During the debriefing, Sara tried to maintain a face of disciplined stoicism, though the criticisms cut deep. But when Irina got to the Templar's oath, Sara closed her eyes, as if in pain. She had betrayed her word to The Mother, but the worst part was that she didn't know if she abandoned Theobald because she was trying to follow his orders, because she trusted him to protect himself, or because her opinion of him had caused her to doubt his sanctity, to see him as undeserving of protection, which would be blasphemy. With a heavy heart, Sara left the ballroom when she was dismissed. When the squire offered her crystal back, Sara smiled sadly, and held up a hand to stop her. "Not yet," Sara said quietly, "My business with Dame Irina is not quite over."

While Irina debriefed Jannick, Sara stood at attention some distance down the hallway where the conversation was not audible to make it clear that she had no intention of eavesdropping. When he left in a furious huff, Sara gave him a polite nod, unsure if there was anything she could do to abate his anger. Upon re-entering the ballroom, Sara first saluted and then declared, "My Dame, I surrender myself for detainment and further questioning. I'm sure it is on everyone's lips, but it is likely that Kaudus is involved, in which case, my allegiance is suspect. Dame Ionna can confirm that we saw a helicopter escaping Southeast outside the venue, though I'm sure your intel is already aware of it. You cannot know with certainty that I did not abandon my Scion intentionally to leave him to the wolves, nor that I was not trying to lead Dame Ionna into an ambush, possibly to steal the technology encased within her arm. Additionally, during the fighting, I temporarily lost control of my powers." Sara held up her bandaged arms to show Irina the consequences of such a lapse. "This demonstrates that my mastery of fire magic is lacking. Therefore, it is my opinion that His Holiness Theobald, especially during such a crisis, would be better served by a more capable Templar; one with more magical skill, with better discipline and adherence to their oath, and whose loyalty cannot be called into question." She then held out her hands, palms up, wrists together, as if expecting to be handcuffed.

---

Irina returned her attention to her tablet the moment Jannick left, entirely engrossed in its contents until the sound of the door opening alerted her to Sara’s presence. Mild surprise turned to irritated disappointment when she saw who it was. She listened quietly as Sara said her piece, her eyebrow raising when Sara held out her hands.

She was quiet for a moment, looking the other Templar up and down as if waiting for a punchline that never came.

“Wow,” Irina finally commented, her former intensity somewhat dimmed behind genuine surprise. “Who needs persecutors when you do their work for free?”

Before Sara would get the chance to wonder if she’d just been party to Dame Irina’s first-ever joke, Irina grew serious again, if not a touch exasperated. “You think too highly of yourself, Dame Sara,” she droned, stowing her tablet under her arm. “Half the Church’s Knights and the entire Ordo Templi are combing the wreckage of Giles’ ballroom for evidence as we speak; if we thought it was that simple, I would already be home and you would already be executed.”

What little levity Irina had left fled from her as she approached Sara, folding her hands behind her back. “I am not interested in questioning you. In my opinion, your abandonment of your Scion was incompetence and cowardice, but nothing more. But you're right: we are in a crisis. Right now, I need you standing guard over your Scion. These are some of the most dangerous times you’ll likely face in your career; you can’t get out of it that easy.”

Irina came to a stop just steps before Sara, looking down at her. “Whether you think you’re capable of protecting Scion Theobald is irrelevant; right now, you are his only option. You hold the Blessing of Fire, no one else. Now,” she pointed to the door, almost overtaking the other woman, “reclaim your crystal, and go do your duty.”

---

---

"Twenty three, I was twenty three when I became a Scion," Dom said, opening and closing her hands as if counting twice with a wink at Rosemary. She nodded politely at the Prince, finding some common ground in their recent ordainment as Scions. Although they came from markedly different stations, Dom was certain that he found himself floundering as she did, anyone would have. All the same, it was the Scion of Earth that caught her attention. He seemed quite suddenly lost in his own thoughts and Dom thought best to offer her own contribution to the gentle conversation, "I find myself arriving somewhat late to this holy vocation."

Dom felt a new surge of hope had having weathered the storm she had seen growing and threatening the small tea party. She had done her best to avoid being drawn into the fiery conversation that had erupted between the Scion of Time and the Scion of Fire. Two so different men seemed unlikely to get along at the best of times and she held little hope of any great sharing of warm feelings given the massacre they had just survived. However, there was no violence, and although she suspected it was a noteworthy breach of decorum and good manners to swear in front of the young princess, Rosemary appeared only amused by the antics of her cousin.

Small mercies, Dom supposed, but she was grateful for all the mercies the Goddess would offer them. Mention of her holy dreams were impossible to listen to without a pang of anxiety in her heart, she had experienced no dreams, and no great visions. Perhaps for the better, but she hoped it was no an indication of the Goddess being displeased with her or worse still, the culmination of a failure on her part. Dom felt herself anchored to the present, it was easy to focus on Rosemary, to smell the sweet tea, to feel welcome warmth in her mouth, and taste sweetness. She had decided to be brave. She had committed herself to the task, to the holy work that Incepta desired to see them accomplish, unclear as it was to Dom in that particular moment. Still, it never hurt to be kind.

"What about you, your holiness, how long have you had your sigil?" Dom asked, offering a soft smile towards Theobald. She knew well how difficult it could be to join a conversation and she was eager to see any lingering tension smoothed over. Surprisingly, Dom found that she was having a good time, drinking tea and chatting with a child monarch, a quite grumpy prince, a full speed adrenaline junky, and a ramrod straight soldier.

---

Rosemary was enthused to hear everyone's response, her golden eyes wide with curiosity. She seemed to enjoy Dominika indulging her greatly, all to happy to have people that would actually listen. Her cup sat in front of her untouched as the little princess sat properly on her chair, legs swinging as she watched each person talk. She paused briefly after Justinian's response, but didn't understand his hesitation. She was temporarily distracted as she glanced down at her books and made sure to close them respectfully.

The doors to the snuggery opened and in stepped Duchess Patricia. Rosemary perked up at the sound of the doors opening, but she immediately drooped her shoulders in disappointment. The older woman curtsied respectfully to the Scions around.

"I thank you for accompanying our princess, Holy Ones, but I fear keeping her up too late would cause more harm than good," She stated. "If you find yourself weary, you'll find that your rooms are ready with servants patiently waiting to fulfill any need you may have. We will be serving breakfast in the morning and afterwards the archbishop will speak with you."

Rosemary sank into her seat and crossed her arms, her face furrowing with displeasure. "I'm not sleepy," She declared.

"It is prudent to rest well, Princess," The duchess stressed gently as she approached the table. She briefly glanced at Lucas, a slight frown gracing her lips, but she turned her attention back to Rosemary.

"I don't want to," She muttered, sinking further into her seat.

"Dame Sonia wants you to sleep where she will join you once she has finished attending to her duties."

The mention of Sonia was enough to catch Rosemary's attention. She reluctantly climbed down from her seat, shuffling to the duchess. She paused, turning around to curtsey again to her fellow Scions. "I'll see you all tomorrow for breakfast," She said quietly.

The duchess curtsied as well and took Rosemary's hand, and together the pair exited the room. The doors remained open and a pair of knights were revealed to be waiting, their backs to the wall.

---

Once Sara was gone, Irina took her leave as well, back through the hidden door whence she came. She took the servants’ corridors to the office of the Palace Commander, head of all the royal family’s security forces. He was away, which would prove to be a terrible coincidence, but it worked well enough in Irina’s favour as she’d been offered the use of his office to coordinate the response to the night’s attack.

The room was a relic of its period; with dark paneled walls and walnut furniture to match, it looked rather like a dark cave lit only by the fire blazing brightly in the centerpiece stone fireplace. A few shaded sconces on the walls provided a little more light, revealing an oil portrait on each wall (presumably former commanders or people of note), but the main source of light was an antique green lamp on the desk. Previously clean, the desk was already piled high with reports and other papers relating to the attack. It had hardly been two hours.

A squire, the same one who had collected the armour crystals, arrived only shortly after Irina did. She had a knack for showing up places; Irina had only been supervising her for a few months, but already she was beginning to wonder if the girl was secretly a mage, teleporting all over the place. Whatever her method, it was certainly convenient for Irina.

The girl stowed the now-empty crystal case in a duffel bag (one of several that accompanied Irina tonight) as Irina sat down, eyes still trained on the tablet she’d been carrying. It took a moment for Irina to tear her attention away and notice the girl.

“Oh, thank you,” she greeted curtly, only glancing up for a second. “Go get Sir Edmund for me, please.”

“Yes ma’am!” the squire replied eagerly, saluting before she left.


“Sir Edmund?” The squire girl appeared as if from nowhere in front of Edmund, her footsteps somehow inaudible until she called his name. She looked about eighteen years old, a little tall for a woman, of average build, and sporting a plain brown bob of hair and brown eyes to match. Despite the earlier tension between them, she was perfectly cordial - and perhaps even a little eager - as she greeted him. She saluted Edmund before speaking again. “Dame Irina asked to speak with you. Please follow me.”

Edmund nodded politely, his usual scowl on full display as he had stood down the hall from the ballroom. He was lost in thought, events of the night circling in his head like vultures. The squire didn't seem to phase him much, a roughly familiar voice. Though he did feel a hand gravitate towards his belt instinctively, towards the hilt of a sword that would usually be resting there. The paranoia seemed to be reaching a fever pitch in the quiet of his mind. But he kept it hidden underneath his grumpy demeanor, and followed without so much as a word. He reached into his suit pocket, making sure he still had the crystal in his possession.

The squire led Edmund quietly through the main halls of the palace, navigating surprisingly well for someone who had presumably never been there. A few times she took a breath to speak, but held back; she looked like she had a something to say, but was ultimately too nervous to say it.

She held her peace, bringing Edmund to the door of the Commander’s office and knocking sharply. “Sir Edmund for you, ma’am,” she called courteously.

“Come in.”

The squire pushed through the door, beckoning Edmund in behind her. Irina was sitting at the desk, back straight as a rod, but her focus was still on her tablet.

“Thank you, Sylvia.” Irina dismissed the squire, who saluted and departed, closing the door behind her.

Irina tapped a few more times on her tablet before closing it and returning it to a drawer. She locked it before finally turning her attention to Edmund.

“Sir Edmund, thank you for coming,” she commented flatly, holding out her hand. “I’ll take your crystal now, while you explain why you refused to hand it over earlier.”

Edmund's posture was more relaxed. He didn't bother with the usual formalities, his nerves and the bruising ever-present reminders of the day's events. He took a moment, taking a deep breath, before pulling the crystal out of his pocket and setting it in her hand. He wasn't in the mood to be treated like a squire again, not by her. “I expected more from the Ordo Templi. I had thought the loss of a Scion would have been a wakeup call… I wasn't expecting the response to be complacency.” His voice was cold, but delivered in the same even tone he always used. His hands rested at his sides, his arms tense.

Irina didn’t miss the foreign firearm slung over Edmund’s back, but she said nothing, appearing entirely untouched by his comment as she stood with his crystal. From one of several duffel bags lining one wall, she produced a clunky handheld device and inserted the crystal into a slot at the top. The crystal sank into the device, lighting up a small screen, and a few seconds passed before the device beeped and ejected the crystal once more.

“I wasn’t expecting a Blessed Templar to get into a pissing contest with a squire over a routine procedure,” Irina eventually replied in kind, although her tone was utterly disinterested as she retook her seat and offered the crystal back to Edmund. It looked like she had bigger things on her mind.

“That was all I summoned you for,” she stated, although she gestured to Edmund’s new rifle. “But if you have some information that can’t be gleaned from your armour log, now is the time.”

Edmund's expression was steady as he pocketed the crystal and turned to the door. As he stepped towards it, he showed the first signs of open hesitation as his hand hovered over the door handle for a moment. He took a breath, and listened to the voice in his gut. He lifted his hand up to lock the deadbolt to the office, before turning back to face Irina. “I had a brief conversation with a member of the terrorist organization responsible for the attack when things began. She identified herself as Salome, daughter of Termina. She had been posing as a member of the waitstaff… and she seemed to be orchestrating the attack.”

Irina’s expression, formerly unreadable, suddenly shifted. For the first time, a look of intense interest crossed her face, and she folded her hands under her chin, staring intently at Edmund. She looked like she wanted to jump all over the information, but she restrained herself. “What makes you think she was orchestrating the attack?”

Edmund's expression relaxed, if only slightly. Irina's interest helped ease his paranoid suspicions for the moment. “Her control of mana was… unusual. Her transformation kicked off the assault, and she seemed to be responsible for the disruption of the Scion's abilities… she also had particular insight in the optics of what would take place.” He paused, playing back the conversation in his mind again, trying to piece together the specific words. Recalling them felt like poison in his mouth. “Her exact words… she claimed a new king would be crowned when the year was done, due to his royal highness’ failing health… but that the public at large would blame Kaudus due to this attack and we would go to war.”

Irina listened with rapt attention, pausing when Edmund was done to process his words. She tapped her fingers on the desk in silence, deep in thought.

“Her… transformation?” she finally asked, still visibly pensive. She seemed almost hesitant, as if she had to choose her questions carefully. “What do you mean by that?”

Edmund paused, considering the question for a moment. “A blue light enveloped her, and her appearance changed. The lights were out, so I wasn’t able to get a good look. Her shape just looked… different… and I think it all came from the gloves. Whenever she snapped… that’s when things went sideways. First with the soldiers, then again with the magic disruption… from my point of view, it looked like they managed to plant things all over the ballroom to make that happen. A preliminary sweep by the Templars should have caught that.” With the final line, Edmund’s tone changed slightly. There was a slight edge to it, the hint of anger or frustration.

Irina continued tapping the desk as she listened, eyes unfocused as she appeared to concentrate entirely on her thoughts. But, much like Edmund, the last comment brought about a change in her demeanour.

