Hollyhock

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Hollyhock knew of most of the Scions and Templars already. After all, she was a Scion for 16 years. While she hated spending her youth studying unimportant matters, it did give her a healthy knowledge of politics and who was who.

She knew nothing of Ionna besides her appointment. But Ionna gave her cookies which automatically made the frosh Templar her favourite.

Rather predictably, Hollyhock saw Theo approaching and speaking to Commander Fyodor. She knew the bare minimum of the Scion of Fire's background. However, she wasn't going to approach the two veterans. While she was a fan of meat, she preferred it as food and not physique. They had an ominous aura; they were one firm handshake away from their shirts ripping off. Well, at least Theo's was.

Though, she did feel a bit bad for his Templar who had followed him. Rumors of their unfriendly relationship did make their way to Hollyhock's ears. It was unfortunate, but what did Hollyhock know? She grew up sheltered. If she had been fighting against a nation that denounced her beliefs, would she be able to accept someone who was a descendant of that nation?

But the ominous aura kept getting closer. It wasn't coming from the two veterans. It was something far more evil. Someone that stood for everything that Hollyhock despised. Someone who caused Hollyhock to immediately build up her flight response. With a flick of her hand, Hollyhock lowered her veil in preparation for who was to come. While she didn't participate in social media, Hollyhock was cruelly aware of it - and she was fully aware of the constant media spotlight named Miriam Grâce Desrosiers.

Thankfully, Jannick had tracked her down by presumably smelling his way to whatever food source was nearby. His presence was always reassuring. He would leap in front of any photo taken of Hollyhock in a bout of media self-sacrifice. Well, she could dream that he would. It was more likely that his ocular pat-downs wouldn't recognize a danger.

Then arrived a figure to break the ill omen that was an influencer's aura: the young Scion of Light. She truly was radiant. In the way that all children were, at least.

With two and a half cookies in one hand, Hollyhock returned a polite curtsy with cookie-filled hand over heart. Though, she did not raise her long dress enough to show off her choice in footwear. If she had been wearing Weezies, she would have probably lifted her dress enough to show the princess. Unfortunately (more likely fortunately), Hollyhock was rather strict when it came to what she wore. Weezies didn't make the cut.

"And a good day to you, Princess Rosemary."

While Hollyhock would have usually been boringly polite for such an event, the addition of cookies had thrown all formality out of the window. Besides, she was watching the young Scion share in her delight of sweets. Hollyhock couldn't keep up etiquette with something so adorable in front of her.

With Maya came Edmund. Unfortunately, Templars didn't usually have reputations that preceded them unless there was significant politics involved. They were good people who did their job and they didn't often interact with other Scions. Hollyhock listened to his fun fact, curious on what he was like. Of course, his brief reverence to the arts was befitting of someone from Rosaria. Not that she knew where he was born; it just tended to be that most people who referenced sonnets shared her birthplace.

Hollyhock never liked Redcrosse. Though, she had not read his works since she was ten. At that age, she was more entertained by the profanity-littered works of Piedspere. His insight of nature was limited to the sound of breaking wind. However, Hollyhock wasn't about to bring up her childhood enjoyment of classical fart jokes in front of a seven year old princess.

Thankfully, the arrival of Kasper and his friendly offer meant that there was now a wall protecting Hollyhock from Maya's grip of influence. Likewise, one of the two men of the hour arriving would mean that she could more easily escape from the prying eyes of social media.

It was also good to know that Hollyhock's worries were not unfounded. Immediately, they were posing for pictures with hugs and pleasantries. Extroverts like Maya were truly a danger to Hollyhock's personal well-being.

Fortunately for Jannick, Hollyhock didn't bolt away from this danger. When Justinian approached Jannick (Jarric?), Hollyhock threw a bizarre jab at his fun fact.

"And I see you're in the habit of glazing your wild side, your holiness."

Ionna had found a kindred spirit to have an interesting conversation with. Hollyhock was, however, a bit out of her depth listening to them. If one of them brought up the intricacies of such an arm, then Hollyhock would completely lose the plot. While she knew of sculpting and magic, magitech was something she had no idea about.

Maya had been very friendly in her reception of Kasper. The Doumercène greeting made his smile real, and her compliments on his appearance even elicited a slight blush from the usually collected youth. The prince hadn't immediately responded to his question, so Kasper instead followed his glance back to the other's group. Though instead of watching the templar as Lucas did, his eyes returned unconsciously back to Maya, who was hugging Tyler and getting more pictures taken. She was certainly a formidable woman. Obviously she had affected him somewhat, but he did stop to wonder how much of her persona was genuine. Zacharie had been dutifully tailing him til now, but he noticed that his templar had not followed him to the altar. He stood there now chatting with Ionna, hardly glancing back towards his charge.

Finally, the prince answered him. Kasper turned his gaze back towards Lucas at once, though it took him a moment to process what he'd heard. 'He leaves people... walking in pain? What exactly did he mean by that?' he wondered to himself. The juxtaposition of that sentence next to one about his new templar conjured up a rather curious image. But Kasper managed to suppress any hint of confusion from the prince's curveball, and he played along with an almost metrical response.

"Well, I've heard that headstrong horses, when tamed, make the best mounts." The Scion of Shadow's golden eyes flickered back towards Tyler for the briefest of moments. "But judging from the looks of him, you may well have your hands full for the time being." Kasper felt the need to pivot the conversation back towards his original intention, so he took a moment to reorient himself. He turned and leaned his lithe body against the wall next to Lucas, and swept white bangs aside with his pale fingers. When he spoke again, his voice was a bit quieter.

"Yes, I'm sure that he will be quite talented with the use of the blessing, given his experience. You too, should master your sigil if you would maintain your superiority over him. After all, Incepta must have had a purpose in bestowing on us this gift." Kasper's words were toeing the line somewhat, but he judged from the Prince's self-assured attitude that he wouldn't go running off to tattle on him. "My Zacharie has been a fine partner thus far," he continued, holding out his hand and looking over his own polished fingernails. "Accomplished mage though he is, he's still a novice of Shadow." On the hand that was extended, a holy symbol appeared in an inky black relief - visible at this angle only to himself and the Prince. Kasper's keen eyes watched him carefully for any response.

At Theobald's request, Sara gave what was something between a curt nod and an abbreviated bow. Perhaps what he wished to speak with Fyodor about was not meant for her ears. Though Sara took her duty seriously, she generally gave Theobald a fairly wide berth. She knew he was a man not prone to insubordination, and that he would not do anything to disobey the wishes of his superiors nor shirk the responsibilities of his station, so she had no fear that he would sneak away outside of her supervision. He was also a very large and very dangerous man if he needed to be; even if Sara left him to his own devices for a period of time, it was unlikely that he would come to any harm.

Sara found herself drifting towards the Scion and Templar of Gravity. Theobald was close to Edmund, and Sara had been left to supervise Maya when the two men went on their camping trips. As it turns out, the new Templar of Time was interacting with the pair as well, so it only seemed fitting to address at least one of individuals this ceremony was for.

Your Holiness," Sara bowed to Maya, then greeted her Templar "Sir Edmund," before turning to Tyler. "Sir Tyler, I am unsure whether to offer my congratulations or my condolences, so I will offer both." Her gaze flitted over to Theobald and then Lucas for a moment before returning. "In some ways, you and I are in the same boat, though your situation is assuredly the more difficult. If things become...unbearable, call upon The Mother for patience and succor, but also know that there are people who will stand by you. I'm always available if you need to talk." Sara hoped that she was not overstepping her bounds. The primary suspects for Theodore's death were the Kaudians, but she hoped that Tyler did not label her as guilty by association. Though they had both been Scions for a while, Sara had not had many chances to interact with Tyler; perhaps that will change going forward. If anything she had respected the work that the previous Scion of Time had devoted his short life to, Peace with Kaudus, and appreciated that Tyler had been there to support him up until Theodore's martyrdom.

---

The cookie helped his mood, but not nearly as much as the approach of a diminutive new face - the Scion of Light, or (to Jannick, more importantly) the Crown Princess Rosemary Bachmeier Veradis. As both a patriotic Veradian and an uncle to a niece around her age, Jannick was truly taken with the little princess, returning her adorable little curtsy with his best formal bow. Her question, however, threatened to break what little remained of his knightly composure, and he had to clamp his hand over his mouth to conceal the snort of laughter that broke free as he realized he’d just introduced the future Princess of his home country to half of an amateur rap video starter kit.

Fortunately, Jannick was saved the embarrassment of explaining by the timely and merciful intervention of the man of the hour himself, who smoothly diverted the Princess’ attention before wandering off in the direction of some other Scions. Truly, not all heroes wore capes.

Jannick could scarcely criticize Hollyhock’s overly familiar tone with the Princess after his own blunder, so he just called it a draw; she seemed to be in a pleasant mood this evening, actually, so he was content to let her keep that vibe going as long as she didn’t start getting them both into trouble. Besides, he shared her sentiment; even if he had stars in his eyes, Princess Rosemary reminded him too much of his niece for him to fully grasp the weight of her station. She was just too cute.

