she did have yet another mischievous glint in her eye. “Unless you’d like to run away together?”

Mutely watching the exchange, Jorah was puzzled by the sudden shift in tone—not that he felt it, which was still really weird, but that he saw it unfold right in front of his face. How bad was this Arianthe woman that Kaira looked so downcast to see her—and that she had to be dragged to see her by knights, no less? Jorah’d been dragged before his father before, but that was usually after he dumped a crate of manure on Duke Goneril or had to be wrestled out of the galley of a trading vessel bound for Brigid. The thought crossed his mind that maybe Kaira was avoiding punishment too, but he simply couldn’t imagine her doing anything worth reprimanding—aside from cavorting around with him, anyway.

He humoured Kaira with a wry smirk, but trouble was quick to encroach on the back of his mind. So ended his brief reprieve, apparently. “I hear Brigid is lovely this time of year,” he replied, but stepped back, gesturing with great propriety toward the door. “But I wouldn’t subject you to another ride in those carriages, so I’ll have to postpone the trip until I can get my hands on some Pegasi. Good luck with your teacher,” he added, offering a more sincere smile.

Kaira shifted in place nervously, but nodded. “Thank you. I’ll see you bright and early!” She bade him farewell and joined the knight at the entrance, stopping only to greet the groundskeeper as he returned.

Lienna shadowed Tomai through the halls of Monastery buildings she hadn’t yet seen, staying close on his heels and feeling distinctly out of place. Only when they finally reached his office did she give him some space, no longer worried about someone ejecting her from a staff building and very much entranced by the scene before her. By the Goddess, even the church in Hima didn’t have so many books! Tomai’s collection dwarfed those of the classrooms by half or more—although she hadn’t been to the library yet so she couldn’t say whether his was the most impressive collection at Garreg Mach, and she figured it probably wasn’t—and while it was all a storm of chaos to her eyes, it still awed her to see so many priceless-looking tomes in one place. And all those papers—had Tomai written them? What if there was a fire?

Ripping her eyes from the shelves, she approached Tomai’s circle on the floor with much less enthusiasm, holding her arms close to her body and squinting down suspiciously. “It’s inside the floor?” she asked, tilting her head at the markings. When a Crest—Tomai’s Crest—flashed to life mid-air, though, her attention was finally dragged from the floor, and she examined the unfamiliar symbol for a moment before it faded from view.

“Within each person’s blood exists an untapped magical source. The origin of this phenomenon is theorized to be the blessings of the Goddess, who bestowed humanity with her gifts. These gifts are known to us as Crests,” Tomai launched into an explanation almost immediately. “Crests flow within our blood and are omnipresent within our magic, and this device reads them. Nowadays, the devices can even tell you if it’s a minor or a major Crest. You can tell by the thickness of the lines of the Crest—if they’re thin, it’s a minor Crest, but if it’s thicker, then it’s a major Crest.”

He put his hand over it again to give Lienna a chance to see his Crest once again. Amid the wispy magical lines, the Lamine Crest was thick and bright before it faded away. “I have the Major Crest of Lamine, as you can see,” He clarified. “Any questions? Is this all clear to you?”

Tomai always seemed to have an explanation handy, though Lienna would keep it to herself that despite the professor’s great knowledge and expertise, her eyes started to glaze over a little every time he went into that dictionary tone of voice. Luckily, it seemed she got the short version: she already knew Crests were blessings from the Goddess laced in people’s blood, and the fact that the machine could determine the magnitude of a Crest was neat. She had to wonder how people could differentiate Major and Minor Crests before the machines were upgraded, but that would open a whole line of inquiry into pre-Hanneman Crest detection that she wasn’t really too concerned about at the moment.

She watched the second demonstration closer, noting the thickness of the lines in the symmetrical Crest before it faded away. Simple enough, she supposed.

“Clear enough,” she conceded, slowly extending her hand over the circle, “as long as it doesn’t want to test my blood by drawing any.”

“I do the bloodwork separately, my equipment hasn’t come in yet,” Tomai brushed off the comment, gesturing to her to continue. There was an additional comment he wanted to make, but it died in his throat as the Crest appeared. For a few seconds, he said nothing, simply staring at the spot where the Crest had come to life. Once he moved, though, he strode over to his desk, rummaging through the drawers to pull out an elaborate quill and ink. He snatched a torn page and placed it on the desk, quill skirting over it, and once he was finished, he held up the Crest that had appeared.

“The Crest of Indech. One of the Four Saints that fought alongside Seiros during the War of Heroes,” he stated, weary. “Not Gautier.”

Lienna winced at the bloodwork comment, but her attention was quickly monopolized when the Hanneman machine flashed to life. Her eyes widened as the symbol in the air before her became clear, and a stone dropped in her stomach: not the familiar, lance-bearing circle she knew to be the Crest of Gautier, the image floating before her was instead a thick-lined symbol resembling a staff with downward-falling antlers—one that, now that she saw it, was eerily reminiscent of the rune she’d seen flash before her in her battle at the caravan.

She snatched her hand back as if she’d been burned, confusion and dread written all over her face as the supposed Crest faded back to nothing. She shook her head mutely for a moment, trying a few times before she could speak. “No, no— that’s the rune I saw in battle, not my Crest. Your machine is broken,” she insisted feebly, looking at Tomai and hoping this was all some cruel trick he was playing.

“That’s your Crest,” He corrected her as he placed the scrap onto a candle, waiting until it caught on fire before disposing of it. “We could check with the cathedral’s device, but I can’t guarantee any privacy.”

He rubbed his chin as he thought to himself for a moment. “I don’t think you have too much to fear, Major Crests are highly desirable and rare to see,” Tomai threw that much out loud. “I’m sure your intended wouldn’t mind.”

Her shock starting to subside, Lienna turned on Tomai with a look that could have frozen water before ripping her gaze back to the Hanneman machine in the floor, staring it down as if to intimidate it into cooperation. Her intended wouldn’t mind, he said! Hadn’t she just finished explaining to him that she was about to marry into the single most Crest-selective family in Faerghus, who needed not just any Crest, but their family Crest to continue their tradition of squabbling with Sreng? The Crest of Gautier was the only Crest in the world that could guarantee her position! Without the Crest of Gautier, she might as well have none; she’d be passed over in a moment for the heiress of some real family who at least had money and soldiers to offer as a dowry, if not a Crest.

Lienna shook her head once more, stubbornly crossing her arms. “I have a document signed by a Deacon attesting to the Minor Crest of Gautier,” she reminded Tomai, “and a second test in Hima besides. And the only other Crests within a thousand miles are Fraldarius and Blaiddyd; ah, that’s it!” she exclaimed sarcastically, “Maybe I should just reveal myself as a distant relative of the King, if we’re content to go with any old Crest.” She scoffed, waving her hand over the machine again. The same Crest—the Crest of Indech, apparently—flashed before her again, earning itself a nasty look in the process.

Tomai listened, more amused than anything, albeit he matched her scowl at the end. “The Crests of the Saints haven’t really bled into the Faerghian Royal Family for some centuries, and even then, Queen Eloise had a Minor Crest of Cethleann. Though, despite a majority of the Saints’ Crests manifesting in those from Adrestia, it isn’t entirely uncommon to hear them all over Fódlan,” He explained, circling back over to his desk. “Also, you’ve forgotten about the Crest of Daphnel. If you’re marrying into the Gautier family, I kindly suggest studying some geography so you know of their allies. I think a Galatea is attending in your unit, too.”

The urge to throw something at Tomai was growing, but Lienna largely ignored his long-winded and point-missing retort in favour of glaring down the Hanneman machine. The professor might have been irritatingly confident in his machine, but Lienna was equally sure of her position: it was impossible. Machines could break, they could miscalculate surely, but she couldn’t think of any possible way for a Crest other than Gautier or maybe Fraldarius to make it all the way up to balls-frozen Hima. What little bits she could piece together about her mother didn’t paint a flattering picture, but what manner of far-flung vagabond would she have had to find for an Adrestian Crest to wind up in her family tree?

“So what explains my readings in Faerghus, then? Do you think I’m lying?” she asked accusingly, pacing around the circle on the floor in thought. She began repeatedly waving her hand over the circle, as if enough repetition would change the result. “Or do you think two different machines were wrong? I mean, they probably weren’t one of these new fancy major/minor-detecting ones, but they were still—”

Lienna cut herself off mid-sentence when the next result of the machine flashed to life before her, this time in a wholly different configuration than before: a circular marking with outcroppings on either side like lances held aloft, drawn in the air in thin, wispy lines. The Minor Crest of Gautier, just as it should have been all along. Her vision swam from the wave of relief that rushed over her, but she still managed the breath for an indignant, “Ha!”

Watching until the marking faded just to be sure, Lienna then turned back to Tomai, raising her chin triumphantly. “See? I told you. Your machine is broken.”