“It would have, if the devices had been present,” Irina replied in a warning tone. But she did not linger on it; instead, she stood up from the desk and began pacing in front of the hearth. “What else? Was she part of a known terrorist cell? Did she mention anything about her group’s aims? Any information that could be used to identify the organization responsible?”

Edmund’s eyes widened only slightly at Irina’s first remark. He had misjudged the situation, at least partially. Though, the revelation that the devices had been planted potentially during the party only raised more questions than answers. But as he played through the events in his mind, he answered, “The guns they used read as foreign make to me… wealthy benefactors for something on this scale. The only thing she said about her aims… she claimed she was going to ‘liberate Gaia from the false Goddess.’” His tone shifted slightly, mimicking Salome’s grandiose delivery as much as he could. He felt a little sick saying it, but just shook it off. “The best lead I can think of as to the organization just comes from that thing she said… she claimed to be a daughter of Termina, the same way we call ourselves children of Incepta. That sounds like a starting point to me.”

A rapt knocking interrupted their conversation, accompanied by the muffled nagging of a squire from beyond the door. “I need a meeting. Urgently. You can’t pass me over twice,” one Tyler Morris called into the room. He even tried the door handle, masterful in manners as he was, though it didn’t budge.

Irina paced as Edmund spoke, looking more perturbed by the minute. “The only group by that name is a wandering band of lunatic street preachers harassing the Doumerc borderlands as of late,” she mused, “but they haven’t been known to be violent…”

The insistent knocking interrupted her, and her attention snapped up to the door, looking like she’d been rudely disturbed from slumber. At first, she chose to ignore it, but when it did not stop, she tsked and strode past Edmund to open the door.

“Sir Tyler,” she greeted him coldly, “if this is not a lead on tonight’s events, it can wait.”

“Wonderful, I was just thinking the same thing,” Tyler chirped with a fake mirth in his voice, “I have information on what I assume was one of their officers.” His impressively feigned smile fell off his face as he leveled a more serious gaze at Irina. “And I believe I know why they might be aiming to kidnap the Scions.”

Irina quirked her head in wilful concession, stepping aside to bid Tyler to enter. “Sir Edmund, you’ve been upstaged,” she quipped over her shoulder in her closest facsimile of a joke, locking the door behind Tyler. “From the beginning, then. What makes you think you encountered one of their officers?”

Edmund took a step back at this, folding his arms as he listened close, jaw clenched slightly.

Tyler stepped inside and nodded, once to Irina and then to Edmund. “It’s okay, I have that effect on people,” he said playfully in Edmund’s direction before he refocused on Irina. “Right. Prince Lucas froze time at one point to stop a group of them from advancing on us, except one of them kept moving. He had a strange… mana veil waving from his neck, which is where I assume the ability stemmed from. Lots of cybernetics, from what I could tell.”

He furrowed his brow as he continued, visibly agitated by the thought of the man. “From what he said, it seemed like he’d been sent specifically after me, but he underestimated the strength of Lucas’ blessing. His sword seemed designed to neutralize mine, and the thing around his neck either neutralized time magic or mimicked it perfectly.”

Edmund sighed, looking towards Irina briefly before looking back at Tyler. “You're saying someone other than a Scion could manipulate time? Slow it down and stop it?” For the first time in a long time, Edmund's scowl dropped into a confused frown. He wiped his face with his hand. “That could explain how they installed the devices so quickly… whatever it was that disrupted the Scions’ magic.”

Tyler met Edmund’s gaze briefly, then averted his eyes downward. “It appears that way, yes. His scarf thing glowed red while time was stopped, sorta like oversaturated environmental mana, then turned blue after everything started moving again. It has to be the source.” A frustrated huff escaped his mouth at that. “But personally? I don’t think it’s someone other than a Scion at all - not really. I think they stole it from Theodore. And I think they want to do the same thing to Nadine.”

A slight gasp erupted from Edmund's mouth, first at the mention of the color change… and then again at the mere notion that a Scion could be stolen. Through gritted teeth, he muttered, “Salome's gloves… they were blue as well. The mana…”

Tyler snapped his head up at the mention of the strange salami woman and her mysterious gloves. “They sent one after you too?”

Edmund paused for a moment, weighing his options. He still wasn't exactly sold on who to trust at this moment. After all, Tyler lost one Scion already, and another was kidnapped the day he was blessed again. But the mention of the blue mana was enough to push him over the edge. “No… not quite. I encountered another officer… if not the one leading the assault. She made the call kicking things off. She called herself Salome, and a daughter of Termina. She had been posing as waitstaff, managed to get close to the royals… but she didn't attack anyone directly. Just… snapped her fingers and everything went dark.”

Irina listened silently as the two templars spoke, expression growing graver by the minute. At some point during the dialogue, she sat back down at her desk, pulling her tablet out once more and producing a stylus to make marks on something on the screen. After Edmund finished, she tapped a few times more before stowing it away once again, propping her chin on her folded hands.

She was quiet for a moment. “Scion Lucas is very new to his power,” she said cautiously, looking at Tyler. “Are you absolutely sure that this combatant defied his power? Is it at all possible that His Holiness somehow faltered?”

Now, Tyler had absolutely no confidence in his Scion’s ability either, but did she really think he wouldn’t have noticed if something odd was happening? “Even I had trouble when His Highness did it, you expect me to believe that metal bastard spontaneously got lucky? No, the room was entirely frozen except for the three of us. And, from what I could tell, the enemy broke the time stop spell before Lucas could release it himself, after I beat his ass too hard.”

Despite maintaining her typical stone-faced expression, Irina was starting to look pale. “If the enemy had the power to manipulate time like a Scion, they could have captured every Scion in the blink of an eye,” she reasoned. “So why the assault?”

“Fear.” Edmund's response came quicker than he expected, leaving an awkward pause before he continued. “Salome hinted she wanted the Federation to go to war against Kaudus… it doesn't explain why they didn't take all the Scions, but maybe there are bigger goals at play than just abducting them all..”

Tyler opened his mouth to respond, though Edmund beat him to it. As good an explanation as any, he supposed. “Maybe that was the intent, but he went for Lucas first as the only one that could potentially stop him. Or maybe, if it is a stolen Scion ability,” even saying it left a bitter taste in his mouth, “he needs proximity to the real thing to activate it- no, that wouldn’t stop him from targeting the other Scions.” At best it would explain their decision to attack specifically after the blessing ceremony, but Edmund’s idea would explain that just as well, if not better.

Irina frowned. She had the look of someone who was desperately hoping to be wrong, but probably wasn’t. “It would take far less to trigger war with Kaudus,” she reasoned futily, “Rodion never stops skirmishing with them, and even though Doumerc seems to have misplaced its backbone, any more intrusion on their eastern border would necessitate a Federation response. The whole continent has been foaming at the mouth for war ever since Scion Theodore’s disappearance; if the goal was simply to start a war, it could have been accomplished at far less expense.”

She shook her head, staring at the lamp on the desk for a moment. “Is there anything else the two of you noticed? Anything at all?”

“Yeah, actually,” Tyler piped up, “In the middle of his insane ramblings, he mentioned wanting to summon the Goddess in the name of his own false deity. I can only assume this attack was meant to glorify it in some way that wouldn’t be accomplished by a mere strike at the border.”

Edmund turned his gaze back to Tyler again, waves of paranoia subsiding for but a brief moment. “He mentioned summoning the Goddess? Did he… did he call Incepta a false goddess?”

“Not that I can recall,” Tyler responded with a shake of his head, “He seemed quite assured of Her existence, but claimed it was detrimental to humanity. He mentioned that word you used too, Termina. I think his recruitment spiel needs work.”

Irina looked as if she’d eaten something rotten, her face momentarily screwed up in disgust. “We will look into this… idol of theirs,” she spat, “and communicate everything we know to each Templar once we have a more complete picture of tonight’s events. Until then, if there’s nothing else, then the two of you are dismissed.”

She stood from her desk, folding her hands behind her back as if she were giving another assembly. She looked gravely at each Templar. “For now, say none of this to anyone. What you’ve told me tonight will cause widespread panic; that’s just what they want. If this is true, then it is all the more important that you stay at your charge’s side. A power even approaching what you’ve described will give no quarter; stay alert, stay vigilant, and do not let your charges out of your sight. I’ll relay the same to the others.”

She nodded to Edmund. “Leave that rifle with me. If either of you remember anything else, come to me or the Commander immediately. Do not trust the phone lines, or anything of the sort. Do not trust the palace Knights, do not trust the Church Knights. This information cannot fall into the wrong hands. Understood?”

Edmund paused for a moment, mulling the orders over in his head, before simply nodding. He slipped the strap of the rifle off his shoulder and grabbed it, setting it down on the desk as he turned to leave without so much as a word.

“Yes, ma’am.” Tyler saluted dutifully. He did have a sense of decorum, if only to one-up Edmund. Though, he wasn’t quite in the mood to pick a fight after the night they’d all had, and the unattended prince still nagged worryingly in the back of his mind for some inexplicable reason. Taking Edmund’s departure as a dismissal, he similarly turned and made his way outside the office.

@webboysurf @Scribe of Thoth

---

addressing: Bianca@Hero

---

Justinian gave Duchess Patricia a nod,setting the tea down as he turned to the other Scions present.

“Well, we should all do this again sometime. Dom, Prince Lucas, Theobald, I wish you all a good evening and a peaceful rest.”

The Earth Scion’s feet were taking him out the door before he had even finished his address, giving a wave as he turned the corner and started making his way to his room. One of the knights may have been leading him, maybe he found it on his own, he couldn’t quite remember. His focus was almost entirely on keeping on foot in front of the other, the soft step of his shoes against the floor a comforting distraction from the thoughts and memories crashing around in his mind.

Once the door was closed behind him and Justinian was well and truly alone. The room was nicely furnished but entirely unfamiliar. . . with too many closed doors. Even now he could feel the door at his back buckle and bend, cracking underneath black chitin claws. Blood coiled in his nose, so thick as to make him gag, but he couldn’t bring himself to open it. He had nothing to beat back the memories now, the Incepta’s gift no longer responded to his call.

So he knelt down by the door, knees curled up to his face, trying his best to just ride it out. Logically, he knew nothing was on the other side of that door, or any of the others in the room. He was supposed to be safe here. He was safe here. But his heart didn’t stop hammering and every breath was a work of effort through constricted lungs.

His fears did not care for the lies of his logical mind. Danger was here. And it was coming straight for him.

The sound of the door alerted Bianca to Justinian’s arrival. Her lips parted to let out a silent sigh as she pushed herself off the couch. Her smoke did calm her down somewhat, but she wasn’t looking forward to this conversation. The adrenaline was gone and replaced with exhaustion, but as a knight–as a Templar, she knew how to ignore it. Her heels clicked on the floor as she walked to the foyer, staring down at the Scion before her. Regardless of his current emotional state, Irina’s words prevailed over her sympathy.

“We need to talk,” Bianca said simply. “Let’s sit in the living room. It’ll be more comfortable than the floor.”

“No it won’t.” Justinian didn’t look at his templar as he picked himself off the floor, gaze locked to the floor as he moved past her into the living room. Looking between the sofas, he chose the one facing away from the bedroom, glancing at the table. He tried not to flinch as he heard Bianca clicking heels stepping towards him.

“So, what’s so important, Dame Bianca.” The words slid out with more venom than intended, but he didn’t apologize. “I think we’d both rather be resting right now.”
Bianca was expecting a response like this. She took a seat across from him, placed her hands on her lap after adjusting the strap of her dress. His venom did little to deter her, but she did shake her head when he finished speaking.

“I can’t rest without speaking to you first,” She corrected him, a small frown on her face. “The peace we’ve enjoyed until now is gone. Tonight was the first time we were confronted with an enemy, one that looks to harm you. Part of me believed that some of our previous talks would have gotten through to you, that I wouldn’t have to worry because if a situation arose, I knew you would do the right thing.”

She paused for a moment, choosing her words carefully. “I don’t believe that there is any trust between our pairing. Whether it’s because of the circumstances behind our pairing, or maybe something else, you ignored my words of caution. Many people were hurt tonight…and a not-so-significant number reported that it was because of you.”

She held up a hand to prevent him from interrupting. “Our intentions don’t matter. The reality of the situation is you gave no thought to my warnings and used your magic in the dark, during a time where fear gripped everyone. For every person you ‘saved’, you injured three others,” Her other hand opened her phone and showed Justinian a screen full of emails. “This isn’t me worrying too much or due to my unwillingness to act–this was because of you.”

Bianca put her phone down, her own gaze dropping. “I need to know if this is going to be a common occurrence or not,” Her words were softer. “...because I don’t know if I can continue by your side if it is.”

For a moment, Justinian stared at the phone, going over the details in his head, trying to think of when those had occurred, who had gotten hurt, why? He had been in control, he’d been trying his best to help and lead people out and. . . and it didn’t matter. Even right now, fidgeting and picking at the dim spot on his chest where the Incepta’s mark had glowed, he knew that much at least. It was chaotic, and while he had an advantage. . . he couldn’t account for everything his actions may have caused. Holes in the ground, misjudgements made on distance, shots fired wide by the soldiers. He’d acted rashly.

“I will apologize to those who I have hurt, publically if need be or privately if they prefer. I’m not so stubborn as to ignore the consequences of my actions. But, I want to make something perfectly clear.” Justinian leaned forward, looking at his Templar with a gaze as hard as steel. “Do not pretend that you know me. That you have ‘stood by my side’ in any way besides physically being there.”

“You are not my friend, you are my captor. I have played nice, I have acquiesced to you pulling me down and being the chains that keep me from doing the only thing I feel like I can do to prove I even deserve the Incepta’s gift.” His breath was picking up now, a mixture of anxiety and anger that he didn’t even know existed rising from the pit of his stomach. “You’re not the first one, not even the second, and if you left you wouldn’t be the last. Dame Irina does not give me ‘friends’ or ‘mentors’. She gives me handlers, and I’ve known it since I was a child. The first one tried to be my friend until I proved too much to handle so he left me. The second one tried to ignore me until I made a mess that got him fired.”

