---

The journey across the waves had been quiet and uneventful thus far, a welcome reprieve from the Kirins’ rather hectic adventures across Osprey. Even with how chaotic life on a pirate's ship could be, at least the early morning found the deck a rather quiet place. The waves seemed to have calmed themselves for a moment, and while men still shouted shanties as they moved about on the deck, the place was quiet, at least relatively, and one of the crew men had even made mention of a rather large school of fish passing by the ship. Galahad hadn't had much in the way of time to engage in his hobbies since he'd left home what seemed like a lifetime ago. It seemed Etro had provided Galahad with the perfect for him to finally attempt to recompose his rather tattered patience.

Though perhaps the spirits were fickle deities, as Galahad stepped out onto the deck to find none other than Izayoi already having occupied his chosen space. He'd not been avoiding her, per say, they were for all intents and purposes, cohorts in this quest, but it'd be a long stretch to say they were friendly. Still, she'd likely heard him before seeing him, and his pride wouldn't let him give up such a prime spot with his tail between his legs.

”I hope I'm not interrupting your solace.” Galahad said as a way of greeting her, his tone even and softer, now that they were no longer jumping from battle to battlefield. He took up a place next to the mystrel, though still a decent distance away and began setting up his gear, a small pack sitting in between the two of them. ”Of all the things we've fought for thus far, I hadn't imagined I'd have to fight for a good fishing spot as well.“

”Hardly.” Izayoi afforded Galahad a brief nod as he set up near her. ”There’s no solace to be found on this shipful of pirates, regardless.”

Indeed, it wouldn’t be long before more sailors arrived on deck to start another day of belting out sea shanties as they worked.

”Hopefully, between the two of us, we can catch enough fish for a decent meal tonight. I tire of salt pork and hard bread already.”

She hadn’t exactly forgotten Galahad’s occasional snipes towards her, but considering the chance she’d personally killed his brother was extremely high, Izayoi had largely been letting them slide. Still, at least he seemed personable enough today.

”I thought I loved pork.” Galahad agreed, ”But after being on this ship, I'm sure I could die happy without eating a piece of pig again.”

The quiet fell in, perhaps somewhat awkwardly– save for the ever present chanting of sea shanties- as their fishing lines flew into the water, the inevitable waiting beginning. Setting down on a stool he'd swiped from one of the cabins, Galahad reached into his pack and fished out a small knife and a half carved chunk of wood. This particular chunk was possibly a chair leg in a previous life, but was slowly taking the shape of a small chocobo. Within a few minutes, the deck between his feet began to cover with slight wood shavings as the small knife began to slowly coax the chocobo out of the chair leg.

”Supposedly, fishing is not unlike dragon hunting.” Galahad murmured idly, ”Setting bait to lure, patience, things like that- I guess, ignoring the fact that fish usually don't try to eat you.”

”I'm not sure if I really buy into that.“ Galahad scoffed, ”I just like the quiet that usually comes with it.”

”All hunting is the same in principle.” Izayoi replied, contenting herself with gazing out over the open sea as she waited for a bite. ”In practice, rarely so. Though I’ve only hunted a dragon but once, I would agree that comparing it to fishing is merely being reductive.”

Perhaps in response to Galahad's desires for quiet, his line suddenly grew taught mid-carve. Normally he'd have enough time to set his knife down and grab the rod, but not so this time as the rod nearly flew out of the crook of his arm, the length of it bending as though it threatened to snap.

Izayoi glanced to the side at the commotion, watching with interest as Galahad began to struggle in his suboptimal position. That lasted for but half a moment as she realized that any missed fish was a net negative for everyone overall, herself included. With a sigh, she set her own rod down and was at Galahad’s side in a single breath, seizing the rod from where he’d tucked it into his arm.

”Ordinarily, I would watch you struggle.” She murmured through grit teeth as the fish fought hard against the line. ”Not so when this is the difference between a palatable dinner and more godsforsaken ship’s biscuits.” Izayoi began to reel in, giving a bit of slack in the line so that it didn’t snap.

”Never took you as the type to think with your stomach.” Galahad grunted in reply, finally able to stash his knife and take control of the rod. Whatever other quips Galahad mightve had were quickly silenced as he found that this particular catch required quiet concentration he hadn't quite expected. Perhaps fishing was more like hunting than he cared to admit. As the fish broke water and began to lift, it became quickly apparent that it was heavier than the line was capable of supporting. ”Hold it steady.” Galahad said as dove back into his bag to grab his knife. ”Can't believe I'm about to use martial abilities for a fucking fish.” he grumbled before leaping off the side of the boat, using a railing to swing himself over at an angle.

There was a heavy thud as Galahad collided with the fish– and then the side of the boat. A half second later, there was the sound of boots on wood and the Dragoon was in the air again, up and over, back onto the deck of the ship, with possibly the largest tuna he'd ever seen in hand. Almost comparable in height to Eve, Galahad looked quite proud of himself, and opened his mouth to say something to his own credit before the giant sea creature flopped, a powerful fin smacking him in the head and sending both man and fish crashing onto the deck.

Despite, or perhaps in spite of present company, Galahad couldn't help but laugh, the first genuine laugh he'd had since they left on this journey, if just because of the absurdity of it all.

”...Snrk.” Izayoi couldn’t help but let a snort loose upon watching the tuna smack Galahad in the face. Nevertheless, she composed herself quickly and moved to help Galahad up, the tuna flopping helplessly on deck.

”A finer catch than any I’ve seen. That beast would keep a small family fed for days.” She eyed the behemoth of a fish with no small amount of hunger, her eyes lingering on the belly.

”Regardless, that was an…inspired fishing technique.” Izayoi passed Galahad’s rod back to him, going to pick her own back up.

”Hah,’inspired’. I'd rather not let it be known that I had to use dragoon techniques to do in a fish. “ Galahad said as Izayoi helped him up, the chuckle slowly leaving his lungs. ”It was a fine catch though, and I am thankful for your assistance.”

”A family of four perhaps, but perhaps the Kirins for only a night, if we feast on this beast the way I believe we will,“ Galahad's eyes had a twinkle, a rare sense of boldness and pride outside of martial discipline. A simple thing, but perhaps needed after their struggles in Osprey. Before he could celebrate their victory more, Galahad paused, realizing something.

”Wait a moment. Did… Did you just laugh at me?“ He asked the Mystrel samurai incredulously. ”I didn't know you had it in you.” Galahad chuckled again, ”First beaten by a fish, now slain by words. What an odd day.”

”At you? Of course.” Izayoi nodded, noting a bite on her line. ”I am entirely capable of finding humor in things. It simply does not happen often. And you are welcome.”

”Could've fooled me.“

It was to her disappointment that she reeled her fish in much more easily than Galahad did, plucking a moderately-sized grouper off her line. It would have been respectable on any other day, but next to Galahad’s monstrous tuna, everything else paled in comparison. Izayoi’s ears flattened slightly against her head as she dropped the grouper into the bucket, but she baited her hook and cast her line out once more.

”I confess that I still find it difficult to wrap my head around the scale of the priest’s words. I had not been focusing upon them overmuch until now.”

”He more or less told us we're responsible for the safety of the world.” Galahad agreed with a nod, sitting down by the massive fish as he jabbed his blade into it to end its struggle. ”Or at least just the continent- and everyone on it. Hard to put in perspective when you really think about it.”

”We're less than a dozen. A veritable group of misfits from all walks of life. Sometimes I wonder if we'll really be able to pull it off– and without killing each other in the process.” Galahad scoffed. ”You'd think the end of the world as we know it would be good motivation.”

Galahad paused, quiet for a moment of contemplation. ”Last we spoke, you said you had little to live for. Do you still feel that way?“

”...Perhaps I do.” Izayoi murmured quietly, her tail curling. ”But it is irrelevant now. So long as the priest was not speaking falsehoods, our mission takes precedence. Accomplishing what Cid desires incidentally guarantees Valheim’s demise. So long as I have my opportunity to slay that witch Reisa, I will be satisfied. Why do you ask, anyway?” She fixed Galahad with a stare.

”Concerned that I may retract my standing offer?”

”Mostly curiosity. I've yet to find a reason to doubt your convictions.” Galahad admitted, with a grunt, knife cutting into the large tuna as he began to clear out its innards. ”But with everything that's happened lately, and with Hien and Ciradyl back in your life. I was curious if your perspectives have changed at all.”

”When we first met, you walked like a woman with a death wish, and to an extent you still do.”

Izayoi stayed silent for several moments, naught but the sound of the waves, the sailors, and Galahad’s knife filling the air. When she finally did speak, her voice was downcast.

”...Once this is all finished, Lord Hien can stand upon his own two feet. Without the need for her sword, Ranbu no Izayoi’s presence would serve only to overshadow and undermine his authority. As for Ciradyl, she and I will always be among the closest of friends. But we lead vastly different lives. What makes her happy in life will not apply for myself, and vice versa.” She laughed bitterly.

”They do not need me, Caradoc. I can come to their aid should they call, and check in upon them, but I cannot be a constant presence in their lives should I wish the best for them. Fret not, though. I still have every intention of fulfilling my promise. The only difference is that should we succeed in our goals, I may not let you win after all.” Izayoi revealed the last part with a crooked smirk.

”If we both make it out of this alive, I think I'd give you a solid run for your money.” Galahad retorted, ”You may not have a choice in whether or not I win.”

With a grunt, Galahad pulled the rest of the innards out of the fish, tossing them into a nearby bucket as he did. ”I think you're wrong though. They might not need Ranbu no Izayoi, but I think they might still have need of Izayoi.”

”Provided we all actually live through this, anyway.” Galahad chuckled, as he began to heft the great tuna. ”Hey, stow the rod and help me with this. This one was as much your catch as it was mine.“

---

It turned out, in the end, that Éliane required use of a shop bench after all. The Skaelan woman had wanted to avoid it given her distaste for using the pirates’ facilities overmuch, but after her brief conversation and a promise to bake, she had discovered some issues with the minigun that needed some workshop time. That was how she finally found herself below decks again– the gun partially reassembled, but still needing maintenance as she hovered over a vice, clamping a slightly misshapen machined part to be worked on.

Perhaps due to the hyperfixation on her new toy, Eliane noticed far too late that there was now something-... someone standing right beside her; someone noticeably shorter, petite, and clad in darker clothing, making her blend quite well with the dimmer lighting of the lower decks. Said someone was none other than the Kirins' very own elemental powerhouse and the only Valheimr native among them.

Eve was staring at the contraption with her usual (lack of) expression, but behind the stoic veil lied the spark of curiosity. In fact, the fixation was rather mutual as the gray-haired girl perceived Eliane's recognition of her presence a few seconds too late than it should be, "..." prompting her to perk up, shifted her crimson gaze at the taller girl, then blinked, verbally saying nothing and yet still conveying something along the lines of 'don't mind me, please carry on' to the Dame Commander through her subtle mannerisms.

It was very unlike Éliane to be caught off-guard, but it wasn’t complete. She knew from the other members of team Kirin that Eve had a tendency to do such things, but whether it was intentional she wasn’t quite sure. In a way, the small girl reminded her of Esben…

That said, it looked like the white-haired girl was merely going to stand there right next to her, which perplexed even Éliane. Tilting her head, she regarded the other, not immediately getting back to work. “Do you need something, Eve?”

Even though they might share this tendency to be flight-footed and seemingly popping out of thin air, there was at least one glaring difference between the SEED and the Pseudolon, in that upon going on the offensive, Esben would remain a lurking shadow in the battlefield, while Eve would announce her presence like fire, thunder, and lightning. After all, a six-inch blade and an artillery battery could both be quiet before they engaged their functions.

Speaking of functions, Eve didn't manage to return her gaze back to the partially-assembled machine before the salmon-haired House Guard inquired her, which was... admittedly a good question. The faux dragoness took a brief moment to ponder things, glancing back and forth between the gun and its mechanic before blinking once, "I was wondering why you ceased your tinkering, is the machine broken beyond salvation?"

Éliane canted her head to the side in response to that. “We’re talking, and it’s bad to multitalk for delicate work like this,” she replied, Although much of the gun had been reassembled, the parts that were not were decidedly more delicate– mostly part of the rotary and firing mechanism of the Valheimian gun. As far as inspecting it went, it had been very enlightening and Éliane very much wished to show it to a Skaelan gunsmith and exchange thoughts about the foreign design.

“No. I don’t think so. Some parts need readjustment, because criminals and thugs are clueless.” She pointed towards and then picked up another part. “See, this piece is part of the feeding mechanism for the gun belt, but it may need to be reforged. I’ll bet a hundred gil that the gun jams regularly because of this piece.”

”You were the one who initiated the conversation.” Eve replied matter-of-factly, though unlike some others in the group, there was absolutely no sarcasm to be detected in her tone, it really was a mere factual observation. Though the Pseudolon immediately abandoned the topic for something far more interesting.

Her gaze continued to be trained on the bullet-vomiting device as the taller woman proceeded with her impromptu lecture on weapons engineering. Though Eve didn't exactly grasp all the minutiae of what goes into what, however, she did subtly perk up at a certain word.

”Reforged, hmm...” The black mage mused with a hand rested against her chin, ”Is that the source of your conundrum? You need heat, correct? I may be able to provide.”

“Hmm…” The pink-haired Skaelan briefly rubbed her chin in consideration. “How fine of a control can you adapt for your magic? If the piece is slagged then I’ll really be in trouble.”

”Hmmm…” Another good question, now that Eve thought about it, she never really compared herself to other, more “traditional” black mages… until now, ”I've noticed that… ‘normal’ mages require gestures and incantations to cast their spells, while I do not. Unsurprising, considering I possess ether instead of blood.”

The gray-haired mutant then pondered a bit more, ”In conclusion, yes, I wield magic as if they're my own limbs.” She then snapped her fingers as a small yet intense jet of flame spawned at the tip of her index, ”Tell me when you’re ready.”

After a moment, Éliane inclined her head. “Okay, let’s try it.” Taking the compromised part in question, she swapped it onto the vice, leaving the slightly misshapen piece for Eve to apply a large amount of heat to it. “Go ahead. If it breaks I’m not sure where to get or make a replacement, though…” She was not a blacksmith or gunsmith, after all.

"You'd have simply gotten a replacement already instead of trying to fix an old component." The mage quipped as she took a moment to carefully observe the misshapen part, using Eliane's guidance and her own intuition to triangulate the best spot for applying the stream of magical heat. Once they were both sure, Eve aimed the tip of her index finger at that particular area, then worked the ether flowing within, resulting in a small yet highly concentrated flame to continuously spew from said fingertip, enveloping the piece of metal like a makeshift blowtorch. "Just signal me when to stop."

The taller woman gave Eve a strange look at her comment, but allowed the girl to do her work without any further interruption. She carefully adjusted the piece with her tools while it glowed red before she was finally satisfied. “Okay, that’s enough. We’ll wait for it to cool down and I’ll see if it fits better later. Maybe go up on the deck and test fire the gun…”

As aforementioned, the flame-jet abruptly ceased upon Eliane's signal, then Eve simply retracted her finger to give Eliane the room to do whatever she'd do next with the - hopefully - fixed component, "I see..." The black mage mused, rubbing her chin, "I believe to properly test its functions, you'd need a target or two. After all, it's not enough to simply be able to fire, it needs to fire properly so the projectile is appropriately lethal, no?" Speaking about targets, the occasional flock of birds could be seen in the sky, maybe one would be infested with the blight, that'd be convenient.

Regardless, it seemed the House Guard could take it on her own from here, Eve was just pleased that her magic could be useful for things other than delivering death and destruction, these small instances of mundane utility were never not appreciated. "If that's all, then I'll be going. I certainly hope the machine will be functional." With a nod, the Pseudolon left the Dame Commander to continue tinkering with her latest obsession.

---

It was rare Galahad found a moment to himself, and on a ship like this, quiet moments were far and few between. It was a stroke of pure luck that Galahad had managed to find an unused cabin for him to stow away from the hustle and bustle of ship life for a moment. He occupied his peace with weapons and armor maintenance. Their journey across Osprey had given him little chance too, and the last thing Galahad wanted or needed was to be walking through the groves of Drana Asnaeu with sand in his joints. The past three hours saw his armor laid in organized rows on a wide cloth before him, each piece individually cleaned and shined back to their original brilliance.

He'd moved on now to his halberd, a whetstone slowly and methodically grinding across its recently polished surface. It had grown dull and bloody during their adventures in Osprey, but now, once again Galahad could see his reflection on the blade. He hummed a soft tune as he worked, pausing only to press his thumb against the edge every so often.

While someone like Esben or Miina might be adept at avoiding attention even when battle was adjoined, there was a Kirin whose propensity for 'stealth' only lasted until she executed an offensive maneuver, a walking contrast between an unassuming petite figure clad in muted colors and an avatar of elemental catastrophe, and this someone was currently peeking her head through a tiny gap on the door leading into Galahad's cabin, unblinkingly staring with expressionless crimson irises. As for anyone who just so happened to be traversing the corridor just outside, they'd see an albino girl with strange horns and scales, slightly bent over, exhibiting the image of a voyeur.