Tomai’s assurance practically evaporated as the second Crest came up—as the correct Crest appeared. His expression was blank, baffled at the revelation. After a few seconds, he slowly walked back around, trying to think.

“It isn’t broken. It’s...I made this prototype myself,” He uttered, finally breaking his silence. “I refined the process, corrected previous theories—it isn’t broken.” He repeated, more to himself than Lienna. “My theories are foolproof, there aren't any mistakes when it comes to the Hanneman devices. It’s been centuries—”

He caught himself, shaking his head. “There are explanations and science to explain this,” He stated, much more assured this time. “If the machine is wrong, then I’m going to find out why. And you’ll be my ever faithful guinea pig.”

More than a little satisfied that it was finally Tomai’s turn to be flustered, Lienna was about to retort that the “explanation and science behind this” might be that his machine was broken when his “guinea pig” comment caught her off guard. “Excuse me?” she blurted out, taking a step back as she bristled, “If you think you’re going to stick me full of needles and Goddess only knows what else—”

“You’re forgetting that this little hiccup has just as much to do with you as it does with me,” Tomai cut her off, gesturing to the ashes of his drawing. “What’s to say that it’s only this machine that’s wrong? What if Count WhatsHisFace wants to check one last time for your Crest, and Indech’s comes up instead of Gautier?”

Lienna’s response died in her throat at that, the girl reluctantly crossing her arms in thought. Could that be a possibility? Tomai said it himself, this particular machine was of his design—who was to say the problem wasn’t limited strictly to his specific model? Or could it have been an error any machine could make, however rare? Had that staff of Michail’s made some kind of imprint on her, branding her with traces of a foreign Crest that the machine was picking up, maybe? Was such a thing even possible?

Regrettably, Lienna didn’t have the knowledge or experience to even consider such questions: whatever the problem was, she’d have to depend on Tomai’s expertise. But the prospect of being experimented on felt like she had swallowed an eel, disturbing mental images of tarnished restraints and the gleaming edges of knives and needles rushing to confront her at the mere mention. But what choice did she have?

She looked Tomai up and down suspiciously, keeping quiet for a long moment as she weighed her options. Tomai was right in one thing, at least: if rumours started that she had a different Crest than she’d promised Count Francis, on purpose or by happenstance, she was as good as homeless.

“...What exactly do you need from me?” she asked at long last, still not entirely on board.

“Same thing you did now—put your hand over the machine after I disassemble and reassemble this machine and steal another from somewhere that it won’t be missed,” Tomai replied, quill in hand as he sat down at his desk. “If it truly comes down to it, a loose hair or two, but otherwise that’ll be the extent of it as I’ll have to revisit my work to see where things went wrong and why.”

Lienna remained not entirely convinced, but Tomai’s reassurance did help ease her concerns enough for her shoulders to finally relax. “Fair enough, I suppose I can manage that,” she conceded, subtly peeking at what he was writing—not that it did much good. “Is this going to affect my magical study?”

Tomai stopped writing to look up at Lienna, an idea coming to mind. “Crest Theory and magic studies don’t normally correlate, but listening to a few lectures may help in solving this mystery,” He was elated at the idea. “All we’ll need is the basics, I don’t think you’ll find the machinery side of it interesting considering it’s mostly an assortment of crystals and magic.”

Only after he finished speaking did he realize she was trying to see what he was writing. In a show of good faith, he revealed it to her. “I won’t be telling anyone about this, so you don’t have to worry about that,” He assured her.

Lienna wasn't thrilled about any of this—her future hanging over her head by a hair wasn't a fun prospect no matter the contention—but the mention of Crest Theory did prick up her ears, the girl admittedly intrigued by the prospect of learning more about the mysterious force that held such sway over her life. She had next to no real understanding of Crests—the preceding conversation ample evidence of that fact—and as stubborn and irritating as he could be, Professor Tomai seemed like an authoritative voice on the subject. Plus, she could probably keep Auberon off her back about missing the occasional morning spar for meetings with Tomai if she told him it was because she was taking an extra class.

“That sounds… interesting,” she quietly replied, nodding again when he explained that he wouldn't tell anyone about their situation. She couldn't make out his letter from her angle, but there wasn't much else to do than trust him. Besides, she could imagine he might not have been too keen on advertising a potential mistake on his part around the Monastery either.

Through the thick walls, the muffled toll of the cathedral bell rang softly, reminding Lienna of just how much time had passed. “Do you need anything else from me?” she asked the Professor, moving to leave.

“No. I’ll see what I can do tonight and let you know any theories I come up with by the end of the week,” Tomai settled the page down as he continued to write. “For now, this will stay between us. In the meantime, if you feel any symptoms that aren’t typical for you, do let me know.”

Though her eyebrows lifted at “symptoms”, Lienna decided to leave that be for now, offering an affirmative—if hesitant—nod in lieu of questions for the time being. “Uh… okay,” she replied simply, moving to slip out of the door. “Good… good afternoon, then.”

Upon entering his room after class, Rudolf found a young man with silver hair was already inside, having welcomed himself by lying down on Rudolf’s bed. He repeatedly tossed up a dagger, catching it by its hilt as it came down. Once the boy stepped in, Theo sat up and sheathed his weapon as he raised an eyebrow at him.

“You’re an interesting one,” He commented, looking the boy up and down.

It felt like every joint in Rudolf’s body locked in place at once as he opened the door to find some interloper in his room. An armed interloper. This wasn’t another student that he knew, nor was he one of the staff that Rudolf could remember, though he did bear a passing resemblance to that stern attendant to the Archbishop. Probably coincidental; he couldn’t see Sirius breaking into anyone’s room just to proclaim their interest in him.

Rudolf hovered warily in the doorway, too unnerved to enter but curious enough not to outright flee. The fingers of his left hand curled inward as stray wisps of purplish magical smoke danced subtly off his fingertips. He tried to hide it with the doorframe, letting his Crest do most of the work at veiling his intentions.

“If you say so. You might find the guards more interesting, though, so maybe I should call them,” The boy responded flatly. His voice remained timid, but it stayed level enough to not betray fear while he spoke.

“Nah, they’re used to my antics by now,” He said as he stood, rolling a shoulder. “Believe it or not, I come in peace. Though if you wanna attack, you can. Bet I can get you before you get me, though.” He grinned, motioning to Rudolf’s hand. “Come in, I just wanna ask a few questions and I’ll be on my way.”

Rudolf narrowed his eyes as the stranger spoke, in evident disbelief. If he came in peace, he could at least have the decency to wait outside the door. Not that he particularly wanted to test his luck yet, now that he’d been spotted. The ashen-haired intruder was too focused on him to slip away; Rudolf was pretty sure he’d need a good distraction in order to get the drop on this guy, even if his boasts were empty.

“I can hear you just fine from here, thanks. Ask away.” The scarlet-eyed teen dropped any pretense of friendliness and outright raised his hand now, though the magic swirling around it stayed formless and unrefined, more of a comfort to himself than an immediate threat to his potential attacker.

“Alright, if you say so,” He shrugged, striding over to the window of the room and leaning back against the glass. “My name is Theo, I’m a Knight of Seiros and responsible for the security of Garreg Mach Monastery. You can imagine the trouble that gets caused when someone runs around the place undetected, so I figured I would get to the bottom of it.”

A Knight of Seiros. In his room. Why couldn’t everyone just leave him alone?! He wasn’t worth this much attention! It wasn’t even attention, it was just someone suspicious that he hadn’t gotten enough attention!

Rudolf dropped his arm abruptly as Theo put a bit more distance between them. His confidence evaporated as surely as his spell - no point in a facade there; he'd die. There had to be someone he could file a complaint with about this later, but right now he just wanted to get this guy away from him. He hadn’t even done anything.

“No, I can’t. I haven’t done anything, and whatever you’re thinking about pinning on me wasn’t me. Go interrogate a raccoon if you think food is missing or something,” He all-but-whined. Did he even look capable of… whatever crimes someone could possibly be committing on top of a mountain? He sometimes ended up out of breath climbing the stairs at night, for the Goddess’ sake.

“You’re misunderstanding,” Theo said as he shook his head. “The issue isn’t whether or not you’ve done anything, it’s that there are far, far too many times where you disappear and reappear.” He raised a finger in the air, pointing at the walls. “I know everyone and everything that comes through these halls, and for some reason my informants are having trouble keeping track of you. Why is that?”

“I dunno, they need their eyes checked?” Rudolf feigned ignorance. Maybe if Theo’s first thought hadn’t been to try and scare the piss out of him, he would’ve been a bit more cooperative. Plus, he really didn’t want this creepy stalker to know how his Crest worked, Knight of Seiros or not. “That sounds like a flaw in your operation, not on my end. Or do you really think your spies are getting consistently outplayed by a teenager who, until now, didn’t even know he was being watched?”