He didn’t miss the shadow that passed over his charge, however, as the Templar of Gravity came and went; Jannick followed her gaze to the Scion of Gravity, Maya De-something, whom Jannick really only recognized from her presence in those annoying unskippable Youtube ads. She seemed pleasant enough with Scion Kasper and Sir Tyler, in that dead-eyed “you looking for a good time” sort of way, but Hollyhock eyed her like a hare eyeing a hawk, looking liable to jump out a window if she got any closer. That said, Jannick did recall a few derisive remarks for “influencer” types, and Holly’s distaste for the spotlight was renowned. He made a mental note to keep the two separated; he wasn’t super enthusiastic about showing up on Instagram himself, but mostly he did not want to chase Hollyhock through the Cathedra Incepta. If any of his buddies on duty saw him struggling to catch up to a 90 pound girl literally blowing away with the wind, he’d never hear the end of it.

And speaking of social media, the Scion of Earth joined the throng, chatting up the Templar with the cookies. This asshole, Jannick definitely knew: Justinian Gardner, or “RockinRangerJ”, which Jannick hated that he knew, and knew only because enough dumbass teenagers who watched his streams decided they’d try to imitate his stunts without the benefit of Goddess-given powers, leaving the Knights to clean up the aftermath.

The brightness Princess Rosemary had brought to Jannick’s countenance fell when Justinian addressed him as “Sir Jarrick” - nice - although Holly’s little jab did ease his rankling a bit, getting an amused huff out of him. Man, she was really putting in work wearing him down tonight; much more of this and he’d start thinking the Templar gig wasn’t so bad.

But until then, he shrugged at Justinian, acknowledging his congratulations with a curt nod as he finished his cookie, followed by as shallow a bow as he could get away with. “Pleasure’s mine, Holiness,” he replied with barely-passable reverence, “She’s got a good nose, that’s for sure. Good skill to have, really.” He came up with a tame enough response to put the comment to rest; whatever their differences, he wasn’t about to disparage his own Scion.

This Scion, however, was fair game. “But say, uh - if you don’t mind my asking, Your Holiness,” Jannick stumbled over the formalities as he absently patted himself down for cigarettes, “you been keeping busy lately? You used to be big stuff on the internet, my little brother was a big fan. But I feel like I haven’t heard much of you in a while. You pick up a new hobby or something?” He gave up his search when he remembered that the Crown Princess was within secondhand smoke distance, and he wasn’t that good at manipulating the air yet - or dodging angry Rodian Templars.

---

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Standing apart, Dominika found herself finally smiling, a hand politely covering her mouth as she had been recently taught. The Marchioness, Nadine Lucienne, had swept in like motherly goose to save her, to shield her beneath the great sweeping wings of her dress, and to save her from a most uncomfortable moment of self-induced awkwardness. She could hardly follow what the august woman said, but she smiled when she should, and listened when she could, fighting the urge to vomit. She suspected the Marchioness could tell her discomfort, but she charitably continued talking, gracefully guiding Dominika through the conversation. A kindness, Dominika gratefully resolved she would not soon forget.

Waiting upon the hallowed grounds of the cathedral, bright awe burned within her. She carried the faith of the newly received, noble aspirations tempered still only by the limits of her quiet hope. The room loomed larger than the preceding hall, heavy purpose distorting physical reality. It was impossible to fail to notice the tension. The pursed lips. The long, mournful gazes. The eyes that seemed hard steel forged with obvious anger. A multitude of other expressions had taken form on the faces scattered across the chamber.

It had been a solemn occasion, a ceremony touched by tragedy, and yet she hoped sorrow that could be mended by the mercy of the Goddess. Her own ceremony, her blessing...Ionna's blessing she remembered with no such apprehension. She doubted many things, herself most of all, but she did not doubt the Templar and her earnest desires to protect her. Beneath a fresh layer of anxiety, induced by the increasingly complex situation that seemed to be brewing following the Blessing, Dominika could not help but think back to short months earlier. The memory lingered as if the Blessing had just occurred. She could remember every moment. The immeasurable joy and the surety that had enveloped her like the soft embrace of the Goddess. She felt fortunate Ionna was her Templar. She had been kind and sweet, even then. She was pleased with her, and hoped that Ionna was pleased with her in turn. Perhaps she would ask her more about...

Lost in her thoughts, Dominika caught the sweet chiding of the Marchioness by fortune alone. She carefully stored the advice she remembered, knowing that her brief respite was soon ending. She offered a most sincere curtsy to the Scion of Lightning, happy to have been with such kindness. It was a small mercy that her aide had suggested a modest dress, of a middling length, cast in an elegant gray, patterned with fine lines of silver and a simple veil to match. She would not have trusted herself in a lengthy gown. The young Rosarian woman, Catalina, had come at the recommendation of the Archbishop Elijah. She knew fabric as Dominika knew metal and spoke of fashion that the newly minted Scion could scarcely imagine, never mind understand. To be dressed by another, was a strange experience, but Dominika had come to rely on her many new advisors. The Archbishop had repeatedly assured her that there was no shame in asking for help.

Immobile, as if teetering on the edge of a cliff of social doubt, Dominika felt a sudden nudge. A gentle push on her shoulder, and turning once more she was met with the smile of the Marchioness. Go, she heard whispered tenderly, encouragement apparent in the woman's kindly manner and her subtle nod in the direction of the other Scions and accompanying Templars. Dominika drew a deep breath, letting her shoulders rise up and then down, as she hammered her resolve into a useful tool. Complying, she willed her feet to move forwards, swallowing small bits of iron, her feelings, with each step that she took.

What did one talk about with someone famous? Oh, how nice to meet you, I've seen your Instagram posts, they're very cool, I love your dress, can I see your hammer, want to be friends?

Dominika tried to recall a topic. She desperately tried to think of something interesting. Something recent, but nothing sad, and nothing controversial. No politics, never, never on holy ground. She tried to find someone to address, someone to talk to. Half heard words sprang back into her thoughts. Bakeries promised for a simple secret. Her eyes darted across the room, urgently seeking her Templar. Relief laden laughter threatened to escape her when she finally spotted Ionna.

There Ionna stood. Seemingly unconcerned by the famed Scions and noteworthy Templars that surrounded her. Happily chatting, bristling with the infectious cheer and good-will with which Dominika had come to know her. High Cardinal Margaret had told Dominika to rely on her templar. So she would listen. She plotted a safe course, maintaining the steady caution of a ship caught in stormy seas, and drifted silently across the polished floor until she stood in front of Ionna and a masked templar. She would not disappoint them, Ionna least of all.

"Pardon the interruption, but I would trade a secret for a cookie," she began, her heart fluttering as the gears began to turn in her head.

"I always dreamt of building a flying machine. A sleek iron bird with metal wings that could soar in the blue skies that float above the seas. Silly, I know, but...I- I also know how to circumvent the sonar system on the new Cordis-class Frigate! Allegedly..."

Letting her story fade with a panicked shrug, Dominika reached for a chocolate chip cookie, convinced that she had fairly paid her dues. She bit down cheerfully on the cookie she had claimed, carefully wiping her mouth and fingers after with a silk handkerchief fished out from her purse, cognizant of the high company she now kept. Hiding most of her hesitation behind a newly formed smile, Dominika spoke earnestly, "I agree with Dame Ionna, Sir Templar, you have a very cool visor. The metal work is exquisite, truly the work of a great master or several."

---

@Mcmolly@Scribe of Thoth

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Oh, Silvaine looked positively thrilled to be a part of this; Tyler hadn't expected Maya to involve him, but he really should've in retrospect. She'd never trust Tyler's shoddy camerawork that seemed to only catch Theo's bad side no matter the angle over her own people. It only sweetened the deal, as far as Tyler was concerned. He didn't miss how the Templar of Gravity had glared up at the ceremony, and no matter how Edmund tried to play cool and detached, Tyler could tell his frustration was aimed at more than just Maya.

The grin he shot back, in his opinion, would probably be best described as 'shit-eating'.

"You made sure to catch my good side, yeah?" he goaded, carefree as could be. Ah, but Lucas had told him to play nice with the other knights, so he politely refrained from any further comments about Edmund being a glorified cameraman. They could nurse their contempt in silence for the holiday.

Though if Edmund was a forgettable breeze, the Templar of Fire was a veritable hurricane. She barged into their conversation and dragged Theodore with her, even if she hadn't meant to. Below his conscious notice, his jaw set firmly and his nostrils flared while she spoke. Why this animal thought it appropriate to offer him the same trite crap every clergyman he'd talked to for the past few months did was a mystery, as if it would somehow mean more coming from the kinsmen of Theo's murderers. Guilt by association that she felt she needed to assuage, maybe. Tyler wasn't sure if he should be more incensed at her pity or her crude attempt to compare their situations. Last he checked, her Scion hadn't died at the hands of her godless cousins, so he really didn't see the parallels-

Tyler took a deep breath. Remember, she was one of the good ones. If she was there to goad him - with her words and not her ethnicity, anyway - she'd done a poor job of it, so he could only assume her offer was genuine. It also dawned on him that she probably intended more to point out the friction they both had with their respective Scions rather than parade Theo's corpse in front of him.