Eventually however, all good things must come to an end as the dragoon would notice her presence eventually. However, regardless of his immediate reaction, Eve took it as a sign to transition into the next phase of her 'scouting mission'. Thus, still with her head and body remaining where they were, Eve opened her lips, "How many dragons have you slain with that?"

If it weren't for the fact that Galahad's thumb was currently on the edge of his axe, he might've looked up with a start, instead his eyes merely flickered up towards the open door, the pale haired pseudolon easily catching his notice despite her minimal appearance.

”Twelve.” Galahad answered, his voice even and plain, without the need to exaggerate his achievements. His eyes flickered over to the sash laying in a neat bundle by the armor. While the royal blue and gold Edreni sash might not have appeared to be a very protective garment on its own, now that it was no longer on his person, the miniature dragon could see a collection of dragon scales embedded onto the inner side. The scales were of myriad colors, each taken from a dragon on one of the dragoon’s hunts. ”Three on my own, nine as a part of a hunting party.”

Taking the halberd and setting it down neatly at his feet, Galahad turned to give the black mage his attention. ”Any particular reason for the curiosity?”

"Twelve..." Eve muttered under her breathless breath as her eyes followed Galahad's gaze this time, looking over the myriad of scales laid over the regal garment. Those were properly-sized draconic plates, coming from true dragons, unlike the tiny ones Eve exhibited on parts of her body. Upon the dragoon's inquiry, the dragoness didn't respond immediately, instead making herself at home in the cabin via slipping through the tiny gap.

The black mage wasted no time to saunter over, her boots carrying soft pitter-patters almost as if she was somewhere between walking and floating, then once she was beside the exiled Caradoc proper, she'd examine the trophies closer, but not reaching out to touch them… yet.

"When I passed by this cabin, I noticed a glint, and that roused my curiosity." Eve made her usual "boring", yet practical explanation, there really were no bells and whistles here, she didn't even know who was inside before she decided to snoop. However, now that they were here, she had to admit that she'd regret not checking it out.

"What was it like?" The false-dragon inquired softly, glancing away from the dozen of scales to the dragonslayer himself, "Your very first hunt."

”Terrifying.” Galahad admitted candidly. He had no idea if the pseudolon could detect lies, but something about the blank stare made him feel as though the embellishments that most soldiers and hunters added to their stories could easily be sifted from the truth, so he didn't bother. ”And an accident.”

”I was perhaps only a week or two past my seventeenth birthday. We'd heard reports about a young blue dragon roosting too close to the city, so the dragoons organized a party to find and kill it.” He recanted, flipping over the sash and lightly tapping at a scale at the ‘top’ of the sash, a clear, almost gleaming pale blue scale about the size of a palm, smaller ones surrounding it. The scale itself was identical in color to the steel and scales that made up the rest of his actual armor. ”I was part of a scouting team of other fellow trainees, we were supposed to find the nest and report back so the dragoons could hunt it with one or two chosen trainees.”

”I got lost.” Galahad scoffed, ”By the time I'd gotten my bearings, I'd accidentally stumbled into the nest itself. I thought to leave and tell the senior dragoons where I'd found it, but the dragon returned before I could slip away. She wasn't a young dragon like the reports had said, but a fully grown adult. At that point, it was either fight or die.”

”So I chose to fight.” Galahad shrugged, ”I'd never fought so hard in my life. It was terrifying– we're supposed to fight the adults in groups of three or more and I was alone. I thought I was going to die. She was faster than anything I'd ever seen, and I'd yet to master jumping. Breathed bolts of lightning to maim and static to slow. By the end of it, I'd broken two ribs and almost lost my arm– a bad concussion too, I couldn't remember how I'd gotten there, and to this day I still don't remember some moments of the fight. But she was dead, and I wasn't.

”Thus is the story of the youngest Dragoon in Edren's recorded history.” Galahad said with a dry, practically mocking tone, “Though the stories like to make it seem more gallant than it actually was.”

Perhaps Galahad recognized the irony of speaking to a dragon girl-pseudolon about slaying dragons, but the girl had asked, so he had told.

"..." Eve listened to the legendary dragonslayer's tale from beginning to end with nary a pause, nor interruption. Though her perpetually unblinking stare and lack of breathing movements might be unnerving to some, like being leered at by a living statue, one would have this feeling that the gray-haired girl was listening. After all, as an ageless entity, she had all the time in the world.

"It's still a story worthy to be told, true accounts of a warrior's exploits, not mere embellished myths." Eve concluded after he finished, she really did enjoy it. Sure, it could've ended on a far more bitter note, but it didn't and this opportunity to reminisce about one's triumphant struggle must not be taken for granted.

The Pseudolon shifted her gaze to one of the twelve scales, specifically one bearing a grayish hue, akin to the color of ash. Eve dared herself to pick it up then held it near her other hand. The colors, they matched, if she was the size of a dragon, then her scales would be exactly like this one. This made her wonder, if Dr. Eve had failed to release her and Valheim finished their project, would she be sent to hunt the Kirins? In this hypothetical scenario, would Galahad strike her down just as he did to this gray-scaled dragon?

Of course he would, as she'd be their enemy, he'd only be defending himself and his comrades.

However, it somehow still felt... disheartening.

"Threats to one's home and loved ones must be eliminated, no matter if they're Dragons, Sollans, Fayes, or any other species, it matters not what they are." Was Eve saying this to Galahad or herself? Regardless, she continued, "However, the same is also true for comrades. No matter what kind they belong to, if they trust you and you trust them, that should be enough." She nodded sagely while her hand gently returned the gray scale back to where it was.

The black mage then turned to peer at the azure dragoon right in the eyes; deep, crimson reds against cool, icy blues, "So rest assured, dragonslayer, I wish for nothing more than to see Valheim burn so this blighted world may heal, and anyone who dare to hinder us shall suffer my fury."

”See, when you say it like that it sounds like a threat.” Galahad sighed tiredly as he picked his axe back up. Moments later, the slow, methodical sound of whetstone scraping against steel began to echo once more. ”Much like you, not everything is so black and white. Ciradyl, for example. She turned on us in the last moment. To be frank, I do not trust her. Should she die for that? Or what of Rudolf? With his odd, dark display? I get a feeling that he's perhaps not telling me everything. Should he burn as well? Or what of me? My father has disowned me for not killing Izayoi, one of the largest threats to my home in history. Instead I walk side by side with her. Should I die for that?”

“My point is, even outside of Valheimr, we may run into those who disagree with us or our methods. It's certainly frustrating, but If we burn anything and everyone that may not be in lock-step with our goals, there may not be much of a world left after we save it.”

"..." Not him too, what's with these Kirins and their lack of conviction? She could understand the dilemma with Ciradyl and Rudolf, but Valheim was the enemy, there should be no quarter given to those who wished to end the world and anyone who served them! There should-...

”I have to wonder if that would be honoring your mother’s wishes, to exterminate all the others like you. It would be a different matter if they were mindless weapons capable of nothing but mass destruction.”

Should-...

”Are you such an exception that giving such mercy to the others is unthinkable? If so, I am grateful for the circumstances that brought you here.”

Galahad's mention of the Faye Bard brought her words to the forefront of Eve's mind, especially the last things she said before the Pseudolon just up and left their lunch. "Nnngh..." She gritted her teeth with a low growl. It was quite palpable that she wanted to disagree with Galahad, but she... couldn't, just like that moment with Ciradyl, she just couldn't, at least not in good faith, and Eve was nothing but a terrible liar.

"T-... rrrgh..." Eve pursed her lips with a frown, then turned slightly to the side as she broke eye contact, crossing her arms across her chest, "F-... fine, not all those who slighted against us deserve death..."

”Well, we’re getting somewhere at least.”

”Though, I'll grant you, at least in the case of the Valheimr and their soldiers, things do appear to be mostly black and white. Unless we chance upon yet another friendly pseudolon, it's a pretty safe bet that any Valheimr we come across probably needs to die.” Galahad snorted, he was aware Eve was not actually a youngling, despite her looks, but moments like this definitely sold the idea. It was almost an idyllic way of looking at things- simple was easier to understand.

"Nnn..." In other circumstances, she'd immediately agree with the Dragoon that everyone from Valheim should be spared no quarter, they were all as malignant as the blight they unleashed, putting them out of their misery would always be the best option, and yet... after the talk with Ciradyl, she came to have these frustrating thoughts of empathy and compassion, of other Pseudolons with similar yet less fortunate fates than her, and not to mention, wasn't Dr. Eve a Valheimr as well...? Aaaargh! Why couldn't things stay simple?

”I’m aware of your circumstances, Eve- or some of them anyway.” Galahad remarked, his tone calming and even. ”You’re powerful and you’re useful in our fight.

"... … …"

”But if all I needed was a weapon, I’d have gone to a blacksmith.”

He's right.

Just as he mentioned, a mindset like that was what Valheim would want from her; an intelligent yet blindly loyal attack dog, no, she would not give them the satisfaction. If it was her 'nature' to always consider murder as the primary solution to their problems, then she'd fight against it. Valheim might have created her, but they'd not rule over her.

Grabbing the sash, Galahad picked out the blue scale that matched his armor, the stitching tearing as he fished it out with some effort. ”Dragons, for all their majesty, overwhelming strength, and speed, are little more than beasts- single minded monsters.” Hard as steel and light as mithral, Galahad flipped the broad scale in his hands a few times, admiring the luster for a moment before he casually tossed it to the Pseudolon. ”That’s why I win when I fight them.”

Eve's red eyes widened in unexpected surprise as the Edrenian Sollan tossed one of his trophies at her, specifically the azure scale, and going by his tale, this must be from the blue dragon that his greenhorn self was forced to fight alone. The black mage was no dragoon, but... wouldn't this scale in particular be a precious memento of the triumph that marked the beginning of Galahad's illustrious legacy? Why was he giving it to her, a chimeric facsimile of the creatures he was born and raised to slay?

“You have free will and the capacity for independent thought. I have to imagine it was for a reason. Or else you’d be just another one of Valheim’s living weapons. Perhaps you were born like that, but I don’t imagine that’s how you want to die.”

Again, he speaks truth. They tried to turn me into Grayscale, but I resisted, that alone is proof that I possess will, I can choose.

”Wear it, break it, ponder upon it, throw it in the sea. Do something with it. What I need from you, is to be more than just a weapon.”

"..." Urgh... why must he act so nonchalant about these supposedly treasured trophies? People are difficult, but if this was his way of asking her to be more than just a mindless rampaging entity, then she'd not insult his generosity, "I swear. I'll never walk the path they had set for me. I chose to defy them and save this world, with all of you."

”Don't swear to me.” Galahad said simply, finally turning his attention back to his axe. ”Swear it to yourself.”

---

The White mage rejoining them was an unexpected, but pleasant surprise. They'd not traveled together long, but fighting together had a rather uncanny ability to bond comrades together. Her absence had been sorely noted, not just in the fact that they lacked a dedicated healer, but also in the sense that it had happened so quickly. The Grovemasters had called her back, but of her own accord, Neve had found a way to rejoin them, and none too soon, though perhaps there was some irony in the fact that they were heading back towards Drana Asnaeu.

Her welcome was filled with tears and happiness, Galahad had half expected there to be some animosity in the fact that she'd missed out on some of their conflicts, but at the very least he'd heard none spoken aloud– at least within his earshot. Some time later, after everyone else had managed to make their introductions and welcome-backs’, Galahad managed to pull her aside to a quieter part of the deck, by the aft of the ship.

”I'm sure you've heard it a thousand times by now-” Galahad chuckled, for what felt like the first time in ages. For a moment, it looked like the Dragoon was about to spring forward, but instead Galahad put a hand on her shoulder and gave it a familiar, friendly squeeze. ”It's good to have you back.”

Out of everyone that Neve wished to see again, Galahad had been the face that she wished to come across the most. Although their time together was as fleeting as a blue, summer wind, she couldn’t help but feel that a bond had steadily mounted between them. It was amusing, to say the least– he was a dragoon, an Edreni soldier who had spilled blood, while she was a woman whose whole existence was based around the concept of peace, tranquility, and admiration for the planet they lived on. She didn’t know whether it was because of his easy-going nature or his sense of humor, but Neve found it easy to get along with the man, and she was more than delighted to see him approach after a long day aboard the ship.

”I am more than happy–” the blonde began with a smile, only to flinch in surprise once he reached out towards her. She felt his heavy hand squeeze her shoulder gently, and Neve once again found a warm smile return to her lips. ”I’m happy to be back, Galahad. Believe it or not, I’ve missed spending time in your company, along with Izayoi’s.”

She reached up towards his hand, laying a cold palm upon the back of his hand. A sadness shadowed her bright gaze as she averted her gaze towards the dull horizon. ”I’m sorry I had to leave. I should have stuck with the Kirins. You needed all of the help that you could get, and I…” Neve murmured, her voice drifting off in the wind. Her fingers squeezed his hand tightly, hoping that she could convey what she wished to speak. The hard stone in her throat had prevented any other word from leaving her lips.

”Your talents would've been a great boon to us in our recent trials– your missing was definitely noticed” Galahad said softly, the soft breeze guiding his eyes towards the horizon as well, ”But you're here now, and that's what matters.” He reassured her, the smile on his lips almost hidden by the whipping of his hair in the breeze. ”I don't imagine the Grovemasters were exactly easy to defy. I suppose I'd know a thing or two about that- my own family situation and all.”

”I only regret that we're taking you back to Drana Asnaeu.“ He said with a light sigh, ”After you worked so hard to get away.”

”Not to worry though,” Galahad chuckled, resting his hands on the guide rail as he leaned out over the passing waves beneath them. ”We've only just reunited– I'll not let the Grovemasters take you away from us again so easily.”

What Galahad said was a massive understatement. There was no denying the Grovemasters. They had the final say in whatever she said, whatever she believed, whatever she wanted to do. If she had asked for leave from Brightlam, they would do little else but shame her and lock her away to focus on honing her magicks. Yes, she was a white mage– but in their eyes, she was little else but an apprentice who had much more to learn. Why spend it traveling the world and aiding a motley crew of soldiers and rogues, even if their Mother had abandoned them because they were so sinful and cruel.

Her smile strained slightly at his last statement. ”Unfortunately, what you say is easier said than done.” Neve said, laughing lightly despite her troubled words. ”The Grovemasters are delightful people, really, but… they are as stubborn as you can imagine. They will be less than amused to see that I escaped their watch, and if they wish, they will certainly isolate me from everyone else. Unless,” she laughed again, more jovially this time, “the Kirins decide to ruffle their feathers a bit.”

”Maybe we lose the white cloak– at least while we're in Drana Asnaeu. I think Edreni blue would suit you.” Galahad joked.

”If we're good at anything, I think it's ruffling feathers.” Galahad laughed, ”I bet they'd back off if we sicced Izayoi on them. Or Eliane. Maybe not Eve. I have no doubt they'll try to isolate you, and they'll fail all the same.” It was a grim thought, the idea of using force– or at least the threat of force on the Grovemasters. Galahad didn't necessarily think of them as bad folk, by nature they seemed to be a peaceful lot, though perhaps to peaceful for these not so peaceful times. Perhaps it was arrogance on his part, but the Kirins, as far as Galahad was concerned, had a higher calling at the moment. Surely bringing balance back to the continent was worth breaking a few rules and ruffling a few feathers while they were at it.

”If I may be so selfish to say, I think we need you more than they do.” Galahad said, a bit more seriously now, ”If we're lucky, they'll understand us. If not… Well, it's always easier to ask for forgiveness than it is to ask for permission.”

Galahad’s sincerity had caught Neve off guard. She had forgotten how direct he could be, even though she had not spent much time away from their group– or maybe it was the way he spoke about the Grovemasters that had shaken her. It wasn’t as if she disagreed; knowing the Kirins, there would be little else she could see happening other than Izayoi or someone else confronting them. Yet, in the midst of the storm of uncertainty and worry that clouded her thoughts, she couldn’t help but feel… happy? Happy that the Kirins had her back, despite the chance of them making more enemies. Her smile became more lax, more warm.

”It makes sense,” Neve said, her grin only growing further. ”The Grovemasters have always preached about the power of forgiveness. I’m sure they’ll understand if we trespass on some of their boundaries. Especially if you speak to them, Sir Caradoc.”

”Oh, of course. I'll have you know, I have an excellent track record with figures of authority at the moment.” Galahad chuckled sarcastically. His chuckle slowly faded as he turned. He offered Neve a faint grin as he reached out, his hand lightly patting the top of her head. ”But we can worry about that when we get there. And- just Galahad is fine.”

Galahad pulled the shorter woman into a more or less amounted to a bear hug, the stress and anxiety of the past few weeks shedding off of his frame in moments. ”You've been sorely missed, dear friend.” Galahad said softly, as he placed the white mage back down on the ground.