The fact that they even thought him capable of that was a blow right to the gut. Why did this always happen? First magical prodigy, now criminal mastermind. When did it end?!

Theo was unamused by Rudolf's response, but decided to remain civil. "I can promise you that it isn't an issue on my end," He replied. "Though if you really think you're not being watched, then you're more naive than I thought."

Letting out a small sigh, he looked outside. "What really gets me is that I didn't even hear you coming just now. It's a small blow to my pride since my whole shtick is stealth and all that," He spoke airily. "But I can't let it go, especially if you end up in cahoots with the wrong people. Are you the type of person I should worry about?"

Why would he assume he was being watched? Obviously the monastery took security seriously, but to actively keep tabs on students felt a little extreme. And that last bit only served to drive the blade in deeper. Rudolf had done absolutely nothing except walk from the classroom to his new dorm, and some creepy knight-spy-person-thing was praising him for it! This was quite literally a new low for him. Usually he had to put forth effort into something before people heaped undeserved praise upon him.

“I’m not even sure what someone can do up here that would be worth worrying about, let alone how I would achieve something like that. If you’re worried I’m going to throw the gates open while the Empire marches in, I think you’re overestimating me,” Rudolf pouted, “Actually, I know you’re overestimating me. I’m not hiding from anyone; if you can’t find me, it’s not intentional.” That part was true, at least. It wasn’t like he snuck around for fun; it was simply how he existed - in the background, yet tragically and undeservingly thrust into the foreground because no one could accept he belonged out of sight.

Theo turned back to face Rudolf as he brought both arms behind his back. He took several steps forward, stopping just before him. His gray eyes searched Rudolf’s thoroughly, his expression unreadable as he thought to himself. He took half a step backwards, though as soon as his foot was flat on the ground, he withdrew his dagger and pointed it at Rudolf. Its tip barely touched his uniform, though as Theo closed the distance, he made sure it dug in just a touch.

Rudolf tensed again as Theo drew near, shrinking under the short cloak that draped his shoulders beneath the intensity of the other figure’s gaze. He dared to exhale in relief as it looked like Theo was going to step away, only to suck in another quick breath as the weapon came out. Rudolf didn’t even flinch - not because he didn’t want to, but because he hadn’t even registered the danger until his body was already paralyzed by fear. Despite Theo himself not being very imposing, Rudolf still felt very, very small in that instance.

“I don’t believe you,” He stated simply, his glare harsh. After a few seconds, however, he withdrew his weapon and sheathed it once again. “...but I can’t prove otherwise. Fortunately for you, there wasn’t anything in this room that would draw suspicion to any ill motives. Unfortunately for you, I’m going to make sure I personally keep an eye on you. Who knows, maybe we’ll learn a little more about each other.”

“I told you, I didn’t do anything. Watch me all you want, but leave me alone,” Rudolf huffed with little bite behind it. He was still somewhere between enraged and in tears, and his voice reflected it unfiltered. He wasn’t scared by the threat itself; he had nothing to hide, and even if he did, Theo could barely keep track of him when he wanted to be seen. If he didn’t want to be found, he’d probably be halfway to Gronder before his trail was picked up. Still, he didn’t want to sit here and be accused of… he didn’t even know!

Then again, if this turned into regular harassment, he just might start making this knight’s life difficult. He’d have plausible deniability in anything he did if all he did was hide, and a lifetime of evading teasing siblings left Rudolf pretty confident he could have an escape plan ready for every room in the monastery by the end of the week. End of the day, if Theo kept testing him like that stunt with the dagger. What was that going to accomplish? He’d still be hard to track! Was the scent of him pissing himself going to put Theo’s informants on his trail or something?!

Theo slowly nodded, humming in approval as he stepped back and out of Rudolf’s personal space. “We’ll see,” He gave the guy a smile, motioning to the door. “Now, unless you want to take that statement back and keep me around, would you mind stepping aside?”

Rudolf shuffled aside to give the door a wide berth. He didn’t want Theo to pass him by again even as he left, honestly. The boy shifted his gaze downward, not even willing to watch the knight leave. Quite frankly, he wanted to curl up and disappear for a while. His room evidently wasn’t safe, since the ‘head of security’ doubtlessly had the keys, and probably the means to get around a locked door regardless. Maybe he could set a ward and act surprised if Theo accidentally blew himself up attempting to arrange another chat like this in the future.

No, he probably didn’t deserve that. And it’d probably be easily bypassed anyway, if Rudolf could manage to get it working at all.

“I trust you put everything back where you found it after you finished snooping?” He mumbled, hardly able to include the accusatory edge he wanted in the statement. He may as well have been talking to himself.

“If I hadn’t told you I went through everything, you never would’ve noticed,” Theo let him know with a chuckle as he walked past him. “I’d make a poor spy if I left obvious tracks, right?”

“You were lounging on my bed, I’d think leaving tracks was the least of your worries at that point,” Rudolf grumbled in response as his gaze slowly rose from the ground before him to his desk across the room. Once Theo had left and Rudolf had pointlessly locked the door behind him, he made his way back to his desk. If he curled up in some corner now and Theo changed his mind and returned for some follow-up questions, he’d probably be in deep shit. So, might as well be productive in his paranoia.

Trembling hands reached out for a piece of parchment, and Rudolf occupied his thoughts for the next few minutes scribbling down numbers in an unrefined chicken scratch. The end result was an unnecessarily long-winded, but not actually complex, math problem. Anyone with basic schooling would likely be capable of solving it, though the amount of operations involved might keep their brain occupied through sheer volume. Occupied enough to, say, let their focus wander from Rudolf so he could blend in to the nearest piece of furniture. It worked on the servants back home, at least.

There came a point where the pursuit of privacy ironically attracted more attention to oneself rather than less. It occurred to Auberon he had crossed that threshold a while ago as he navigated the walkway of one of the monastery’s outer walls. The idea had been solid; no one would be around aside from the occasional guardsman on patrol, and it was far enough away from everything that there was no chance of eavesdroppers. He hadn’t considered that hiking out along the walls at the cusp of nightfall to whisper about politics undisturbed would look suspicious as hell to anyone that witnessed the act, and would thus incite further curiosity.

Too late to change it now, he supposed, as he leaned on the parapet and gazed down the path he’d arrived from. Inviting Kellen and Lienna had been simple and unintrusive—he’d found himself hovering around one Lion or another ever since their return from Luin, if only to make sure they had recovered alright—from there, tracking them down to pass an invitation (read: order) to meet on the western ramparts at seven o’ clock was hardly a challenge. At least, that was under the assumption Lienna didn’t blow him off.

Kellen was nothing if not dutiful. The brown-haired Fraldarius could be spotted all-but-running towards the designated meeting location, a small piece of parchment with scant writing clutched in one hand while the other occupied itself by resting on his sword every few seconds. A passing student, if not already alarmed by this conspiratorial posture, would likely be further shocked to see the Fraldarius out of his room after classes.

As he approached the designated meeting point, he spotted Auberon, and hastily shoved the letter into a pocket. “Hello!” His voice came out louder than he had intended. “Sorry.” He stood awkwardly. They could launch into the subject immediately, but he was afraid to start without Lienna. Or perhaps he merely wanted a witness for whatever issue Auberon had identified. His House Leader rarely had issues expressing his concerns in front of everyone, which is why the sudden attention for discretion was worrying. “So… The Aegir Twins and Raimund are just… gone?” He tried to conceal the wistfulness in his voice.

It was springtime in the valley, but it seemed Lienna overestimated the heat of the south; the air still got surprisingly chilly in the evening, even more so high up on the parapets and unsheltered from the wind. Still, she took her sweet time walking, having untied the scarf from her waist to clutch it around her shoulders instead, not that the gossamer fabric did any good. She’d have to go rooting through all that new luggage of hers for something warmer.

But aside from lingering in patches of the setting sun, she was still in no hurry. Honestly, it was a miracle she was on her way at all; a meeting with Auberon, especially one so oddly shrouded in secrecy, wasn’t her idea of a fun evening—especially with so much on her mind after her meeting with Professor Tomai. Auberon's brusque explanation had simply been “politics”, but she still suspected it would devolve into a dressing-down over staying behind back in Luin. Hells, she’d been waiting for him to bring it up ever since that icy look he’d shot her as he loaded into the carriage on his way to doom.

But if there was one thing keeping her moving toward an inevitably hostile conversation, it was the folded piece of parchment tucked into her belt. A letter had arrived from her fiancé shortly after their return from Luin, though that was about the extent she knew about it. The seal was his, but his infuriatingly loopy writing was impossible to make out beyond the simplest of small words. It was fairly long, which led Lienna to believe it must have been vaguely important, not to mention the fact that the only other correspondence she’d ever received from him were the terms of their marriage and the bill of debt for the Academy. She was more than a little spooked by all that strangeness earlier, a fear marauding in the back of her mind that the letter might signal a sudden discovery that the Deacon's reading was wrong and that her Crest was unsuitable for their arrangement, but without being able to verify it herself, she tried not to jump to conclusions. Maybe it was nothing of the sort, and Auberon’s mystery meeting had something to do with it; or maybe, at the very least, she might be able to track down Kellen afterward and have him read the letter for her.