"Are we really in such a similar boat?" he questioned, "I think you're misinterpreting His Highness' charming personality as spite toward me in particular." There was likely some there, true, but Tyler doubted they'd get along any better in these circumstances without his greatest failure hanging precariously over both their heads. Lucas would find some other matter to attack him with, and Tyler would simply be less likely to smack him for it.

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@webboysurf@Stern Algorithm

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It was to be expected that Dame Ionna would throw Zach's question back at him like that, not that he minded. Shame that she couldn't provide very much insight into magitech, but then again he was a pot with some choice words about the shade of the nearby kettle here; he couldn't provide much context to his own little gadget either. Unexpectedly, the Scion of Metal tagged on to her Templar's comment. Zach swore she had a reputation for some kind of mechanical inclination, though he wasn't certain if that extended to magitech, let alone Church magitech, or restrained itself to common metallurgy.

Zach raised a hand to politely decline the second offer of a cookie, intent on sticking to his guns now, and tugged at the edge of his visor as he debated how best to explain its workings to them. "I'm sure the craftsman would be very happy to hear that. Though I don't think it differs too much from the ones they give to all the Church mages." Which they probably didn't understand the workings of either. He wasn't very good at this, was he?

"And, well, no, it can't see through walls, unless a thermal camera counts," he explained, opting to take the questions in stride, "I think that's how it works, very tiny cameras. I know has sensors embedded that can detect mana levels, and it quantifies them much better than the gut feeling a mage usually gets. No internet either, but it pairs with my phone," Zach lifted up half of the visor, the material twisting almost like cloth as it rode up on his forehead, to reveal his good- well, less awful eye. Ionna was reduced jarringly to a dim red and gold smudge in half of his field of vision and Scion Dominika disappeared into his diminished periphery entirely, and he fought the urge to close the exposed eye entirely to refocus on them.

"I'd offer to let you peek but it probably won't look like much without recalibrating it to your eyesight." Not that he had any idea how to do that. Or whether the excitable Templar in front of him would even care; she could very well find the thought of staring through a blurry visor fascinating.

As for the other participant in the discussion, Zach gave up and resituated himself himself so that Dom now rested in the still-visored portion of his visual field. By the Mother, this was irritating. The inventor of the monocle must've been a sadist. "Forgive me, Your Holiness, I'm still unfamiliar with your career. Is anything like this within your area of expertise? I confess I'm unversed in the field. Kasper prefers more... traditional applications of magic."

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@Abstract Proxy@Mcmolly

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Rosemary made a small noise of confirmation once Tyler answered her question, though she didn't hide the small smile she had after he patted her head. She looked up at him, or at least tried to, noticing too late that he was already walking off. She finished her cookie as she watched him approach Maya, making a tiny noise of indecision as she looked back at the cookies. As she thought to herself, she pulled out a small handkerchief out of a sewn-in pocket of the dress she wore, absentmindedly dabbing at her mouth as she teetered between her desire to follow Tyler and the desire to have another cookie.

She turned back at the sound of her name, giving Hollyhock a small nod as she tucked away her handkerchief. She watched the older Scions speak, looking to each one as they spoke, but as she wasn't addressed any longer, she began to get restless. Her hands fidgeted with a crystalline ring she wore, and she seemed to make a decision, taking another sugar cookie.

"Hummingbirds are the smallest living bird and they like nectar," She announced, turning to scurry away, but she made it about three steps before she remembered something. She immediately turned back around, approaching Ionna again. "Um, my window has a lot of hummingbird feeders. That's my fact. But I gave two facts, so..." She trailed off, but still snatched another cookie before running off.

"No one's going to chase you for eating a cookie, Your Highness!" Sonia told her, exasperated.

Rosemary looked up at her, mouth already full of cookie. She timidly offered her the second one she stole, and Sonia took it, clearly trying not to laugh. When the princess tugged on her sleeve, the woman once again knelt down swiftly, but unlike last time, she looked at Rosemary in surprise. Before she could say anything, Rosemary walked away, leaving Sonia to just laugh to herself for a second. Once she recovered, she approached the cookie bunch, sugar cookie still in hand.

"As my charge feels remorseful enough to ask me to apologize on her behalf, but not so remorseful to do it herself, I'll right the wrongs by offering my own interesting fact," Sonia said, taking a second to think. "...feel like bears are boring...But I wrestled an alligator once. Irina bet me ten bucks to wrestle with it for ten minutes. I won, of course."

She shook her cookie at Zacharie. "Caught the end of that, but I think I have your prototype," She gestured towards her own eye cover. "...or is it the other way around? Do you have a fake eye, too?"

Rosemary herself had devoured her cookie in record time, and she was once again dabbing her mouth as she watched Tyler, but she was content to just run around, clearly enjoying the small clicks and clacks of her tiny heeled shoes with each step, giggling to herself.

Meanwhile, Fyodor seemed to listen closely to Theobald. He made no change of expression as he watched Theobald interact with Sara, her dismissal not coming off as a surprise. His eyebrows did, however, knit together in what could have been construed as either concern or confusion to the Scion's request, but he wouldn't leave Theobald in the dark for too long, his response coming in after a short pause.

"Had there been any progress, I don't think the news cycles could hardly hold themselves back on reporting it," He admitted that much. "If it had been a question of manpower, I think I could sway Elijah to see my point of view and take the Scions and raze Kaudus and their false idol to the ground. Life would be easier if it was just a question of who had more might, or power, or strength."

He paused. "Everyone knows it was Kaudus that kidnapped and murdered Theodore Estora. But with no proof, there is no casus belli, and our neighbors in the south would fear we have gone mad if we went to yet another war with Kaudus," He stated. "Dr. Rhaveus has been working on a theory that would provide some explanation on how they managed to capture a man with the ability to warp time itself. Until he has his results, there is nothing to be done."

---

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Lucas' lips parted as he gave what must have been the most muted expression of confusion he ever had. This guy was fucking with him, right? Because at first, he was convinced that his not-so-subtle-and-definitely-crass innuendo went right over the dude's head and that using horses as an example was just a lucky coincidence. And then came the talk of full hands and holding superiority, and--nope, now that he was replaying it in his head, it was definitely just a poor choice of wording that he was willfully misinterpreting. If he was honest, it was actually disappointing.

He closed his mouth and gave a noise resembling either agreeance or just a confirmation that he heard what was said, even if he could feel his eyes glazing over. Sure, typical Scions likely needed to assert themselves over their Templars. Even Theo, who may not have been a royal but was still an Estora, likely had a more casual relationship with his Templar because he was just that sort of person. But there were three royals in the room, three that rose above the Scion title--they were referred to the titles they had at birth because they were different. He'd argue he had a leg up on the two princesses as well, being a high prince. He was already superior to everyone else in this kingdom.

But he guessed that this dude was trying to be helpful or something. 'My' Zacharie, he had said. That was weird. Was it normal for Scions to shack up with their Templars? As he looked at the various pairings, he supposed he could see it with some of them, large age gaps notwithstanding. Unless Princess Rosaria over there had some kind of grandfather thing he wasn't aware of. Was that why she was pissed at him? That sounded like something he would imply, but he wasn't entirely sure.

He realized his thoughts were getting haphazard, forcing himself to focus up. Yeah, this conversation was likely going to bore the shit out of him, but better a softball, boring conversation than one that required effort. What did he say again? That he needed to assert his dominance over Tyler with magic? The bastard had four years of experience on him, how the fuck was he supposed to catch up to that? "I've had this power for two weeks," Lucas reminded him, raising an eyebrow. "Even Theodore needed some practice, and he was better at receiving prophecies than using his magic."

The thought soured Lucas further. He couldn't say the same; the few visions he received were hazy, made him sick, and he was pretty sure they were intentionally trying to give him a heart attack. If he was being completely honest with himself, he felt like Incepta was upset that he was the Scion of Time. But if She didn't want him, why the fuck did She pick him?

The tiny clicking of Rosemary's shoes caught his attention, and he managed to bend down and pick her up by her waist. She gave him a small giggle, kicking her feet around like she was still running.

"You're going to trip, get hurt, and then cause a ruckus," Lucas warned her.

"A ruckus," She repeated, bursting into giggles despite him giving her a deadpan look. He placed her back down, and to his surprise, she remained in place. She tugged his sleeve despite the fact that he was still looking at her. "Do you think he remembers me?" She asked him, pointing at Tyler.

"Dunno. Go ask him."

She hesitated, rocking on her heels. "Can you ask him for me?"

Lucas looked like he was losing what little patience he already had, but he knelt down to meet her at eye level. "Just ask him. He's not going to get mad at you or anything."

"...no." She declined, choosing to continue her race against no one and running off.

Lucas rolled his eyes, turning back to his fellow Scion. He knew Rosemary was going to be as weird as ever, but something this guy said suddenly clicked in his mind. "And what purpose do you believe Incepta had choosing a little girl as a Scion?" He suddenly asked, crossing his arms. "Veradis works differently than other countries, you know. The Scion of Light is the one who rules the principality. So Rosemary's not just a princess, but a ruler once she comes of age. Her great-grandfather got to have some semblance of a normal life before his own holy sigil appearing at fourteen. So why is Rosemary destined to carry that burden that has been chosen for her since the tender age of two years old?"