The knight reached out to pat the top of Neve’s head. She giggled softly, allowing him the gesture; it reminded her of her father, who used to stroke her hair when she was little and bombarded him with silly questions. His motion soothed her, but just as she was about to pull away and ask him something simple like if he had eaten yet or had he gotten enough sleep recently, he pulled her straight back in– literally. The white mage blinked in momentary alarm once his arms wrapped around her in a tight hug, falling limp within his embrace.

It was… warm.

Neve wasn’t sure what to do at first. She blinked a few times, then found her body acting on its own whim. Her arms wrapped around him, though definitely not as tight as his. ”I promise,” she murmured, pulling away from him at last. Her eyes scanned his as she nodded, as if she affirmed her own words. ”I won’t leave your side again. Not until we can all rest easy and not have to worry about the Blight ever again. I promise.”

”I'll hold you to that.” Galahad replied quietly, ”Er- by which I mean, we- like as the party, will hold you to that.” Galahad quickly corrected himself, the tips of his ears already starting to burn red like cherries, as he recused himself with a cough and a half step back before gesturing for the two to head back in.

”Oh, since you're back. I was hoping you could take a look at something.”

“ … So long story short, I jumped headfirst through some floorboards and… “

---

The sea.

As a young man squired under the ruling lord of the Lunaris fiefdom and associated holdings, he’d seen it from well ashore, once or twice. Never much closer than port. Never for particularly long. His heritage, almost as a rule, had always placed him very well inland— first in the lowland holdings of the Shilage household, picturesque plains and valleys nestled between the Midgari mountains and the dense Chocobo Forest. Later, Sagramore village, down by the interior badlands just a stone’s throw from the center of the country, where mighty rivers had carved their share of canyons, like scars through the earth. Streams and lakes were familiar enough. Contained, comprehensible, approachable, even those more than large enough to comfortably house an island in their center.

This…

The rhythmic swell filled his ears, as did the breeze, as did the seabirds resting on high, just a bit beyond reach. The creaking of the Scurvy Fishman had at first given him pause, but they’d been aboard and at sea for a little over a day. He’d let it fade into the background orchestra by now, setting a time to follow for the waltz that was earning one’s sea legs. His gilded eyes drank the waves below, cast out over the distance in patterns of crest and trough.

The skies overhead were clear, and the breeze that tousled his white locks was carrying their ship at an easy pace westward, towards Costa del Sol. The blue he seemed lost within, truly, stretched for miles on end. Perhaps its depths were, in reality…

Endless.

He had perched up here on the mizzen mast, after a brief negotiation with the good Captain Bikke that ended up something to the tune of “Off the main, off the rigging, don’t get in the way of me crew”. Each demand fair enough, and fine by Rudolf’s measure. Things were cramped as it was below, especially in their “bunks” near the hold. Loud, too. The White Mage aboard, Neve, was evidently a former member of Kirin— and her reunion with the original core of the team had all involved abuzz with activity, to say the least.

It wasn’t as though he begrudged them for their excitement to talk to a formerly-missing friend, just…

He had plenty of things to sort through in his own right. Liked having his space, liked having his thoughts. Didn’t want to bring the party down, either. The crew had already well confirmed his suspicions regarding the dreadful cloak that had enveloped him in the past week.

So here he’d stayed, surviving swords close at hand, and mind adrift in the expanse. The events that had transpired in Osprey had given him a lot to ponder… least of all that his days in this party were sure to be numbered. The cracks in his facade were beginning to make themselves apparent—

And none of what lied beneath, knowing what he now knew, showed any promise. Much like this ship, he was soon to be unmoored, carried by naught but the wind.

This quest was all he had. Even if that were to come to pass, he honestly doubted he’d stop being pushed forward, by the desperate need for it, burning in his gut against the enormity of the war the ten of them were fighting—

But time and again, taking matters into his own hands had burned him.

If the worst fears he held were manifest, he knew he wouldn’t stave off the inevitable.

There was a laugh. A sweet, genuine laugh that had come from below and had gotten closer. A strong gust of wind blew from the same direction carrying its source.

“The Captain said I would be able to find you here.” Ciradyl said cheerfully as she adjusted the wind to move her close enough to climb onto the mast to join him. Her dress was a rugged but elegant design with travel on the high seas in mind. Its color was a rich blue with leather accents. The fact she had been able to bounce back from her despair was thanks in no small part to the members of Team Kirin. Rudolf had been the first to reach out to her just when she hit that rock bottom. The cold beauty had gone quite warm since they boarded the ship, leaving her troubles behind in Osprey. No doubt her actions would continue to haunt her but with so many supporting her it was irresponsible to sulk longer than needed.

He’d heard her approach, something unreadable flashing across his youthful features before settling behind a wry smirk. She’d seemed in higher spirits, ever since getting folded in with the rest of them properly.

”I did not take you as a lover of the sea.” She flashed him a warm yet knowing smile, briefly closing her eyes before staring out at the wide blue waters that surrounded them. What dark thoughts troubled him at this moment that led him to distance himself? A lightness had returned to her step after she had laid her secrets to bare and she felt able to face the future. Was it naive to hope that the same freedom could be granted to her friend?

There was no way she would let him continue like this alone when she understood some of those feelings he kept from others. She wouldn’t pretend the dark entity within him didn't frighten her, but it was the essence of bravery to face that fear.

”You’re a brave one. You should hear the rest of the crew liken me to an ill omen. They say being around me feels like tasting copper on the air, winds stilling on a warm day, or watching the tide pull out past the sandbar.”

Honestly, he wasn’t terribly sure what to expect from her. Not only was the breezy, melodic laughter and airiness in her step a far cry from all the previous times he’d been sought out by anyone from Kirin, each severe enough to damn near give him a heart attack, but he also…

He studied her for a moment, as she turned her spearmint gaze to the azure he’d lost himself within. Having balked under the microscope himself, he nonetheless found himself trying to pry behind what she was showing. Satisfy a curiosity that her whole bearing now couldn’t help but raise—

He had only known her as the woman she’d made herself into, to return her nation’s lord to its seat. She had, as they both knew, cast off every part of herself that couldn’t work for that goal.

Once people achieve grand purposes their whole life wheels around… what’s left? What am I looking at, growing out of the remainder?

Is she still a drawn sword, already finding her next fight? Or… something else entirely?

The moment passed, and he turned his head back outward, leaning forward as his elbows rested upon his knees.

”Honestly, I don’t really know much about maritime stuff. I’m from pretty well inland, far as Edren’s concerned— this is my first time on a ship like this— but I know two of those sound like an oncoming storm.”

He shrugged, a puff of air escaping his nostrils. Time to get down to it, then— even playing this as cavalier as he was was a rare privilege these days. One he knew he wasn’t getting away with forever.

”So I bargained my way up here. Keeps me out of the crew’s business, and I get a good view of how damned big the ocean really is. And now you’re here too, chancing the thunderhead— To what do I owe the honor?”

Ciradyl leaned back supporting her balance with her hands behind her supporting her weight. There was a slight tilt of her head as she looked up into the sky. ”I suppose my reason is similar, but different.” There was a faint sigh ”The only time I have been on a ship was when I was younger so I do not recall the experience. As for the crew, well, I did not realize I still had such ardent fans.”

A raised eyebrow.

”Batting them away with a stick, huh? Must be a pain.”

While true, it had been nothing more than an excuse to make her way up here. It had felt like after the meeting Rudolf had been avoiding her. The images of what happened in the desert filtered through her mind.

”You are not an ill omen, Rudolf. I do not consider you one, at least. Whatever is going with this dark force that has gripped you, I thought that this mere bard could be of assistance.” She looked over at him ”I did not have the chance before but I wanted to thank you.”

He couldn’t meet her gaze.

”…Maybe. I’m not so sure.”

Perhaps it had been a coincidence, that night in the manse. Perhaps he was reading too much into the timing of things, knowing that it was supposed to be his luck tapped in exchange for power— ostensibly, nobody else’s. It was the driving force behind his best defenses against Eve, against Galahad, when they came with their concerns. That was how it was supposed to work.

But he couldn’t shake the feeling. Couldn’t shake the fear, logically founded or not, that Mizutani opening her wretched mouth and his passenger waking back up happened at the same time for a reason. That he’d felt something break.

All he could count on was the Devil’s own word that he shouldn’t have been the cause…

But even then, who was to say his luck existed in a vacuum?

He scratched the back of his head, pale hair tossed over his eyes by the wind.

”And I appreciate it, but you don’t need to put yourself out for me. No obligation to. I… was just caught up in the moment back then. I let the blood rush to my head and spoke without thinking. It was more selfish than it sounded. If we wanna talk thanks, I still haven’t properly thanked you for piggybacking off the mailing channels, so…”

A gesture with an upturned palm in her direction, as if handing something over. Usually concealed behind gloves or gauntlets, today his hands were bare, revealing a web of faint scarring from the years gone by.

”We could call it even there. Else I’d wager I still owe you one.”

There had been a black-scaled dragon that loomed over her, looking down with neither pity or guilt as it opened its wide maw. All she could do was watch as the dark embers in the back of its throat danced their way forward. It had been waiting precisely for this moment when she could offer no resistance and she had doubted any could save her in time. A dark figure, gripped by shadows, had stood in front of her as the dark breath rushed towards her. The heat from these black flames marred the edges of her clothing but did not burn her. This was how she viewed his actions that night in Mizutani’s chamber. A cursed hero for the forsaken maiden.

She nearly snapped as he tried to cast her intentions casually aside under the guise of humility. While not the same, it was thanks to years of dealing with Valheim officials that she kept this anger in check. Ciradly was not about to chastise him for something he didn’t know or understand. It nearly caught her off-guard when he switched their positions and tried to thank her instead. The letters he had been sending out hadn’t really crossed her mind all that much but it seemed to be quite important to him.

”I would not mind having you in my debt a little but I suppose there is nothing to be done.” A faint grin crossed her lips as she took the scarred hand with hers, though her grip would be no match for his she squeezed hard as she could muster. ”Rudolf. If you are selfish it does not mean you cannot be kind as well. I do not wish to see you swallowed up in darkness and left alone. That is a selfish wish of mine. Now. Would you be so kind as to grant it?”

“!?”

Woah woah woah woah woah—

Aww. Ain’t that sweet.

Close! Super close!

Instinctively, his hand tensed and jerked back, the impulse to shy away from sudden contact and proximity undeniable— but her grip held firm, trapping him in place to weather the assault. He could feel the fire behind her minty eyes, burning through his defense mechanisms— he was surely more than strong enough to break free though, right? It’d just be a simple matter of wrenching his arm towards the line of her thumb, the weakest of the five digits on the hand, and slipping away—

”…Fine, at your own peril. I did just say I owe you. I’ll hear you out, but…”

”Yes?” A hint of danger coated the word.

Even as the fight slipped through his grasp, like so many things in life, he found himself poised to run. He shrank away, even though the Faye had him locked in place. An odd circumstance, befitting this odd, unlikely pair. Seriously, what do you even do with this?

It was suddenly little wonder how a mere songstress had amassed such an expansive web of contacts, and charmed a hostile, invasive nation. That was who he was dealing with. He couldn’t forget it again.

”Look, at least hear me when I’m warning you— I’m not a safe person to be throwing in with at the minute, alright? You gotta look out for yourself, too.” he said, bitter edge coloring his voice. There was no part of this conversation he was particularly enjoying having, clearly, be each word revelatory or cloistering. ”This all stems from a choice I made, so I gotta carry that. It’s already affecting things past just me.”

She deserved to know, didn’t she?

What he feared might happen again. What was a good reason to keep clear. It’d certainly reinforce his argument against this thing she seemed set upon so fiercely.

But.

In equal measure, she would have every right, every obligation to inform the Kirins in turn. They deserved to know too. She had every reason to want to do right by them, just as much as she professed she did him. It’d be safer, then, to keep her in the dark. Keep her away, for her safety and his own.

Ciradyl waited until he finished his spiel before loosening the hold she had on his hand, pulling hers back to his side. ”How has that worked out for you so far?” She whipped the words like a blade. ”It must truly be horrible for you to push back like this. There was no sign she would relent any time soon. ”I have come close to death on more occasions than I can count where one wrong step, one misspoken word would mean the end of it. I know when to make a move and when to step back.”

A gust of wind picked up and carried her long, lustrous white hair in its air stream. ”I am not offering to help carry your burden. What I am merely suggesting is letting me hand you the pieces you drop along the way.” If He wanted to leave at this moment, she wouldn’t stop him. Should he tell her to give him a moment alone, she would give it.

That same breeze carried his own pale shaggy mess in front of his face, obscuring the beautiful and terrifying Faye from view. For a moment, he was alone, and not staring down the eyes of the storm.

He sat with that for a good while. She was right. They both knew it, too— wasn’t like he had any moves left that could counter something he himself said, it being ‘hell to fight alone’.

And it was as obvious as it had ever been that his fight was one that he couldn’t keep up. Everything since the desert had seen him struggle the moment he was on the back foot, scraping past these talks by the skin of his teeth at best.

Really, this wasn’t fair at all.

As much as it had thrown him off, he much preferred the breezy laughter they’d started this with.

But she’d skewered him already. He had just made a promise… one he hadn’t yet granted.

”…How?”

One syllable. Faint against the wind enough that it could well have been lost. The easiest thing in the world to take back, reconsider, to recontexualize with only a little verbal sleight of hand.

Oh. I honestly thought you’d tell her, boy. Now we have a new fun question:

Shut up. Stop. Stop talking right now. Now isn’t the time! There’s never gonna be “the time”, so just do me a favor, and can it!

”How do you even go about that? Why, knowing the risk? I don’t just mean us both being in hot water with Sir Galahad, I… How?”

Even as his speech faltered, struggling with accepting the meaning, there was another uncertainty that assailed him. Unlike a leaf in a whirlwind like this, it was closer to a red-hot blade, immersed in cold, heavy pitch near the soul. He wanted to dive into those waves, from all the way up here, and let the water sort him out whether he came up or not.

Is this you committing to one thing, or running from another?

Ciradyl’s intense stare softened at the one-word question he managed to cast into the wind as he seemed to struggle with something rooted so deep it felt like she had only touched the outer shell.

”It starts with talking like we are now. Whatever you do not understand I can help work through. I remind you of the value you bring, and not just on the battlefield. It helps to consider what I would have liked to hear as I made my choices.”

Her eyes closed briefly as the wind picked up once more so she could collect her thoughts. ”I have seen what happens when a warrior is forced to handle everything on their own, thinking they could handle whatever was thrown their way. I nearly lost someone that way already and I will not let it happen again.” Ciradyl peered down at the deck below, feeling as though she was starting to outgrow her welcome. She had played every move carefully for the past six years. A bit of risk was within her rights.

Value.

A dangerous proposition to assign in general, really.

But his own was… constantly in question. With all he had closed off from the team, it was hard to find fault in the bard for wanting to lionize him. Just as he would have, if he thought it was simply wavering confidence before him. Was that what he seemed? Maybe. It wasn’t necessarily wrong that his self-image had been shattered, burned, and run through a grinder. Five years on from that fateful night, that much he could recognize for certain.

That night…

He’d done this song and dance.

He’d let people believe in him. Asked for their faith. Accepted a standard to be held to… and dashed it against the stone when the world asked him to hold onto it. When he stumbled, he took offered hands down into the mud with him.

Names and faces flashed behind the eyes.

A handsome young knight, returned from the war, clutching his left eye.

Their rugged old man, stoic countenance giving away to fury and horror.

…A once gentle, calm, and razor-keen woman, robbed of the mind that he’d turned to, time and again, for perspective. A face he couldn’t bear to witness, once she no longer recognized those that loved her.

His own, twisted and blurred by the heavy storm pummeling him, his sword, and the puddle. The only light he could gleam chased the hammer of thunder overhead, casting him in shadow save beady, wavering eyes. Barely beginning the road to manhood, but with no place left to go.

…She’d nearly lost someone to sequestering themselves from support, she said.

”Izayoi?” he ventured, gazing down onto the deck for the off chance of spotting the veteran Mystrel in one of her usual haunts, rod in hand.

”Yes.” She confirmed with a nod, looking at the one in question. ”I can only know what you tell me, Rudolf, but I will not force you to reveal everything all at once. That would not be fair.” The path that had led to Izayoi’s last stand was not one she would, or wanted to, discuss right now. Her dear friend was haunted by two very real reminders of her troubled past. Ciradyl admitted that after hearing Izayoi speak of her family, she felt the sparks of hatred burn at this Reisa.

There was no grand scheme to plan her actions around. No Chisaki to take care of anything she couldn’t handle herself. However, she found herself in the company of those she could truly call her peers.

”I feel I have bothered you enough. I apologize.” A light bow accompanied the apology. Had she pried too far that he would simply shut himself off the next time they talked? All she could see was the inevitable self-destruction that laid at the end of his path. She was not so petty as to weaponize his own words directly against him outright, but all bets were off should he hunker down further.

”Hey.”

The Faye looked at him with a slight tilt of her head.

An arm snaked out from his slouched form, even as his eyes remained locked onto the deck. It reached across the forming gulf, carved by hastily chosen and short-sighted words— those of people with wounds scarred over, terrified to reopen them.

He couldn’t let her leave yet. Not without… at least, recognizing her efforts.