Not keen to give her uncertainty away, she reminded herself to straighten her posture, catching the end of Kellen’s sentence as she approached. “I hope we’re not here to talk about them,” she commented absently, looking between her housemates, although she immediately regretted opening her mouth. Man, it didn’t seem to matter how many times she reminded herself she was here to make connections, did it? Scolding herself, she crossed her arms, trying her hand at a greeting instead. “Good evening Kellen, Auberon. What’s this about?”

“Likewise,” Auberon responded to Lienna’s greeting, though he didn’t answer her question quite yet, and instead turned his head back to Kellen. “Evidently. Why, were you friends with one of them?” Personally, he found Raimund even more distasteful than Jorah, barely even noticed Saskia existed, and found Valerian only as interesting as his challenges against Michail. Then again, he’d caught Kellen talking to an Eagle of all things that one time, so evidently the Fraldarius had strange methods of socializing.

Kellen looked to Lienna. “Hi.” They hadn’t really spoken since he had gone off to the horrible village. Not that he had made great efforts to speak to anyone. “No, or at least, I don’t think so? It’s just… worrying, is all. We’ve hardly been here a week.”

“And already been set upon by raving lunatics and raiders,” Lienna added, quirking an incredulous brow at Kellen. “It’s hardly surprising. If nobles want their children dead, I’m sure there are plenty of assassins in their home countries who could do the job for cheaper.”

Kellen chin tilted downwards, his eyes carrying a tinge of remorse. Lienna had been alone in facing a group of bandits, or may as well have been based on the story Veronica had regaled the caravan with on the trip home. He didn’t want to think about that. “What’re we here for?” It was an earnest question, not a rebuke. His hand drifted over the pocket where his letter sat.

Auberon hardly reacted to Lienna’s appraisal of the situation. He would’ve said the same thing himself, honestly. How to broach the topic at hand, though; that was tricky. He’d been somewhat needlessly secretive so far, so asking vague questions would probably cause undue worry. Might as well come right out with it and ask whatever inane curiosities he had about his Housemates later.

“To gossip about the precarious state of the Kingdom like bored handmaidens,” He finally answered, “Word around the noble courts is that the royal bastard is in attendance at Garreg Mach on behalf of House Charon. I’m admittedly not too familiar with the Lions past you two and Derec, so I figured I’d ask if you know anyone sponsored by the Charons and how you think we should proceed with this.” The boy paused for a minute, his eyes gliding back and forth across both their faces, obviously in thought. His pondering ended with momentary hesitation quite clearly written in his features before he cleared it with a shake of his head. “Also, I just wanted to make sure you were both holding up okay after the other day.”

Most of what Auberon said listed past Lienna’s ears meaninglessly, though his hesitation was enough to get her attention, and his admission outright surprising. She was well accustomed to Disappointed Preacher Auberon, but Concerned House Leader Auberon was a new face she wasn’t sure how to interpret. She’d brush it off as just another bullet point on his list of House Leader chores that needed checking, but the look on his face didn’t lie. Could it be he was realizing the gravity of what he’d rushed into the other day?

Lienna wanted to return his concern with sarcasm, but she couldn’t quite make the words cross her lips. She remembered plain as day the pallid tone of Kellen’s face when her classmates finally limped their way back to the caravan—and that was even before the poor boy laid eyes on a garden of impaled bandits when they arrived. Auberon had hardly looked unshaken either, though the remnants of passion in his eyes when he came back remained of concern to her, whatever it meant. But despite a lifetime of bloodshed and bodies to reflect on at night—and the strange normalcy, in her mind, of what happened at Luin—she couldn’t pretend that the twisted, broken spines of bandits and blood-covered ice didn’t haunt her dreams of late.

“Well, the future Princess Consort is probably painting a target on my back as we speak, but so far, so good,” she tried to joke, though it was clear from her hollow tone that her heart wasn’t in it. Clearing her throat, she continued quickly, “But I’ll admit, I’m not really familiar with House Charon. I have no idea who might be here under their banner.”

As Auberon mentioned the bastard, Kellen's hand fished out the letter from his pocket. "My father wrote. And he said something similar. Doesn't appear as though he has any more info than you, though." The thought brought an unexpected spark of joy to Kellen. In fact, beyond a similar detailing of a Charon sponsored boy and a request for Kellen to provide any information he might have, his father had written little, as the mostly empty page attested. He tucked the letter back into his pocket as a wave of self-consciousness overtook him.

He wasn’t expecting the display of concern from Auberon, though he had noticed that his House Leader had taken some care to give Kellen space following the aftermath of the battle. "I'm. Um. Fine. It’s good that everyone is okay." He had learned that if he followed up a lie with a truth, it made the whole thing halfway convincing. His gaze turned past the ramparts to the rocky landscape beyond. It took him a few moments before he could turn back to his classmates. Lienna’s joke brought a bit of a warmth back to his face. "I, um. I don’t know much about the other Lions. But I think we would know by now who they were if they wanted us to, though. I mean, they’d have said something.” Despite the efforts to get the words out, he thought this conclusion was reasonable.

The corner of Auberon’s mouth quirked downward in the barest hint of a frown at their answers. They weren’t bad responses, but they were too halfhearted for his comfort. Still, he couldn’t blame them; he’d probably respond in a similar manner if asked. Their ideas about the bastard were even less encouraging, though they were also not unexpected. Of course the fool would go into hiding, he’d be skinned alive by the first patriot that crossed his path otherwise. Rather telling that the would-be usurper was a coward, though, regardless of the logic behind it.

“Alright, well, the cathedral’s open if you ever find yourself… you know, not okay,” The blond added lamely, “You know where to find me too, for what it’s worth.” Probably little, given the way he had floundered his way through this conversation already. He cleared his throat, straightened his back, and steeled his expression as he moved on. “I’d considered asking the staff, but this is a delicate situation with widespread ramifications, so I’m wary on who to trust. Any one of them could have motives that align with the usurper, or they could be under some obligation to hide him in the name of keeping the peace, or loyalty to Duke Charon, or—I don’t know. I’m just looking for ideas here.”

Noble gossip wasn't Lienna’s strong suit, but besides the ever-enduring fact that she had better start learning if she wanted to fare well in noble life, Kellen’s mention of a letter of his own was reason enough to keep her attention. “Oh yes, I got one too,” she added quickly, pulling hers from its place in her belt. Now was as good a time as ever, though as she held it out to Auberon, she did silently hope it really was political news and not a sudden, vulgar change of her fiancé's heart on personal correspondence. “Here, maybe you can glean more from it than I did.”

That lie was good enough, but there'd be no weaseling out of the next one, she feared. “Although... Well, at the risk of sounding uninformed, what exactly is the big deal with this royal bastard?” she had to ask, clearly displeased at her own ignorance. “I heard mutterings about it from the Gautier soldiers in Hima—and from Count Francis and his staff as well, come to think of it—but why all the side-taking and secrets? Surely this can't be the first time a King fathered a child he'd rather keep under wraps.”

Auberon took the letter, though he paused before he began to read to level an incredulous stare at Lienna’s admission. Sure, she might not understand the nuances, but he’d assumed even the village idiot of whatever a Hima was could guess the source of contention. His brow raised in obvious amusement, though his gaze wasn’t outright judgemental.

“Looming civil war tends to weigh on people’s minds. Unless you meant why this backwood nobody’s claim is even being entertained.” Auberon folded up the letter, choosing to focus solely on his explanation for now. Giving her the benefit of the doubt, he continued, “I’m sure you’re aware by now that Crests are the preferred means of determining inheritance. If the eldest child is Crestless and a younger son isn’t, the younger son will typically be next in line for a title. Likewise, if the eldest child has a Minor Crest and the youngest a Major, usually the same occurs. Usually—the exceptions tend to provoke a violent reaction. House Galatea formed when a Minor Crestbearer was named heir over a Major one, for example.” Which was an idiotic mistake that House Daphnel shouldn’t forget now that they’re prominent in the Alliance again, might he add.

“However, none of His Majesty’s legitimate children bear a Crest, and then the product of some hidden dalliance turns up bearing one. Normally, you’d expect the King to simply adopt this newcomer and prepare him for rulership as best he can, but His Majesty has decided to side with primogeniture over divine right to rule.” He sighed as he unfolded the letter again, “It’s a troubling situation, and noble families that are displeased with the current regime have been throwing their support behind the bastard. Most believe it’ll come to blows.”