---

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Ionna beamed, bouncing excitedly on her feet when Dominika appeared to finally join them. She had felt so awkward standing apart from her Scion during the ceremony—a failing of formality she was sure Dame Irina had noticed, but, at this point it was only one of many, and not even the most grievous. Between that, and her own lateness, she had worried Dominika would be cross with her, but by her smiles and how freely she shared her own secret, that seemed blessedly untrue.

They hadn’t known each other long, but Ionna could already tell Dominika was a sweetheart. Some Scions were very…into themselves; not to say there was anything wrong with confidence, but she could hear uncle Dragomir in the back of her mind, reminding her that loud opponents were always covering up some weakness they didn’t want exploited. Dominika was very reserved in contrast, but in some ways, she was also very open. Ionna could see it in the way she talked to people, and how she carried herself, almost like she thought she was a burden rather than a figure of divine power. There was something so refreshingly honest about her.

She’d told her dad as much, and he seemed pleased. That was all the approval she needed. Besides, they shared the same inquisitive nature, and Dominika wasted no time in joining her fascination with Sir Chaudoir’s visor.

Despite that it seemed none of her guesses were true, Ionna still listened carefully to his explanation, nudging Dominika with her elbow. “He’s got heat vision!” she said excitedly.

When the Templar gave his full attention to her Scion, she stood back, eager to give Dominika the chance to strut her stuff. Whether or not something like this actually was in her wheelhouse, Ionna didn’t know, but either way, it was still good to get her talking with the rest of their fun little club. Hopefully the attention didn’t overwhelm her.

She thought, moments before being overwhelmed herself.

The princess’s rather adorable departure heralded the arrival of someone else. Dame Gusev approached and Ionna was not prepared. It took every ounce of self-control she had not to gasp, and then she had to dip into reserves to keep from frantically elbowing Dominika. Instead she stood still, clutching the box like it cradled a glass baby and not a dwindling supply of cookies, and stared up wide-eyed at the woman. She didn’t even hear what Sonia said, she had to catch the mental rerun a few moments after, when she came back to reality.

“Hah!” she barked, sharp and a bit too loud. “Alligators. That’s—wow—that’s cool. You’re cool. Your eyepatch is cool.”

For the nth time that morning, the alarm inside her designed to detect unprofessionalism blared itself ragged. She bit down on her tongue in an attempt to jam the unfettered pipeline between her brain and her mouth, and opted instead to stand quietly back while Dame Gusev addressed Sir Chaudoir, praying that Incepta might mercifully smite her into the ground, or manifest as a being of holy light and throw her through a window.

---

@Hero@Scribe of Thoth@Abstract Proxy

Sara blinked a few times in slight confusion, then put her hand to her chin as if lost in thought. Did Tyler truly find Lucas' behavior charming? No, surely he was being sarcastic, but it did bring something else to mind. Straightening back up, Sara replied, "I apologize, it is unbecoming of me to encourage back-biting of our respective Scions. It was not my intent to do so; they are, after all, The Mother's chosen, and it is an honor to serve them, come what may. I merely wished to offer a hand in solidarity and support, should it be needed. But I have spoken out of turn; you have been a Templar longer than I have, so it is not my place to share with you the difficulties of the post." With that, she bowed lightly and took a step back, excusing herself from the conversation.

Though there wasn't anywhere she particularly wanted to, or could, go. Being confined to this room and forced to engage in the politics of interpersonal relationships was tiring; Sara counted her blessings that Theobald mostly kept to himself, allowing her to, by proxy, avoid this kind of awkwardness most of the time. She pulled out her phone and checked the orphanage group chat to see what her 'sisters' and the children were up to, seeing many pictures of their preparations for the millennium festival. Though it brought a smile to her face, it brought a pang of homesickness. That's right, the orphanage, Lorenzia, and The Estoran Federation were her home, if only people could see that.

addressing: JannickJarrick@Obscene Symphony, Hollyhock@OwO, Lucas@Hero

---

"It's not like I've got much else to boast about in my Scionic tenure so far. Had to spend a lot of time learning my numbers and leters to a 'proper level' from a number of frustrated tutors. And can we not with the formalities, Holly, it's bad enough I have to deal with it from Bianca and the other church members, but amongst Scions I'd prefer to be a tad more casual." Especially one who I've planned several get aways with when we were younger. Justinian grumbles internally but takes the jab with a good natured smile. That nature did become a bit strained as Jarrick spoke up, the gem in his hand cracking with a bit more force as he lost focus of the construction for a moment. While not the most socially adept of those present by any means, one doesn't spend a majority of their Scion career as the 'Problem child' without picking up a sense for when people are poking at you.

"Oh, you know, one incident too many and Gra-Commander Fyodor put someone more my speed in charge. Harder to get out and do things now, but I still make a vlog now and then. Recently been using some of Kaspar's books to study up onmore conventional magic which has been. . . slow going. Still do the exercise, rock gardening, even regular gardening though I'm no Isdore. If that sounds like something you'd like, catch me live some time, or a few of the Vods." If it had been a few years ago, he might've tried to bite back at the Wind Templar, but time with Bianca had cooled him. . . somewhat. It had at least forced the young man to look for the silver-linings in such situations and focus his attention on those. In this case, that the Templar had a brother who was,or at least had been, a fan. Ignoring the statement at first, the scion gestures with his cookie laden fingers to his pocket. A slight shimmer of amber mana preceeds signs of movement until a small piece of quartz floats up into the air between. "Don't know if your brother still watches, but I can do an autograph if you want?"

If Jarrick did provide him a name, Justinian fills it out as he holds his hands over the rock, the surface of the rock cracking and shifting until a message of thanks forms onit's face, with the signature being a stylized form of Justinian's own intials in a Diamond shape. After that he'd pass the rock over to the templar(or pocket it if he refused) and give a short bow of farewell before continuing on his way to present his gift to the Prince. There would be time later to have a battle of wits and barbs, but right now he was trying to keep positive. Today started awful, he had felt awful, but that didn't mean it had to end awful. Focus on silverlinings, don't think about what you can't deal with.

As thoughts turned towards present matters, however, the cookies were swiftly devoured and the scion began gnawing on his thumb's knuckle. An old habit from when he was young and yet so familiar that he didn't even notice it until he broke the skin. Looking down at the small wound, he clicks his tongue. It was just nerves, and a bit of anxiety. Nothing new, and nothing he hadn't dealt with. Silver linings. Control what he can, like the aquamarine in his hand.

The shape for the gem had catalyzed pretty firmly by now, a gem shaped like a shield crest inscribed with both the Estoran family crest and the Holy Sigil of the mother, the internal structure of the stone rearranged so that light focused through it would illuminate the Holy sigil. A fine enough gift for the royal prince, even if he expected nothing more than sour words and a scoff. He'd done his duty as a Scion, both offical and self-imposed, and it could never be said that he hadn't at least tried to be nice.

As he approached, however, he got some of the words Kasper and Lucas were trading. Well, mostly Lucas' words focused on the little princess who was now running around the room like a bat out of hell. THe earth scion likely would've tried to encourage her play a bit in a greeting if not for what he heard from the High Prince's lips.

"Veradis works differently than other countries, you know. The Scion of Light is the one who rules the principality. So Rosemary's not just a princess, but a ruler once she comes of age. Her great-grandfather got to have some semblance of a normal life before his own holy sigil appearing at fourteen. So why is Rosemary destined to carry that burden that has been chosen for her since the tender age of two years old?"

Logically, even Justinian knew the high prince had some measure of a point. Ruling a nation was no small weight to place on a child's shoulders and in anyone else, he would've considered it a point of concern. But coming out of Lucas, it felt like he was just spitting on the gift that had been given to him, to Rosemary, to all of the Scion's present to describe the blessing as such. It had been a life-saving miracle for many, himself included. But the way the Prince spoke, the way he had been acting throughout this entire event at the fringes of Justinian's attention, it sounded like it all amounted to little more than an inconvience to his precious devil-may-care royal life. Justinian's grip tightens around his 'gift' as a new design came to his mind, though he had no confusion where this inspiration came from. All of the feelings he'd felt these past few months, the anger, the frutration, the helplessness, it all flowed into the gem as its composition responds to his will and mana.

Funny that, in what had taken him minutes of chatter, thinking, and contemplation to buy time for, Justinian's anger had managed to finish something similar if not more complex in a matter of moments. Like everything he did, he found it came easier when he no longer let his mind focus on anything but the action itself. Consequences could be dealt with, he had something to say and he was going to say it.

'Bianca's probably going to talk my ear off about this later.' The Scion thinks idly as he approaches the Prince, alerting the royal to his presence by clearing his throat, ever so polite. By now his right hand was no longer glowing with amber, instead trailing a cloud of sparkling light blue particles in as he holds it out to the young man.

"I hope I'm not being a bother to you, My Prince," Justinian said without the slightest intonation of remorse while looking the High Prince dead in the eye. He didn't keep any of the disdain of his face, though his tone remained cool and collected. "I just wish to give you a small gift, as I have given to other Scion's that have been chosen during my tenure. An aquamarine gem, shaped with you and the legacy you bring to your new station firmly in mind."