His arm crossed her dainty shoulders, so used to carrying the weight of a nation’s future on them, until he caught her far arm and squeezed as he pulled her into him, shoulder to shoulder— an awkward sort of half-hug, as far as they went, but… something.

The moment she had recognized the movement it was too late to intercept. All the willpower she could muster forced what would have been a jerking reaction into a look of curious surprise. It would have been impossible without letting her guard down that night she spoke with Esben.

”I do appreciate it. You’ve been incredibly kind, I…I just…”

His voice faltered, searching for the right words. It was probably safer for his specific purposes if he shoved her out entirely, gave no reason to indicate the conversation had done any good.

But he didn’t want to.

”You’ve got a whole life you’re rebuilding here. I don’t wanna burn up any of your second chance, those are precious things.”

Hollow. And he knew it.

But even the void of a struck bell rang sincerely.

”I dunno. I guess all I know how to do is run away.”

He had made the effort to show that her intentions had been felt and the joy it brought displaced some of her discomfort. ”Thank you for letting me hear this, but I think I will have to disagree. I seem to recall a certain someone standing in the way of a powerful monster. The same someone who helped rescue members of Team Kirin during an ambush, fought off waves of Valheim soldiers to rescue a foreign lord, and fought their way through a crime lord's manor.” She rattled off casually with a hint of pride.

No matter how she tried to distract herself, the feeling of his arm around her buzzing like a vicious insect in her mind. Nothing she could do could stop it. The gesture had been sweet, innocent but nevertheless her mind refused to accept it fully.

”You could have left the moment we started to talk, but you stayed. I feel as though I have seen something few have gotten to see and I am grateful. It might so happen that the next time we talk you decide to run. That will not change the fact that in this moment you did not.” Her hands gripped the opposing forearms as she sat there. ”You can try all you want to stop me, but you will find out how stubborn I can be.”

”Believe me, I’m plenty aware.” he chuckled ruefully. ”There were plenty of points in the past couple years you coulda run, too. Always are, if you’re sticking up for a country under the boot. I hold no delusions that you’re not a special kind of stubborn.”

His hand fell away after a moment, but not before patting the Faye on the back. Whether it was acknowledging, reassuring, or expressing kinship… not even he really knew. Her words before had pulled his mind elsewhere.

Her fingers lightly dug into her arms for the brief moment after he patted her on the back. She breathed out a silent sigh of relief as his arm returned to its natural place.

”And all that was just… This is all I’ve really got going for me. This is my second chance. This whole quest. I didn’t have any other choice. Not one I could accept.”

His eyes drifted up, to the clear skies overhead. Vast. Immutable. In a way… savage, how it encompassed all. Consumed all. Everything in their world existed under this sky. That fate was painted upon it in starlight only furthered the enormity. It was little wonder, beneath this sky, that it was where those that had passed were believed to rise.

”I’ve gotta do all I can. If one of the Kirins is staring down death, and if there’s something I can do about it… I have to. Even if it means getting stubborn people like you on my ass in the aftermath.”

He hadn’t thought any of it through. He hadn’t reached any grand conviction or cause to give himself to, to make the choice to endure. Courage was in choices. He was just at the end of the line, flailing against oblivion. Pushed forward into it by something… besides volition.

”You guys already mourned her one time too many.”

The boy offered her a tired smile, the smallness of his frame never more apparent.

”If this is truly your second, last chance then I’ll gladly lecture you everytime you go off on your own…as long as it means I have the chance.” Gentle eyes fell upon him, capturing this moment into memory. It pained her that she could not offer the same physical comfort he had given her. A proper hug would have surely been appropriate. The mere idea was enough to send shivers through her nerves and tighten the muscles around her chest.

”Let us do our best to ensure that the ballad of the legendary Team Kirin ends with a happy conclusion.” Ciradyl leaned forward a little, teetering on the very edge of her balance. A soft giggle escaped her just like when they had started their conversation and was soon followed by a wide smile. It had just occurred to her how long it had been since she had such a genuine conversation with someone other than Izayoi. Her conversation with Esben had come close but too much doubt clouded her mind then.

The gears of her muse began to turn. There were a number of half-started songs and scores she had brought along, hoping for the right inspiration. Now she could say confidently one such piece would be completed.

He watched the smile paint itself across her face, a gigawatt grin that told him everything about where they stood. That his efforts were in vain. That he’d, one day, let her down too. The going would get rough, even moreso than now. He’d run, then stumble, then… she’d try to be there.

Pulling him back, lecturing him.

Writing another line in that ballad, about a friend she shared this second shot at it all with.

”Just make sure you take care of yourself, too.”

He returned the grin with a small chuckle.

For a while, they shared the mizzen, in companionable silence, taking in the waves. He regarded her, as he saw her mind begin to whirr anew on Mothercrystal-knew-what.

...He couldn’t allow hers to end. Not because of him. He wanted to hear that song. Whatever it took, she would see the day her masterwork was forged. Regardless of how little right he had to his part within it.

That was her fight. She had chosen what she made of the ashes of her old life. What came next.

Even if they shared this war…

Sorry. Really. But it’s for your good as much as mine.

He couldn’t pull her into his own.

Everyone he had… he burned, or buried. He could never forget that.

For as much as it pained him, he wouldn't let himself.

He wouldn’t face that grief again.

... But he wouldn't be able to hide himself away forever, either. Especially not with her watching for it.

And so, he let his gaze return to the waves, depths within still opaque.

---

Having come from a coastal barony, Esben wasn’t particularly unfamiliar with the rock and roll of a boat on coastal waters. If anything, he was rather impressed how well the rest were adjusting to it...and, for the first time since they’d set out, he was able to observe it without being in the middle of them all, as the rest had just finished taking their lunch—either the meal proper or simply taking the food off to their own haunts, as the case may be. Not having been particularly hungry, he had decided to forgo the meal, confident that the rest of Team Kirin could understand that he wanted some time to himself, or at least his own devices.

Resting in Bikke’s enlarged fighting top on the mizzenmast, he knew full well that he was once again lacking in the former, but could finally pursue the latter as he heard another body come climbing up the shrouds, the platform creaking with the weight pulling at its corners.

”Come here often?”

”More than,” the body in question groused, bowl in one hand while the other propelled his small frame the rest of the way up with unlikely ease. ”That’s the only spot worth a damn I could squeeze out of Bikke.”

He plopped down without a lot of ceremony, picking at his food regardless of his miffed reaction. If there was one thing Rudolf was confident in these days, it was that people would eventually find him if they wanted to— and that he had a grander scheme of things to worry about than a less-than solitary perch.

He accepted this was just how it was going to go today, and let his weight shift with the sway.

”Mmm. I haven’t known you to get so annoyed at something like this.” He glanced at the bowl with mild curiosity. Stew of some sort, as expected; aboard a ship such as this, there was little else that would really be possible to make. Not particularly inspiring fare, certainly worthy of some blame for sailors’ notoriously surly demeanour.

Despite his best efforts to match their mood, however, Rudolf wasn’t a sailor. ”Nor to be so unquestioning. Surely you aren’t just that hungry?”

”I’ve never been so hungry as I ought to be, no.” he gave up readily enough, as though brushing the question aside. “And if you want a question from me, I guess we can start with ‘Is this a coincidence, or am I getting hunted down again?’ If it’s the former I’d ask for your understanding— the latter’s been a mixed bag at best for me.”

He shoveled some of the nondescript stew down his gullet, continuing to stare straight ahead into the waves, occasionally flicking down to the milling crew or Kirins below if something was loud enough to catch his ears.
”Danube knows you’re sharp enough to see what’s been downwind of the fight with Izayoi’s master, even if you were conked out for it.”

Despite his leery nature, that one didn’t seem like it was meant to jab at any potential sore spots Esben may or may not have had regarding how all that went down. They’d alll come within a hair’s breadth of oblivion. Getting caught while suffering from minor heatstroke was getting off lucky, if anything.

Esben let out an uncharacteristically annoyed grunt at the mention of his own state out in the desert. Little over a week out from the poorly-considered escapade, he still found himself beset with regular headaches, that combined with the sunlight were nigh-intolerable. That was all something he’d just as soon keep from thinking about as bring up in any conversation, though it did relate directly to why he’d come. ”Well, I can’t say I expected you to volunteer information so readily.”

”If you can find a way leverage my lack of appetite against me, you deserve it.”

”Am I really so charming?” The near-monotone broke suddenly with the wry rise of his voice at the end, one eyebrow half-raised as his blank features morphed into a very slight grin. His eyes turned, following Rudolf’s gaze at the rest of the crew and team down below. Even from only twenty feet up, they were at least afforded a decent measure of privacy.

”I am missing whatever it was that has led to this change, yes, although it’s obvious to see. Some of the others seem to feel some new suspicion towards you. Moreover, I’ve noticed you are doing everything you can to avoid us as much as possible.”

”I’m a spooky guy. Out of sight, out of mind.” he countered simply, drawing a lazy “X” in the air with the spoon to show it. ”Bikke wants me and my inauspicious aura the hell away from the working sailors in the first place, anyway. And everything I give at this point’s a courtesy—whatever you wanna get, I know you know how to get. May as well save you the trouble.”

Ciradyl had put him on the ropes seemingly every other sentence only the day before. Somebody formally trained at information gathering…

A spot of black and white from below, somewhere near the bow, impassively staring out at the waves off by the railing caught his eye. Esben’s gaze was sure to have followed.

“And so to speak, I’m sure you can recognize how hard it is to believe that nobody’s mentioned what happened back there to you by now— her least of all. Got me under the microscope more than even Galahad.”

Esben's smile reversed itself into a frown. ”Well, now, I wasn't aware I'd said that. Thank you for letting me know, Rudi.” The sarcasm was even more obvious than his joke had been. In the face of such stubbornness—half-forthcoming, part dissembling, but still entirely guarded—there was little to be gained by trying to focus on humor and charm entirely.

Moreover, as had already long since been made obvious, Rudolf was too familiar with the game of it all to fall for such simple tricks.

Further below, another flash of movement caught his eye—rod and bucket in hand, one of their party’s two ostensible leaders was making her way over to the solitary figure at the edge of the ship. Slim chance that the two of them wouldn't end up glancing up and catching sight of the pair among the rigging at some point, though between the others noticing Rudolf's absences and the fact that Esben was the one who had been travelling with him when they first met the team, there likely wouldn't be too many questions on that front. He certainly hoped that would be the case.

”I remember the sudden darkness, and knowing that something had gone wrong with more than just myself. Then, your voice rawer than mine, and your leg unable to bear any weight. The others filled me in later, including that you saved Izayoi's life, and in the doing must have given enough of a distraction to thank for saving all the rest of ours as well.” He looked back up from Eve and Izayoi below, levelling his icy blue gaze back on the swordsman he shared a platform with. ”That does not mean I have what I need to piece this all together. So yes, Rudolf, I am still missing a side of this—your side, uncoloured by the retellings, worries, or suspicions of the others.”

The ensuing pause hung in the air for a while, as the younger man turned the question over in his head, growing tension writ upon his face. His contingency plans for the event of a reveal had proven to be half-baked already by Galahad, childish and naive to the point of embarrassment. There was no analogue he could try and hide behind… and what was more, he’d already given up the game by acknowledging the suspicion’s foundings, the subtly disquieting aura that told even basest instincts that something of his presence was wrong.

”I don’t know if I can provide that. Their fears aren’t so baseless that I don’t share a few, Esben. What would you want from me, beyond the same pledge I’ve already made to the two of them that my loyalties are unmarred, and I’m supposed to be the only one incurring the cost of the curse?”

At long last, his golden eyes slid to meet the icy blues of the Skaellar, searching him, prying the armor of his careful words open. SEEDs were trained to read people to the degree they could be believed psychic by the unwary laymen—and Rudolf only had so much more poise than them, in this state.

Curse? No, Contract. came a helpful reminder, as though on cue. Accompanying it, the sensation of a laugh, somewhere deep.

While he couldn’t throw anyone off the scent anymore…neither could he be fully forthcoming. Not after Ciradyl’d been exonerated by the failings of her victims. Not after Tane had opened her mouth the same moment Rudolf had felt the passenger wake up again. Maybe it was coincidence. Maybe it wasn’t, and buying into the terms of his own volition had turned the tense arrangement he’d enjoyed for five years on its head completely.

Certain enough, this felt like uncharted waters.

”If I was worried about your loyalties, Rudolf, I wouldn’t be going about this quite so nicely.” Emotionless; matter-of-fact was barely adequate to describe the flat tone Esben delivered that single rebuttal with, his gaze holding steady even as Rudolf tried to control the growing tension in his own face. In his entire body, if the SEED had to guess; the swordsman had clearly been on edge for a while, ready to bolt at a moment’s notice and knowing that he didn’t even have the opportunity.

Every time that same tension started to play across the younger man’s features, he’d ended up revealing something. ”I’m sure you can understand how I won’t accept something that obvious, even if the others didn’t think it so. If you’re worried it’ll be too difficult—ease into it. Start with what you were saying to Ciradyl after we got back to the safehouse. Or is that itself too close to the truth?”

Well, that was a relief. He’d made every effort to be helpful on dispatch thus far— he felt like he’d been going insane when Eve had implied he was a threat to the world itself. He’d shaken her off that thought. Mostly.

Still felt her eyeing him when she thought he wouldn’t.

“The safehouse? ‘You don’t get sacrifices you’ve made back by getting your ass kicked’ Isn’t too close to the truth, it is the truth. Same with spilt blood sitting and rotting in the soul. I don’t take your meaning otherwise.”

True to form, though, the spy had already clued into the throughline of every last one of these encounters.

He wanted to give in, but couldn’t.

There was such a thing as “too close to the truth”. Both of them knew that.

”I’m not being coy saying this. There are some things I can’t afford to give up, but they aren’t covered by anything I spoke up to her about in a way I can see.”

Esben sat silently for a long moment, still staring over at Rudolf. Long enough, maybe, to make the swordsman grow as uncomfortable as he always seemed to get whenever Eve glanced his way recently. ”I was rather thinking of...how’d you put it? ‘It’s something we’ll always know, that much is plenty punishment, for people like you and I?’ That seems to hint at things more closely than your other words. I imagine most of the Sagramori often fall more into the ‘face-to-face, man-to-man’ manner of doing things you mentioned.”

He paused again, his glance falling to the spoon and bowl in Rudolf’s grasp. ”Or is such dissembling as you engage in on a daily basis part of their training regimen after all? I must confess, I am unfamiliar.”

Shit.

The raised eyebrow returned at the sudden shift in Rudolf’s expression. He was remarkably adept at avoiding any major changes, but the tightening around his eyes, the thinning of his lips—were tantamount to a confession. ”Rudolf, I’d rather venture that I’m the one you can most afford to tell. It’s too obvious that you’re not some village-raised duelist and monster slayer, the others who haven’t will piece that one together, but at least they will understand not naming your family. But whatever else it is that has you pulling back since that night in the desert...you do know I won’t speak of it to the rest if you don’t wish me to, yes? Just the knowing would give my voice more weight if any disagreements should come to pass, and I’d rather not risk paranoia sowing its seeds when our bonds are still tenuous at best.”

”They say there’s endless distance between zero and one, Esben. I’m well aware that you’re both likely the most secular of us, and the best at keeping secrets. When Galahad came calling about whether or not the power I tapped into would endanger the party, I thought about you, and the way you wear your pedigree right on the sleeve.”

Face to face, man to man.

“I would say the same of my time in the village, sure. But I was rash in trying to tie the deals Ciradyl made with mine. I’m not so noble. It’s a disservice to the good she did to weed out the egocentric fools that couldn’t look past their own nose—“

Crap, he’d gotten going towards a ramble. Was he truly gonna burst at the seams with this shit just from light questioning? How was it that he’d held his tongue tighter when he had a damn Lightning Bolt trained on his skull?

He clamped down on his jaw, sucking air through his nose and teeth. He could taste the brine, and the copper of the unfortunate edge of his tongue. That’d take a couple hours to sort out.

Or thirty seconds. Introduce yourself to the White Mage, maybe. We’ll see how that goes. By the way,

A closed fist slammed onto the wood beneath. A couple pirates looked up, clearly concerned with the gloomy thunderhead that had insisted upon nesting himself in their rigging, but his eyes were trained on a bore through his palm—

Where faint wisps of dark ink were dissipating into the westerly breeze.

”Just my luck. he muttered, pinching his brow as though set to rip the delicate nose clean off. ”You’re dealing with a cornered animal. Know that. This is a catch-22 for me. Not even you would…”

He stopped, and thought. Thought hard, about everything that had transpired that night. From the additional ally they had gained… to the two friends on his hip he’d lost.

”Hell. I don’t know. Maybe understanding isn’t all that hard. Matter of fact it’s the easier problem.”

When he met Esben’s eyes again, finally… a new part of the mask had fallen.

”But this quest is all I have. I can’t let it slip away.”