Auberon skimmed the letter, not particularly excited to accidentally stumble upon empty platitudes of love or other, more vulgar expressions. Though, if Lienna had entrusted the letter to him, it couldn’t have said anything too untoward. Count Francis was evidently a traitor, and a vocal one at that, at least in personal correspondence. Or maybe he just wanted to sway his future bride to his side before she had developed a comprehensive understanding of Faerghian politics.

“This right here,” He pointed to a random line on the page as he tilted the letter for Lienna to see, “It’s a particularly crass metaphor for consummation of marriage, it dates back to a play from before the Crescent Moon War.” The blond kept silent for a beat or two, then continued humorlessly, “Kidding.”

Lienna listened intently to the explanation, consciously trying not to nod along too fiercely lest Auberon think she saw him as an authority on any matter. There were a few words in his explanation that she didn't understand, but it seemed straightforward enough: The problem wasn't this bastard’s existence, then, but the fact that he posed a material threat to the ordinary line of succession. Or, rather, that the current King was himself deviating from normal succession rules? Agh, semantics—the bastard was stirring up succession somehow and people were taking sides.

She was hoping that Auberon might enlighten her to Count Francis’ allegiance when he pointed out a particular spot on the letter, but she leaned in only for the Stone Guardian of Garreg Mach to crack his first ever untoward joke. Lienna gasped sharply and straightened up, cheeks burning, and snatched her letter back, sending Auberon a murderous glare. “Thank you, that'll be all the interpretation I need tonight,” she snapped, tucking the letter safely back into her belt. That onerous feeling of being watched welled threateningly in her stomach once again, and out of instinct she glanced around, finding no observer. She was right to be worried, though; not only would it be disastrously improper (according to those handmaidens back in Gautier, anyway) to be seen alone with two young men under cover of night, but with Auberon cracking obscene jokes besides?! She hoped for her own sake that the feeling in her stomach was paranoia and not her fiancé’s spy peeping in.

As she composed herself, she was still left with a principal dilemma: people were taking sides, and she'd be expected to as well, but she couldn't make out her fiancé’s damn writing to see which side she should take. She couldn't very well ask; being ignorant of noble scuffles was one thing, but not being able to read her own fiancé’s letter was quite another. She’d rather be thought of as ignorant than slow.

Fortunately, as she glanced at Kellen in hesitation, an idea came to her. “Well Kellen, you got a letter too. Where does your father stand on the issue?” she asked, innocently enough. Kellen’s father was brother-in-law to Margrave Gautier; maybe knowing the Fraldarius’ position would inform her to the Gautiers’.

Kellen’s shoulder shot up as the attention returned to him. He had been happy to allow Auberon to explain matters, despite his minor misgivings with the Galatea’s assessment of the situation. He shook his head softly. “Umm. I wasn’t home, when this all started. But my uncle wasn’t afraid to share his thoughts.” He perked up a little bit at the thought. “It sounded as though Father is trying to stay above it. Of course everyone is talking, but we’ve always been loyal to the Crown.” He looked to Lienna. “I’m afraid my family and the Gautiers might not see eye-to-eye on this. Based on how my uncle was talking, I think the Gautiers are leaning towards the Bastard. Nothing unexpected, given their history.” His eyes betrayed no malice.

He risked embarrassment by retrieving the letter—now lightly creased—from his pocket. His eyes scanned over the text. “No, he didn’t say much about it. He doesn’t write a lot. But as I understand things, we’d never turn our back on House Blaiddyd. If we were to...” He shuddered. “Sorry. I shouldn’t theorize.” There were enough issues for Faerghus as things stood. He wasn’t sure what good would be gained from imagining new ones.

Auberon hadn’t considered there might be differing points of view even among the duo he’d gathered here, though he should’ve guessed with their families’ opinions to consider. Great. So much for lightening the mood with a stupid joke. He took Lienna revealing the letter to him as a sign of trust, if nothing else, so he wasn’t particularly concerned that she’d sneak off to conspire with the bastard.

“No, Kellen, you’re fine. All we can do is theorize at this point.” He looked to Lienna searchingly, “I’m not going to hold any ill will against you for siding with your new family, but if you’d rather not be included in any more of these… err, talks on this subject, I’d rather you speak now than feel obligated to sabotage us later.”

Lienna’s eyebrows raised incredulously at Auberon, not only for his words, but for that strange look on his face. He looked… put out, almost, but she couldn't tell why. She looked to Kellen as if for confirmation, but the boy's face was as gentle as ever—goodness, if he was to be believed their two Houses might very well go to war, his father and uncle pitted against one another, possibly having to meet his own cousins on the battlefield, and yet he seemed to hold no hard feelings. How did he do that? Why would he do that? If it was her, she'd be steeling her defences as they spoke, not offering comforting looks to the future wife of her would-be enemy.

But it was her, wasn't it? She was just as wrapped up in all of this as Kellen, just that without blood ties to the conflict—aside from whatever tiny drop contributed her Crest, anyway—or any vested interest in the outcome, it all felt so far away. Like she was still in Hima, miles and miles away from anything that mattered. But wasn't that backwoods ignorance the very thing she'd been cursing since she came here? Maybe she should take that as a comfort, but something told her that anything other than total awareness put her at risk in this new world she was joining.

She gathered her scarf around her shoulders once more, hugging it tightly to her for little other reason than to occupy her hands as she thought. “...Truth be told, I’m not personally too concerned about who ascends the throne,” she finally replied, tearing her eyes from the floor to her Housemates. “I mean, I'm not going to argue with my fiancé, but I don't have any plans for ‘sabotage’ either. I'd rather give Count Francis whatever encouragements he wants and keep my hands out of all… this.” she made a mixing gesture in front of her.

She glanced between her housemates again, cursing her incompetent tongue. Finally she got tired of mincing words and came right out with something much plainer. “I'm not interested in slitting any throats over who sits on the throne, but I'd still like to know what's going on,” she stated simply, though she was obligated to quietly tack on a reluctant, “...if you'll have me, anyway.”

Kellen was doing all he could to keep from frowning. This was... Uncomfortable. He had caught Lienna’s glance, and questioned his own reaction. Should he be more concerned? At least in his case, he understood that he was unlikely to exert an influence on whatever position his father took, and while Auberon might have some clout, Lienna certainly did. If any of the Duke’s children had a say, it’d be Rhiannon, though even that seemed unlikely. Kellen was hyper-capable of focusing on problems he had some control over. He could think about every possible danger his immediate actions would entail. But when the scope expanded to such a large scale, he found it easier to distance himself from the issue.

“I don’t think there’s much to fear from talking about it with one another.” He was emboldened by Auberon’s understated approval, or at least non-rejection of his prior comments. “I, erm. I don’t expect any secrets from either of you. And I’d like to find the… bastard.” He stumbled over the word, wishing there was a name to put to the mysterious figure. “We could at least set family quarrels aside until then?” He looked to Auberon hopefully.

Auberon looked between them both contemplatively. It sounded like they didn’t have a solid opinion about the situation, even if their families did. Plus, he didn’t really see the harm in either of them knowing the bastard’s identity even if he didn’t quite see eye to eye with them on what to do afterward.

“I agree. Regardless of our feelings on the matter, I’m not going to tolerate conflict within the Lions.” That was half the reason he’d asked them to meet in such an obscure spot; he didn’t want his entire House fragmenting into factional politics on his watch, but he could at least trust Kellen and Lienna not to throw a third of the academy into disarray with loose lips. “Personally, I want to look this guy in the eye and see if he’s really the type of person countrymen should fight each other for. If he’s not a man worthy of following—worthy of treason, I want every member of the peerage in Faerghus to know of it, regardless of their prior intentions. At the very least, I want to know what his motives are.” His face softened a bit as he shifted a glance between the other two students again. “I hope that’s agreeable to you both? This is a team effort now.”

Lienna glanced between her two housemates, frowning thoughtfully. A team effort, was it? To what, question each Lion about his parentage until they found the one who'd sweat when he had to answer? She wasn't fond of the idea of doing Auberon’s dirty work, his lofty ideals admittedly a bit outside her sphere of interest. But she had to begrudgingly grant him a point; conflict within the Lions would make the rest of the year insufferable. Besides, if they were to be the future rulers of Faerghus’ territories (or at least, pretty close), it was wiser not to be at each other’s throats.

That was what she'd been telling herself this whole time, anyway; usually right before throwing princesses to bandits or snapping at her House Leader. She took a slow breath; she’d upended her whole life for this, demanded a year at the Academy specifically to make influential friends, to make sure she wouldn't be stranded in Francis’ castle without an ally in the world if things went tits up. It was time she started acting like it, even if she had to pretend.

“A team effort to root out a wannabe king in disguise,” she repeated to herself, giving a bemused nod. “Sounds like a shitty play. But I suppose I wouldn't want to share a House with a coward or a tyrant anyway.” She punctuated that last bit with a sharpened look at Auberon. Fine; maybe totally making nice would take a little time.