Without any added fanfare, he unveils the finished creation.

It still retains some of the inital principles he'd thought of, a simple shield crest shape that held s combine image of the Estoran Royal family crest and Incepta's holy sigil. But only the Incepta's sigil kept the light blue color of polished aquamarine, still somehow refracting the light of the cathedral so as to appear glowing. The rest of the crystal, however, was dull and distorted as if seeing reflections of the Estoran Crest through a fun house mirror. A perfect reflection of the Prince, in Justinian's eyes, whose first worthwhile deed was being picked as a Scion in the first place. Whether the Prince understood the meaning of the gift or thought it just a off color joke, the Scion of Earth didn't really care.

Theo was gone, the man who'd let it happen was getting off scott free, and the man who replaced him was a spoiled princeling that was probably going to do just as much good for the kingdoms now as he'd done before. MIght as well get some petty enjoyment out of snubbing his nose a bit if he was going to have to spend the rest of his life hearing about such an embrassment to Incepta's blessing.

What a farce indeed.

---

A shift had occurred in the Scion of Metal as the topic anchored on the practical applications of magic and she seemed at once at ease. Magitech was something Dominika could understand. It was something she could grab on to like a drowning person desperately grabbing for a lifebuoy. The reappearance and fading of the very adorable Scion of Light had heralded a welcome new arrival. She could see the happiness in Ioanna's eyes and felt her heart swell with a kindred feeling. It was easy, pleasant even, to let herself be swept along by the young woman's cheerful disposition and her guileless charm. The care with which Dame Gusev attended to her child charge was touching. There was obvious affection in her actions and words. More importantly to the Scion of Metal, awe emanated from Ionna in heavy waves at the mere presence of the veteran Templar and Dominika desired nothing more than to encourage such joys in her protector. Entering the conversation once more with renewed delight, Dominika gestured politely at the two Templars, indicating at visor and eyes of Sir Chaudoir and Dame Gusev respectively.

"Our lands profit much from the judicious application of mana," she said, her voice a flowing river adorned with flowers, in the melodic register so characteristic of the Lorenzians. "I built ships once. I was a shipwright in Pogona. This work, your visor and your eye, they are different. Very fine, very delicate. The magitech of ship is different. The engines and the mana batteries. They are...delicate in a different way, but far simpler. It must please the Goddess greatly to see her children help each other thus."

In the background Dominika could almost make out the details of a serious conversation which she was sure she had no desire to take part. The Scion of Fire was not a quite man. It did not change that murder was a matter that left her only full of sadness and dread. So Dominika smiled again Ionna, focusing on the barely contained excitement that had taken hold of Ionna. The Goddess would understand, in such troubled times, a little bit of happiness was a mercy.

---

@Hero@Scribe of Thoth@McMolly

Kasper noted the prince's frustration and decided not to push him too much further. Angering a royal now could have unpleasant consequences later on. "Yes, I know that the gift is still new to you. But you already show promise. And the sigils that we have are greater than the ones we bestow. You needn't worry about failing if you've only the mind to pursue it." Yes, all that was needed for the prince to gain the superiority he spoke of was effort, and the interest to follow through with it. And perhaps some discretion, given the official restrictions that were placed on the Scions. That was really the crux of what Kasper had been saying. Those restrictions would eventually chafe at him who lived under them. If Lucas became more skilled with his power, he could shake loose from time to time. At least, that had been the experience of the white-haired youth.

The conversation shifted towards the idea of purpose attached to the sigils. Did Incepta really have a plan for the two year old Rosemary, or for the prince himself? "We can't often see the destiny of a scion many years in advance. But the Goddess can," he answered piously. "I was only fifteen when the Goddess gave me her blessing. At the time I was naive noble boy in a family of artists. I would never have become the man I am today." Kasper's achievements over the last eight years spoke for him on this subject. Though still young, he had become one of Doumerc's most promising minds. As a magician and an academic, he was a point of pride for his city. "In many ways, the influence of the sigil made me into a proper Scion of Shadow, or so I'd like to think," he said with a good-natured smile towards the prince. He had tried not to overstep the bounds of humility, but there was no hiding the confident sense of accomplishment that lived within him.

"Perhaps the same will be true for Rosemary. Incepta willing, she may make a great queen for us one day. I don't know her well, but there is something special about her. A certain perceptiveness." Kasper's answers had been on the safe side, but still somewhat insightful. He didn't want to push the envelope much more after the things that had already been said. Internally he did have other thoughts about the matter, however. He knew from history that there was more to the Scion of Light than just political rule, though that was the modern convention. William Bachmeier was remembered more as a saint than anything else - a champion of the church. He wondered what might really become of the young Rosemary.

He swirled away from the wall and gave a bow to Lucas. "Thank you for the audience, your Highness. And again, congratulations." With that, Kasper returned to Zacharie's side. He gently placed a hand on the templar's shoulder as he approached. "Having fun?"

---

Princess Rosemary was certainly rambunctious, though he supposed children were children regardless of station. The advent of her Templar was far more engaging to Zach's attention, and it seemed Dame Ionna agreed, since her excited oohs and aahs about heat vision gave way to- blessed Mother, did she really wrestle an alligator? This woman was clearly insane. Dame Irina as well, but Zach knew that well before this conversation. Sonia's statement about her eye, however, intrigued him too much to write her off.

"Ah, no, they're still real for the time being," Zach answered as he tugged his visor back down. Much better. He really preferred not to dwell on the thought that he'd probably have his eyeballs scooped out of his head one day, but the two Templars before him seemed rather content with their own prosthetics, so perhaps it wouldn't be quite so bad. Even if the thought turned his stomach. "No complaints, I hope?"

He wasn't sure if there was a polite way to say 'gee, I sure hope you encounter all the flaws so they can be fixed before I do', since, well, he truly did hope it wasn't giving her any trouble. Given that she likely lost her eye in some brave feat of daring along the lines of wrestling an alligator and didn't electively remove it, Zach could only hope she wouldn't settle for a faulty eye over none at all. He'd certainly do the same in her shoes. Or his own shoes.

Somewhat insecurely, Zach readjusted his visor as the Scion of Metal cut in. Her genuine enthusiasm was certainly infectious, reverent and optimistic in a way he felt all inventors should be. It was a shame her talents didn't quite extend in the direction of the conversation, though he was sure he could find someone else to sate his curiosity if he really needed to. A question about mana batteries came to the tip of his tongue, only for a hand on his shoulder to halt him. Far too gentle to be a threat, even without taking into account the location, though he snapped his head to the side all the same.

"A bit," Zach hummed affirmatively as he greeted Kasper with a warm smile, "I was playing show-and-tell with my visor and Dame Sonia noted that we likely have similar models. I believe hers is the new prototype." He assumed it probably better for his peace of mind that he not inquire whether Kasper had been having fun with his own conversation. Hopefully the prince would soften up after the stress of his appointment had receded, and it wouldn't do to form a negative opinion of him so quickly.

---

@Abstract Proxy@Olive Fontaine

How did exactly did Kasper think Lucas showed promise exactly? Did he have his head up his own ass or was he unaware of Lucas' very public, problematic behavior? The response was about what Lucas had expected but he wasn't sure what the other Scion's line of thought was. His opinion of Rosemary wasn't too surprising since everyone thought the same thing, but the response was half-assed, empty, void of any original thought. One could mistake it for something proper but Lucas knew it was a neutral, servable response and not what Kasper really thought. Oh well, this one was a dud, and any interest Lucas had in continuing the conversation was gone.

Mercifully, Kasper ended the conversation before he could, and Lucas outright rolled his eyes. Sadly, where one boring Scion went another appeared, killing Lucas' desire to stand there and do nothing. His eyes nearly glazed over as the guy mentioned something about a gift and a legacy and blah...fuck, he couldn't even pretend to care, his disinterest plainly written on his face as he stared back at whoever this was. Said gift was presented to him as a rather dull looking rock with the holy sigil glittering light blue, likely to match Lucas' element of time.

Lucas had half a mind to reject the gift under the premise of not having any pockets, but something about the rock looked familiar. It hit him as he opened his mouth to speak--he had seen it before. He hadn't initially recognized it but the entire thing was supposed to be light blue, Theodore had one just like it on his desk and said that it had been a gift from a new friend of his. Once the thought crossed his mind, he straightened up a touch, looking the man up and down. Man was a strong word, this guy looked like he was perpetually stuck at the age of seventeen. He actually recognized the face, too; this was the one that kept doing stupid shit and had an online following.

The prince reached out and touched the rock gingerly, looking at it for a moment before looking up at his face. "It doesn't look anything like Theo's," He commented. "If you're going to regift something, you should try putting some actual thought to it. Or..."

He pushed himself off the wall, pushing aside the outstretched hand and getting right in his face. "If you have a problem, be a big boy and speak up."

Meanwhile Sonia nodded at Zacharie's statement. "That's good, the implant's constant upgrades are sort of a pain. Handy, but 'yknow, all in the pursuit of getting better stuff!" She told him, then grinned at Ionna. "I think it's cool, too."