“So if you want to leave me, go on ahead. But don’t say that it’s out of care for my own well being like you’ve taken the time to know anything about me.”

Bianca waited patiently until Justinian finished speaking before she raised her hand to her chin, eyebrows furrowed together. After a few seconds, she seemed to realize something, giving Justinian a small giggle.

“I think you’ve misunderstood my words,” Bianca replied as she gave him a warm smile. “What I spoke of was trust. In no way have I fooled myself into thinking we’re friends–especially when you refuse to give me the respect my position calls for. But that isn’t your fault, I should have worded that better, and for that I do sincerely apologize for being the cause of the misunderstanding.”

She lowered her hand back onto her lap. “You say that I am a shackle but I’ll remind you that I am performing my duty. But Dame Irina has reminded me that I’ve been too lenient with you–somewhat ironic considering what you’ve just said–and I thought that, until now, I have provided you with enough grace and respect to have earned the same. Regardless of how this relationship began, ultimately, I trusted you would do the right thing when the time came. I was clearly mistaken.”

She remained affable, contrasting the warmth of her expression with the coldness of her words. “I guess I’m glad to see where we stand now, at least,” She admitted. “I expected too much. I won’t make the same mistake again, Your Holiness–and I promise I will follow my duty to the letter. And since you only see me as a handler, then I will make sure I act as such.”

Justinian didn’t falter in his stance as Bianca laid down her perspective, eyes still locked with the templar’s as she spoke her intentions. It irked him, how she was managing to keep her cool. It irked him that he was such a fidgety, irritable mess without the Incepta’s gift. He wanted to lash out, to throw something, to just gain some measure of control at this moment. Anything to feel less. . . lost. The door creaked again, a long, pained sound that almost made him glance towards the foyer, but he resisted the effort. He couldn’t give her the satisfaction of seeing him crack right now.

A moment of silence filled the air as the two looked at each other, Justinian gripping at his chest as if it was paining him.

“To the letter, huh?” The response was calm, despite how he felt. “Then I promise you, Dame Bianca, to put those words of yours to the test. Because while my actions at the party today were rash, that the attack happened at all is proof that I can’t trust the Church to protect me. That the Church can protect any of us. One of your peers already failed my friend, who you convinced me to not help.”

“Maybe I could’ve done something? Maybe not. Maybe I’d be dead too, and you’d have another new scion to induct in a few months time, just like our dear Sir Tyler. But it would have been something that I could’ve done instead of just . . . waiting.” His gaze seemed to glaze over, looking through Bianca. For a horrid moment he was back in that damn cellar. Praying. Hoping. Waiting. A deep breath dismissed the vision, but the agitation remained, pulling at every nerve. He reached for his magic, for the element that gave him his resolve and had wrapped him like a blanket for all his years, but it still didn’t answer him.

Incepta above, why have you forsaken me?

Bianca let out a tiny sigh, shaking her head again as she rubbed her temple. “You tend to miss the forest for the trees often, don’t you?” She asked, but she already knew the answer. “You don’t need to trust the Church, the guards, the other Templars or Scions–what you needed to do was trust me. You didn’t even give me a chance to properly defend you. Maybe things would have been fine if you did, ever consider that?”

“Because I don’t. . . I didn’t need defending. I wouldn’t if it had just been me and those bastards. I know how to wield the Incepta’s gifts properly, I wouldn’t have given them the chance to pull that stunt.” Anger worked its way back into his tone now, fingers gripping tightly into his shift’s fabric as he thought back to the events of the night.

Bianca stared at Justinian. “It wasn’t just you and them. It was you, them, and a hundred others,” She reminded him. “And you clearly don’t know how to use your gift properly since you ended up hurting the same ones you wanted to defend.”

The brunette stood from her seat, grabbing her phone. “If you’re too stubborn to see your fault in this, fine. I won’t waste my breath trying to get you to see what you’ve done wrong. In the future, I will just have to make sure to stop you by any means possible,” She stated. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’m taking a shower before I go to sleep. I suggest you rest for the night as well.”

“I told you the living room wasn’t going to make this any more pleasant.” Justinian muttered under his breath, running a hand through his hair, wanting to bite back. He knew what he was doing, he had to but. . . people got hurt. He had more than a few thoughts about Bianca right now, but he didn’t think of her as one for dishonesty and it annoyed him. Everything annoyed him right now, in this room that was much too big and much too open. “Take the bed as well, for all I care. I don’t think I’ll be getting much sleep tonight anyway.”

“I can’t trust that you won’t try to escape while I’m asleep. I’m taking a couch, do as you please otherwise,” She said simply before disappearing into the bathroom.

Justian clicked his tongue in response, but said nothing more. He waited till he heard the shower running before easing himself upwards and turning to the door. Just as he thought, it seemed to breathe and creak like an animal in pain. Now that he was focused on it, the accompanied sounds of skittering and crunching came back with full force as he approached it. When he was right in front of it again, he tried to will his hand to grab the handle. To dispel this damn trick of the mind, at least for tonight. There was nothing there. He was fine. He was safe. He had control. He was fine.

He didn’t.

After a few minutes of standing there he gave up and turned away, falling onto the couch fully clothed and pulling one of the cushions over his head . . . and he prayed. In a low voice, he prayed for the Incepta to grace him with her touch once more. He prayed for those who he’d hurt to make full recoveries. To guard him against these terrors that bedevil him every night, to guide his friends who’d survived that night, for each Scion in turn (even Prince Lucas, much as he found him insufferable).

Like a mantra, he prayed to fight off the phantoms his mind conjured, as he’d done since he was young. The whispers turned to thoughts when he heard the shower wind down, repeated over and over in the darkness behind his eyes.

---

Whatever measure of remorse Jannick had felt from his encounter with Hollyhock was smothered as he withstood Dame Irina’s assault. Anger wasn’t the right word for it - it didn’t feel complete enough to describe the deep-seated rancor simmering conspicuously beneath Jannick’s practiced neutral stare. With each word uttered in his direction, Jannick slipped further and further down into a chasm of bitterness, resentment, and (worst of all) humiliation that seemed to always have lurked somewhere in the back of his mind, but now yawned indignantly before him. What he would usually have pushed aside or buried under a new layer of cigarette butts, he was now forced to face head-on.

Dame Irina paced before him like the living embodiment of every little wound that had slowly killed his faith. Espousing an uncompromising philosophy of putting the Scions’ lives before all others, Jannick was almost astounded at her callousness; bit by bit, his suspicion that the Goddess, whose existence could (regrettably) not be denied, was revealed in Irina’s lecture as every bit the cold, heartless spectator to humanity’s suffering that Jannick had long suspected Her to be.

He had to wonder how the Ordo Templi got things so perfectly backwards. Every one of them was once a knight, tasked with the protection of the innocent and the pursuit of justice. Hell, the motto of the VPD was “Scutum Inopi” - “the shield of the helpless,” ostensibly named for the Goddess’ special tenderness toward the poor. But Templars, supposedly the best of the best of the Federation’s knights, were meant to put blinders on and focus only on one person in the whole world, no matter how the bodies stacked around them. Jannick couldn’t wrap his head around it.

And Irina’s heartless prattling was made even more intolerable by the fact that she was right. At least when it came to his performance review, Jannick couldn’t fairly deny anything she said: he did feel helpless in the midst of the attack, he did abandon Holly (as much as he wanted to argue the inverse, he knew it ultimately wasn’t reasonable), and he probably wasn’t nearly as capable as he should be by now. If even Ulysse, renowned for his skill, could be taken out by their attackers, Jannick (and by extension, Holly) didn’t stand a chance.

Jannick left his debriefing with a huff, sweeping rudely past the attendant at the door with only the merest glance to pick up his armour crystal. He squeezed the stupid thing angrily as he stormed through the halls, tempted to throw it at the nearest wall and smash it right there on the spot. Instead, he managed to control himself enough to pocket it, immediately replacing it with the next best thing: his box of cigarettes.

Fuming, he managed to find an exit on the first try, but was stopped by a pair of palace guards.

Jannick huffed. “I’m just going for a smoke.”

“The palace is locked down for the night,” one guard replied, “I’m afraid I can’t let you out.”

“Dude, I’m a Templar,” Jannick complained, indignantly producing his crystal for identification.

“I’m sorry, we’re under orders not to let anyone pass.”

Jannick gave the man a look that could curdle milk. “Fine,” he gave a haughty shrug, putting a cigarette in his mouth and pulling out his lighter. “I’ll smoke right here.”

The guards looked conflicted for a moment as Jannick lit up, but as the first puff of smoke curled up toward the finely decorated ceiling, the quiet one caved. “Okay, okay,” he surrendered, earning an annoyed look from his chattier companion, “just be quick, and don’t wander far.”

Jannick stuffed his lighter back in his pocket, cigarette still defiantly in his teeth. “Damn right, ‘okay’,” he growled as he passed, shoving past the first guard on his way into the dark.

The cold night air was bracing, but Jannick welcomed it; at this point, his face had reddened with anger, and the cold gave him some small mite of comfort as he paced the snow-covered ground, mercifully invisible to the swarm of security staged on the driveway some distance below. This appeared to be a side entrance; Jannick hoped he wouldn’t be disturbed.

The door behind Jannick opened and out stepped a weary looking Bianca. She shuddered slightly against the cold, pulling her shawl over her bare arms but not making any further attempt at covering herself. Her eyes were much more focused on Jannick’s cigarette, though she did give him a small smile.

“Mind sharing one?” She ended up asking, arms crossed to help her brace against the night’s chill. “I’ve lost all of mine.”

Jannick turned toward the sound of the opening door angrily, ready with a profanity-strewn retort for whichever guard thought it was a good idea to jump up his ass before he even finished his first cigarette - only to see a woman in his place. Jannick was ready to turn right back around and pretend nothing happened, concerned about insulting whichever noble apparently used this as their smoking spot, before he realized that the woman was kinda familiar. He didn’t really know her, but he recognized her from the debriefing - or rather, he recognized the dress, which also surprised him until he remembered that female knights probably don’t consider their Templar uniform “party attire.”

He looked the woman up and down suspiciously, not sure whether he should be angry or embarrassed, and all around annoyed at his own confusion. He came out here to smoke and take his anger out on the snow, not to chat with random women. But, he supposed, she might be gone faster if he just gave her a cigarette and got it over with.

“Sure,” he eventually grunted in reply, digging out his pack of cigarettes and tossing it to her. He gave her another questioning sidelong look as he did so. “Better be quick before you freeze to death.”

Bianca didn’t make a show of hiding how relieved she was that Jannick had given her a cigarette; Her eyes brightened considerably and she shuffled closer, ignoring the cold biting at her arms as she caught the pack. She plucked one with an unsurprising speed, offering the pack back as Jannick had his lighter waiting. That first smoke warmed her better than any heat could, and she made sure to turn her head away to avoid exhaling in his direction.

“I will. I didn’t mean to intrude, but…I needed this,” She sighed, poking her lower lip with her thumb. “It’s been a night.”

She was content to remain silent and smoke in peace, but she couldn’t help herself. The pair didn’t interact often, but she wasn’t looking forward to returning to her room. “How do you do it? I mean, with Scion Hollyhock,” She clarified. “You’ve been her Templar for less time than I have with mine, but you seem more…composed.”

Jannick raised his eyebrow when the woman - Bianca, he thought - decided to make small talk. He had to suppress a groan; this was truthfully the last thing he wanted right now. So much for fending her off with a cigarette.

Her comment, however, almost solicited a cold laugh. Almost. “Yeah, I’m doing great,” he replied sardonically, flicking the butt of his cigarette into the snow and readying a fresh one. “Even bagged myself a private audience with Irina. Next she’ll give me a medal.”

Bianca tried not to smile too much, not wanting to insult him. It sounded odd, but she was sincere. “I meant more your relationship with your Scion,” She continued. “The few times we’ve seen one another, I’ve noticed your relationship with one another. She can be a handful sometimes–Elizabeth was constantly keeping us in the loop of her woes in the group chat–but you’ve handled things with grace.”

She frowned, staring at her cigarette. “It’s been five years and I can’t get my Scion to listen to me. And now everyone knows it,” She sighed, perching the cigarette back between her lips.

Jannick frowned. The image of Holly, bloody and on the verge of tears, came back to him as Bianca sung his praises, along with the creeping root of guilt that had taken the backburner during his ordeal with Irina. Her praise fell upon him like blows, each word beating him down a little deeper.

“Yeah…” he mumbled noncommittally, staring down at the snow as his cigarette rapidly shrunk. He was silent for a moment, unsure of what to say. But he felt just as guilty saying nothing.

“She’s a good kid,” he eventually blurted out, surprising even himself. But he felt a strange need to come to his Scion’s defence; Holly seemed to have an iffy reputation as a Justinian-tier escape artist, but even in their few months together, he knew she was more than that. “I mean, you know, she really isn’t that bad. Can’t blame her, really. I mean, I already wanna kill myself anytime I have to take her to an interview, and she’s been doing it since she was a little kid.”

That much got a genuine laugh out of Bianca. “It takes a while to get used to. Better than drills but worse than any actual training,” She replied cheerfully. “It’s so different from being a knight or even a regular Templar. It’s a lot harder with a lot more complex rules and duties, more power with more responsibility…it’s a dream many won’t see within their lifetime.”

Jannick found himself nodding along with Bianca until she got to that last bit. Ah, there it is. That little barb of guilt, older and more insistent than the one he got from being an ass to Holly, stuck into his side once again. And again, just like earlier, he felt the Mother’s eyes on him, knowing his heart and finding it lacking.

He glared up at the stars, willing Her to go scrutinize someone else already.

“We certainly are lucky…” he replied, although it was probably clear his heart wasn’t in it. Suddenly, the fear of being found out - and subsequently ejected from service for apostasy - struck him, and hot on its heels were Irina’s harsh words to the other two lady Templars.

“I don’t care if every other Templar on earth is dead - your responsibility is to your charge. Everyone else in the world is ancillary.”