With Michail’s dismissal, Euphemia let her mind wander for a moment. She disagreed with a few things he stated, but this time it was entirely in his hands. For all intents and purposes, he had been the one to request the mission. As she picked up her own notes, she remembered something she had nearly forgotten. Hastily getting out of her seat, she waved Clarissa over.

“Clarissa!” She motioned for her to go on over.

Clarissa studied her friend's face for a moment, unimpressed with the clumsy facade but she didn't press the matter. They'd have plenty of time later for her to discover what plagued her friend. She had an inkling for sure; Jorah's sensitivity to the emotional turmoil of others must have taken a nasty toil on him once the adrenaline of combat wore off. She hadn't been as much of comfort as she wished she could have been. She'd had her own doubts and concerns but she had a path away from those now and she'd steer Jorah clear with her. "Then it's a date." She teased, booping him on the nose. "Don't be late!" She perked up as she heard Professor Euphemia call her name and she rose from her seat and collected her things before she made her way over.

"Good afternoon, Professor." Clarissa greeted her with a polite curtsy. "What luck! I'd just mentioned to Jorah I'd need a moment of your time. Was there something I could help you with first?"

“What a happy coincidence,” Euphemia beamed. “If you don’t mind, let’s stop by my office. There’s something I have to give you, we can also talk there if you’d like!”

"That'd be wonderful." Clarissa agreed, following the Professor to her office. As they walked, she found herself checking Euphemia's throat, the image of that brute's hand around it still vivid in her mind. "Have you recovered well, Professor? That man wasn't exactly a gentle giant and to have snatched you by the throat like that… I think we all felt our hearts leap into our throats."

The blonde nodded, her eyes remaining ahead. “I have, thank you for asking,” Euphemia told her. “Unfortunately, bandits don’t care much for etiquette and politeness and resort to anything that will dispatch their opponents as quickly as possible. By the way he moved, I don’t believe I was his first victim. Fortunately, thanks to everyone, I was the last.”

Euphemia led Clarisssa to the church, though instead of going into the Cathedral, the two went up the stairs. The second floor of the church had numerous doors, some open, some not. The infirmary door was open, with a few priests and healers coming in and out. One office was open, but empty of anyone, and she would stop before a closed door. Opening it, Clarissa would see a smaller office than the other one, furnished with a desk, a few chairs, a bookshelf, and a map of Garegg Mach hanging. There weren’t many personal touches aside from a picture of a family of blondes, though the one thing that stood out was a gorgeous arrangement of plants sitting next to the window and soaking up the sun. Forget-me-nots and lily of the valleys all clustered around a few beautiful daffodils, and one single lavender stalk sat in the middle of it all.

The woman motioned for Clarissa to have a seat, closing the door behind them. She walked over to the desk, placing her books and Priscilla down as she opened a drawer. “I think this was meant to be sent to your room, but I ended up receiving it instead,” She stated as she pulled out a small package wrapped in paper, placing it in front of the redhead. “The people of Luin wanted to give you a special thank you for your hard work.”

“Beautiful flowers.” Clarissa murmured as she sat, accepting the package with a quiet thanks. She unwrapped it gingerly, smoothing each crease and wrinkle out as she did. She felt herself get misty eyed as the gold bracelet came into view, a tiny, fragile looking star dangling from it. It wasn’t much compared to the things she could get, even the things she’d brought to Garreg Mach in case the occasion called for something more formal, but in that moment, it felt like the most priceless object in the world. She felt vastly unworthy of the token of appreciation; no magic in the world could bring back the dead, could restore homes to a time before the slaughter, could soothe away the nightmares the survivors would live for the foreseeable future. She gently clasped it around her wrist, a quiet promise whispered in the back of her mind as the weight of her own expectations settled more heavily than ever on her shoulders.

“I don’t feel that I deserve it but I will strive to become someone who does.” Clarissa said after a few moments, her voice resolute. “There was so much more to be saved, so much more that could have been done if we’d been faster, stronger, more experienced and level headed. Those moments of hesitation, fleeting pieces of critical focus and concentration snatched away in the smoke and screams, could have saved even one more life, kept one more ghost from behind those poor peoples’ eyes.” Clarissa sighed, clasping her hands tightly in her lap.

“That's what I wanted to talk to you about actually, Professor. During the fight, I… I don’t know how to describe it. One moment we were assisting Kayden and then next I realized Derec and Isolde were halfway through a building. I was standing there all but blind, deaf, and dumb, head in the clouds when anything could have happened while the rest of the Unit pushed forward and I don't know how to fix that."

Euphemia’s expression changed to a solemn one as she made sure to give Clarissa her full attention. Once she finished, she frowned slightly. “Don’t think of that as your failings. Had I the skill, you never would have seen that brute,” She sighed. “It’s hard. The first time you were exposed to such things...it stays with you. Battle is a beast that refuses to be tamed. No amount of training or preparation can truly steel you for it.”

Clarissa considered that statement quietly, rubbing her thumb across the bracelet around her wrist. "I keep seeing their faces. Not the bandits, though that's an entire matter altogether, but all the people we helped after. How empty some of them seemed. I thought I knew the horrors of battle, read about them enough to be prepared, but everytime I close my eyes, they're there again. Did they haunt you the first time too?"

“Oh, Clarissa…” Euphemia was heartbroken by her words.At her question, she mulled over something for a moment, though she eventually made up her mind.

“I was an alumni here some years ago. After the first week of training, we were sent off to accompany a carriage with some goods--it’s standard faire. The Monastery gives as much as it gets, and it was an honor to return the favor,” She began. “But...we were attacked. It was expected, as even nowadays we tend to get only some of the supplies requested to the church if they’re unprotected, but I remember the very first time I drew my bow.”

She leaned back in her seat a touch, eyes revisiting a memory. “It was a longbow that my father had gifted me. It was well crafted, with a taut string, but very hard to use. And anytime I practiced with it, it would go through the practice targets. I thought it was a good thing, that no matter what happened in the mission, I’d protect myself. I was so, so confident,” She smiled sadly. “I held onto that confidence as tightly as I could, drawing an arrow back at a bandit that decided to charge at me. Letting go of the arrow was so easy, and it flew so quickly!”

Her smile faded entirely. “It struck the bandit right between the eyes. At the time, Professor Geraldine swelled with pride. ‘She was in the face of danger and she got him right where it counted!’, she had said. In truth, it was pure luck,” She spoke quietly. “It didn’t feel that way. With the tiniest movement, I ended a life. The look on his face is burned in my memory, the anger, the confusion, and then, nothing. It’s the last part that’s harrowing, the emptiness of life leaving them. And I was congratulated for it.”

Clarissa watched the emotions play across Euphemia's face as the story of her first kill unfolded. She supposed she had her answer; that when all was said and done, the burden of their experiences would never truly leave them. If Professor Euphemia, focused and resolute in her stride, skill, and actions, still carried the ghosts of her past deeds committed for whatever reason, then they had little hope of anything different.

They had lost something precious in that first battle, its whimper unnoticed beneath the cacophony of adrenaline and fear and the desire to survive. None of them were the same naive child they were before, regardless of their background. The structured, careful understanding of the world was brought to its knees and they'd forever hear the ghosts of the dead and the wronged. Perhaps it would get easier with time but Professor Euphemia had made it clear it would never go away. They'd been fundamentally changed in a way they couldn't yet grasp.

"How did you learn to live with it?" Clarissa asked, finally breaking the silence that had descended after Euphemia spoke. "Does it make it easier knowing that it's for a good purpose?"

“It does for some people. I know others that pray to the Goddess every day, hoping that she would bring them peace,” She replied. “For myself, it came down to just taking solace in the fact that I’m alive and can keep moving forward.”

Her fingers ran over Priscilla and onto a book, placing it in front of her. “Luin was a terrible tragedy, no doubt about it. Many lives were lost, but just as many were saved. With time, they’ll rebuild and be back to normal,” She said. “The Goddess gives us the strength that we need to make it through even the worst tragedy. I believe this manifests in our ability to keep going, carrying the weight of regrets and loss with us. Eventually, you’ll learn to keep their faces with you, but not for sorrow. It’ll encourage you to do everything you can for the next tragedy, for the next fight.”

Clarissa took another moment to absorb what the Professor said, nodding slowly. The Goddess gave them all challenges to overcome in order to become stronger so they could face the challenges the next sunrise would bring. She would have to learn to solace in their successes rather than dwell on their possessions sooner rather than later if she had any plans of staying on the path she'd laid out for herself. Admittedly, it was easier to do when losses meant a Gloucester snubbed you rather than someone dying in your arms but like the Professor said, time and experience would be the only way to learn. She'd spent some more time in prayer until she did.