Any further conversation would come to a halt as Fyodor glanced at his watch and excused himself, walking to the double doors. Within ten seconds, they opened, revealing a pair of church knights accompanying a tall, white haired woman. Lucas already knew what was going to happen and chose to disengage, though not without shoulder checking What's-His-Face on the way as he scooped Rosemary up, much to her delight. Every Templar present would immediately recognize her as Dame Irina Albakova, one of the senior Templars in charge of training inexperienced recruits. She held a small, open box housing ten crystals, each one colored in accordance to their element.

“Good evening Holy Ones, esteemed Templars,” she greeted the gathered audience in a palpable Rodian accent, offering a reverent dip of the head. “I thank you for your patience. The Brothers and Sisters of the Cathedra Incepta have blessed your armor crystals; Templars, please form a line to receive them. They will be worn on the chest as we proceed into the main chapel.” Although she spoke with great deference, the commanding presence of her voice left no room for discussion, a familiar sound to those who trained under her.

As each Templar took their crystal, Irina gave them a nod and a blessing: “May the Mother be your buckler and spear.”

Abram and Ulysse ended up continuing their conversation, but walked together and took up the rear. Princess Isabella watched them for a second, a small frown on her face, though she returned her attention to Nadine. “Doumerc needs to take its defenses seriously and stop relying on Rodion to bail them out at every turn,” She said, giving the older woman a serious look. “You need only say the word, I can convince Mother to lend Rosarian ships to the cause. The Prime Minister follows your every word.”

Nadine let out a laugh. “It’s all hearsay, my child,” She dismissed the offer. “The Federation is reeling from the loss of Theodore, any decisions made now are born of emotion and not logic.”

“And you think it irrational?”

“He would have wanted a peaceful resolution. He would not have wanted blood shed in his name.”

Belle rolled her eyes. “That desire for peace is why we need to show Kaudus that they made a grave mistake,” She stated, insistent. “The ones responsible went through Doumerc, not Rodion. This is something I’ll be bringing up with High King Nathaniel as well.”

Nadine let out a sigh. “I’d advise against that. This is a time for celebration and remembrance.”

Once each Templar had retrieved their crystal and donned it, Irina addressed the assembly again. “Holy Ones, you will proceed into the main chapel in a line; Templars, you will each follow immediately behind your charge. Please line up now.” She took up her position and gestured behind her, ensuring there was no confusion. “Once ready, I will lead you in, and Commander Fyodor will take up the rear. Thank you.”

---

The Scions were lead through a path that took them from their previous chamber back to the entrance without going through the main hall. They stopped in front of a pair of double doors that lead into the main chapel. Once everyone had arrived, Commander Fyodor walked to the doors, turning back to address the Templars. “Arm yourselves,” He ordered.

The seasoned Dame Sonia placed her crystal on her chest, channeling a touch of mana to it. When she dropped her hand, the crystal remained alight with a bright, white glow, and metallic material shot out and covered her clothes and skin. Despite its form-fitting look, she was perfectly comfortable, though she touched the crystal again, the uniform’s cape dropping down and the crown forming on her head. A series of multi-colored flashes mimicked her as the rest of the Templars followed her lead.

After one minute, the double doors opened, and Fyodor walked in with the group following behind. The people stood and turned to look at the group walking down the aisle in quiet awe. The few permitted cameras followed them eagerly, and a few whispers followed suit. A closer look at the audience showed that those in attendance were those from high places, an assortment of dukes and wealthy folks who had connections. In front sat several of the Estoran Federation’s leaders, surrounded by an assortment of security.

The first the group would see was President Bruno Esposito, whose clothes were much more modest in comparison to the other leaders, but his smile was warmer as he gave the group a modest bow. After him was Prime Minister Pierre Dumont, a lanky, older gentleman who needed to be prodded to pay attention, though he bowed all the same. Tsar Aleksander Kresnik was next, and he was much like Fyodor in that he was much more imposing and gruffer than others. He gave the group a shallow bow, but it seemed more out of difficulty moving as opposed to disrespect. Queen Merecedes Callidora would be the next leader, looking particularly young for her age, but keen eyes would spot her age lines just starting to form. She gave the group a curtsy, a dazzling smile following as she raised her head.

High King Nathaniel stood in all his arguable splendor, with both of his sons, Ezekiel and Azrael, on either side of him. The two men were stern and graying, looking at Lucas with equal discontent. Next to Ezekiel was his son and Lucas’ brother, Arthur–who seemed much more approachable than his father–who held hands with his wife, Erica Bachmeier. She looked much like Rosemary, but bore golden curls and sapphire eyes. On seeing her older sister, Rosemary gave her a poorly hidden wave, and Erica happily reciprocated, her hand then resting on her pregnant belly. The group bowed their heads in unison.

Prince Rowan stood tall, watching his daughter with the utmost pride, his smile widening as hers did. He dipped his head in respect as well.

Commander Fyodor led the Scions up onto the grand dais and took his spot next to Elijah. Once the Scions were lined up, the bishop of the church approached the podium, beckoning for the crowd to sit. The bishop resembled Prince Rowan greatly, complete with matching brown hair and blue eyes that shone as he looked towards everyone.

“Good evening, my brothers and sisters,” He spoke. “On this auspicious day we gather to celebrate a momentous occasion–the millennial anniversary of the divine blessing bestowed on us by the gracious goddess Incepta. When William Bachmeier gave out his prayer, Incepta answered, and we were given the holy Scions to carry out Her will. Today’s ceremony will be heralded by High Cardinal Margaret. Please give her a warm welcome!”

The audience broke into applause as the high cardinal took to the dais, now dressed in holy garments passed down through generations of cardinals. She placed her hand on the bishop’s shoulder as he walked past her and down towards the front seats, where a multitude of church mages stood carrying what looked like bowls of glowing water.

Margaret herself approached the podium. “Thank you, Brother Bachmeier, and to all for a warm welcome. It is with hearts full of gratitude and reverence that we come together today to reflect upon a thousand years of Her benevolence,” Margaret stated, unfettered by her audience or the cameras all pointed in her direction as everyone waited on her every word. “I would like to take this opportunity to formally introduce our newest Scion–blessed is he with the power of Time, arbiter of the future who inherits the Sight like those before him. Our Goddess has determined that the best candidate for this position is His Royal Highness, Prince Lucas Estora the tenth.”

She looked back at said prince, whose expression was stony at best. He took a step forward and placed a hand on his chest before giving the crowd a shallow bow. There was a round of polite applause, but people immediately broke into murmurs. He straightened up and looked to Margaret for approval with a quirked brow, and she gave him a nod, allowing him to step back in line with the rest of the Scions.

“In the celestial dance of time, more than a thousand years ago, our beloved Mother once walked the world with us. When she departed, she asked us not to feel sorrow, for she would always walk with us,” Margaret continued, the crowd silencing itself to listen. “We see this every day in our Scions, the living proof of Incepta’s blessings. In the tapestry of history, the Scions of the past were like a radiant dawn and brought light into the darkest corners. As we stand on the shoulders of a thousand years, let us remember the genesis of these sacred blessings and the power they have had on our lives.”

The water began to glow at the end of her words as the mages channeled mana into them. She lifted her arm, revealing a bejeweled bangle, and the mana followed suit. Closing her hand, the mana dispersed, giving the air a glittering effect.

“With our hearts open wide, let us offer our deepest gratitude to Incepta, and may our actions reflect the abundance of her love. Let our hearts be filled with joy, that we may see another millennium be graced with even greater wonders, and may we continue to walk in the light of her blessings evermore.”

---

The rest of the ceremony went off without a hitch, and the congregation scattered once it was over. The sun had long since dipped below the horizon, the sky slowly glittering with the twinkling of stars as everyone left the Cathedral Incepta. The Scions and Templars temporarily went their separate ways but gathered once again at the Gile Manor. Said manor stood on a hill, its ivy-covered walls and towering spires giving it an air of timeless elegance. The cobblestone path leading up to the entrance was lit through mana-powered lanterns and a light dusting of snow adorned the manicured gardens.

Within the main ballroom were high vaulted ceilings and crystal chandeliers, a massive fireplace roaring with fire gave the room warmth. The walls were draped in rich fabrics colored burgundy and gold. In one corner sat an ensemble of musicians gently playing music to accompany the chatter littering the air.

Duke Boetius Gile was more than ecstatic to host the New Year’s Eve celebration and played his part well, greeting everyone that came through the doors with much enthusiasm. The majority of servants were dressed in black, walking around and offering drinks and food to the guests. Anything that was asked for was given, with a set of tables showcasing a variety of dishes and sparkling champagne flutes for those who wanted to get things themselves. A majority of Gaia’s royalty and nobility was in attendance, wearing resplendent gowns and tailored suits, mingling with one another and exchanging pleasantries as well as their thoughts on the ceremony. The one thing on most people's mind was that Lucas Estora was the Scion of Time, and many comparisons to his cousin and his brother were being made.

"Theodore was a kind soul, bless him, but I don't know much about Lucas' charitable work."

"Anani was also once a heathen, and see her patronage now! With any luck, Lucas will follow in her footsteps."