“Big responsibility,” he mused darkly. He thought once more of Hollyhock, alone and scared in the ballroom, with only one person in the world tasked with her rescue - and now doing the same in her room inside the palace - and felt that responsibility heavy on his shoulders.

Bianca finally looked at Jannick, taking the cigarette away from her mouth and contemplating. After a few seconds, she took another smoke and decided she was brave enough. “I don’t know if you remember the kerfuffle that arose when Dame Sara was chosen. Many argued that she wasn’t qualified or didn’t have sufficient background. Ultimately, Commander Fyodor himself put the dissenters to rest by informing them that he was no fool and had considered her flaws. He sees things in people and uses his experience to pluck out the capable. He can tell who can do what just from a glance and can read people like a book. It’s why he’s the one choosing Templars and assigning them.”

She almost stopped to smoke again, but hesitated. “It’s a shift, going from protecting the many to protecting only one. It almost seems selfish,” She told him. “But ultimately, we’re the ones that can.”

Jannick glanced at Bianca, raising an eyebrow. Was she trying to give him a pep talk? She wasn’t wrong, but he didn’t really think the platitudes of an after school special could really grasp the situation he was in. For the better, maybe - she was probably shooting in the dark.

But she still got a little lucky. Not that he’d admit it. “I suppose there’s no other choice,” he commented gruffly, taking one last drag of his second cigarette. “We’re deep in the shit now, and they don’t have anybody better.”

Jannick flicked his cigarette butt away once more, the glowing end making it an impressive distance into the darkness before it was snuffed out in the snow. “Don’t stay out too long,” he said by way of parting pleasantries, sauntering back inside.

---

feat. Sir Tyler Morris (@Scribe of Thoth)

Lucas had taken the Duchess’ arrival as a means to leave. He did pat Rosemary’s head before he left, but he didn’t linger; those giant golden eyes would’ve pleaded with him to stay and he wasn’t strong enough to ignore whatever drunken emotion would’ve popped up looking at her. So he gave a half-hearted farewell to the other Scions and left, fully intent on going to bed.

Except a gorgeous pair of blue eyes and a fine ass had distracted him.

It never took much coaxing to get his way with anyone. In fact, he’d argue he had more people coming onto him than vice versa. It was typically an annoyance as there were some nights he just wanted to drink and wasn’t interested in someone sloppily jamming their tongue in his mouth. But he had no desire to spend the night alone and let his lust lead the way. He got Blue Eyes to come to his room, and after a round of drinks, then another, then some more, Lucas had Blue Eyes in his bed, his lips attacking the other’s collarbone as he fumbled with the dress shirt.

His instinct to just pop it off was met with a protest. “H-Hey! Don’t go ripping off the buttons!”

Lucas stopped and raised his head, giving an incredulous look. “I’ll get you another one,” He offered a token non-apology.

“That’s not the point.”

“Are you actually going to argue over this? I’m losing wood,” The prince outright asked, sitting up. “I’ll find someone else if you’re going to get pissy.”

There was a little hesitation, but ultimately, degeneracy won as Lucas’ tie was pulled on, and he returned to his previous notion–with the buttons of the shirt going flying out of pettiness–his lips now descending onto the newly exposed canvas.

Sin works hard, but the Goddess works harder, and it wasn’t long before Tyler entered the room. Sensing nothing amiss at first, he traipsed into the living room with the intent to collapse on the couch and offered barely a glance toward the bedroom.

“I’m back. You in here?” he called. The alcohol sitting out implied he definitely was, unless the prince decided to go for a drunken stroll around the castle once he’d dulled the stresses of the night with drink. Though that begged the question, why the two glasses? They’d both clearly been drunk from, so it probably wasn’t intended to be left out for Tyler - not that he thought Lucas would be that considerate anyway - but one had to be in quite the hurry to get smashed to drink from two cups at once.

Or he’d barged into the wrong room, which was a worrying indictment of palatial security and would probably prevent him from sleeping tonight.

At the sound of Tyler’s voice, Blue Eyes looked to the door. “Who is that?”

Lucas didn’t stop, too preoccupied as his muddled brain cells barely took in the question. “What?”

“I heard someone in the living room, I think.”

“I didn’t hear anything,” Lucas replied, more focused on his current task.

Blue Eyes looked at Lucas. “Is it your Templar?”

The prince immediately stopped, his lust evaporating out of the window into the cold. He looked back towards the bedroom door, trying to listen, and unfortunately, he now heard what sounded like someone walking around. Fuck, he forgot about Tyler. Granted, he wasn’t expecting him to come to his room. Did he want to talk about something?

“Stay here,” He murmured, hands buttoning up his shirt as he slid off the bed. His bad shoulder hit the wall and he barely contained a yell of pain, choosing to walk it off and walk out of the room and into the living room.

“I’m here,” He said, scratching his head as he tried to force himself to focus. “Uh…’sup?”

Tyler had definitely heard talking. Then someone hitting the wall. He had definitely gotten into the wrong room someho- oh. There was Lucas. Weirdo. Then again, he was probably drunk. Tyler’s eyes narrowed suspiciously at his Scion.

“Nothing…?” he responded as he finally dropped onto the couch, “I see you continued the party without me.” He gave a loose gesture toward the emptied cups.

Lucas’ eyes followed the gesture, his brain fighting through the sludge of the whiskey he downed to make sense of the situation. He stood rigid, though he realized it didn’t make sense to hide that he was wasted when he had left the evidence there. Wait, why was he acting like nothing was wrong? The ridiculousness of it actually got him to relax a touch. He was fine. But what was Tyler doing here?

“I didn’t think you were interested,” He raised an eyebrow, swaying towards the wall and ending up leaning against it. “It’s been a long night.”

“You guessed right.” Tyler was going to be on edge for the next month at this rate, and he certainly wasn’t going to go another round with Captain Dickless tipsy. “Looks like you figured that out late though.” It was almost sweet. The prince must’ve poured him a drink, realized the ridiculousness of it, and promptly chugged it like a thirsty frat boy.

Tyler arched a brow as he noticed Lucas swaying. “Do you need to sit down?”

Lucas watched Tyler, a little confused. Well, shit, he was comfortable just waltzing into someone else’s room. That was going to make for some discomfort, especially as their previous conversation came into mind. Yeah, after the attack, he wasn’t going to know what privacy was anymore, huh? The thought soured his mood, but he couldn’t do much about it. At his question, Lucas shrugged with an “Eh,” as a response. He still didn’t say what he actually wanted.

“If you don’t want to drink, you want to talk?” He asked. “Or…what?”

Tyler wrinkled his nose in mild confusion. Mother above, this guy was an awkward drunk. Did he want to talk? Not particularly; they’d done enough talking for the night already.

“I kinda just wanna go to bed. Why, do you need to talk about something?”

The prince stared at Tyler, the gears of his mind whirring at his words. If he wanted to go to bed, what was he doing here? No, he needed to say that outside. He was thinking too much and going around in circles and the fact that it took him this long was embarrassing.

“No, I was planning on…bed, too,” He caught himself, though something in the back of his head wondered why his brain was trying when stringing together thoughts was nearly impossible since he couldn’t figure out what Tyler wanted. Unless he was coming onto him and he was so drunk he couldn’t see the signs? Lucas openly looked Tyler up and down. “...Are you coming on to me?” He ended up asking.

And there went the rest of Tyler’s patience. This guy really was a weirdo. He scowled at the insinuation and leaned back into the couch. “Yeah, you’re drunk. Go to bed.”

Alright, it was a stretch, but he needed to be sure. He waved off Tyler’s words and turned towards the bedroom, only for Blue Eyes to walk out, looking around the living room. He froze when he spotted Tyler, giving Lucas an uneasy look.

Lucas himself dismissed his look with a wave. “I guess he’s sleeping on the couch. It’s fine, c’mon,” He said.

Tyler stared incredulously as another figure emerged from the bedroom. His first instinct was to draw his weapon and run the assassin through, but Lucas stopped him with his comment. That certainly explained the two cups. And the awkwardness. He had a number of questions, first of which being ’why’, but getting this random guy out of their room would probably do wonders for his piece of mind.

“How did you even do that? Is this some courtesan or are you gonna get some poor servant fired for poor conduct?” Tyler barely acknowledged the other person in the room, as he had the strangest notion that he would never see him again in his life no matter how fondly his special little night with the prince turned out.

Blue Eyes opened his mouth but Lucas took a hold of his hand. “Three steps: a touch, a piercing gaze,” He demonstrated as he spoke, much to the embarrassment of the other man, and then he looked like he wanted to die once Lucas slammed his hand onto the wall next to him, trapping him. “And then a question: are we doing this or not?”

“I don’t think he was asking how that way,” Blue Eyes mumbled, hiding his flushed face.

“Then the answer is any idiot would be dying to get in bed with royalty. Not to mention I’m single and good looking,” He shrugged before peering at Blue Eyes, trying to see if Tyler was right. “I don’t think he’s a servant, but I’m not sure who he is,” He explained with a shrug, only to be met with a glare. “Listen, if it wasn’t for your ass, I wouldn’t have brought you here. You should be happy all those days in the gym are paying off.”

“That’s not funny.”

“I’m not joking.”

“So he’s a security risk,” Tyler surmised, rolling his eyes at the display. He doubted this guy was particularly malicious, but whatever would get him out of their room faster. “I’m not particularly keen on listening to you two play snake in the butt from the next room over, so can I trouble you to take a rain check?” He leveled his question more toward the stranger than Lucas.

“Yes, right. Sorry,” Blue Eyes muttered, managing to dodge Lucas’ attempt to grab him in a display of dexterity–although out-maneuvering the drunk prince wasn’t too difficult.

Lucas covered his mouth as he let out a groan, his annoyance bubbling again. He waited until he heard the door close to ask, “What happened to that whole thing in the bathroom where you said you weren’t going to do…this–” He waved his arms around. “–and be up my ass all the time? Or do you get off on cockblocking?”

Tyler shook his head as the man left. “Listening to you fuck in the bed next to mine is pointedly not in my job description, nor is it something I ever intend to do.” Honestly, he didn’t know whether to be more exasperated with Lucas or the idiot who took him up on his offer after the night they’d just had. Theodore had behaved so well, Tyler almost forgot Scions were not, in fact, Incepta’s perfect little darlings at all times.

“The gaze of the Goddess is upon you now, act like it,” he exclaimed, the hypocrisy of the statement entirely lost on him.

The mention of the second bed tickled his mind a little, but it was put aside once Tyler decided to scold Lucas like he was some sort of troublemaker in school or something. Lucas leveled his Templar with a flat look, unhappy with the judgment. “Phoebus 12:15: Her eyes are on me when I wake, Her eyes are on me when I work, Her eyes are on me when I fall asleep–you need to brush up on your scripture, the Goddess is always watching,” It was an immature play at being annoying, but bringing Incepta into the conversation annoyed him greatly. “Not to mention your Templar training should have come with etiquette classes–royalty supersedes my Scion title, I’m Prince Lucas first and foremost, and everything that comes with that isn’t changing just ‘cause the Goddess thought it’d be hysterical to give me a broken gift.”

He wasn’t really sure what his point was, but he wasn’t fond of Tyler’s entire holier-than-thou shtick. “It’s not your fault that you’re stuck with me, especially since Theodore was a goody-two-shoes, but I’m not letting this change how I live my life. You either play along or fuck off.”

Tyler was half-tempted to spit some scripture back, especially since he doubtlessly held the moral high ground in this discussion, but then the prince transitioned into complaining, so Tyler let it go. “Got a little cuck chair all ready in the corner for me, huh? I thought you wanted me gone,” he mused as he stood from the couch. The discussion was going nowhere and he could save it for another time, frankly.

“I don’t think it’s too much to ask for you to keep your pants on in my immediate presence. I’m not sleeping on a couch after I got beat up for you.”

The very last person Lucas would invite to his room in the evening would be his church-mandated babysitter, especially since Tyler would probably start talking about ‘how to be proper’ and ‘Incepta is watching’ or whatever other bullshit he had in mind. He wanted to tell him to get out so he could sleep until his last sentence. It was very likely unrelated to what Princess Belle and Scion Balder said, but it still pulled at the same string: what happened tonight was his fault.

“That’s not on me,” Lucas immediately replied, angry. “I didn’t cause this to happen–I didn’t go asking for a fucking tin man who decided to take the only thing I was supposed to be good for and throw it out the window. You don’t get to blame me for that, either.”

This again. Lucas really was fucking difficult. Tyler sighed wearily as he made his way to the bedroom, whether he had to shove the prince aside to do so or not.

“You don’t have to be the cause to acknowledge the fact that I did all of that on your behalf,” he grumbled, “I’m not even asking for gratitude, just the bare minimum courtesy to value the fact that I’m sore over getting your dick wet.” The fact that he even had to explain this was telling. Sure, an assassin could break in and finish the job while Tyler broke his back on the couch, but at least Prince Lucas would have proof he didn’t die a virgin! If he remembered a single speech Fyodor ever gave him, he’d have surely quoted it by now. Something about being an embarrassment, surely.

The urge to continue fighting was strong, but the desire to finish the conversation and just sleep was stronger. No, that was a lie, he wanted another drink. It wasn’t that Tyler was necessarily wrong, but admitting that at this point would be a loss Lucas didn’t want to take. It made more sense in his head. Through the cloudiness of the alcohol enticing him to have more, however, was a strong thought that he had ignored; a crystal clear clarity shimmered over him.

So he strolled back to the coffee table, snatched the whiskey once again, then threw himself onto the couch. “Have at it, then,” He said, pouring himself another cup. “Bed’s going to be a little messy, but you can still sleep on it.”

Oh, now Tyler was supposed to sleep in the fuck bed? He almost called the prince’s new favorite toy back to request a change of sheets, but he supposed Lucas really wouldn’t have a way to stop him from sleeping in the other one. Until he got in the bedroom, that is.

One fucking bed. Veradian hospitality must be slipping.