"I hope I come to realize that lesson sooner rather than later. I'd spoken so longingly of a world where such behaviors are relics of age gone by but I was naive to think I could reach there without learning its ways." Clarissa shook her head. "But I suppose I've dwelled on the unpleasant for too long to be constructive. While we're on the subject of improving, what we're your thoughts on our performance?"

Euphemia mimicked Clarissa and shook her head as well. “It’s natural to be affected. I’d be more worried if you weren’t! Give yourself a little time to reflect and grieve, She will be more than happy to help you learn,” She smiled at the girl.

She flipped through a few pages of the book in front of her, looking for a particular page. “As I had broken off at the start, I had to rely on Michail and Tomai to inform me of the first two thirds of the battle,” She paused. “Well, I had to rely on Tomai. Michail described your power as ‘blinding light’ and couldn’t name the spell used so that was...not helpful. Though he did mention your initial speech at the start, albeit I can assume that, unfortunately, the heathens paid no mind to it.”

Clearing her throat, Euphemia continued, “Tomai noted that you have a firm grasp on the spells you do know. He said your runes were drawn at a good pace but would recommend practicing in order to make Nosferatu just as effective as your heal,” She looked up from her notes. “And of course, I had firsthand experience with said healing abilities. I can tell that despite your distress you were concentrated; you focused on getting me out of harm's way first.”

"There'd have been little point in restoring you to health if only for us both to find our way to the Goddess right after." Clarissa agreed. "Do you have any recommendations about who would best help me advance my mastery of Nosferatu? I can practice on my own until I'm blue in the face but I'd hate to miss any simple mistakes and enshrine them in habit."

“If you’re looking for theory and practical use, Tomai is an expert in all things magic. That said, he can be a little hard to find sometimes,” She couldn’t help but laugh a little. “The Archbishop sometimes offers lessons in faith and white magic as well, though his availability can vary as well for obvious reasons. I think your best bet may be catching Professor Simeon, she’s an excellent Bishop--actually, she just received a promotion, so she’s a Gremory now, my apologies, but nonetheless I’m more than certain she’d love to help you out.”

Professor Simeon was the one Jorah convinced to join the party the first evening. Well, she supposed it was for the better. Now she'd have a better opportunity to intervene if he decided to go after her as frequently as he went after Euphemia. "I'll have to approach her about it then! I'd feel guilty if I took more time from the Archbishop than I already have. I'm just pleased he agreed to tea." Clarissa muttered the last part with reverence. It was like a dream come true; though, she ought to follow up with Auberon and the Archbishop to make sure it actually does come true.

"I'm glad to have some direction. As nice as it was to receive praise for the work I did, I felt a little lost after Michail's debrief." Clarissa admitted. "I appreciate your follow up. But if I could borrow your mind for the others, I have a few more questions. From my side of the table, I can't fully bring myself to believe they were just bandits. Considering not only that they commanded magicks that seemed to baffle our instructors but the resources they brought along suggests real money, not what you'd get gutting defenseless villages. And they were organized enough to pull off a synchronized attack. It all screams militaristic strategy, doesn't it?"

Euphemia straightened up a touch as she closed the book in front of her. Letting out a small sigh, she ended up nodding in agreement. “I don’t condone them for any reason at all, but it is usually understood why bandits target and attack villages: they tend to plunder them for food, for valuables, for resources. It is unacceptable, but relatively easy to understand. Luin is a farming village that has dealt with thieves and pests for many years and has never seen such wanton destruction,” She started there first, frowning again. “I am unsure if you recall, but Michail was able to bring one of the mages into custody. I believe he’s under interrogation to see if we can’t get to the bottom of the attack, but...”

She struggled to find the words, her fingers tapping the desk restlessly. “You’re correct. The entire situation comes off as too coordinated, too calculated. I can’t possibly imagine what their goal was, but it wasn’t some random attack,” She confirmed that much. “The mages themselves were organized in their coordinated spells, which leads me to believe that the bandits were a distraction. What I can’t seem to figure out is why, though.”

"For the attack on the Eastern Church." Clarissa clarified solemnly. "Had that second explosion gone off, Gloucester forces would have been directed to the village to investigate, leaving the Eastern Church without much needed reinforcements. I do not know what their goal was there but I can't dismiss as coincidence that two offences against the Church were committed within a week of each other. What was it that the thief attempted to steal?"

Euphemia's eyes widened considerably, although she outright let out a tiny gasp as Clarissa mentioned the thief. She practically leapt up from her seat, hastily making her way to the door. Only after listening for any passerby did she return, though she ended up taking the empty seat next to her student.

"How did--" She cut herself off, clearly distressed as she made sure to speak as quietly as possible. "Never mind, it doesn't matter how or why. But I urge you to be very careful when you talk about the theft, you mustn't let the wrong person hear you."

The Professor's reaction caught Clarissa off-guard, whirling around in her chair as the Professor rushed past. She expected an intruder, Professor Michail half dead, or some other equally horrifying event but all she did was listen at the door. Clarissa gave Euphemia a wary look that turned calculating the second the warnings left the Professor's mouth. So there was some dark design connecting the events; otherwise, the Professor would have simply dismissed it all as foolishness.

"Up until this moment, I considered it nothing more than the questionable decision of a raving lunatic. But I certainly have my doubts now." Clarissa lowered her voice along with Euphemia but she spoke firmly. "Why must we be careful discussing a story so easily dismissed with reasonable excuses and, more importantly, what did they want?"

Euphemia opened her mouth and closed it several times, a little regretful that she even said anything. But the cat was out of the bag and it was far too late to take her words back. "Because if the goal was to take something from the Eastern Church--because the attempted theft here was very, very serious, and if the culprits attempted to steal a similar object from the Eastern Church, it means whoever is behind this had ill-intentions. Luin could have possibly served as a distraction for the Knights of Seiros to leave Garreg Mach vulnerable and ripe for a second attempt as well."

Clarissa mimicked Euphemia, her mouth opening and closing several times as several questions attempted, and failed, to launch themselves simultaneously. So yes, it was all connected and yes, it wasn't some loose association of bandits but rather people with influence and power. But what could Garreg Mach have hidden within its depths that would warrant such drastic measures? And now knowing this, how obligated was she to inform her father of the events and what Euphemia had revealed? In terms of concrete details, it wasn't much but even this could give the Roundtable bargaining power. Clarissa settled for a long sigh instead.

"Do you know how the Knights of Serios plan to move forward with this? The Roundtable has already pieced together the connection between attacks. They don't know about the event last week and how it may be connected but if they find out, I can guarantee they'll be pounding on Garreg Mach's door before the week is out." Clarissa sighed. "And considering how tightly guarded this information is supposedly meant to be, I probably shouldn't bother asking what it is exactly the Church's enemies are willing to spill innocent, Leicester blood for."

“I’m not at liberty to say,” Euphemia confirmed Clarissa’s assumption. “With that in mind, however, I will say that the Knights are not taking this lightly. Kalliope is making sure to look into this manner personally. A naive part of me hopes that simply hearing that the Captain herself is investigating would strike fear in them.”

She fell quiet for a second. “...and whatever happens from there won’t concern you, I promise.”

"I hope you're right, Professor." Clarissa sighed. It assured her greatly that the Captain of the Knights of Seiros herself was handling the matter directly but if the Roundtable discovered the full story and made a decision against the Church…

Well, that wasn't her concern right now. She was here to learn and grow and network and that's just what she'd do. She'd keep her ears and eyes open of course but at the end of the day, this wasn't her area of expertise. If things got any grimer, she may be forced to involve herself but as it stood, she wouldn't. Clarissa gave one last sigh and offered the Professor a genuine smile, hoping to dispel some of the solemnity that permeated the office.

"Well, that turned out to be far more serious than I expected. It's barely been a week and my time at Garrag Mach has been nearly as eventful as my entire life, if you don't include my time with Jorah that is." Clarissa laughed. "But if you believe the Knights will handle it, then I'll trust your judgement and leave it in Her' hands for now. Was there anything else I could do for you, Professor?"

Euphemia was glad to see Clarissa smile, relieved that she was able to assuage the girl’s concerns. “No, I’ve taken enough of your time,” She said, though she remembered something as she gestured to Clarissa’s wrist. “The bracelet is supposed to bring good fortune, so I hope it can comfort you a little. And of course, I am always here to talk or just listen if need be. Sometimes sharing our worries makes our burdens feel just a little lighter.”

"Thank you, Professor. I'll keep that in mind." Clarissa stood, offering Euphemia another curtsy as she left but paused just at the threshold. "And thank you for being candid with me, Euphemia. I didn't expect such honesty but in return, I'll keep our conversation to myself." She slipped out the door after that, heading to meet up with Jorah.

"I didn't throw them in. They volunteered."

“An admirable sentiment, were they not children,” Lysander sighed to himself.