It was obvious that this was about as bad as telling it all outright, of course. Knowing something was supposed to be so bad you would at the very least throw him out for it was already understandable cause to cut out the middleman. Rudolf understood that he’d left his king hanging, or whatever the fancy chess metaphor would be— he was always a shitty player, when you got past fundamentals and added things like time pressure.

But he’d gone and done it.

Given it away. It had all seemed a little more pointless after… had it piggybacked off his anger? Frustration with himself? Was this the new manifestation of his luck getting taken to fuel the deal?

At this rate, it hardly seemed to matter.

Esben’s eyes followed Rudolf’s down to his palm, the manifestation of whatever it was he’d brought to bear against the swordsman’s corpse in the desert slipping away with the wind. ”A cornered animal?” he echoed, letting the last of the outburst hang for the moment. He tilted his head back and forth, shrugging once.

”Inasmuch as you’ve caged yourself, I suppose.”

Lacking control, whatever it was was prying at every seam in its box to try and burst outwards alongside every emotion that the swordsman was trying to keep bottled up and locked away. Nothing so natural as the ability their mages had to manipulate the æther, whether in effect or manifestation.

Whether it was intended revelation or a slip of the tongue that he was desperately hoping could be missed or taken to mean nearly anything else, he’d said it as clear as day—”tie the deals Ciradyl made to mine.”

Another wall built deep inside, then, steadily building up the prison that Rudolf had managed to lock himself inside. Likely one of the first, something unspeakable that became part of the prison itself. Given how distinctly unnatural it was, how far out of the known methods of achieving such results, it was no wonder that some of the others had taken issue with it, even if it had saved their lives.

After a long silence, Esben finally tore his gaze back up from Rudolf’s fist.

”Unnatural as it is, Rudi, I already told you that I don’t have reason to doubt your loyalty. Your judgement, perhaps, but whatever this truly is, I don’t think that you’re quite so far gone as you think.” He gestured, his movements far sharper than his usual relaxed demeanour, once at the hand. ”That is worrisome, yes. But what worries me—”

His hand drew upwards, pointing right at Rudolf’s chest. ”—Is that. Trying to bury it certainly seems to have the opposite effect, not when every time I speak up among the entire group you’re given new reason to withdraw, and whatever it is...” He shrugged again. It had already tried to loose itself once, after all. Rudolf didn’t need the reminder so shortly after.

”You’re letting whatever you’d prefer to hide speak for itself, I think. Letting it get ahead of you, when you should be doing the opposite. Even if you can’t bring yourself to say explicitly what it is, even if everybody is aware of how wrong it feels, this growing avoidant streak hurts you, to say nothing of how it does nothing for any of their perceptions of you.”

There was a long silence.

It’s hell to fight alone.

That was what he’d told her.

”I know. I forged this cage all my own. This is no way to live.”

When we throw everything away, we throw out things we can’t get back. People we can’t get back.

Even if nothing else matters, we still feel it all peeling away.

How much longer, then, until the Kirins were part of that number? How much had he already shaved off? When would he let them down? When would the world take them away?

A humorless chuckle.

”It’s funny. Arrogant me, taking it upon myself to warn Ciradyl away from this. Youngest person here, acting like a lecturer. Like I have it all figured out.”

But this was the hand he’d drawn. He’d dealt himself in.

”Really? I'd have guessed that Robin was younger.” Though, given the way that she didn't bother to even reveal certain other basic facts of her being, his guess on the relative ages being wrong wouldn't be terribly surprising.

”Yeah, I was surprised too. She’s actually got about a year on Miina and I.”

He turned away from Rudolf at last, leaning against the mast himself. ”These sorts of things take time to get past, no doubt. Recognition of it all is just the first, and perhaps most important, step.”

He paused for a moment. For all that Rudolf had just been laughing at himself for spreading his ‘wisdom’, real or otherwise, Esben wasn't all that much older.

Though he didn't seem to be entirely joking with what he'd just said.

”Also—we don't actually spend much time talking.”

…

”That’s true. It’s just been one thing after the next. Nothing like the road to Atsu, huh? Ever since we met Cid, it’s all so…”

He searched a moment, to find the word. The feeling. As he did so, that same hand from earlier cast out to wave over the shapes of the crew. Then the ship.

Then the sea, stretching out into the void of infinity beyond.

“Fwuuugh.” he finished eloquently. His hand dropped to his belt, falling upon the bone hilt of his rondel. With his two partners, beloved friends, retired… it was his last line of defense. The last one he trusted.

Could he prove he was worthy with this alone? Could he go to war for the world’s sake?

”Makes you feel tiny. Like everything I fought for before now didn’t mean anything. I used to think Lunaris was big, you know?”

...

Esben turned and gave Rudolf a blank stare. The man wasn’t wrong, not whatsoever, just that that was far from what he had meant. ”I’ve been assuming that you’d been avoiding me after finding out I wasn’t lying about being a Seed,” he said after a moment, with another shrug. ”Those first days on the way in Kugane, it seemed like you were uncomfortable with every other thing I was saying.”

Another silence.

There was, probably, some truth to that. Likely more than anyone was willing to admit.

Rudolf allowed himself a frown, the type you made when caught with your hand in the cookie jar.

”But that was about your comment on what Eve might have said to me, not our own lack of conversation. Sure, we spend time together, but...most of it isn’t talking.” He looked back out over the empty waters. ”It’s relaxing, honestly. Kos, we’d say back home.”

…

”Huh. I’ve heard it was Kosm.”

”I am thinking you’ve heard about something quite different!”

---

"Aaaagh! G-get it off me!" The crewmate hollered in a mixture of agony and panic, flailing with wide-eyed terror at the shark-like Blight Beast chomping its jaws on his left shoulder, and then, at the corner of his eye, a flash of light... followed by a bolt of lightning striking the rabid piscine creature, precisely sized to only affect the vermin and not its victim. The monster instantly perished as it ceased moving, its jaws slackening, allowing it to fall off the man's shoulder, off the railings, and into the watery depths below.

However, the problem wasn't over yet, the offender might be gone, but it left a nasty open wound. "S-... shite..." The pirate gritted his teeth, falling onto his rump with his right hand clutching over the bleeding injury, "Danube blesses ye, but... can ye do somethin' 'bout this?" He rasped at his savior, knowing that he now was on borrowed time.

"I'm sorry, but my skills lie elsewhere," Said savior, the Kirin's very own black mage and Valheim's renegade living weapon, curled a subtle frown, urgency accompanying her calm tone, "But I'll find someone who can help." With a reassuring nod, she took off.

"A-aye, but hurry...!"

Eventually, either through fate or sheer luck, Eve stumbled upon a certain blue-eyed blonde Sollan. Was she...? Right, the White Mage, a returnee of Team Kirin, one who had separated from the group before Eve and the others joined Izayoi and co. at Atsu. She'd be... absolutely perfect for the situation. "Neve," The Faux Eidolon firmly called out the actually-younger woman's name, "Please follow me. Someone urgently needs your help."

Neve didn’t know what to expect during her time onboard the sea vessel, but it definitely wasn’t hearing someone scream bloody murder so early in the excursion. She had been busy mending a tear in her dress when her body spurred her into action, seeking out the source of the distressful sound before she was suddenly approached by a petite girl.

”W-wait, someone’s hurt?” she asked, paleing slightly at the thought. What could have happened to cause such a hurt that they needed her to tend to the wound? Panic steadily built up within the pits of her chest, but she grit her teeth and nodded towards the small girl.

”Take me to them,” she said, her voice much more stern than before. Whatever it was that caused such a pained scream, and the loud sound that cut through the air afterwards… there was no time to waste.

"Yes," Eve answered curtly, "Right this way." Pleasantries could be exchanged later, once each second ceased to mean the difference between a man's life and death.

Thus, it didn't take long for the pair to arrive at the scene of the crime. It was... not pretty, it wouldn't take a White Mage to see that the crewmate had lost an unhealthy amount of blood, not to mention the risk of other complications from being bitten by a blight-infested creature. As it stood, he was too out of it to properly greet Neve, but from the way he was grimacing, he couldn't have said anything other than 'help me'.

Neve followed the girl, each long stride of hers carrying a sense of urgency. Her hands scrambled for her staff, her heart racing as she caught the smell of blood wafting on the air. They came across the grievous scene faster than she could think. Crimson ichor spread from beneath the fingers that tightly held the wound, and Neve could see that the sailor was clearly in a daze. Thank Etro he wasn’t too far gone.

The mage lifted her staff, holding it close to the gushing, Blight-tainted wound. A whisper came from her lips as she uttered a spell to cure the hurt, although there was some resistance when the wound healed and all that was left were the remnants of the Blight. Neve furrowed her brow, concentrating harder upon the spell, until the wound was mended, sealed, and purged of the taint.

”The Blight was a little difficult to dispel, but…” Neve murmured, wiping some of the sweat that trailed down her brow. ”You’ll be fine, friend.”

Neve might be many things, but being incompetent wasn't one of them as proven by her deft actions upon witnessing the man's conditions. Though Eve was no healer, she could recognize the conduct of someone who had done this many times before. A lesser healer might not be able to save the sailor, but not Neve. After she was done, it was as if nothing had happened to the man's shoulder at all.

The pirate heaved a huge sigh of relief as he shakily stood up, "My thanks, Danube blesses ye both..." Now, he'd love to stay and chat, especially with the pretty blonde lady, but right now he wanted nothing more than to rest his head a little. To be fair, having a near-death experience tended to take the winds out of one's sail. Thus, with a grateful nod, the crewmate departed.

"..." The Pseudolon made a small return nod then watched until the healed victim disappeared into the lower decks before she shifted her crimson gaze at the other mage, the person who had a similar name as her yet couldn't be anymore different in looks and skills, "That was... remarkable," Eve murmured, "To be able to undo afflictions to such a degree, to nurture life, while as I can only bring death and destruction." A keen ear could notice the tell-tale hints of envy beneath the chimera's otherwise impassive tone. Sure, there was the odd non-destructive mundane utility Eve could do with her elemental magic here and there, but they paled in comparison to Neve's divine blessings.

"I wish I was born with talents like yours, Neve."

Neve smiled faintly as the sailor gave her his thanks before scurrying off to attend his duties. Just like that, she was left alone with the girl. An awkward silence flickered between them before Eve’s crimson gaze fell upon her and praised her for her abilities. Such blatant words of gratitude caused the mage to straighten her back in surprise, and she blushed in her flustered state. ”O-oh, it was nothing! Really!” the blonde shook her head rapidly. ”I had to go through years and years and years of training to be able to do that…”

”Besides, e-everyone has their own talent! You’re better at fighting than me, most likely!” Neve added at the end of her spiel, smiling weakly at the girl.

"Hm." The shorter girl hummed once, noticing the sheer humbleness displayed by the caster of benevolent magicks; was humility one of the aspects that fueled such selfless powers? Wouldn't surprise her if it was. Meanwhile, anger, aggression, and enmity emboldened their sibling, Eve’s black to Neve's white. "I believe that as modest as you are, you're at least able to conclude that without your presence, that man would have perished, no?" She thrust the inquiry at the blonde Sollan, perhaps with a bit more interrogating tone than necessary.

Did she envy this young woman's life-preserving ability that much?

If I only I could heal, then mother wouldn't have-...

...perhaps.

"I suppose, but as our mutual comrade, Galahad, said to me, if burning everything that opposes us is all that we do, then there might not be much of a world left to save..." The black mage sighed, pausing as she gazed up at her counterpart, the other side of the arcane coin, "So, even though we've just met, I can confidently say that you're an invaluable ally, Neve." Eve concluded with a small, subtle smile.

"Perhaps even more than myself..."

… This girl was persistent. Neve’s shoulders slumped in defeat, pouting at the gray-haired individual before her as she spoke. She was… right. But it still made her feel bad. For most of her life, she was said to be special, different from the others. With Eve displaying some envy over her abilities, she couldn’t help but feel pity for the girl, even if she was correct with her sentiments.

”I… suppose you’re right. But your abilities are strong, much stronger than mine,” she told her, attempting to force some curtness to her voice after her stammering and spluttering. ”I can hardly fell a Blightbeast by myself. If it weren’t for you, then it would have caused much more damage before someone else would come to help!”

A long sigh came from her lips. She rubbed her arms, looking up at the sky as she thought. ”We both have different strengths, yes, but we also have our weaknesses. There’s a reason Etro put us on the same team, yes? To reinforce the areas where we pale in comparison to the other. One person cannot be expected to carry so much responsibility on their shoulders. It is the death of the self.”

"..." It'd seem Neve's power to mend and bolster others extended to her words as well, such an immediate and natural response to make others see their own values even if they themselves couldn't. It was said that all teams needed one who could act as the heart, who could connect even a group of misfits from all walks of life.

Was she musing about a leader? ...no, Izayoi or Galahad was a leader, the brave general standing at the front, rallying their troops and executing difficult decisions without hesitation. No, the heart was the band’s beloved, the admired, one whose presence alone could remind the men and women that staying together was worth it, that their goal was worth it.

Neve was this heart, and seeing her from this perspective made Eve realize how heavy her burdens must be, even if she might not realize it herself. However, the fact that not a single Kirin - old and new - even so much as disapproved of her return might clue her in... or not, Eve barely knew anything about the White Mage, but perhaps it'd be for the better if she remained blissfully ignorant. After all, she said it herself, one person can't be expected to carry so much responsibility on their shoulders...

For now though, the Faux Eidolon was powerless in the face of such sincerity, one that was reinforced by pragmatic logic at that, truly only the mentally deranged would refute her. As such, Eve exhaled a quiet "defeated" sigh, "Thank you, comrade."

Eve’s last response was unexpected. Neve was taken aback, her eyes fluttering slightly as if she were a deer caught in a hunter’s sights. She was… thanking her? What a sudden twist. It almost made her laugh. ”No… no worries!” she piped up, a crooked smile lacing across her lips. ”That’s what I’m here for, to help others out. … S-speaking of which, I… forgot to eat breakfast. Want to join me? I’m starving!”

---

The skies were clear, crystal blue and the weather was fair as the young Neve crossed the border into Drana Asnaeu territory. The vast plains and rolling hills of Edren soon turned into an ever-growing forest of larger and larger trees. They had not grown to the majesty of the trees belonging to its largest towns and cities but they had begun to form a canopy that allowed little sunlight through. There was a thick, acrid stench that began to drift on the wind soon followed by clumps of dark smoke. There was something burning in the distance of what should have been the frontier village of Oren’s Wood.

Corpses of diseased animals began to dot the area as Neve passed through and the trees had lost a large number of leaves. Buildings typical of Drana architecture slowly came into view as well as the source of the smoke. A large bonfire raged at what should have been the village center, a place where locals sold what small goods they produced. There was another, familiar stench that carried its way from the bonfire towards Neve. The smell of a Blight-beast. They were stacked on top of each other on the bonfire and its intense heat melted flesh from bone.

There stood two figures near the bonfire amidst what had to have been a horrific battle. One wore silver armor adorned with black cloth that was typical of Knights in this kingdom. It was difficult to discern their appearance with their backs to her as she approached. The second had faded, white hair and her skin looked like it was covered in pale, gray ash. The robes she wore were clearly intended to be robust enough for travel and possibly combat. Her presence suggested she was a caster of some kind. Whoever they were, it almost seemed like they were bowing their heads in reverence.

—

There was still so much to do. That was the reason she left Drana Asnaeu, the reason she left Brightlam, the reason that she left Cascona Landing. She had always been told that she was different– special– just because the wind and grass whispered to her from time to time. And just as Neve’s journey away from home had led her away from the bedlam of thick trees and the droning nags of the Grovemasters, they had called her back before she could even bring anything hopeful back home.

Frustration wasn’t even the beginning of what she felt. The emotion burned in her throat and formed a knot in her gullet. It scorched deep in her chest as her silver-feathered chocobo trotted along, his claws carefully picking over the dead underbrush. Clutched in Neve’s white-knuckled right fist was a damp, yellowed letter. Its ink had been tarnished by rain and other sorts of moisture. She couldn’t even recall the words scrawled upon the page. Every time her mind flicked back to the courier that had handed her the letter, she remembered that she had left Izayoi, Arton, Eliane, and Galahad without a single word. Were they okay? Could they be looking for her..?

Between the tired trud of her exhausted chocobo and the thoughts that stormed in her mind, Neve hardly caught the scent of smoke. It was the bothered snort of her steed that snapped her back to reality, and that was when she realized that her throat and chest burned more than before. Spluttering, she raised her sleeve to her lips in an attempt to stifle the smoke from entering her lungs. Creatures, beings of the wood and plains, laid dead on the side of the road. Her chocobo wheezed in discomfort, most likely because of the sight and stench of gore. Neve smoothed down the feathers at the back of his neck before nudging her ankles into his sides and guiding him into a quicker trot. If she was right, there had to be a village around. They could rest there.

She wasn’t wrong. As she stepped into the outskirts of the nameless village, the bright glow of a vicious bonfire filled her vision. Neve’s nose wrinkled with the foul stench of a Blightbeast’s burning flesh. Everything was far too quiet and still besides the fire’s starving, flaming tongues… and the strange figures that stood near the scorching corpses. Pulling on the reigns of her chocobo, Neve guided the beast to the side of the road before she slipped off the saddle and slowly approached the strange folk. Her hands smoothed down the wrinkles of her white-and-red cloak as she fought the nervous patter in her chest.