“You’re kidding,” he scoffed, “What was your plan here? Get the deed done real fast and hope I didn’t smell anything off when I got here?”

“I thought we had separate rooms,” Lucas admitted, pulling his phone out of his pocket. “So my plan was to have fun, but I didn’t consider that Prince Rowan likely threw the Scions and Templars here together due to the other rooms being taken by all the other royals and nobles. Something something ‘the pious take the humble option’ or whatever.”

Tyler sighed again. It was a more acceptable answer than the alternative. “Dare I ask if there’s any strange fluids already strewn about?” he asked as he pulled the disheveled blankets back on one side of the bed. At least it looked clean.

“We only made out, Father Tyler, I promise by Scion Rosaria herself that no debauchery occurred!”

The templar didn’t bother with a response, and instead began stripping off the needless layers of dress clothes he still had on. Doubtlessly Lucas would have a comment, but hiding in the bathroom just to take a jacket off was too needlessly prudish even for Father Tyler, blessed be his name.

“I hope you don’t snore,” he muttered.

Lucas spent a minute scrolling through his phone as he drank, searching his name. As he figured, there were a multitude of news outlets already posting about the attack. There were a majority of journalists already yelling about how this just so happened to have taken place on Lucas’ coronation as a Scion. Wonderful. Once polished off his last glass, Lucas abandoned the cup and strolled into the bedroom, ignoring Tyler as he took off his own jacket. The bump he felt as he folded it reminded him of the fork–well, that was a problem for Tomorrow Lucas, Today Lucas just wanted to sleep now.

“Think I used to talk in my sleep as a kid,” He mumbled back, opening the dresser. He was relieved to find spare clothes already there, grabbing the pajamas before freeing himself of his tie. Lucas wasn’t about to undress and have Tyler make a comment about his back, so he decided to go to the bathroom, changing fully into the pajamas given. They were an atrocious yellow but the material was breathable, at least.

He left the fork in his jacket pocket and placed everything in the empty drawer space. He doubted the tuning fork would get any attention, but he didn’t exactly have a safe place to put it yet. Or did he? He didn’t even test if his magic was back. But a quick attempt told him that, no, he was shit out of luck. If it didn’t come back in the morning, he’d worry about it then.

Lucas got into bed, but yet another thing occurred to him. “Don’t hog the blanket or I’ll kick you off,” He warned.

The palace staff managed to prepare spare clothes for them but couldn’t fold out a damn futon? Tyler shook his head yet again and made for the same drawer Lucas did to pull out a pair of pants. He left the garishly colored shirt in place in favor of his own mildly-sweaty undershirt, but anything that would avoid him sleeping in his underwear next to Lucas was preferable in his eyes.

Thankfully, he managed to change before Lucas stepped back out of the bathroom. “I was gonna say the same to you, and you already know my kicks are meaner.” Tyler took his place on the opposite side of the bed with a grimace and put his manasaber pointedly on the nightstand within easy reach. Theo was, as he always was, no trouble to share a bed with. Lucas, on the contrary, had been trouble in just about every facet of his existence so far and Tyler expected nothing less while he was unconscious.

He did not have high hopes for the night.

---

Jannick walked the halls of Veradis castle after his smoke with more purpose than he expected. His chat with Bianca had been surprisingly fruitful, in a roundabout way; he couldn’t claim to remember much of anything she said, but it got him thinking about Holly, being a Templar, and the true weight of the responsibility he bore.

He’d admit - only inwardly - that he had always thought of Templars as the desk jockeys of the Church Knights. Their job always seemed to be “follow your Scion around, look pretty, try not to be late to any interviews” and then to reap lavish praise from all of Gaia when they were done. They lived in plush apartments and did what could be generously called escort work, never needing to face any real danger or difficulty. And, in Jannick's experience, his prior judgement was largely accurate.

Or rather, it used to be, until tonight. For the past six months, Jannick’s biggest challenge was reining Holly in and staying awake during meetings, but tonight shook the very foundations of his understanding of his role - and probably of the Ordo Templi itself. He was no scholar, but it must have been hundreds of years since any material threat to the Scions at large had manifested itself in Gaia, and now they were under all-out assault in the very heart of Veradis. Jannick was no small amount incensed that they would dare set foot upon his homeland, especially considering that just a year ago, he would have been part of the VPD response team sent to the scene, rather than stuck in the thick of it.

And stuck he had been. Irina was right - as Templars went, he was pathetic. It was one of many wake-up calls the New Year seemed to have in store for him: he needed to brush way up on his skill with magic, which essentially meant learning it from the ground up. Funnelling cigarette smoke into the nearest vent wouldn’t cut it anymore. Holly was hopeless in a fight, if she couldn’t run away from it; he was her only hope.

Doubly so, if his other wake-up call was correct. If Irina was to be taken at her word, and Jannick wouldn’t risk any other approach, then if he fell, he could not expect anyone else to come to Holly’s aid. He was, quite literally, her only hope. The only thing separating that scared little girl from the clutches of the enemy.

Jannick had resented his role ever since the day he got it; he ideologically opposed the idea of prioritizing a single person over the interests of all others simply because that person was somehow “special.” He thought the Church’s focus on the Scions was as much a joke as the supposed mercy of the Mother was - that their interest began and ended with the preservation of their crown jewels, their spectacle pieces, their pawns for use in dazzling and subduing a faithful audience, all while the Goddess watched on with little more than mild interest. But even if that was true - and Jannick had no evidence it wasn’t - it didn’t really seem to matter anymore. Because Holly was special; not because she was holy or magic or whatever else, but because she was in danger. And she needed him.

All she had was him, and if he had to forsake others to do it, then so be it. At least the rest of society had someone else coming for them if he fell.

The realization brought with it a deep and abiding shame. Shame that quickened Jannick’s feet to a run on his way back to Holly’s room, that urged him to make things right before they could no longer be righted. He was painfully reminded of every eye-roll, every exasperated sigh, every dismissive comment he’d ever made in the course of his employment - no his vow - to Scion Hollyhock. Suddenly he wanted to clobber that stubborn, petulant, self-absorbed Templar who spent his days wishing he was back at a police precinct instead of doing his job. He especially wanted to get a hold of the one who yelled at Holly in her most vulnerable moment and beat him senseless before he had the chance to open his mouth.

Instead, he stopped with a huff at Holly’s door, waving off the servant he’d contracted to lead the way (and uncharitably forced to run with him at a policeman’s pace all the way there). His bruises and sprains complained at him, but he paid them no mind; rather, he stared at the door for a moment as he caught his breath, flagging a little as the reality of what he’d resolved to do stared him in the face.

After a moment, he steeled himself, with a few colourful inward remarks about being a coward, and knocked twice on the door. “...Holly?” he called hesitantly, surprised at the hoarseness of his voice. He cleared his throat and continued more resolutely. “Holly, we need to talk.”

---

---

After her unwelcome brush with Belle, Maya made straight for her room, helped along in her lightheaded and somewhat unsteady state by an attendant who led her by the arm to the apartment the royal family had prepared for her. She found the accommodations acceptable, for the most part: there was a parlour, a dining room, and of course a generous bedroom, all of the quality as she would expect. But she was most excited about the ensuite, and in particular, the large and luxurious bathtub. After the night she’d had, a bath was the very least she deserved.

There was a butler placed at Maya’s disposal, and she made good use of him. Before long she had ordered dinner, wine, and a bath drawn with whatever fragrant and relaxing bubble bath they could find. A swarm of servants fell upon the suite to fulfill her requests, which expanded to include a wireless speaker and a smartphone to replace the one that presumably smashed on Giles’ floor, and soon Maya was fed and submerged in a hot oat and lily bath, the ensuite filled with warm, fragrant steam and soothing music.

Not that any of it helped at all with her foul mood, as much as she tried to soothe it. Normally this would be just the thing to calm her: buried chin-deep in sweet-smelling bubbles, opening her pores, sipping her second glass of very nice rosé - and all in the house of the Veradian Prince, no less. But all Maya could think about was the absolute vile audacity of those godforsaken bear-fucking heathens to dare put her through all this trouble.

Every attempt to turn her mind from the events of the night only reminded her of yet another infuriating detail about it. When she tried to turn her mind to her social media, she was reminded that she was robbed of all the pictures she got when she was forced to drop her phone and fall onto the fucking ceiling. When she tried to think of the high society elbows she got to rub tonight, her mind turned to how they all probably saw her crawling around the ceiling in a panic. When she tried to focus on her new lavish surrounds, she was forced to recall how her own penthouse was probably already on the heathens’ radar, and how she probably couldn’t go home.

She made about a million phone calls once her temporary phone arrived (and once she’d interrogated the servant about the security of the palace 5G) mostly to the effect of packing her belongings and having them sent to Veradis castle. She had no intention of leaving; first thing in the morning, it was her intent to call upon the Prince himself and beg hospitality, citing the relative insecurity of her home in Juniperus. She never even contemplated the possibility that he might refuse - the Prince of Veradis would never bear the ignominy of refusing hospitality, especially not to a Scion who was resident in his country - and was already making arrangements for a long-term stay. Among the things brought to her, aside from her copious luggage, had been an ugly black bag Maya immediately recognized as belonging to Edmund. No way her butler would have mistaken it for hers, so he must have called it in. She vaguely recalled him referring to a “go bag” in the past, and that must be what he meant. She didn’t know what was in it, and didn’t care to check, but she hoped it was an entire arsenal of weapons now that she was clearly being hunted. If he lacked anything for her protection, she planned to buy him three to spare.

Maya certainly wasn’t going to be taking any more chances. She barely felt safe in the castle, let alone at home. If they could get to her in Duke Giles’ ballroom - and she practically quaked at the thought of that spineless fool - then they could get her anywhere. And she was beyond angry at that prospect. She was beside herself with rage, her fingernails at times digging crescent-shaped holes into her palms as she contemplated her situation. She simply could not tolerate what was done to her tonight. Not just the threat to her physical safety, which was more than bad enough, but presumably rectified with more security, a safer lodging, and a renewed resolution not to let Edmund out of her sight ever again; but with everything. Those masked gunmen - to Sheol with them all, and a slow and painful journey there - had humiliated her, reduced her to crawling around in terror mewling for her Templar, they had dared to lay their dirty half-breed hands on her, and she couldn’t even bear to think of what might have happened if they actually caught her. Would they have killed her? Kidnapped her? Held her for ransom? Defiled her? She hoped she would never know.

But worst and most reprehensible of all, they made her feel just as small and helpless as she had on the Larme years ago, staring down Kaudian gunmen on her father’s barge. She had wondered the same things then, too, unsure what a gang of savages would do if they caught her and dispatched her father. And they had made her flee, as shamefully as she had tonight; back then it was jumping into the water and cowering under the pier instead of crawling on the ceiling, but it was just as degrading.

Maya burned with hatred at the memory, wishing death and despair on her enemies in the surest and most vicious of terms, and wished she had her gun again - but maybe it was better she didn’t have it. In this mood, she could have put the bullets in them by hand.

But in the meantime, she had no bullets. Only the heady scent of lilies and a bottle of rosé to tide her over until she could throw every single one of her enemies into the sun.

---

Hollyhock

---

^{@Obscene Symphony}

There was no response.

Hollyhock had been sitting on the ground with her back against the door for some time. She knew that Jannick would probably come back and want to talk. The two of them had always begrudgingly honoured the push and pull that came with who they were. Despite her foresight, she didn't open the door. She remained sitting in silence as Jannick waited.

She didn't know what to say. That she thought Jannick would chase her like he always did? That she hated her duties and the consequences of her Scionhood? That running away on her own feet was the only thing she could trust?

...

With newfound resolution (if you could call it that), Hollyhock rose to let Jannick in.

Clack. The deadbolt was unlatched.

Click. The lock on the knob was turned.

Creak. The door crept open.

Hollyhock looked better than before. Some colour had returned to her complexion. Judging by her damp hair, it was mostly from a scalding shower. Her bloodstained attire was nowhere in sight. Instead, she was wearing a set of plush white pajamas, a plush pink robe that further made her look she was trying to scare off a bear, and plush white slippers that were two sizes too large. Jannick couldn't quite tell her expression even without her veil; she had immediately turned away to clumsily shuffle towards the dining area.

"Do you want tea or coffee?" She asked. "Though, it's that sweet instant kind. Or you could try some cofftea."

Edmund Silvaine

---

The Templar of Gravity left the meeting with Irina ahead of Sir Morris, and rather briskly strode through the halls the way he had first come. He was swift in passing various attendants, making his way back to the main hall. He made a beeline for the makeshift clinic, practically barging his way in and doing a quick scan. Maya had left ahead of him, which was preferred. As he turned to leave, grunting from the unnatural stiffness in his muscles, one of the nurses caught him by the wrist. He looked at her in protest, but a stern look shut him up quick. She had said enough in a look. He made his way behind a screen, removing his jacket and shirt to reveal the bright red patches of freshly bruised skin. That was to say nothing for the muscle pain in his knee.

Within moments, he had two bandages slapped on, and was able to dress himself back up again. It took him a minute as he felt the slight chemical imbalance as the bandages began doing their work. It was a welcome change from the days of pouring grain alcohol in his wounds and taking a swig for the pain, though he'd never admit that out loud. The last thing he needed was Theobald thinking less of him for preferring the modern medical solution. Though, at present, Theobald was low on the list of opinions he valued in this given moment. Striking a subordinate who couldn't strike back was the behavior of a petulant child... or, from experience, an absent and self-obsessed parent. As the emotions of the night began to finally and truly bear their ugly heads in his mind, Edmund's gut dropped as he felt a loneliness that he had ignored for a long time. The conversation with Irina and Tyler weighed heavy on him, and he could not share that burden. Perhaps that was for the best. The last thing he needed was to rile anyone up further.