"Strange times will be ahead, but only She knows why he was chosen."

Lucas himself wasn't paying much attention. By the time they got to the manor, he looked paler than he did at the church. His headache had come in with a vengeance and he scarcely offered little more than a nod to most people. He was content to stand in a corner and do nothing, but even that felt like too much. He found an empty seat and plopped down, mannerisms and etiquette be damned, rubbing his temple.

---

Tyler stuck dutifully by his Scion throughout the proceedings, in no small part because Lucas felt the need to incense the Scion of Earth and would probably repeat the stunt with the others that came after him. Now who was pulling someone off someone else? Tyler doubted the little prick was nearly as tough as his mouth was - not that he had high hopes for most of the guests Lucas would feasibly piss off either - but that still meant he'd be the one eating the punch.

Well, he wouldn't let that spoil the evening for him. There were seething people to wave at, after all. It was a mercy his face was covered and all the attention would be on the Scions for the time being, he'd caught his fill of flak for the day, and the event had barely begun. Lucas wasn't very well-received either, and Tyler almost felt sorry for him as he stepped back in line. Almost. The prince probably deserved every ounce of hate he got, but it made Tyler's job harder all the same. Truly the worst brand of solidarity.

Of course, the troubles of a public appearance had nothing on the scathing harpies that would await at the afterparty. Dipshit journalists and civilians who barely pay attention offer only the most banal criticisms, but the guests of any party that a Scion would bother to attend were certain to all be in the know. The discussion was about as riveting as Tyler had hoped; Lucas sucked, Theodore was amazing, the Mother works in mysterious ways, hardest battles, strongest soldiers, blah, blah, blah. He needed a drink.

Tyler kept mostly to himself, amicable but making no social overtures that may draw attention to him - better to keep the spotlight on his wonderful Scion - until he spotted the very man of the hour sulking in a chair. Ooh, he must've been getting slaughtered out there.

Naturally, Tyler draped himself across the back of the prince's chair, wiggling a half-emptied champagne flute in front of him to get his attention. "What was that about thicker skin you were saying earlier?" he mused innocently, "You know it'll only get worse if you let them see you squirm, Your Highness."

Theo had been so easy. Tyler only had to play along and not cause any ripples while his Scion won over the room, and then they'd both go home and he'd make stupid conversation about the event in question while Theo politely pretended he wasn't laughing at any mean-spirited commentary. It certainly never involved babysitting a grump that everyone else was even more fed up with than he was. This wasn't a partnership, it was a fight for dominance that Tyler didn't intend to concede.

After that, maybe - maybe - they could talk about solidarity.

---

@Hero

Lucas could feel his headache pulsing at his fingertips, an ill omen for how long it intended to stay. He had no idea where his father was, but he was certain he'd pop up at any second and start insisting that Lucas stop embarrassing himself and start socializing properly. Between the headache and potentially dealing with that, he wasn't sure which was worse, but the headache was slowly taking the lead. Honestly, the best thing to do was to just leave. One of his brother's houses wasn't too far from here, he could just show up and they'd house him without any issue. It would unfortunately mean his father would know and show up tomorrow, but that would be a problem for Tomorrow Lucas. Today Lucas just wanted to lie down.

The champagne flute suddenly appearing in his vision let him know that he wasn't alone. Taking in a deep breath, Lucas dropped his hand and looked up at his Templar, a vague disinterest plastered on his face. No, he wasn't entirely disinterested, Tyler was being a dick and Lucas wanted to insult him back, but there was a problem. Tyler's words nearly blended in with the chatter in the background as it took Lucas a moment to register that he was being spoken to. He was probably going to pass out, but he sure as fuck was going to make sure he got something out before he did.

"Keep being an ass and I'm going to vomit on your shoes," Lucas managed to snap.

Not his strongest comeback.

Frustrated--and refusing to let that be the last thing he said before he inevitably hit the ground--Lucas took in a deep breath and raised an eyebrow at Tyler. "If I gave a fuck about what anyone in this world said about me, I probably would've killed myself twenty-something years ago when I realized there was nothing I could do to live up to my golden child brother or saint of a cousin. Unfortunately for you and the world, I have every intention of living out of pure spite," Lucas continued. "Better get used to the spotlight, it follows me everywhere."

Nope, word vomit, not getting better, but he gave up at that point. He plucked the champagne flute from Tyler's hand and downed it in one go. "What really bothers me is that I've taken enough aspirin to guarantee I'm going to have liver problems down the line and I still feel like my head's splitting open," He sighed. "Just drag my ass back to the car and leave me in there when I finally pass out, I don't think I'm going to make it back to my hotel."

---

Mercifully, the Scions and Templars weren’t left in limbo for too long. Dame Irina appeared with their armour crystals, and Jannick was thoroughly unnerved by her uncanny valley deference toward him – mere months ago she was breathing down his neck with all the reverence owed to gum on her shoe, and now she treated him almost like her better. To his relief, however, she couldn’t fool him completely: there was nothing she could do to fully rid her tone and icy stare of their intimidating edge.

Jannick took his crystal quickly and without much interaction, and followed Dame Sonia’s lead when it was time to activate it. His opinion on the Templar costume, as he called it, was mixed; the little boy in him who once idolized knighthood couldn’t deny a little excitement, but this was much more than the parade garb of a Church Knight. This was the garb of a Templar, unmistakably setting him apart from the rest; it put every eye in the Cathedra on him (or so he felt), attention he increasingly wished to avoid.

The ceremony went off without a hitch, mercifully; there wasn’t much for Jannick to do, and thus, not much for him to screw up. Funny how performance anxiety never dawned on him in the middle of a car chase or a shootout, but in the middle of the Cathedra with the eyes of Gaia on him – not to mention the eyes of the Goddess, which he never really felt leave him even after departing the blessing chamber – Jannick was starting to flag.

The end couldn’t come soon enough, and neither could the afterparty; more importantly, the chance to finally sneak off for a smoke. The stress of the afternoon had been creeping up on him like a slow leak, at first unnoticed, and at length quite problematic. The first cigarette – in the car, using Wind magic to direct the smoke out a crack in the window – took the edge off, and the next was a natural consequence, and the third was a result of the agonizingly slow driving of the escort leading the Scions to their destination. Honestly, when he found out who was at the front of this police convoy he’d have to bribe his buddies to hide a fish in their locker.

The party itself was a classy affair, the kind that Jannick had no experience with prior to his assignment to Hollyhock. He was grateful for his Templar uniform (sans armour), which constituted the whole of his formal wardrobe, and cut a sharp figure; that, combined with the title of Templar, usually won him the attention of reasonably attractive female company feigning interest sufficient to pass the evening without the time dragging too slowly.

Tonight’s plan was no different, and going smoothly thus far: he was already one glass of champagne deep and chatting up a pair of young ladies from either Doumerc or Lorenzia connected to diplomats Jannick couldn’t remember the names of, and didn’t care much about anyway. Everyone involved knew where they stood, he politely pretended to know who they were, and they politely pretended to care about his police stories. It was a good system.

“I once saw a girl – in the back of the police car, hands cuffed behind her back – take a cigarette out of her pocket, put it in her mouth and light it,” Jannick recounted, eliciting a chorus of giggles – or maybe that was the one girl’s third glass of wine, but he’d take it either way. “Seriously – you gotta keep your head on a swivel, people can get up to some crazy shit when you least expect it.”

---

---

The ceremony was quite lovely, Ionna thought. She wasn’t the most devoutly religious person, per se, but it wasn’t like there was much to debate when it came to the mother. How often was faith anchored in undeniable fact? In a way, it seemed odd to her to call it faith at all; proof of the Mother’s power was evident in their lives every day, and for some, that power was their life, forever.

She supposed her only conflict came in the labeling of that power as a blessing. Her father was a cynic, he had few nice things to say about Scionhood—at least in private—and rarely regarded it with the appropriate level of social reverence besides. But Ionna admired the saints. She found them to be profoundly human, and in each one she found both virtues and warnings. Rosaria Lima blessed wealth with one hand, and unrequited love with another. Saint Durand had his scholarly gifts, but was also quite fond of the drink. And the holy lady Auriel, a figurehead in her own home nation, a symbol of stalwart power—and also the patron of dutiful wives? They all had flaws, but they also had much to teach.

That was how she viewed Scionhood; as a test. Not of strength, or piety, but rather of humanity. Could someone wield so much power without losing touch? The Church seemed wary, and perhaps rightfully so. Ionna, for now, was only curious. Some seemed perfectly capable, while others justified her father’s views.

How would Prince Lucas fare, she wondered. At least for Sir Tyler’s sake, she hoped he did well. The poor guy seemed utterly wrung out. Seeing them together at the after party did little to assuage her worries for him—for both of them.

But there was so much going on, she didn’t worry for long. Ionna hadn’t doffed her armor yet, she was much too excited for that, though she had reeled back the crown and helmet. As well, the transformation was halted at her right shoulder. She’d threaded the crystal’s mana into her prosthetic’s anchor, which felt delightfully seamless, and made controlling the armor quite easy. She spent several moments materializing and dematerializing her cloak, rolling and unrolling it almost like a rug. Blessedly, Dame Irina was not present to scold her for it.