The meeting had left him pensive for the better part of the day and had carried over to even now. He felt like his body moved on its own will, administering lessons without too much thought. Few people approached him, more excited for the arrival of Lady Arianthe, and for that he was grateful. It left him ample time to think, after all.

He poured over Michail’s notes for what had to be the dozenth time. They were a lot more detailed than he had expected, especially since he didn’t know Michail to take paperwork seriously. Aside from Lienna and Veronica, Michail managed to aptly describe each student’s strength and weakness with suggested lessons going forward to improve them. While Lysander initially felt the evaluations were somewhat blunt, it was obvious he knew what he was doing. Well, he was a Knight of Seiros, so it shouldn’t have been that surprising.

Stopping on the last Blue Lion, he frowned down at Michail’s suggestion. He had chastised Michail for leading them to battle too soon, but it seemed he had agreed. A few students had been marked with a similar sentence on seeing Lysander for counseling. But did Michail write this because he knew he would read it or because this was something he genuinely thought was best?

Clicking his tongue in annoyance, Lysander put everything away. He supposed that he should check in on one of the students Michail recommended. He waited for the bells to signal the end of the after-class meeting, and then decided to leave his office with one paper in hand. He walked through the dorms until he reached the room he was looking for, knocking twice sharply.

“Kellen Fraldarius? Are you there?” He asked.

It was muffled, but Lysander could hear a muffled “Oh Goddess…” from the other side of the door, followed by the sound of shuffling footsteps and the soft click of a lock turning. As the door swung open, Kellen Fraldarius peered out, keeping himself a safe distance from the doorway and whoever might be waiting. As he recognized Lysander, his shoulders sunk ever so slightly.

Kellen had rushed to his room the moment his professor’s assessment and Auberon’s anxiety-inducing request for a meeting had been heard. Kellen hadn’t had much cause to interact with Professor Roland, but he remembered a few key things about the man. The first was that he had been supposed to join on the ill-fated training expedition. Secondly, he remembered that Professor Roland had admitted to being responsible for the creation of the Rose Unit. Last of all, he was the Academy’s counselor. What exactly that meant at a place like Garreg Mach, Kellen was afraid he would soon find out.

“Umm… Hi there Professor." It was difficult to read the expression on Kellen’s face. There was the usual sense of dread that overtook his features whenever he was forced into a conversation, but it wasn’t nearly as blatant as it might have once been. Indeed, he appeared… preoccupied. “Did I miss something, were there more lessons?” A higher power willing, there would be a banal explanation to the professor’s purposeful appearance at his door.

Lysander brightened up considerably, giving Kellen a small wave and an apologetic smile. “Sorry to disturb you, but I was wondering if you had a moment to talk?” He asked. “It won’t take long."

The regular haunted expression displayed itself in full force over Kellen’s face. Whatever had been previously distracting him was relegated to the back of his mind as the professor’s small talk set off alarm bells. It was clear Lysander had a reason for coming here, and as Kellen tried to assess what it may be, his eyes took in the paper in the professor’s hand. That had to be it.

“Oh. Of course." The Fraldarius boy stood there for half a moment before he realized he was still blocking the door. He took a step backwards, lightly kicking a crumpled shirt under the bed. Beyond the odd piece of clothing, and his sword leaning against wall in the corner of the room, Kellen’s quarters were quite barren. He interjected before Lysander would have a chance to really take things in. “Is it something from home?”

The professor stepped into the room and gave him a slight bow of gratitude, though he was a little confused by the question. “No, nothing like that, I can assure you,” He replied, choosing a spot close to the door to stand in so as to not intrude too much. “Has something happened that you’re worried about? I could always send word if need be."

Kellen let out a breath as he realized Lysander wasn’t trying to inspect his room. It was a good thing too. Tucked away in a drawer where Kellen had left it, an envelope with his father’s seal sat unopened. The last time Kellen had received such a letter, it had carried the news he would be attending Garreg Mach. This one would contain worse news, Kellen imagined. “No, it’s -- I’m alright." Some part of him had assumed Lysander would be following up on whatever dread omen this message contained, but that didn’t appear to be the case. “No need, I’m sure they’re being kept apprised of things. I just thought..." He let his hand rise slightly as he trailed off, pointing at the paper in the professor’s hands.

Lysander followed Kellen's gaze, finally understanding. Maybe he should have taken a moment to memorize it and leave it. Still, Kellen's anxiety was practically radiating off of him, and Lysander figured the best approach was to take things as slow as possible.

"My apologies, this is Professor Michail's report on the battle in Luin," He explained, wanting to be as transparent as possible. "After reading through everything, I thought it prudent if I checked in on everyone to see how they were doing. It was entirely unplanned and was a hastily made decision--" He cut himself off, not wanting to get back into blaming Michail again.

"I just wanted to see how you're holding up," He finished.

“Oh. Oh.” Kellen’s face seemed to sink a bit. Michail’s assessment of the Kellen’s performance had been fair, but Kellen was fixated on the mild critique that had been proffered. Proper grip of a sword, managing the reach of an opponent’s weapon, those were things he could work on. Fear? He was capable of identifying the many sources of it, but solutions were few and far between. That thought stuck with him as the professor followed up. Kellen looked down towards the ground, feigning interest in a nondescript stone. “I’m okay." He looked up, offering a small smile that stopped somewhere past his nose but before his eyes.

Lysander tried not to frown but failed as Kellen met his eyes. He let out a hesitant sigh as he leaned back against the wall, finding himself holding back a lot of his initial thoughts. What was important was Kellen’s wellbeing, as Michail had already been reprimanded. He’d be lying if he wasn’t tempted to sneak in at least one ‘I told you so’, however.

“Are you sure?”He asked softly, wanting to focus more on the student than the professor.“It was...sudden. I’d understand if you felt some need to express yourself without having anyone to talk to. That is my job here, after all--a counselor consoles. Well, counsels, but we can pretend they’re the same thing." He threw in a light hearted joke.

Any remnant of a smile faded from Kellen’s face as Lysander pressed him. This was what he had feared. Kellen couldn’t hold it against the professor, it was a fair question. But he wasn’t prepared to talk about the trip to Luin. The joke would have normally earned a smile, but Kellen was afraid it would be taken as an invitation to press further. He let it hang for half a moment as he considered how to navigate the situation he found himself in. Without much thought, his eyes were drawn back to the report. What had his professor written about him that had caused the Academy’s counselor to come knocking on his door? In a rare moment of forthrightness, the question found its way from his brain to his mouth. “What does it say? About me?” His face was set as he looked at Lysander directly.

An expected response, even if it wasn’t what Lysander had hoped for. He looked back down at the page, clearing his throat. “Professor Michail commended you for your skill, there isn’t any room for doubt there. A few pointers on your form that he’ll likely go over in the next combat class,” He skimmed Michail’s writing before looking back up at Kellen. “He also mentioned that you were shaken by the bloodshed."

There it was.

He could still taste the bile in his mouth from the retching and remember the stinging feeling of tears after the scene of the battle had finally been secured. On the way back, beyond a perfunctory thanks to the other students, he had made himself scarce and spent most of his time in his room, pacing about and trying not to jump at every unexpected sound -- an activity that had finally been interrupted by the teacher’s briefing and Lysander’s appearance. He might have considered these distractions helpful if he weren’t so concerned about the possible appearance of bandits or axes just outside of his sightline.

Kellen’s lips pursed, his face betraying no other reaction to Lysander’s words. He had no concrete reason to personally doubt Lysander’s sincerity. But what the professor would do with the information, he couldn’t say. “I think I... “ He swallowed audibly. “I think we all were." He shouldn’t have been, though. Out of all of these students, he was one of the few who had actually seen a battlefield. “I’m fine now, I just - I just wasn’t prepared."

“I’d be more surprised if it had been any other way. You aren’t being singled out, either; after this I’ll be speaking with a few others as well,” Lysander admitted. “But still, I don’t want you to think that you have to put on a brave face for anyone."

The fact others were being approached put Kellen a bit more at ease. He had been nervous that he had been singled out in some way, though any amount of attention was still… unwelcome. “Clearly this report shows I’m not much good at it, if I were trying." A small smirk came unbidden to his face. “I think Professor Kalonic might have been, ah, overly concerned. You should do the rounds for the others."

Lysander stared at Kellen for a moment, albeit he relented. “I see,” Was all he had to say to that, but even if he tried to push it, he supposed he wouldn’t get very far even if he tried. Still, leaving things like this felt wrong, so he thought he would at the very least make sure that Kellen knew he was around.

“If anything changes, do let me know. As I said, it’s part of my job to make sure every student is alright regardless of their situation,” Lysander told him cheerfully.“I’ll leave you be, then. Thank you for your time."

Kellen remained standing there until the professor closed the door. He walked over to lock it again, before sliding back on his sheath and sword. He put his hand back on the hilt, but it didn’t give him much comfort as he began his small circuit across the room once more.

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