Edmund managed to flag down an attendant long enough to get shown towards his room. The door was unlocked for him, and as soon as he stepped inside, he felt a conflict of emotions. He recognized the tornado of food trays and wine that he recognized as the aftermath of Maya's arrival and various demands. Part of him wanted to just be left alone to mull over the events of the day, though he did feel a relief in seeing some relatively normal behavior from his Scion. He wadded through the chaos, hanging up his expensive jacket in the bedroom closet to make sure it didn't get too wrinkled. He eyed the closed bathroom door, noting the light under it. Edmund thought about saying something, but instead just turned to take note of the chaos. He flashed a small smile as he saw his go-bag sitting on the couch. He quickly unzipped it, grabbing a pre-loaded cylinder from his revolver and a bottle of caffeine pills. He reloaded his service weapon as he dry-swallowed a pill, making his way towards the in-suite coffee maker to get a pot brewing. He had little intent of sleeping after the most recent events. With those things in motion, Edmund stuck his head out the door to order a light meal with their butler.

Once all that was said and done, Edmund drew his revolver and did a formal sweep. He checked the various pots, lamps, and light fixtures for bugs or anything out of the ordinary. He checked both balconies, and made sure they were locked and the curtains were drawn for both. Confident that they were secure enough, and hearing that the coffee was ready, he relaxed a bit. He holstered his revolver, poured a cup of coffee, and made his way into the bedroom. He sighed as he approached the closed bathroom door. He gave it two firm knocks, and called out to his Scion. "I'm back." He paused, looking at his cup of grainy and bitter coffee as he grasped for what to say. He wasn't quite sure how Maya was feeling about all of this. He hadn't seen her vulnerable like she had been in the ballroom before, and he didn't need to be a genius to suspect she might be reacting poorly. So, he lingered on the other side of the door, releasing a deep exhale. "I'll be in the other room if you need me, Maya."

---

---

With his conversation with the prince finished, the former soldier took a backseat to the proceedings as the two royals began to converse about books and the goddess. Though he had embarrassed himself, believing that the names the princess gave were referring to types of tea rather than children’s stories, it seemed that no one else had noticed or didn’t feel the need to call him out.

Theobald did not have much experience with children, with his memories of the village life filled with war stories and farmwork rather than childhood friendships, and the warfront not a particularly pleasant place to find any within a sightline. But if all children were as chatty as the princess, perhaps he might have been better without it.

He did not think it was possible to speak so much about so little for such a tiny person.

Though what surprised him more than that was Prince Lucas actually humoring the small chatterbox. Treating her as if she was like anyone else, just as brisk with her as he was with the former soldier, albeit with less cursing. Were it not for their previous conversation, he might’ve thought that their interactions were some sort of political maneuvering on the prince’s part, but with a new perspective on the young man Theobald could see that it was the royal being himself.

The subject turned to the ages each of the Scions had exalted while he was ruminating, and as each person at the table spoke the age and timeframe from the present, it was the Scion of Metal who had turned the question onto him. It was interesting to see how each of them had responded to the inquiry, with the Earth Scion the closest to how he felt himself.

His mouth deepened into a frown, however, as the memories of the moment and what came after flashed through his mind. ”Two years ago, at twenty one fifty seven, on the final day of the nine hundred and ninety-seventh year.”

It was the end of his career as a frontline soldier, and the greatest barricade between himself and his dream. No matter how honorable it may seem to others, to him it was a shackle that tied him to the church, and his negative emotions were almost palpable as his mouth refused to move any further.

The arrival of the duchess seemed to herald the end of the meeting, the host of their meeting leaving hand in hand with the older woman while the Scion of Earth and the prince took the cue to abscond soon after. Alone with the last remaining member of the group, he drew himself from his too-tiny seat with a bit of difficulty, his mood soured enough that he didn’t even bid the woman a “goodbye” as he followed the others’ suit and left.

Two church knights flanked the exit to the Snuggery and had allowed the rest of the Scions to pass, but as soon as Theobald’s large figure attempted to exit, their spears crossed in his path.

“Your Holiness,” one began as they craned their helmeted head up toward the former soldier. “We would like to ask for you to follow us.”

Theobald clenched his hands into fists, his eyebrows furrowed. He had expected something to occur after his outburst, but for them to have stood around for who knows how long specifically to keep him from escaping… Surely they did not care that much for a Kaudian, did they? Were they truly taking the enemy’s side, when she could not even complete a simple task? Had she been on the warfront, under his command with the lives of her comrades at stake rather than merely people placed on a pedestal, he would’ve had her-

…No, it couldn’t be. The former soldier released a sigh, the tension in his muscles draining away. It was simply another power play by the church. An adherence to rules, a need for his behavior to be punished no matter the victim of the exchange. Even a Scion was not exempt from that.

With that thought in mind, he could accept it, and as his hand rose in salute towards someone who was a soldier not unlike himself he simply replied. ”So be it. Lead the way.”

And without another word, Theobald left with the two knights, one leading the way and the other taking up his flank, escorting him down beneath the castle and into a jail cell.

After another thorough and scathing dress down by Irina, Sara bowed deeply before departing the chamber and reclaiming her Templar crystal. Though being lambasted a second time injured her pride, there was one silver lining; Irina trusted Sara implicitly, though the older woman would probably never admit it. That had to count for something. Sara held the crystal in her bandaged hands, staring into its transparent shimmer, before asking the squire for directions to the castle chapel. Upon receiving her directions, Sara thanked the squire and headed over, feeling that some prayer and spiritual contemplation were much needed right now. As Sara approached, the covered her head with the hood of her Templar uniform in an act of modesty and piety. She entered, head lowered, hands clasped in prayer. Though doing so ignited the dull, throbbing pain of her healing burns, she kept her hands together regardless.

"Our Mother..." Sara's silent voice choked and faltered for a moment as a lump caught in her throat. Tears streamed down the side of her face, surprising her as her body and mind finally succumbed to the stress of the day. "M-Mother...please forgive me. Please take this sinner back within your warm embrace, though I am unworthy. I have...violated my oath to you to protect my Scion. I have allowed myself to doubt his holiness and to secretly wish harm to befall him. Though I am undeserving, I ask you for strength. Strength to repel our enemies, whoever they may be, strength to withstand political machinations and intrigue, strength to endure senseless hatred..."

Sara suddenly turned her face up, having unconsciously walked to the foot of the statue of the Goddess that was the centerpiece of the chapel and unknowingly raised her voice, as if in protest and challenge, "Incepta On High! Is the blood of my mother truly so tainted? You sent down a fraction of your mercy and it manifested as the love that every mother has for her children. Is it then wrong for me to revere my mother but a fraction of the reverence I offer to you?! She bore me through hardship and showed me to the doorstep of your house before she passed. Is she not worthy of your compassion and the compassion of those who worship you? Though she did not speak the prayers herself, did she not bring into this world one who has devoted her entire life to you? Are my actions not enough to save her? Long is the road to redemption, but what crime am I seeking atonement for?"

Sara lowered her gaze, feeling a sense of loss, and only then noticed that her hands were clasped so hard that the bandaging between her palms had become wet, sticky, and slightly red. Sara relaxed her body slightly, "Forgive me. The actions of your worshippers are not an accurate reflection of your will. Like me, they too, are sinners, and prone to misguidance. Much ignorance yet lingers in the heart of man. I cannot allow myself to be so arrogant as to believe that what little service I have offered would be enough to change their minds. Please excuse my momentary lapse of faith."

Sara took a few steps back and collapsed into one of the pews, leaning back. She gazed upwards at the vaulted ceiling, unlit chandeliers, and the stained glass, darkened by the night sky outside. This was home. This was where she belonged; with her Mother. Sara closed her eyes, feeling her mind slowly go blank from exhaustion. To minimize pain, her arms lay upon her thighs, palms facing upwards, looking for all the world as if she was supplicating, and perhaps she was, though she could have been asking for nothing and everything. At the back of her mind, she reminded herself of her duty. She should regroup with Theobald and keep close to him as Irina commanded, but for the moment, she simply wanted to enjoy this fleeting, quiet moment. If they were attacked again even now, then Sara could only chalk it up to Incepta's wrath. perhaps they had strayed too far and Incepta wished to wipe the slate clean, Scions and Templars and all. For some reason, such a fatalistic view brought a small chuckle to Sara's throat. And though it was not proper church etiquette, Sara laid down, bringing her legs up onto the pew. Though the mahogany of the pew was uncomfortable, laying on a hard surface brought back an old familiarity. Though one was not supposed to sleep in a chapel, Sara reassured herself that she would get up forthwith and find Theobald; she just needed to close her eyes for a few seconds...

---

Maya had dunked her head under the water when she thought she heard thumping and clicking nearby. Heart in her throat, she surfaced quickly, holding her breath as she waited for the sloshing of the tub to quiet down so she could listen. She heard the door close, and someone plodding around in the apartment beyond the wall.

She willed herself to calm down, but it was futile; she knew, logically, that it could be the butler, another servant come to fulfill some order (although she didn’t remember any left to fulfill) or even Edmund, finally back from his long hiatus. But none of those very reasonable conclusions did anything to slow her heart, and she was stuck for a long while, fear gripping her as she listened to whoever was out there.

Two sharp knocks on the bathroom door made her jump, unable to hold in her gasp and the splashing that followed. “I'm back. I'll be in the other room if you need me, Maya.”

“Edmund!” Maya blurted out, heart fluttering as she swooned with the wash of relief his voice brought her. But she wasn’t disarmed long; soon renewed anger chased away her fear, and the whole host of grievances she’d spent the evening contemplating rushed back to the forefront of her mind. “Where have you been?! Get in here!”

Edmund sighed, taking a sip of his coffee. He questioned Maya’s judgement in letting him into the bathroom, but figured rather foolishly that she must be in some state of dress… certainly removing the makeup from the evening or going through her usual skincare routine. He tried the door, and was disappointed to see it open with ease. He instinctively took a step into the bathroom before his eyes adjusted to the scene in front of him. It took him a moment to register Maya was in the tub, and he froze upon that realization. His eyes screwed shut and he quickly turned around, facing the mirrored closet doors. By the time he registered that Maya’s reflection was still clear as day, he had been able to notice that she was clearly submerged in the water enough that he couldn’t see anything indecent. He shook his head as he turned back towards Maya, but refused to make eye contact as he looked off to the side. “Please show some modesty, Your Holiness.”

Maya rolled her eyes at Edmund’s discomfort. Didn’t he have better things to worry about right now? She certainly did. “Double the security team. If you go over budget, I don’t care,” she demanded, “and start making arrangements for a change of venue. We’re moving.”

She reclined back against the tub, settling back into the spot she’d been in before Edmund came back. Somehow, though, she managed to look no more relaxed. “First thing tomorrow I’m seeking an audience with the Prince. I am not going back to my penthouse anytime soon. Once I get his blessing, you’ll need to coordinate with the palace guard to bring in my security. Figure it out.”

“Oh, and if you get the chance, I also want Duke Giles’ head on a spike,” Maya added abruptly, her simmering anger suddenly and forcefully bubbling up in her voice. Her eyes burned into the opposite wall, and her fingers curled out before her, grasping an invisible neck. “And after that, I want an audience with every general who hates Kaudians so I can sponsor a war to exterminate their entire miserable kind.”

“Starting with that half-breed bitch, Sara,” she continued venomously, her searing glare turning on Edmund. “Never leave me alone with that savage again.”

Edmund made a mental note of the tasks Maya had given him. He could make some calls, but would need thorough background checks on any additions to the security team. They could easily get most of her stuff packed in the interim. As for getting the security team in, that was certainly going to be a fun conversation. He would have to pull on some strings, and hope his station had more pull than he thought. Duke Giles’ head was unrealistic… but Edmund's blood ran cold when Maya’s nationalistic fervor took hold. He held his tongue, figuring he could wait for Maya to calm down before lightly guiding her expectations away from Kaudus.

Then she went too far. Edmund's grip on the plastic coffee cup tightened, spilling hot coffee onto the tile floor. He hissed out in a loud, guttural tone, “Don't you ever speak about a Templar like that, you pompous punk. Especially when you do not know what in the Goddess’ name you are talking about. ”

Maya raised a judgmental eyebrow at Edmund’s spill, but didn’t get the chance to wonder about it before he insulted her. She gasped loudly, jolting upright in the tub. “How dare you!” she yelped reflexively, briefly caught between absolute shock and indignation that Edmund would say such a thing. But she wasn’t stuck for long.

“I don’t know what I’m talking about? I’m sorry, how long did you live side-by-side with those godless freaks?” Maya growled, the animus in her voice far outstripping Edmund’s. He had inadvertently tapped into a very deep well of hate. “When did your town install sirens so you could hide in your basement while they set shit on fire? How many armed Kaudians stormed your cargo ship? I’m sorry, I didn’t realize we were neighbours!”

She laughed cruelly, but it was cut short by a dark glare. “I know all about Kaudians,” she spat the word like a slur, “I know all the little tricks they pull, and I know what they’re after. I will not hide in basements anymore, Edmund. I will not cower under piers. And I will NOT be crawling around ceilings anymore to satisfy whatever bullshit affirmative action Fyodor is trying to pull.”

Unbeknownst to her, Maya was slowly rising in the tub as if to advance on Edmund, gripping the edge of the tub with white knuckles. “Do not tell me what I don’t know,” she spat, “I know quite enough.”

Edmund's eyes were rooted on Maya's, remaining unflinching despite her rising anger and rising form. All the emotion and shit over the years in service as her Templar simmered inside him. His tone and volume were pulled back into a calmer mood, though the sting of his words was filled with the same venom slung his way. “I never ran nor cowered, waiting for others to save me. I never had that luxury. And I am telling you now, the Kaudians did not attack you tonight. Blaming them only plays into the hands of others.” He kept his tone firm, holding his ground.

“Well, aren't you fucking special,” Maya snapped, finally realizing her position and sinking back into the tub. She really wasn't sure what Edmund expected a 22-year-old woman to do in the face of half a dozen armed thugs, but that was his problem.

“And what makes you think Kaudus wasn't behind tonight? Is that what your mutt friend told you?” She scoffed. “Who the hell else would be going after Scions?”