“What… what has happened here?”

The pointed ears of the woman twitched at the new sound “Damage control.”

The mature woman's voice was cold but carried a sadness tempered by a reverence for the dead. A staff not incredibly dissimilar to Neve's was secured on her slender back. Sparse armor plating covered vital areas around a well-made, well-worn robe. A soft sigh left her lips as she turned around to face the newcomer. Her eyes were a milky white which may have explained why she was looking at Neve but not making direct eye contact. The Knight turned around as well but did not speak. Silver fox ears poked out from his closed helmet and he looked at Neve with piercing orange eyes.

“We came upon this village in the middle of an attack by the Blight. The few survivors were sent towards another settlement.” The Faye woman spoke.

“What is your name, young one?” The coarse voice came from the Knight who could see the influence of Draanu in her attire.
The strange woman’s sudden and direct reply nearly made Neve leap out of her skin. Now that she noticed, there was a lilt to her voice, and her temperance reminded her of the many other apprentices that she spent time with in Brightlam. Her gaze darted from the pile of charred Blightbeasts and the rest of the village. Empty and void of any life other than theirs, the sheer silence of its wooden buildings made her the inner depths of her chest ache. At the very least there were some that had survived the onslaught, she told herself.

Neve perked up at the armored man’s query. For a moment, she pondered whether or not to surrender her name to the pair, but seeing as they were culling Blightbeasts and saving villages, she figured that they were trustworthy enough. Nervously clearing her throat, she dipped her head towards them. “I am Neve Shadesbough,” she answered, curtsying in respect to the duo. “I was ordered by the Grovemasters themselves to return to Brightlam post-haste.”

The brows of the woman seemed to lift up in recognition of her name and returned the curtsy while the armored knight bowed “I am Soriel and this is my companion, Avrael. It is by the will of the Grovemasters we have been sent to escort you to them.” A hint of relief accompanied her words. She appeared to be a decent amount older than Neve judging by her appearance and tone. Avrael’s ears twitched slightly at something seemingly in the distance “My lady, we should not linger her any longer.”

Soriel nodded at her knight’s suggestion “Neve, if you would follow us we shall get you to Brightlam quickly and safely.” There did not seem to be any others of their party as the conversation drew on. The two of them had been acting independently so they were surprised to receive an official request from the Grovemasters.

So these were to be her guides. Neve nibbled on her bottom lip, interlocking her fingers in front of her hips and as she wrung them together. The Grovemasters were serious, then; they really wanted her to come back to Brightlam. A long-winded, shuddering sigh left her lips as her shoulders slouched and she glanced away from them. “Very well,” she said as she turned away and took a few steps toward her chocobo. She took his reigns into her hand and began to lead him back towards Avrael and Soriel.

“Is Brightlam too far from here…?” Neve asked them, glancing between the two as she reapproached. “I’ve been traveling for quite a while, and my rations are running low. I don’t remember passing this village on the way to Edren…”

“Avrael, retrieve our Chocobos please.” “Yes, my lady.” Avrael addressed her with reverence before disappearing into the nearby woods around the village.

Soriel retrieved her masterfully crafted staff from her back and held it in one hand off to her side. “We should make it there in two days at most if we face any obstacles.” The older white mage took up position next to Neve as she guided them onto the road that would take them to their destination. “Speaking of Edren, what happened on your journey?” She asked with a kind, soft tone. Soriel was less interested in gathering intelligence and moreso asking about her health.

Avrael returned to the two waiting ladies with Chocobos with muted green feathers with a large number of saddlebags attached. He gave a simple nod of acknowledgement and handed the reins of one over to Soriel before taking the lead in the formation.

Two days; it felt like such a long time, but in retrospect, it was not too much of a trek, especially on chocobo-back. Neve glanced back at where Avrael had disappeared into the wood before she motioned for her own steed to approach. The Edren chocobo sauntered over in a lazy gait, warking in what sounded like a complaint. She felt bad for the poor thing. They had been traveling over rough terrain for the better part of a day, if not more. It deserved rest, but for now, they had to keep on moving.

Neve slid back onto the beast’s saddle, perking up at Soriel’s question. “Much,” she sighed, digging her heels into her chocobo’s sides and forcing it into a steady trot. “Valheim has attacked Edren, seeking the life of its king. Blightbeasts have attacked us on the road as we traveled to Midgar. I never thought they’d make it this far west.”

The three of them made a good pace as they passed through once overgrown paths and hidden passages. Soreil’s head lowered at the mention of the incident in Edren. Was it their intent to weaken Edren’s position and power before they committed to an invasion of Dranu Asnaeu? Drana’s border with the occupied Osprey had become a virtual wasteland due to numerous Blightbeast incursions that drained more and more of the country’s strength. Soriel was unsure what they would be able to due once Valheim decided to invade in earnest

“That is quite a lot to go through in such a short time. It concerns me to hear Valheim making their next move already, but it seems to be resolved for the time being. I thank Etro you were able to return safely.” Soriel warmly spoke, her hands tightly wrapped around the reins of her Chocobo. Her mount seemed to mirror the movements of the one in front which suggested she had her full faith in Avrael’s navigation.

A stench drifted through the air as they continued to make their way a form lying on the side of the road slowly came into view. Avrael raised his hand to motion them to stop before dismounting his Chocobo. With a sword drawn, his head scanned the environment as he approached the now identified Mystrel man. Avrael looked around thoroughly once more once he reached the body before turning back to them “Clear.” He spoke in clear, projected voice.

Soriel’s gaze didn’t budge from the corpse ”There is something I’d like you to see before we move on.” Soriel got off her Chocobo and stepped towards the body. Now that they had gotten close enough the presence of blight within became clear. The Mystrel’s veins had corrupted to a dark black and the flesh had adopted a similar color where he had sustained wounds. The frozen look of agony was enough to understand this was not a painless death “This is the fate that awaits us should the Blight overrun the continent.”

Neve followed wordlessly, nodding as Soriel’s speech reflected her thoughts. Her journey, although short, had been quite the ordeal. Valheim’s attempt on Leonhart’s life was nigh impossible to believe, and the Blightbeasts that prowled the shadows seemed to sprout from the innards of a child’s morbid bedtime story. The silence that permeated the forest as a foul odor permeated the wood; she felt her hackles rise as she felt something gnawing deep within her chest. She bit the inside of her cheek as she watched the male dismount his chocobo, the sound of steel breaking the silence as it was removed from its sheath. Neve’s body tensed as Soriel dismounted, which signaled her to do the same. The woman slid off the saddle of her steed as she approached the horrid sight.

For a long moment, Neve was quiet. She clasped her palms together in front of her chest, bowing her head in a silent prayer to the Mystrel that had fallen victim to the Blight. “Etro… why must you allow your children to fall to this pestilence?” she whispered under her breath. “Please, I beg you… stop this madness.”

She waited for a sign, any sign that their Mother was listening. But the forest was still, and the decay hung thick in the air like a veil of death. Neve sucked in a breath as she looked up at Soriel. “There must be something we can do. The Kirins will bring back the Light– they have to.”

Soriel stood vigilant over Neve as she performed her silent prayer. The blight-stricken corpse was a sight she had seen too often in her battle against the monsters. This had been the reason for the pyre earlier. A portion of the villagers had shown signs of the same disease, nearly all with deep bite marks. When Neve broke her stance, Soriel figured that whatever prayer she had offered had been met with silence “For now, young Neve, we must carry the light within us.”

The older Faye knelt down to the corpse and gently placed both her hands on a mangled arm. Bright, golden light emanated from her palms and the portion her hands were over erupted in a brilliant white flame. The flame moved along the areas afflicted by the Blight cleansing the dark markings as it went along. “It is by the nature of our roles as clerics that we draw upon the power of the light.” She stood up slowly and turned to face Neve again. “Etro has not cast us aside, but for now has delivered a way for us to resist. I can show it to you, if you’d like.”

There was no way to cure someone who had been already infected with the Blight once it reached a critical point. What Soirel had performed was just a means to slow its progress and reverse it if the cleric was strong enough. “Azrael.” One word was enough to convey her intentions to her retainer. Azrael, carrying a torch he ignited earlier, moved to his chocobo and retrieved a small jug. He stepped carefully over to the corpse, twisted the cap off, and slowly poured a dark liquid over the length of its body. He bent down and held the torch close to the head and the entire corpse ignited in a wild inferno. “May you find your way into our mother’s arms once more and find peace.” It was the Knight who spoke the prayer as the corruption burned away.

Soriel gestured to their chocobos and began moving towards her own. “We should continue on our way. I do not wish to be in the grovemasters' service longer than needed.”

Neve watched the older Faye approach the body. Her lips open in protest, hoping to warn her in time before she touched the foul corpse. However, she froze in place once golden light sprouted from her fingers and flowed through the dark veins of the fallen, banishing the taint from the poor Mystrel’s flesh. The sight was akin to a miracle. She couldn’t bring herself to tear her eyes away. How? How could she have such magicks to purge the Blight from man’s very blood?

Her eyes followed the strange woman, silent in her presence. Neve hardly realized that she had asked her retainer to set the corpse alight. It was only the voice of the knight that snapped her back to reality. The acrid stench of burning flesh made her wrinkle her nose, and she turned away from the searing corpse. She uttered another prayer under her breath, though she was not aware of the words that flowed from her lips as she spoke towards Soriel.

“Please. Please teach me,” she murmured. “I cannot bear to… to see such things any longer.”

Tears sprang forth from her eyes. Neve looked up towards Soriel, seeing that this woman, this… this sign from Mother, had already started to depart. “I can’t let this happen again.”

Soriel’s pointed ears twitched and barely picked up Neve’s murmurs just as her hands gripped the regions of her chocobo. It had become such a common occurrence for the pair. The sight was hardly shocking and even the smell had lost its punch on her senses. A soft sigh left her lips as she turned back around to face Neve, warmth behind a weary face. “Very well, Neve Shadesbough. I, Soriel of the Wastes, shall teach you what I have learned through pain. May it help avert a tragedy of your own.”

A gentle hand came onto Neve’s shoulder from the senior cleric “You have come this far, but the road ahead is longer still. Do not lose heart. Now that you have requested to be my student, I will show you the next steps.” It was at this moment that Avrael walked past the two having ensured the body’s immolation would not spread “You would be wise to listen carefully. She doesn’t like to repeat herself.” He spoke in a more casual tone and received a sideways glare from the Faye.

Soriel had agreed to teach her. Her willingness surprised her. What she knew seemed difficult to learn– she wouldn’t be surprised if it was some sort of ancient magicks that had been hidden away, if it was that powerful. Neve wondered why the Grovemasters hadn’t told her about such a blessing. Could it be possible that they didn’t know about it? In the midst of her pondering, she felt something heavy lay upon her shoulder. She glanced up at Soriel, her ears perking at her voice, eager to drink in her words. If she was to be her mentor, then she would listen to whatever she had to say, even if her words sounded menial and unimportant. By Etro, she’d even listen to her about what she had for lunch the day prior, if that meant that she could garner some knowledge from it!

”I’m already on it,” Neve told Avarael, shooting him a smile as she approached her chocobo. She wiped the rest of her tears away using the long length of her sleeve before she pulled herself back upon his saddle. ”Shall we get going? I believe we still have much of a ride to Brightlam.”

—She hadn’t been able to get the thought out of her mind.

Straightforward heroism. That was what she had been raised on. It was intrinsically what she thought of when she considered her ideal way to fight for others.

So, Ciradyl’s methods—

It was difficult. It was hard for Robin to wrap her head around. She felt as if the woman wanted nothing more then to help those who were weaker then her, but to throw away the lives of others and work under Valheim—

It was difficult for Robin to understand fully.

At the same time, she couldn’t agree with Arton either. She’d clearly been doing everything she could for the sake of people who were suffering.

But his anger wasn’t unjustified, either, was it? Robin herself didn’t like the ways Ciradyl had achieved her accomplishments.

So she didn’t really know. She didn’t know what to say or do, who was right or who was wrong. It’s not that she believed the world was entirely black and white, but rather the simple approach to the conflict was what she had viewed as the right one.

But this wasn’t simple at all.

Robin’s blade flicked through the still air.

Unlike her usual drills, she hadn’t been keeping count of how many times this was.

Draw. Thrust. Sheath.

Draw. Slash. Sheath.

Draw. Thrust. Sheath.

Draw. Slash. Sheath.

It had blended together by now.

She couldn’t sleep.

She wanted to clear her head.

Her mind was always clearest during training, so it only made sense.

Draw. Thrust. Sheath.

Draw. Slash. Sheath.

Draw—

“Well, this is a surprise.” a voice floated into the courtyard from the gloom, low and tight in spite of itself. Young, and unmistakably colored by an Northeast Edreni accent much like the heroine’s, there was little guesswork needed to pry out the matter of “who”, even if “where” wasn’t quite apparent yet. For all they hadn’t truly talked, the two had heard plenty enough of eachother over the weeks in Osprey.”Usually, I’ve got this place all to myself at this hour.”

It was likely that she’d felt his presence before she’d necessarily heard him— he’d fought alongside the young woman enough by now to know that she was sharp enough to feel when eyes were on her. Hell, half her bombastic schtick wouldn’t work so well if she couldn’t pick out when she did and didn’t have an audience.

Then again, their ninja associate might not have fully shared the opinion…

Either way. He’d seen her fight, he’d seen her spar. Her instincts belied her theatrics, that much he was confident in saying. What was more, losing herself in pure recital of form the way she was, after that shitshow of a debriefing…

“No shuteye, huh?” he asked, from wherever he’d been loitering. It sounded vaguely from above, even with how sound tended to bounce a bit in the interior of the courtyard.

—Ah?!

There was someone else there?!

Before her mind could register that she recognized the voice, before she could even think, Robin was drawing her blade once more. She turned on her heel towards the source of the voice, and—

Nearly fell flat on her face.

Even she had to admit it was a little embarrassing, getting spooked by one of her own allies.

Certainly, she hadn’t truly spoken to Rudolf very much. She hadn’t really gotten to know him. Her impression of him wasn’t really a bad one at all. Besides, there was a little sense of kinship there. They both came from the same part of the same land, and they were both fighting for the same cause.
—Did he have to show up that suddenly, though?

Her cheeks coloring, in an uncommon show of embarrassment from the swordswoman, Robin scratched the back of her head.

“O-oh, Rudolf, I didn’t know you’d come in,” she began, “I suppose it’s true, I couldn’t get to sleep.”

She wasn’t sure if she wanted to talk about the reasons why, given how difficult the meeting had already been.

Now that she was facing the direction of him, knowing he was there, in short order Robin would catch sight of her compatriot— seated on the tiles of a first-floor roof, and in the murky shadows cast by a westward second tier. He’d been there a little while, by the looks of things. Rising, he politely neglected to comment on the near-pratfall Robin had just taken, and instead stalked forward.

Maybe he’d misjudged her aptitude?

“Hm. Can’t say I blame you. We’re sleeping just a few doors away from somebody that woulda held us hostage just a few years ago.” he replied, bitter ash on his tongue. For a moment, he’d stepped into the moonlight, his mop of platinum blonde and drawn blades drinking the silver glow—

And then stepped off the edge of the rooftop, landing onto the dry grasses below with a soft, pantherlike tamp.

No, that wasn’t it. He knew he trusted his read on someone’s capability after seeing them cross swords, wasters or not, with a test as stern as Ranbu no Izayoi and give anything resembling a good account of herself.

In that case, he’d underestimated how truly disquieting the meeting, maybe dispatch too, must have been. For her to be so fully zoned out in the swordplay…

“Well, that one’s unfair of me. What’s got you cooking, then? We’re both here. Might as well chop it up.”

The glint of his shortsword shifting in his grip as he began to circle out, towards the center, suggested he wasn’t wholly metaphorical in his offer.

Izayoi had changed, after the war’s passing. He had borne witness to that enough that the reminder she had dropped on them all had knotted up his gut, rather than fill him with a dark vindication— the way her interrogation of the Valheimr had the day they’d all met.

To ignore that much would be the height of folly. It would condemn Ciradyl, for instance, to the idea that there were fundamentally unmalleable parts of the psyche that horrible deeds brought to the fore, and you could never put away. That having your dark secrets laid bare would truly be the end of you.

Deprive himself of a path towards redemption, even as he acknowledged they would all carry those actions until the day they croaked. Her search for penance would never truly end until then. As he saw it, that was part of the deal one made committing them—

He stopped, facing away.

But marching forward could be done through either an open road, or a dense bramble of thorns.

”Blood’s still running pretty hot for me too, if that’s your ail.”

Robin wasn’t sure she could really believe herself, that she’d been so caught up in her drills that she’d totally forgotten someone could just walk in on her and start talking. She had a feeling her fellow Edrenian had similar feelings that left him unable to sleep properly, at least.