Or maybe she was. The manor was massive, after all. Ionna wouldn’t have been surprised to hear that all of Veradis was here, mingling, gossiping, drinking champagne out of fancy little cups. She held one herself for a few minutes, just to get a taste of that one-percent lifestyle, before setting it aside untouched. Her tolerance was laughably low, and the last thing she wanted to do was get drunk in front of a mansion full of Estoran nobility.

She’d given Dom space to mingle, but kept her in view. She hoped her Scion might open up a little, let some of her colleagues see how nice she was. It had taken her all of thirty seconds to find a kindred soul in Sir Zacharie, and she was sure even with her brief interactions that a few of the other Scions would absolutely love her. In the worst case, she would swoop back in and keep her company.

For the time being, however, Ionna set herself towards being social. Not at all a difficult task for her, usually, but with a party this size she felt a bit like a dog surrounded by tennis balls, too paralyzed with choice to snatch any of them. In the end, she decided to eschew the assembled nobility for the time being, and focus on meeting some of the people she’d failed to beforehand. Keen eyes scanned the crowd, and quickly locked on to the first familiar face they saw—

The Scion of Fire.

A flash of panic sparked alive inside her. Could she be blamed? The man was frightfully large and looked like he’d been grown in a lab with the express purpose of intimidating as many people as possible. Just looking at him, she thought, her father had good reason to be as wary as he was. Of all the Scions, with all of their mystical domains, Theobald Gaumond was perhaps the most dangerous. Or rather, he could be; Ionna rather believed he could go another way. Regardless, it would be impossible to tell from just standing there, watching.

“Your Holiness!” she greeted, swooping to his side with the swiftness and grace that might be unexpected of someone in armor. A testament to the artisanship of its smith, surely. “We didn’t get a chance to meet back during the ceremony. I’ve heard so much about you! Though I guess these days it’s getting hard to find people back home who don’t know your name, huh?”

She stuck out her hand—her real one, after disregarding a worry about how strong his grip would be—and offered a grand smile up at him. “I’m sure you get this a lot, but, it’s really an honor to work with you! Or, ah, I guess ‘around you’ is more accurate. Anyway, how’s the party treating you?”

---

@Xiro Zean

---

Theobald hung onto the Commander's every word, pleased to hear that the old war hero perceived the situation in a similar manner as himself. The former soldier knew better than anyone else that he was born in a relatively peaceful world, the conflicts and suffering he faced on the battlefield all his own doing. Were he born but a decade or two ago, when the world was filled with strife and when might truly did make right, perhaps he would never had struggled with the emptiness he felt in the present.

"How unfortunate. I request you keep me informed should there be any updates on the situation." But as expected, Commander Fyodor would not allow him to act without the full approval of the powers above, and as long as there was no evidence of foul play the kingdom would not send anyone out to pursue their vengeance. With a slow nod, the Scion glanced towards the double doors, noticing the approaching party as the war hero had and sent the man off with a salute. "Until we meet again, sir."

Following the instructions of the senior Templar, Theobald obediently joined the others in the procession to the main chapel, feeling Sara's gaze upon his back as the Templars had been ordered to follow behind their Scions. If he were to be honest with himself, the former soldier envied the armors gifted to the Templars, existing as yet another reminder of his confinement and the coddling of the church. Although, compared to the familiarity of his military uniform, perhaps he was better off without it. He was used to the feeling of polyester and army-grade body armor, and was certain that attempting to fight in anything aside from it would feel like walking in a different person's skin.

He shed his thoughts as they reached their destination, another set of double doors opening to reveal the audience of influential figures and various nobles, the flash of paparazzi and the whispers of gossip familiar yet tiresome. Knowing that they were here for the new Time Scion and not himself, and even further understanding that if they were it would be for the Fire Scion, their presence seemed more irritating than usual. His features pulled into a frown, the warhawk observed the sight of the noble Tsar among the world leaders in attendance. Feeling ashamed that such a person would bow even tangentially to a mere solder such as himself, Theobald would have no doubt bowed deeper in return if the ceremony wouldn't have been disrupted by his actions.

The ceremony, not unlike the conferment of the titles of Time Scion and Templar, went about as expected. A formal affair, completely devoid of any personal attachment. Having a complicated relationship with religion, born believing in the goddess but spurred by her followers' decisions, the former soldier didn't know what expression to make as the crowd praised the goddess and all of her creations.

---

When the congregation dispersed briefly as they moved locations for the after party, Theobald spent most of his time during traversal staring silently out at the scenery rushing past his car window, watching as the sun dipped below the horizon and the city lights flickered on to greet the night. Though he had the power to light his cigar on his own, the familiarity of a lighter's metallic click was cathartic in of itself, the smoke trailing out the open window as he did his best to ignore his company. The Fire Scion could never be trusted alone, after all, and so his Templar sitting beside him during the car ride was nothing more than a drain on his patience.

"Leave me." As soon as he arrived at Gile Manor, the former soldier sent his perpetual shadow away. Not even attempting to be subtle with his disdain as he left her behind, his mood soured by the armor she donned during the ceremony, the large man wasn't certain what he expected to feel when he joined the festivities. Relaxed? Relieved? No, just more of the same, completely out of his element among the higher caste of society.

The name of the Time Scion was on everyone's lips, both the current and former, the conversations freely spoken for anyone to hear unlike at the ceremonies before. But even with the significantly less formal atmosphere, it was still a noble's environment, and so Theobald expected to relegate himself to the sidelines. Or, perhaps, speak with one of the few people he knew at the party. Their hunting trip was on the horizon after all, he would need to straighten out the details with the Templar of Gravity to iron out the details.

And then he saw her.

He wasn't certain if they just happened to meet gazes, or if the woman had been staring at him for a longer period of time. Her approach was immediate, beelining for him through the crowd without a single complaint from the nobility despite the armor she refused to doff, the former soldier's impression of the woman increased slightly by the sight as strolled up to him and spoke her greeting with a great, big smile. Her name continued to escape him, but the Fire Scion recognized the face of the one who gave out cookies to her fellow Templars and the other Scions. A strange one to be sure.

Perhaps the Templar of Metal realized that offering her prosthetic hand would draw attention to it and offered her real one, yet the towering figure's gaze still drifted towards it. He wondered what the story was behind her replacement limb, the large hand that clasped around hers squeezing with a strength that tested the limits of what a human hand could endure. It was customary, at least for the former soldier, to test how strong of a grip a fighter had whenever he met one.

"Likewise." Not making it clear if he meant he was just as honored to work with a fellow soldier, or if he knew of the Templar as much as she knew of him, Theobald shook their connected hands once before letting go. Despite having observed him from a distance, the redhead seemed to feign interest in his thoughts on the afterparty, and so the former soldier played along if only to break the monotony of standing around awkwardly. "It feels restrictive. I am not used to spending time around the nobility. I feel more comfortable in a barracks than a ballroom."

While the circumstances of her arm were up for debate, it was a nice change of pace that there seemed to be at least one person who recognized him for his reputation rather than position. Meeting her grin with his usual, stern expression, the warhawk stared down at his impromptu companion as he attempted to grumble somewhat amicably, "What are you so happy about? Was your attempt at currying favor with that box of pastries of yours successful?"

Hollyhock

---

Unsurprisingly, Hollyhock behaved herself during the procession. She was still pious and respected church events even though all bets were off the second one of her obligations finished. Even though she had a disdain for photos and being in the spotlight, standing alongside her peers--especially Maya--made sure that she was never the focus of photography. It was also a blessing that Isabella was there; Hollyhock was just a footnote for those who cared enough to follow the Rosarian royal family.

Before they had walked out, Jannick had motherly pointed out the chocolate stains on her face. Her veil would have covered it, but the thought was appreciated. She wiped her mouth using a pocket handkerchief.

Smile, wave, and follow behind the other Scions. That was her strategy in every single procession. Though, she supposed it didn't really matter if she smiled or not.

---

While she had some mystery novel misgivings about going to a hilltop manor for an after party, she wasn't going to bring them up to anyone. It was a myopic statement with a death so close. Plus, it wasn't like they had to go through a treacherous mountain road that would definitely have been blocked during a storm. Maybe Jannick would have thought it to be funny.

But Jannick was off entertaining the wallflowers. Hollyhock was, for the most part, unsupervised.

This meant that she spent the party walking and stuffing herself with as much as she could. Hors d'oeuvres had been devoured like she was part-horse. If someone had been astute and been paying attention to her (in present company, such behaviour would be rather strange), then they would have noticed that she had gone through four different plates already.

It was more than her usual supper, but the festivities crunched her regular meal schedule. Sure, she had breakfast, brunch, and elevenses, but her lunch, tea, siesta, and dinner were all interrupted by the appointment and procession. She was now deep into supper territory with half of what she usually ate. Cookies did what they could to tide her over, but only three?

It would be a disaster if the night turned out like a mystery novel. Unless the poison was in the champagne, she was probably going to be the first victim with how much she ate. Hollyhock rarely drank out of the principle that alcohol would take up room in her stomach normally devoted to food.