“I know who is responsible first-hand. But that information is classified.” His words were terse and simple, Edmund reverting back to his typical manner of speaking. He let go of the coffee cup, letting it splatter on the ground as he moved both hands behind his back in a sort of attentive stance. His left hand was balled into a tight fist, away from Maya's direct eyesight and only visible in the mirrored reflection of the closets behind him.

“Classified!” Maya almost laughed, throwing her head back as she settled back down into the water. Unfortunately, her bubbles were starting to pop. “I bet. Whatever; I don’t really care who it was. The Kaudians will be setting off fireworks when they get the news regardless. Make no mistake: they want to see all of us wiped off the face of the earth.”

She sighed, growing rapidly bored of this bickering. She was no less angry, but the heat of the moment was gone, and she had no interest in debating geopolitics; the tedious details only bogged her down. She wondered if Edmund shared the same outlook as that naive fool Theodore, who had more than once tried to dissuade her enmity toward Kaudus with insistences that “we mustn’t assume the worst in people,” and “the many shouldn’t be held responsible for the actions of a few,” but they never landed. Kaudians never seemed too concerned about individual blameworthiness when they came looking for a fight, and neither was she. It wasn’t worth discussing.

Ugh, and now she was more tired than anything. Her bath was starting to get cold, and she was ready for whatever semblance of sleep she could get tonight. The little glimpse she got of Edmund making a fist in the mirror was tempting, but not tempting enough; her mood for fighting was dwindling. He could fuck as many Kaudians as he wanted as long as he still did his job.

“Whatever,” she repeated, heaving a long, tired sigh. She waved dismissively. “Get out before you’re subjected to more indecency; I’m going to bed.” She didn’t wait for his response before pulling the plug on the tub and reaching for her bathrobe. “And get a maid in here to clean up your mess.”

Edmund took a deep breath, released the tension built up in his hand, and turned around to walk out of the bathroom. He stopped briefly in the doorway, his gaze turning towards the ground to avoid catching a sinful glance in the mirror’s reflection. He opened his mouth as if to speak, before simply shaking his head. “I’ll clean it myself, when you’re done here. No more servants unless I’m present.” His voice trembled for the briefest of moments at that, the most open sign of fear he had displayed all night. But he marched out of the bedroom, fetching himself another cup of coffee.

---

---

A pit grew in Jannick’s stomach as the seconds stretched on without an answer. Oh Mother, he cocked it all up, didn’t he? He had probably broken whatever fragile trust he’d built with Holly over the past months, left her feeling alone, unprotected, at probably the worst time in her life to abandon her--

Click.

Jannick’s eyes widened as the door slowly opened, panic briefly replacing his guilt; suddenly any plan he had went out the window, as if he didn’t expect to get even this far. Inside, he was relieved to find Holly looking clean and comfortable in everything fuzzy she could find - and was suddenly very aware that he was still in his uniform, his hands and face still smeared with sticky dried blood. Honestly, it was fitting; he felt like he belonged in the gutter, and he looked like it too.

Holly turned away before he could see her face, already chattering about coffee. Jannick’s gut twisted again at the sight. It was the same thing she always did when things were tense: divert attention, change the subject, whatever it took to avoid a real fight. That convicted him more than any insult she could throw at him; at least if she was giving it back, he’d know things weren’t so dire.

“No thank you, it’s fine--listen, we need to talk,” Jannick pursued Holly toward the dining area, scooping around in front of her to cut her off. Remorse tinted his words, although he tried to speak as delicately as he knew how. “Could you just listen for a moment, please?”

“I can listen.” Hollyhock still didn’t turn to face Jannick. Instead, she had been digging around for various items in cupboards–a satchel of tea leaves, a plastic tube of instant coffee powder, a mug, and a can of condensed milk.

Jannick frowned as Holly blew right past him, but he supposed he had no right to be surprised. When she agreed, however, he stood a moment dumbfounded, once again apparently forgetting everything he’d planned to say. He took a few breaths, opened and closed his mouth a few times, changed his mind a few times more, before deciding that the sound of Holly banging around the counter was counterproductive to his efforts and took a step forward, putting his hand on top of the can she was fiddling with to make her pause.

“Thank you,” came his delayed response, and he once again stepped back, hesitating for a second before coming up with what to say.

“I’m sorry I yelled at you,” came his initial confession, the thing that had been weighing foremost on his mind. He shook his head. “I don’t blame you for running, I had no right-- I-- You handled tonight perfectly. Really, you did,” he insisted, trying his best to catch Holly’s eye. “This is on me; I’m the fuckup here, seriously. I should have followed you, but…”

Growing frustrated with his own inability to articulate, Jannick suddenly huffed, pacing a small circle and rubbing the back of his neck. No, no, this still felt all wrong. Some lame apology didn’t feel adequate for the guilt he was feeling. It ran deeper than being mean to Holly or failing to keep track of her; he needed to do something serious.

When the thought dawned on him, Jannick took a deep breath and set his jaw, as if bracing against the very idea. “Okay…” he said, mostly to himself, taking another deep breath to steel himself for what was to come.

After a second of mental preparation, Jannick did what he hadn’t done for many months, and for many years before that: slowly, as if easing himself into it, he sunk down to one knee, elbow on his thigh in the perfect (if a little stiff) image of a Knight kneeling before his liege. He bowed his head.

“Scion Hollyhock, I took an oath to protect you, and tonight I failed.” His face burned with embarrassment, but he powered through; he needed to do this. “I have no excuse. I was inept and cowardly, and I’m sorry. I only pray you’ll forgive me, and believe me when I say it will not happen again.” Jannick kept his eyes on the floor, half afraid to look up, wallowing in his own guilt. He embraced the feeling; it felt just, the least he deserved for such a screw-up.

Hollyhock stood in silence as Jannick gave his apology. It was palpable–another moment like the one at the door. While Jannick didn’t see it, he could hear it–the clattering of items being placed on the countertop, the huff of Hollyhock wondering what she should do, the sound of fingers running through hair, and the shuffling of approaching slippers.

“Criminy,” her informal words broke the silence, “you were really dressed down.”

Her shadow waxed around him as she squatted in front of her kneeling templar.

“Six months together and this is what you think of me?”

She rubbed the back of her neck as she looked away once again. Her thinking caused her to exhale again. She wasn’t going to run away this time. Not when someone was in front of her vomiting his guilt out. She faced him with resolution.

The Hollyhock in front of him was one that had cried her heart out alone. One that had eyes swollen and red. One that had exhausted herself out of shaking.

“I’m not a baby that needs to be coddled with affirmation,” she began, “and if I’m being a gobshite, I won’t hate you if you throw me over your shoulder and treat me like a sack of potatoes.”

With more vigor, she addressed the apology that came with Jannick’s position.

“If you think I’d suddenly be fine if you were an action hero, I’ll cane you. Right now, I feel like I’ll wake up from a dream. But that dream isn’t that I’m alone and in danger. It’s that people ‘round me are being shot and that bloody hands are grasping at my dress–I think you’d be a fool if you want to accept all of that.”

She looked away once again, this time with an embarrassed flush.

“‘Sides. I could have communicated like a normal human earlier.” It was difficult to tell if she was talking about her nodding and running off in the ballroom, her making a smug expression and running off to try to reclaim a drop of normalcy, or both. “Instead you have to deal with me always acting before I think.”

Jannick suffered for a while - rightly, he thought - while Holly contemplated her answer, nearly jumping at every little sound. When at last the silence was broken, he very nearly laughed; quite the dressing-down indeed, although Irina couldn’t say anything worse to him than he could say to himself. But hearing Holly’s normal attitude return, bit by bit, was a balm on his nerves.

He nodded humbly as she spoke, more open than ever to her criticism, although when she finally stooped to meet him, his heart fell. Her eyes were red and puffy, and he knew she’d never look quite the same even after the swelling went down. The horrors she described would stick with her, in some capacity, forever; that he knew quite well.

Jannick shook his head, but didn’t stand. Honestly, his legs were a little shaky, and he wasn’t sure if he could. But his joints complained about the position, so instead, he just shifted into a sitting position, remaining at eye level with Holly. “In this case, acting without thinking might have saved your life.”

Before she could retort again about banal affirmations, he held up a hand. “I’m serious. I’m not here to inflate your ego; when you’re in danger, I want you to run as fast as you can.” He shook his head again, this time at himself. “I don’t need to be an action hero. But I do need to be able to keep up; I’m going to get better with my Blessing, I promise.”

There was silence for a moment. Jannick leaned his head on his arm, wondering what else there was to say. He didn’t usually have to deal with victims after the incident was said and done; usually the social workers picked that up while he was still picking through a crime scene. And he was too young when he left home to have much experience comforting his siblings - not that anything this catastrophic had ever happened to them, for a mercy.

“I’m sorry this happened,” he said finally, shaking his head. The images still lingered before his eyes, too, and he knew they’d never go away. “I’m so sorry you had to go through that, Holly.”

“Shaddup,” Hollyhock said as she shot up to her feet and kicked Jannick’s knee. Though, it was difficult to call it a kick. The lack of malice and her oversized plush slippers made it more like he was being assailed by a teddy bear.

Again, she turned away so Jannick couldn’t see the expression on her face and shuffled back to the counter.

“Now do you want some tea, coffee, cofftea, or are you really okay?”

Jannick cracked a tiny smile at the kick. He doubted Holly was really okay - he noticed her hiding her face - but he expected she wouldn't be for some time. He was shell shocked for a long time after his first disturbing call as a newly-minted knight, and that was without being shot at. But he wouldn't force that out of her now; truth be told, he didn't really know how.

Instead, he got to his feet, groaning like an old man. “Never had ‘cofftea’ before, let's try that.”

Three parts coffee made from instant mix. Six parts tea. One part condensed milk.

It was sweet–brutally so.

---

---

The cells below the castle were a relic of ages past, back when the castle was the only significant structure in Juniperus capable of housing prisoners. It was a hint at the true age of the castle, which was much older than the outward decor would suggest.

But, like the rest of the castle, the dungeons had been periodically updated with the times, even as their use became less and less practical. In fact, the castle cells would probably be considered luxury accommodations compared to most prisons. Their paneled walls and wooden beds, chairs and desks contrasted strangely with the steel bars securing their entrances - a nod to the dungeons’ oft-overlooked history of housing troublesome nobles rather than common criminals. But they saw little use; many cells nowadays had been relegated to storage, housing spare furniture and seasonal decor securely behind bars instead of prisoners.

It was to one of the still-operational cells that Scion Theobald was taken, placed politely inside and bolted in, with the same knights who had escorted him down standing watch either side of the barred door. Some time passed while he was down there - with no windows or clocks, it was hard to guess how long - before steps echoed down the hallway in his direction.

In the orange gaslight of the hallway, Irina stepped into view on the other side of the bars, hands clasped behind her back, her saber still glinting on her hip. She wore an utterly unreadable expression, although an astute observer would notice the subtle signs of fatigue starting to show. The slight squint of dry, tired eyes, the way her head lolled ever so slightly to the side atop her rigid spine; it was miniscule, but it was also about as much outward weakness as Irina had ever shown. It had been a long night indeed.

But her gaze was no less sharp as she eyed Theobald through the bars, looking him up and down like a new recruit before she nodded to the guards, one of whom unlocked the doors before they both departed.

Pulling the door open herself, Irina stepped inside the cell, sealing it behind her. She approached Theobald, somehow still looking tall despite the excess of a foot’s height difference between them.

“Scion Theobald, Your Holiness,” she greeted stiffly, the proper reverence hardly impacting her severe demeanor. “Forgive me, but I must speak freely.”

Then, without warning and almost faster than was perceptible, she slapped him across the face.

The force behind the blow was surprising, but aside from one quick shake of her wrist, Irina betrayed no pain. “What was that shameful display on Stern Hill?” she demanded loudly in Rodion, suddenly seeming like she’d fit right in among Rodion’s finest drill sergeants. Her voice reverberated down the hallway.

Though the soldier had been complacent during his arrest, the smack across his face not long after he had stood to greet the Templars’ second-in-command garnered a brief flash of anger across his usually stoic expression. So quickly had he returned to a dormant temperament that it seemed like almost a trick of the light, his rumbling timbre as calm as ever.

”A rebuke that, in retrospect, I should have kept away from the public eye. The same mistake shall not happen twice.” It was clear in his words that he did not regret the action itself even a little bit, but his head lowered slightly deeper than required to display his shame to keep his emotions in check. His mouth parted, as if to say more, but held his tongue as the strength in the woman’s voice brought back memories that felt like a lifetime ago.

A time when things were simpler.

This time, a quick glint in the light heralded another blow, an unexpectedly harder one to the side of Theobald’s head. Afterward, Irina held her scabbard aloft like a pageant rifle, speckled now with a taste of the Scion of Fire’s blood.

“Wrong answer,” she growled, her regimented tone coloured with a touch of foreboding anger, like something large and dangerous huddled beneath the surface of a pool. She returned her scabbard ceremoniously to its place on her belt. “What makes you think you have any right to strike a Templar?”

A muffled grunt released from the former soldier’s closed lips as his head turned to the side from the strike, Theobald facing the woman with a bead of blood dripping down his forehead, the skin above his brow opened by the scabbard. Even then, he showed no remorse, his gaze only a bit sharper than before while he stood at attention without attempting to wipe at his wound.

”It was an act of discipline.” Not even attempting to cover for himself, the man stood tall and proud, the idea that his actions were in any way dissatisfactory aside from the circumstances around them barely a passing thought. ”On the warfront, such things were necessary at times to keep unruly soldiers in line.”

“You are not on the warfront anymore,” Irina spat, meeting Theobald’s glare fearlessly. “You are not Dame Sara’s commanding officer, and she is not your subordinate. She is a Blessed Templar, an experienced knight and a member of our highest knightly order. She took a holy vow to protect you, yes - but she swore that oath to the Goddess, not to you.”