Good. It meant that she probably wouldn’t have to explain anything and could simply focus on clearing her head up. He’d already guessed why she was here, so she wasn’t going to bring it out to the forefront of her mind again and throw herself off.

Besides, having witnessed him fight multiple times, Robin was curious.

Heroes sparring with their allies due to wanting to understand them better was a common aspect of heroic tales. And in all honesty, it was one that Robin understood completely.

There were some things that could be picked up from one another in combat. At least that’s what her old man had told her. That’s how it had felt when she sparred with Izayoi.

“I’ve been trying to clear my head,” she said, simply, “And there’s not many things that can do that better than training can.”

“Agreed,” he intoned, gesturing vaguely to the empty space before the both of them. “It’s something of a nightly ritual, really. Just letting the swordplay settle in.”

Ideally she’d also have liked to clean up afterwards. If her head did clear up enough for her to sleep, then Robin wasn’t exactly keen on sleeping coated in sweat.

But if not… well, she’d find another time to sleep.

Robin could see the way Rudolf’s grip had shifted.

It was obvious what he was interested in, even aside from conversation. So, that made both of them.

“Chop it up, hm?” she mused, “A good sparring match clears your head even more then training does.”

That was something she’d learned from her old man, too.

”Yeah,” he replied, stepping back in a half turn towards her. Be it by design or by happenstance, his meandering spiral had taken him to just about the opposite position on the field from Robin, the distance between them and either wall equivalent. ”Looks like we’re on the same page, then.”

When he met her gaze once more, the gold of his eyes seemed to have lost the little luster they carried… or, rather, replaced it with a small, desperate flame. As though it was piped in by the tight corners of his face. His stare was prying. Measuring. Searching, as though looking to this moment for the answer for some question he’d left unvoiced.

Regardless, as she’d readily agreed to a match one thing had become clear, in the shift of his bearing— once preparing to go to war peeled away those veneers one put upon the Self, before her was a young man every bit as disquieted as she.

His weight shifted. His longsword, on the far side, was brought to bear now, while his lead and the shortsword sank, planting weight, building a base to launch.

He exhaled slowly, then spoke.

”’Course, if you still have stuff to get off your chest after, I can hear you out. We probably don’t talk enough— even though steel sings the truth.”

He would owe her. Insisting like this.

A smile that didn’t reach his eyes flashed. These next words were selfish in a way that defied description, given the very fears he’d been nursing, ever since his true nature was revealed.

”Be a shame if I didn’t make at least one friend from home, after all we’ve been through.”

There were more similarities between them than just their heritage, at least in this moment. No matter what, they were unified by their unease, and their desire to focus their minds and push it aside.

The slight hints of a tensing body, an alteration in Rudolf’s composure, were mirrored by Robin’s own posture.

The grip on her blade had adjusted, just slightly. Her muscles tensed, and she took her spot opposite to her fellow swordsman.

“There’s plenty of legends of clashing blades leading to friendship, after all.”

Despite everything that had occurred not so long ago, a smile crossed Robin’s lips.

This.

This was how she would clear her mind.

It might be a sparring match, but she’d throw her whole self into it.

“Ha. You’da gotten on just fine in the Village with that attitude.” he barked, chancing a small moment of shared vigor as his blood began to heat again. She was more like him than he bargained for, clearly, with how she relished the prospect in spite of everything.

He couldn’t blame her at all.

How readily the sensation returned— that runaway spirit of war.

Here, even in faraway lands, even against an unfamiliar foe, that same desire boiled within him.

Something clear and true before him now. Not muddied by morality. Not murky and impenetrable, like the necessary evils their own allies needed to hope for survival. He didn’t need to look over his own shoulder— the tallest task barely crested five feet, and measured her own breathing in front of him as she too sank into her stance, longer than his, more linear, geared to maximize her speed, her reach, the sting of her thrusts behind the flourishes that disguised them.

There was no room for anything else. Whatever ailed their minds…

“For old time’s sake, and for yours, little brother. While Father processes this his way… let’s process this ours.”

“Just let the match take you. It’ll clear your head, at least a little. Let me do that much for you. Seva would want me to.”

”…You face Rudolf, a swordsman of Sagramore. I stand with blade aloft, blood afire.” he began, voice dripping with black tar even as it burned.

It was excited, tense, agonized, determined. Were it not the dead of night, he may have roared these proclamations right out of his belly. He was damn sure he wanted to.

”I offer this bout to the great god Himstus, the eternal blaze of war. May he smile upon your spirit as he shall mine.

They both were ready to accept this.

Live steel.

Full tilt.

Only way to play.

They were good enough, both of them, not to kill eachother. They needed this more than they needed the coddling of wood, and the false confidence in its safety that smashed fingers, cracked ribs, broke brains.

They had the mastery of their blades to believe them one with themselves, closer to friends than tools. They had control.

His longsword rose in his hand, leveling itself with Robin’s face, her burning garnet eyes, across the field. Even at his lowest, after learning the ugly truths of those he stood alongside and the world they were in, even after he rejected that self-serving notion of ‘honor’…

His own eyes locked onto hers. He had control. It wouldn’t happen again— he wouldn’t let it.

…He always presented arms.

Etro, she even had the uniform, huh?

Not again. Never again. He’d throw himself right onto her sword and keep it inside, if he had to.

… His opposite blade, the shortsword, crossed over the crook of his elbow, his whole body forging the great cruciform. Traditionally done with the dagger at his hip, but nonetheless the salute held, once he uttered the final words of the pledge, his full being behind them.

He would prove it, no matter what, that he would not fall to that same weakness. No matter the duress. When the swordplay took him, it was all there would be.

”May thy blade chip… and shatter.”

“You face Robin, the Songbird. My blade is ever-ready in the name of justice, but for now we’ll test one another’s mettle.”

It felt like a smile crossed her lips for the first time since that meeting.

Robin hadn’t a single clue what to say or do before. But in this moment, she was ready. The simplicity of a sparring match meant that she could home herself to a single edge and think only about overcoming her opponent.

She hadn’t a single issue about the use of live style, though she would have accepted the use of training blades as well.

There was no hesitation now.

“I offer this bout to the great god Himstus, the eternal blaze of war. May he smile upon your spirit as he shall smile upon mine.”

Her blade glinted as she slowly raised it in one hand, her point tipped towards her opponent. An honest duel.

That is what she sought.

That’s what she would have.

For a moment, paired swords of Edren stood, three lines of silver painted by moonlight upon the still desert air. A light-bearing heroine, gallant and true. Her blackened counterpart, wrapped in his cloak of fear and deceit. This moment stood to take that from them. To see it all fall away. For all they couldn’t be more different… They too couldn’t be more alike.

On this fateful eve, their tales inextricably intertwined.

A sudden wind passed between them, shaking hanging chimes—

Lightning struck behind both gazes, and as one, they launched forth.

---

Sparks flew, the brief spurt of orange light caught in yellow and red eyes, each unerring in their focus.

Several minutes had doubtlessly passed now, but the interplay had been fierce as reason allowed— at times, moreso. It spoke to the skill between them that they’d avoided— no, evaded serious injury even when they strayed closer to playing too rough. At the frenetic pace they’d set, moments felt like minutes. Minutes felt like months.

Cutting, thrusting, parrying, dodging, setting traps, setting rhythm, setting adjustments, jockeying for position, for space, for initiative, for dominance.

A million calculations in the mind’s eye, all in service to the flow of the bout through the body, offense and defense melding. There was no room for any other concern. All fell away as promised, before the sword, the wielding, the foe it was met by. The back and forth had taken them all over the place, but they had hardly left the center.

The range of their initial clash. This was by design.

Teeth openly bared in an exerted snarl, Rudolf challenged Robin’s guard from above, his overhead strike hurtling down as though to crush her more than slash. Behind it, he pressed in. She could catch it with hers, doubtless, and knock it off-line enough to threaten with a linear riposte— but stepping in to meet the arc and choke it would open her to the shortsword, a coiled viper’s fang in the opposite hand. That too was his line of defense if she elected to stab instead of parry, which he could use to further exaggerate a dominant angle.

She liked flashy. Was flashy.

Maybe she dodged here. And suddenly his outside angle would be overextended, while she pivoted with that spada still in line with his torso.

He’d already seen ample evidence from the outside looking in— this bout, an invigorating repast as it was, had proven twice over that if he didn’t believe her style to be backed by plenty of substance, he’d look a fool forever, the nail to her gleefully brandished hammer. Robin was tricky, playful, a showwoman to the bone. The perfect disguise for the rock-solid fundamentals beneath, the true result of that tireless work he’d met her in the midst of.

You couldn’t let those types breathe, nor give them and their playful tricks time to catch your eye and lead it away from their true intent. Nothing on their terms.

While to the untrained eye, their exchanges likely looked very back-and-forth, tit-for-tat… Rudolf, even using a stance and armaments with a mere five years of seasoning, had still been steeped in the art of combat for fifteen, working his ass off for each minute. He’d already seen Izayoi’s success using a general methodology similar to this that morning before they’d received the desert assignment, how she had crushed the space between her and Robin that left her dictating each time they crossed, forcing pressure onto her foe and forcing out reactions, option selects, and unfavorable footing.

He would need the same here. Stick to her like glue, don’t let her win the race or get comfortable enough to start playing. Pressure, pressure, pressure. Tempo, tempo, tempo. No room to breathe, he had to drown her. Too close for her speed and reach to matter. Too consistent for her to find her base. Too considered to give her a way out.

As it happened, that aligned rather beautifully with the core tenets he had been taught since being able to walk. Find the structure of the opponent’s game, pull it apart at the threads, and then grind them beneath the heel. It was far from instantaneous, each inch he gained was hard fought, it demanded all his attention, but…

He was winning.

So long as he could maintain this relentless threat, leverage his strength, pair of blades to her single, and lateral movement, he was winning.

It was amazing. Aside from Izayoi, Rudolf was undeniably one of her most skilled opponents so far.

It was just what she needed.

Each impact of their blades honed her mind even more sharply. Each flashing sword, each dodge, each parry, it gave her the focus and clarity that she had so richly desired from the very start.

Sparks flew, reflected in the gaze of each duelist. The sound of metal on metal sang throughout the training area. Each and every moment was spent mentally gauging every tiny reaction, every minute motion, and calculating millions of potential futures from that alone.

Selecting the one that was truth—

And then countering that future, shattering into into a million possibilities once again.

Robin took a step back, and then pushed forwards once more, her glinting spada cutting through the air.

Rudolf had a strength advantage. And, undeniably, an experience advantage as well.

But that didn’t matter.

Certainly, it mattered to the sparring session itself. But not to Robin’s true goal.

To find clarity.

To reach to her fellow Edrenian through steel and talk in the manner of combat.

And, despite the edge her opponent held—

To claim victory.

She was being forced to step back, to give ground. Only by small margins, but they were there.

For every agile flash of her blade, every elegant deflection, she was still unable to completely withstand Rudolf’s assault.

But that was alright.

That was something she’d expected, at least after a few clashes. It was something she had begun to formulate her entire strategy around.

There were other routes then directly overpowering her opponent. Her old man had told her that much on many occasions, especially early on. As she’d developed some semblance of skill, she’d started attempting stronger and stronger strikes—

“Foolish. There will be many opponents you can never overtake like that. Relying on raw power doesn’t suit you, and even the strongest of swordsmen can never allow themselves to think that’s all they need.”

Robin had been lying on the ground when she heard those words. Knocked down in a single stroke, after she thought she’d found her path forward.

And if she didn’t give everything she had, if she didn’t do all she could to overcome her fellow swordsman—

How could Robin claim to have given him the duel he wanted, too?

And how could she claim to hold a hero’s spirit within her?

So it was only natural, then.

The clash of their swords grew more and more furious. Despite the fact she was certainly losing ground more swiftly, now, Robin couldn’t help but feel energized.

That’s right.

It was time to give it her all—!

He caught the glimmer in her eye, and snarled, even as he excised another option and ate up another step’s worth of ground. The pressure from his dictation of the exchange mounted, redoubled, a runaway snowball halfway down the slope to an avalanche. By all rights, his smothering, suffocating front-foot methodology was paying broader and broader dividends.

He could keep ratcheting up the pace, paring down her defenses. Where at first Robin was forced to barely concede an inch, he was drawing out big backsteps and committed pivots— tiring things, borne of necessity more than method. And he was melting through more and more.

But that glimmer hadn’t left her eyes, the way someone being thoroughly pulped always did. Even when they didn’t give up, usually they couldn’t avoid reading the tide.

I want to understand the enemy, boy. Always.

Something wasn’t right. There was a gambit here, one he wasn’t seeing.

Back off, then? No, he was close. Closer than he could afford to let up on, given the opponent. She was slippery, and running hot by now as a result of dealing with this tactic. Quality connections had been rare enough that he was definitely right in trying to catch her cold. With this style, such was his best choice— especially given that he could emulate the Limbtaker in how he extended each clash.

Or indeed her master. Two blades Robin had learned lessons from, and then utilized those lessons on. That and the gulf between even a diminished Izayoi’s quality and his own explained the difficulty.

Her in-fight adjustments had improved as a result of the trials they’d faced since he last saw her spar— if he allowed a branch for the Songbird to settle, she would slip away before he jumped to it. That he wouldn’t allow. He’d shut her out of the proceedings completely. Keep an eye on her movement, don’t overcommit, but keep letting the small victories pile. Initiative. He had to maintain initiative. That was how he won duels. Control the pace, control the pressure, control his enemy by keeping them pinned down.

Were it not wholly untoward, he had half a mind to just catch her blade in a bind and then outright tackle her to the earth and place a blade to the neck. But with his luck, that’d be when one of those flourishes disguised a thrust. Unsporting and dangerous. No. No big changes, just refine and finish this.

He could do this without resorting to anything else. He had it in him to win the right way. He wouldn’t stoop to any level lower. He would control it. He needed to.

Whatever mistake you’re banking on, Robin, it’s not on it’s way.

The song of the metal between them had shifted in it’s tone. He felt a shift a while ago, in the reverberations through his arms. He had taken advantage of the fact that her sword was lighter and faster than those of past opponents to open up more than he could at the manse, but he still had to mind cracked fangs— definitely needed to finish this quickly. If he’d been so careful, only to break them now—

Their duel had been a real joy, invigorating in a way he’d forgotten for a long time now. He hoped that clear-eyed gaze didn’t just belong to some plot in her pretty little head, but also to the state of mind they’d both come into the bout seeking. She deserved that.

Playing with her had been a great outlet for him, too, something to put those high-minded concerns aside for. Fun as hell. But he’d be finding his moment and closing things off.

He was pressuring her more and more. That was Rudolf’s goal, to push her back and crush his way through her defenses, and claim victory that way.

And indeed, if all she was doing was trying to pierce his defenses with the tip of her sword, that was becoming an increasingly likely outcome.

It was a reasonable strategy, and one she couldn’t answer merely with a swing of her blade and a flourish.

A stronger opponent could simply overpower her. The old man had taught her that plenty. And a strong opponent who was backed up by skill was dangerous indeed.

So she couldn’t simply rely on standing up to that power.

“Your opponent’s momentum can become your power. Rather than attempting to stand up to someone who eclipses you in strength, you can instead take that strength and make it your own.”

Each strike sang out.

Each strike told her that he was gaining ground.

Each strike told her that if she continued this way, she would lose.

By this point, Rudolf had locked down most of her offensive options. Attempting directly like this would be risky at best.

To some, it would look like she had no choice but to make a gamble or simply defend until she couldn’t any more.

But that’s not what he taught her. That’s not how a hero would conduct themselves.

They’d reach for victory in the most audacious and daring way. They’d aim for the moon and then fly even higher than that.

“Once you have achieved this, Robin, and taken that strength, even steel can bend—”

Robin’s next parry came low. It would look like an ordinary defensive maneuver, certainly, one delivered with skill, but no different from any of the others she had used to ward off her opponent’s blade so far.

But then she adjusted her grip, her blade twisting sharply as it caught Rudolf’s along its edge, jerking it sharply upwards.

“---and break.”

A horrible crash, as the same shocks through his grip that worried him before now sounded in the air. Deafening.

His descending blades meeting the wrong resistance, their arc terminated at the wrong angle.

Hers, caught in or near those same damned notches where Kurogane’s masterwork had marred them, that day he’d crossed swords a mere two moments with the indomitable titan that wielded it. The same ones that had given him fits to try and at least minimize. That was her aim.

Sparks. So much more than before, and caught on slivers of moonlight suspended in the air.

Flashes of metal where none should have been.

Not flecks.

Shards.

Her spada, rising still.

Wrenching up—

Through their spines—

He let go, throwing his arms high, a last ditch-effort even as his mind caught up with what his eyes, wide and horrified, saw before they spun out of view. A half-breath more trying to check her parry, and he’d have snapped them clean himself at best—

His face was white, his lungs breathless. In that moment, slowing to a crawl, he could not mistake what he saw before him.

—at worst he’d have outright shattered them both. His paired fangs, upon which he had first built this farce of a second life among the Sagramori. Surviving the terrors of monster hunting, of being hired for wayward archaeologists’ armed escort, of keeping his dismal choices under lock and key for five furtive years.