“Is what happened tonight not the first signs of war?” The former soldier furrowed his brow. “It is clear that the events that happened tonight were premeditated and by a force stronger than a mere rogue element. The infiltration of the biggest event at the end of the millenia is not a small ripple. It is the beginning of a wave I am most familiar with.”

It was the respect for the Commander that stayed his hand, kept him standing at attention rather than treat the second-in-command with direct scorn. There was a reason she was at his childhood hero’s side, and it was only that implied trust in the woman that allowed Theobald to subdue his emotions. “I do not need a babysitter. I need a soldier I can trust to do what is needed.”

“You are no longer a soldier.” Irina reiterated darkly. “What tonight's events will lead to is none of your concern. You are not entitled to play army and treat the Church’s chosen guardians as buck privates at your beck and call. If your actions tonight are any indication, you do need a babysitter. Maybe she can teach you to keep your hands to yourself.”

Irina tsked. “The guards who brought you down here are under instructions from the Veradis Police Department to bring you in on charges of assault. Whatever you may think you were doing out there, I will remind you that it is not acceptable to attack people, and especially not to do so as a representative of the Church.”

“Scions are being targeted.” Theobald sighed, having expected that a few hits weren’t the full extent of his punishment and willing to accept it, but clearly unwilling to accept the woman’s previous statement as his gaze hardened. “Whether you like it or not, Dame Irina, this situation very much concerns me. As well as the civilian members placed in a similar position as I.”

The former soldier closed his eyes, eyelids flickering as if seeing something behind them. “I noticed missing figures during our regrouping in the castle. Have there already been victims? Though you ask me to leave my past behind, it is those years on the warfront that allowed me to protect myself and those fellows the church call my peers.”

His eyes opened once more, his determination set. “A representative I may be, but it is not a position I desired. It was you and your people who had seated me on a pedestal crafted to shackle me. If the enemy appears at my doorstep once again, I will not hesitate to do what is needed.”

“It was the Goddess who chose you,” Irina snapped, looking upon Theobald with cold contempt. “You would do well to remember that.”

“And spare me your platitudes,” she scoffed, “you know as well as I it was not duty that moved your hand tonight. It was the thrill of battle, the chance to test your mettle yet again and stretch your sword arm. I know it well.” She spoke as one with experience, but not with approval.

“You want to relive your glory days - or add to them. But you are not Maxwell Alderman, and the days of Scion warriors are behind us, Mother be praised.” Her reverence was sincere, but her eyes were sharp with warning. “Continue down this path, Scion Theobald, and you are more likely to tread the footsteps of Scion Yusef instead.”

”A ‘Scion warrior’.” It was Theobald who scoffed this time, his hand ghosting over where his gunblade would’ve been strapped to his side. ”I have done as the church requested and never wielded the Goddess’ gift for my own desires. Not even to protect myself, though my ‘peers’ think differently than I.”

It was an unwanted blessing, but though he had learned just enough to use it should the church ever require it, the former soldier was born to a pious family. Even ignoring his own misgivings, the current him would never use those powers haphazardly. “Perhaps you are right, but only just. If I am to do battle with any enemy, it is under my own power.”

“You have done nothing but scorn the Mother’s gift and assault her faithful. Your excuses do not cloud the Goddess’ eyes,” Irina corrected coldly, ignoring Theobald’s continued attempts to justify himself.

Stepping back, she leaned to peer down the hallway before placing her fingers in her lips to release a long, shrill whistle. At her signal, the two guards from before reappeared from a doorway, opening the gate and receiving the keys back from Irina.

“Perhaps a night down here will help you contemplate how the Goddess has called you to service off the battlefield,” she commented cooly as she stepped out, allowing the guards to close the barred door behind her. As she turned to leave, she levied a final warning look at Theobald. “Lay a hand on one of my order again, and I will see that you live to regret it.”

She departed without elaborating, leaving Theobald alone with his guards and his wounds.

With his jailer gone, the former soldier returned to his cot, his gaze unchanged despite Irina’s words as he stared coldly at the ceiling. The events that transpired during the celebration would not disappear quietly into the night, and he was certain that the Scions were going to be in the eye of the oncoming storm.

And in that moment of strife, he was certain that Theobald the soldier would be wanted, no, needed more than the decorative symbol that is the Scion of Fire.

With that thought, he slept, dreamless and prepared to fight an invisible enemy even in the confinement of his jail cell.

The Duchy of Lucania was much more modern than anything surrounding it. The bustling city looked and worked very much like a beehive, with a vast majority of people walking this way and that in what looked like chaos at first. However, a closer look would show that people knew exactly where to go despite the sheer amount of people there. At the center of its capital, Novarum, sat a majestic castle, a striking departure from the modern buildings surrounding it. While the city pulsed with life, the castle stood as a constant in all its grandeur. Visitors flocked to the castle, drawn in by its history and architecture. There were many guided tours that lead people through halls filled with suits of armor and tapestries depicting the history of Estora. From the upper floors of the castle's towers, it was easy to see the entire city waiting underneath them.

Of course, those in the know were aware that the Novarum Castle was for show. It had been many years since any royal lived there as it was much too central. It did, however, provide a connection to the Scions and Templars' destination: the Lucania Castle located a good distance away from the city. Within Novarum's Castle was a bullet train not unlike the one they took from Stern Hill, albeit both train and tunnel looked much newer. They wouldn't stop directly at Lucas' home, either; they would make a stop at one of the towers of the wall that protected the manor. Only after they passed security were they granted access within. The sheen that covered the entirety of the manor like a dome was the tell-tale sign of a protection barrier, but it did not bar them as they were able to walk through it with ease. The actual castle was humble but still extravagant, the gardens enjoying the temperate climate that protected them. Said gardens were perfectly manicured and hosted an impressive variety of flowers and trees, the pool sporting many petals and flower lilies that floated peacefully.

Once inside, they were greeted with the familiar face of Duchess Patricia Bachmeier. Unlike her previous greens, she now wore a gorgeous red dress, albeit her eyes were as sharp as always. She greeted each pair personally and lead them to a meeting room. It looked grand, with an entire wall of floor length windows giving them a gorgeous view of the gardens. The halls were devoid of servants despite the spread of food and drink at the table, and Patricia did not follow them into the room. However, on entry, each Scion and Templar could feel themselves pass another barrier, and they would notice that the room was isolated; not a sound escaped nor would they hear anything from the outside.

Lucas sat at the head of the table, dressed in a jacket and tie, though he was focused more on the tuning fork in his hand than the people coming in. He only tore his attention away from it once Princess Belle lost her patience and slammed her hand on the table, irritated.

"You didn't hear a word I said, did you?" She snapped at him.

"Nope," He replied, sitting up a touch. "What do you want now?"

She looked at Sonia seated across from her, hoping for some support. The woman offered a half-hearted shrug--she would have had to admit she wasn't really listening to the princess, either. In her defense, however, Rosemary was going on a tangent on how the water lilies in the pool were some of the most beautiful things she had ever seen and they just had to get one just like it in Veradis and how she couldn't go another day without her own pool and would her father be okay with it?

"It is disingenuous to not listen to a guest," Sonia offered something resembling support.

Rosemary stopped her rant and pulled on the sleeve of Sonia's templar uniform. "What's--what's--this-en-jen-us?" She asked.

Princess Belle replied before Sonia could. "It means that yet again the second Prince of Estora has inexplicitly decided that he is too good for anyone despite being an arrogant--" She managed to stop herself as Sonia caught her eye with a dark look. "--jerk." She ended, somewhat annoyed that she had to hold herself back.

Rosemary ran over to Lucas, giggling. "She said you're a jerk," She informed him as if it was the funniest thing she had ever heard.

"Better a jerk than an annoying pain in the butt," He shrugged, watching Belle fume. "I'm not supporting your inane idea to go to war without proper proof that Kaudus was behind everything."

"Is it so inane to defend ourselves against a force looking to harm us?!" She asked angrily.

"Provoking a war without a proper casus belli will have our neighbors interfere in Kaudus' defense. Lanvaldear was already concerned about our bloody history with them, you of all people should know that," He informed her cooly.

"Lanvaldear--"

"Kisses your butt and throws themselves at your feet due to being the living symbol of peace. You've made that clear to every single person you've met," He cut her off. "Norðri and Janub have also voiced their concerns, and as powerful as we are, a potential war against four countries won't end without a decent amount of bloodshed."

Rosemary burst into laughter, clinging to Lucas' chair as she doubled over. "They kiss your butt! That's so weird!" She howled as Belle and Lucas glared at one another.

Hollyhock

---

^@Hero
The weeks after their ordeal were different. Both Hollyhock and Jannick knew it. Neither wanted to acknowledge the lest they break the silent trust and acceptance Scions and Templars had for each other. Previously, Hollyhock made little effort in hiding her hobbies. She'd move from famous restaurant to famous restaurant, only settling down for long enough to digest. She accepted any and all menu samplings she could, so long as it was a private event.

Now, she moved much slower, never telling anyone beyond the church where she was. The meals she sampled across the nations had been considerably less known. There were no reservations or dining; church officials had brought her meals to Jannick who in turn gave them to Hollyhock. Invitations were now met with flowers from a nearby florist. Besides her pious participation in church and national events, Hollyhock had become even more reclusive than what she once was.

Of course, she wasn't reclusive enough to refuse the events related to her duty as a Scion. Though, it was difficult to say that she was an active participant during those events. She was more of a witness who had left immediately, not even spending time socializing. This time, she was invited to Lucas' home. It would be the first time she'd gone. After all, she wasn't close to Lucas. She, with a muted excitement brought forth by the future new experience, had decided to get Lucas a gift. It was always custom to give the host a gift. Of course, she didn't exactly know about the sordid Scion's interests. Wine was blasé, so Hollyhock had some other ideas on what to get him.

She had arrived at Lucania Castle with Jannick. There wasn't much fuss involved in her travels, besides the large bag she carried. In fact, the security process gave her peace of mind. What didn't give her peace of mind was what she had arrived to. Her second cousin (she thought--Hollyhock could never really understand the entire ranking and removals that cousins had) had immediately been arguing with Lucas and discussing war. Meanwhile, Rosemary had filled the room with her laughter as she half-heard their vitriol.

It certainly was a meeting. One that was discussing something Hollyhock had been trying to avoid for the past two months.

Unlike the previous events and functions, Hollyhock hadn't been wearing a veil nor wide-brimmed hat. She had since removed them once they passed through the barrier. Now, she wore a billowing and layered top, its soft vanilla-speckled white fabric fluttering against itself as she moved. A charcoal pair of palazzo-style pants gave an element of formality, especially with her top tucked into the waistband.

Of course, the formality of her outfit had been betrayed by a set of purple and orange gradient Rosaria Force Twos.

She briefly met eyes with Sonia. Hollyhock couldn't help but feel as though the Templar of Light would crack her Scion-skull with a rock if she didn't try to change the topic. Though, it was difficult to tell how much was Sonia actually thinking that and how much was Hollyhock's delusions caused by her reclusive withering of social understanding.

"S-speaking of butt," she said unable to think of any sort of natural bridge. She had placed the bag on the ground, reached inside, and pulled out a large foil-wrapped object. Were it not for its iconic drumstick-like shape and cloven hoof, it would have been hard to identify. What Hollyhock had brought in that gift bag was unmistakably a...

"Gift ham!"

---

The last few weeks had been quite a whirlwind for Ionna. Following the assault on the manor, things had at once moved incredibly fast, and also very, very slowly. It seemed like the whole of Estora waited with baited breath for the next tragedy; the king’s death, the vanishing of Nadine Lucienne, the gut punch that was Kasper’s passing.

Then, of course, there was Theobald.

Ionna’s heart had sunk to hear she was being reassigned, at first believing she was to be removed from Scion Duty altogether, and might be spending the rest of her career guarding hallways, or sweeping latrines, or whatever soldiers did after they made the wrong people grumpy. The reality was more…complicated than that.

Losing Dom was deflating. Not that she didn’t trust Sara—in fact, she believed there were few people in the world Dom would be safer with—but all the same, it troubled her. Their time together had been so short, and it felt like they were only just starting to bond. She hoped their brief dueling lessons would stick, and the practice would continue under Sara’s tutelage. After what happened it did feel a little silly to think the Scions shouldn’t at least be capable of defending themselves.

But, that left her with Theobald. The Scion of Fire. Ionna had relayed the news of her transfer to her father, and found her own worries echoed. Theobald had proven himself, both over his long military career and his shorter, yet engaged Scionhood, to be a dangerous man. To some—no doubt to most of her homeland—this would be seen as a great boon, but to the Ranis, he was proof their vigilance was required.

Ionna didn’t love it when her views on people aligned with her father’s, She liked to think she was more generous, more forgiving, and when she chose to see the potential good in people, she liked to think she was correct more than she wasn’t. But with Theobald, she worried. Navigating this partnership without getting scorched would be difficult enough, to say nothing of trying to sway him towards a gentler attitude.

Not that she wasn’t going to try.

Arriving at Lucania Castle—had he named it after himself?—Ionna was pleased to see it was a more modest abode. At least, modest insofar as royalty could manage. She carried with her another small box of cookies, which had once again required a slight delay at their security screening. She’d whipped up more or less the same medley; chocolate chip for Dom, sugar for Rosemary, with the addition of a few triple-chocolate-chunk’s for Hollyhock. Naturally, there was already plenty of food spread out, so, rather than make another announcement, she instead slid her box of sweets in alongside the rest.

They weren’t free, of course. A little note attached to the box read: “Help yourself! 1 cookie = 1 compliment to your Scion / Templar :)”

That done, she wasted no time in grabbing herself a plate. With such a busy day, she hadn’t had time to eat after her morning exercise, and she worried if she waited much longer, the rumbling of her stomach might shatter whatever deafening spell surrounded the meeting room. She’d just have to be careful not to get any crumbs or stains on her uniform. As nice as it was to see friendly, familiar faces, now that they were all together again she knew Dame Irina could be lurking around any corner.