”Well, you’ll never make an honest pursuit of things with that, squire boy.” he’d been told, before the gruff, heavyset redmane before him had dismissively waved away the greatsword that had flummoxed them both all morning. ”Here. I won’t give my best work away for free, definitely not to outlander auxilia, but these will treat you plenty well if you do the same for them. You’ll need something reliable to hunt down the sabertooth for your dagger, at least.”

Keystones to “Rudolf of Sagramore”. Representing every earnest tradition he’d taken up in learning to live among them. Guiding him through every step, every spar, every lesson. Monuments to his little refuge.

If this really was a new life, the one he’d pushed forward with when joining Kirin, the two of them were the first, most trusted friends he’d made, since pulling together the tatters that were left of “Rudolf Shilage”.

And now, he had failed that simple instruction. He had failed them. He knew. He knew right away, what his single-minded haste, his failure to truly control, had done to them.

They would never taste combat again.

…Slicing air. The moment resumed.

Distance. He needed distance—

In keeping with the momentum shift, the younger Edreni threw himself backward. The Songbird, dutifully, followed his exit, her bombastic cut-and-thrust style producing a moonlit flash as she brought her blade to bear, ready to declare her victory with a gallant, showy nick of the throat or wherever else she might have liked to find first blood.

He saw his swords falling, their arcs through the night air almost complete. He saw his worst fears painted upon their humble bearing.

He saw an explosion of black and red.

Teeth clenched in a cornered hound’s snarl, his left hand flew to the beltline, and closed around the sabretooth hilt of his dagger in a white-knuckled grip. The sturdy blade roared forth as it intercepted her final blow, knocking it off course.

His other arm, of course, had reached high without thinking, cloaked in blackened heft, to the handle that was always there, beckoning with the weight he knew well that he couldn’t utilize—

And so fast it smeared a heavy arc of moonlight some six feet in front of him, drew the greatsword in a one-handed swipe, checking her further advance.

The sword fragments scattered in the air, collecting slivers of moonlight in the scant moments they spend in flight.

Robin hadn’t fully intended to break them. The technique she’d used was meant to disarm an opponent, though destroying their weapon was hardly out of the question.

The state Rudolf’s swords were in meant that their destruction had simply become the more likely outcome.

Regardless, it meant that she won. She’d have to apologize afterwards, but for now. She’d press her advantage.

Step inwards, bring her blade up, and deliver a swift nick to draw first blood—

He’d managed to deflect it, but that was fine. She’d deliver a swifter strike.

And then the greatsword tore the air.

Without much thought, without even considering what had just occurred, Robin was already moving, throwing herself backwards as it sliced through the spot she had just occupied.

Something had changed. It wasn’t just drawing a new weapon, it was a shift in the way her fellow swordsman was handling himself entirely, even if only for a fraction of a second.

—And yet, for some reason, it almost felt as if that sword wouldn’t have hurt her in the first place.

Her instincts were quickly vindicated, as there was no plume of dust or scar in the dry grasses even as the mighty blade crashed to the earth— indeed, were it not for the rushing air that tousled her brown locks as she pulled herself away from the sudden strike, it would have seemed that the massive blade hadn’t budged at all.

As for the wielder…

His breath had grown short, and haggard. Even with the mass of the blade he’d just swung, it was closer to a wild beast than an exhausted man. With the moon behind him, his face was framed in shadow, yet clearly a wide-eyed rictus that swirled with emotion. He stared at her, panting, stricken, hardly himself—

”Fuck.” he then bit out, and the tension in the air deflated between them, in time with his slackening shoulders and posture. He sagged to the earth, his knife and sword falling with him. ”I lost my cool. Sorry. This is your win. Aaaagh, dammit.”

That last curse was set against the image of his head lolling over to fully consider his longsword, struck down onto the field, its edge now a ragged, snaggletoothed mess. Not far away, his shorter blade was in similarly hard shape.

After a moment, he crawled forward, leaving the greatsword behind and sheathing the rondel as he pulled the blades over to where he sat. In addition to the ruined edges, those initial wounds from the desert fight had deepened, threatening the spine past the point of no return. Swinging through anything tougher than parchment would start being a gamble, especially with his arm behind it—

And he hadn’t the luck to even consider that.

Soft upon his lips, a solemn apology and a plea to Himstus accompanied him bringing each blade to his brow, honoring fallen companions. For a time, he was silent, then…

”Sorry. I pushed them too hard, and… honestly, didn’t expect you to see their condition. That was your aim the whole time— knew you had something up your sleeve. Didn’t know what.”

For all he’d clearly been rattled by the loss, it did seem like he was genuine in placing no blame on her. If anything, he respected the opportunism.

”Well struck. That was a good fight. Certainly enough to pull me away from all that stuff earlier. Same for you?”

Robin’s body tensed—

And then, as Rudolf brought himself to a halt, relaxed.

“I’m glad you enjoyed it, because I certainly did,” Robin said with a small smile. Though, when her eyes found the edge of those damaged blades…

“I’d mostly thought to exploit the damage to disarm you, and maybe damage the blade enough to end the duel,” she added, “I’m sorry, I didn’t intend to so thoroughly ruin them.”

Despite the move having ended the duel in her favor, she still felt some level of guilt for going so far in a friendly sparring match. Had her spada been destroyed in such a manner, there was no doubt she would have fallen apart, at least for a few moments.

Still, it had helped clear her mind, and allowed her to put the draining nature of that meeting behind her. For now, at least.

“If I’d tried to match you head on, I surely would have lost,” she added, “It was everything I’d hoped for.”
Indeed, after seeing Rudolf’s performance in battle, she’d honestly hoped for an opportunity like this. A hero often sparred their allies to better both themselves and the ones they fought alongside. It was only natural, to increase their experience and grow their skills.

She’d never faced such opponents in battle before. Certainly not like Izayoi, nor like Rudolf. And yet, by sparring against them, her experience grew.

She’d have to keep growing, in order to reach her lofty goals.

”Nah, it was my fault for trying to parry that monster in the desert with them more than once in the first place. That sword of his had to be the masterwork Valheim stole from Kurogane.” he grumbled, frustrated enough to lean back onto the grass and let the moonlight hit his face again, a ragged sigh escaping him. After a moment… he remembered the importance of context, with proper names not already familiar for both parties.”Oh, yeah, he’s the man who forged Izayoi’s swords as well. I met him to try and get a different perspective on what’s wrong with this stupid thing.”

One hand pulled itself free from behind his head and held the greatsword aloft, against the sky, as his eyes narrowed. Even for his strength and its clear quality make combined, the motion still seemed preternaturally easy, given the size.

”I’ll be honest, I knew you had commendable fundamentals backing that style of yours, but I didn’t expect you to have the wherewithal left to pick up on how bad a shape they were in once I pressed in. Even after forcing you into that head-on fight, I underestimated you, and I deserve what came to me for it.” He grinned, painful, straining. “Even if it sucks.”

He glanced over to her, curiosity sparked. They’d talked so little, he’d never really gotten her background past what he could glean from the outside, with the accent, the styling, the speech.

”...Where’d you pick that up from, anyway? It’s a bit of an esoteric movement pattern for anything you could have pulled out of stage fighting— a lot of what you were doing is more subtle than you could ask an audience to keep track of from down in the seats. Let alone in a booth. Where’d the meat and potatoes come from?”

She’d noticed something off about the greatsword when it swung past her. Even though it looked like it would easily be capable of cutting her in two, somehow she didn’t feel any danger from it whatsoever. And it didn’t leave even a little damage when it slammed into the floor of the training area, either.

She didn’t have to guess that was the reason.

“Well, now if you come across an opponent like me again, you won’t underestimate them,” declared Robin, brightly, crossing her arms over her chest with a firm nod.
On the topic of her swordplay, Robin couldn’t deny where her taste in style had come from. All the flash was derived from the sort of swordplay she witnesses on stage, in the recreation of legendary tales like the Sword of the Lake, or the Song of Keradden.

“You’re right about the style. I love all those old stories, so I caught as many stage plays as I could when I was younger. I think if you asked me about my favorites, I’d give a different answer every time. But the rest—”

She’s a hundred percent a Kerraden girl. You don’t get those flourishes in Loveless. It’s too moody.

Robin laid the blade of her spada on her open hand, eyes traveling over the length of the blade as it once again captured the moonlight.

“---That’s all from my old man. I convinced him to teach me everything he knew, and how to turn an opponent’s strength against them to disarm them or break their weapon was something I learned from him.”

The thoughts of her training cycled through Robin’s head. From laying in bed and hearing the tales of heroes from her adoptive father, to doing drills in the yard or practicing her techniques directly against them.

The memories sent warmth from deep in her core, spreading through her whole body.

“He still hasn’t told me where he learned them from, but someday I hope he will.”

He had to have done something amazing, after all.

…

“Old man, huh?” Something indescribable colored his tone, as his gaze followed hers.

A beat, and then her gloomier counterpart shrugged, eyes returning to the length of his own. There were a million things he wanted to say about his father, even beneath the filter of not revealing his identity—

”If we make it back from this to Edren, I’m sure you’ll have plenty of stories for him to trade with. Hell, he’d owe you.”

He couldn’t exactly bring himself to throw a bucket of ice water on that warmth she felt. It was a far gentler thing than the bombastic shine she cultivated in the day to day. This was… nice to see. He felt like he’d finally peeled back a layer of that presentation.

And at the mere cost of the last of his own, came the dark humor, albeit she had no way of knowing.

”He know you’re all the way out here? Pretty far from our neck of the woods.” he asked, the tip of his dagger flickering between the two of them. He didn’t see the point in pretending he was lifelong Sagramori when they had damn near the same dialect.

Ah—

She hadn’t thought about that until this very moment. Certainly, her old man knew that she’d been planning to go out and make a name for herself, but until recently she’d been doing so not so far from home.

He really would have no idea just how far she’d gone.

“I told him I’d go out and make a name for myself, but I never said I’ve go so far,” she replied, with a small, awkward laugh, “I guess I really will have a lot to tell him.”

Her thoughts shifted to contain not just the image of her old man, but the villagers who knew her throughout most of her childhood. They’d be pretty surprised too, wouldn’t they?

But that wasn’t uncommon in the stories of heroes, was it?

“The villagers would probably be pretty stunned too. I’ll have to tell them all.”

”One of the smaller townships by the Forest?” he ventured. ”Yeah, provided we live to tell the tale, Osprey alone would probably rock their world.”

Something about what she’d said wasn’t clicking, though. He lent what consideration he could, but in the end… if it was her goal, he didn’t see where it was headed. Not like this.

”Though, considering how clandestine we’ve needed to keep regarding the occupation… I can’t imagine you’ve had much chance to make that name here.”

Gold searched through Red. Dark asked the truth of Light.

”We did a lot for the big picture with Lord Hien, sure, but our names are probably never gonna be tied to it. Especially given the Ciradyl thing. Is that enough?” he explained bluntly. He had plenty of reason to be, but every part of her seemed to crave a spotlight, right down to that first blunder with Chisaki, seeming forever ago now. His tone had firmed somewhere. ”You satisfied with just us knowing? Or is there something you’ve still left to try before we go, that people will remember you for?”

As someone who had hid away so much of himself, he wanted to know where the dice fell on the other end.

“I…”

Robin trailed off. It was true. There was no way that any of their deeds would reach the ears of Osprey’s people.

But it was fine, given that they had still done heroic acts for the sake of freeing them from oppression and criminals. It was fine, wasn’t it?

Wasn’t it?

Robin would have liked to be content with that alone. Truthfully, she was glad to have helped the people of Osprey without any other preconditions.

But if there was something to leave behind to them, that wouldn’t be bad, would it?

Besides, there was something else that she wanted to do.

“... It’s not just for the sake of my name,” Robin began, after a pause, “I can’t help but notice how many people here are struggling. They’re not getting enough food. They don’t have the money to make ends meet. Their children are—”

A flash of a distant memory entered Robin’s mind.

Rail thin. Skin stretched over bone. Lying on the side of the street and waiting for darkness to take her away.

At least she wouldn’t hurt anymore.

At least it’d all be over.

At least—

“---They’re suffering.”

Robin’s hands tightened unconsciously.

“There was so much treasure in that room. More than any one person could ever possibly need. Couldn’t some of it be spared to these people, who need it more than anyone else?”

He watched the shadow of a painful time pass over her face, a dark cloud that swallowed her bearing. Her eyes had gone somewhere else. Somewhere he hadn’t yet seen.

Looks like that’s a sore thread to pull on… But it makes sense. She was adopted. Never said from where, or what state. I’ll have to remember that. But, that said…

His gaze softened as he sat up once more, the crooks of his arms resting on his knees.

”...Yeah. You’re right. I saw it earlier, walking the streets with Miina while we looked for her brother. But first, let me put something forward— we’re funding a war effort here. Maybe ten people versus all of Valheim, for the fate of the whole world. That gun Eliane’s hauled back alone is gonna eat into its share of the capital we’ve just pilfered, no two ways about it. Then there’s equipment, travel, lodging, upkeep, essentials, collateral, discretionary— A lot of expenses in our future, if we want to win this thing.”

One by one, his fingers rose to the air in time with the list he rattled off, before clasping together in front of him. His eyes never left her.

”I know you already said ‘some’ instead of ‘all’, but you’re aware of the need to consider opportunity cost at this scale, right? What’s more, those’ll be missing treasures of a known Valheimr collaborator, not just cash, and the poor parts of town are also the rough parts. I’ve been to ‘em. What’s your plan for getting the right stuff to the right people?”

“I…”

Robin trailed off.

Out of everything she’d thought about, how to actually ensure the treasure reached those most in need of it was something she hadn’t thought about enough. It was only something she had imagined in a vague outline. She imagined how much better their lives could become, how much they might be able to improve on their living situations, the fact that they might be able to guarantee meals for themselves every day.

But she hadn’t thought of how to achieve her goal.

Internally somewhat frustrated, Robin placed her hand to her head and ran her fingers through her hair as if in a bid to get her thoughts moving once more. She had to do this. She couldn’t allow this opportunity to slip away. Even if it was only a slight improvement to those peoples’ lives, she couldn’t allow it to become something she could have done instead of something she did.

“I… I think, maybe, if I talk to Hien, maybe, then…”

She trailed off again. It was at least the beginnings of an idea in her mind, but from there she had no idea where to start.

Oh, brother.

”Gotta make those considerations, Robin. I get wishing life was like an old legend, where it all just sort of works out and the narrator says ‘the Songbird gave every alm to the needy, faultless and generous’, but the world’s not so pretty. Not the way we have it, even if it’s how we wanna leave it. It’s nice to dream big, a noble desire even, but if you expect the impossible… it’ll be you suffering alongside all of them, when the world reasserts itself. Can’t half-ass it, can’t run yourself aground either.”

There were some things that just didn’t work out the right way. Others that you needed to properly prepare for. Others still… you just couldn’t do at all. Even if you died trying. Even if you spent your all on it. What was cruel honesty here would be a gentle warning for later.

While he had her ear, he could see her avoid the agony of exceeding her own means. She had risen from nothing, but he’d fallen to it. It needed to be said, before they would all need to save her from flying right into the sun.

There too were tragedies, among the canon of Edren’s legends and plays. The Waxwing, Ballads One and Two of The Gilded Fool, the aforementioned Loveless.

He closed his eyes and stood once more, bringing the large blade to bear onto his shoulder and scooping his two smaller, ruined ones into his free hand, then the pit of his arm. Walking forward, he stopped just ahead of his compatriot, frustration on her face clear as day.

…Alright, point made. Start from the top.

”Well, we’ve got a day still. And we’ll need to itemize and fence some of the jewels, the ingots, all those things to begin with, so that’ll take a bit to sort out into a lump sum. Given where we are, it’s the only smart move— gold is solid, but gil changes hands like ale at a tourney. Won’t come back to us… or anyone we give it to, if they’re smart.”

He cocked his head to the side, guiding her eyes down to the pommels

”I’m down a hat, a coat, and now my two partners here. Even if we’ll be putting some aside for the war chest, and the others don’t already just agree to do it to begin with, I’ve got plenty of cause to ask for a decimatory split. Something I can go handle while the rest are busy stocking up on what we’ll need, getting their own affairs in order, all the usual hands-off stuff. If somebody happened to rope me into asking Lord Hien which districts his sources tell him are struggling the most before I get on that, that’d be another pair of hands to carry things, keep watch during handoffs, run off unsavory types, know which way we should be going, bring the total share up to twenty percent…”

He shrugged, perfomatively coy, a smirk on his face in spite of everything. Lighten things up a little— the moody look really didn’t suit someone like her.

Just leave that shit to me, alright?

”Well, you get the picture.”

Robin’s shoulders sagged lower and lower as she listened to Rudolf’s explanations. He was right, even if it wasn’t something she’d really thought about until now. She didn’t understand the first thing about finances beyond what was necessary to pay for food and board at a reasonably comfortable inn.

Most of her pay, across her life, from childhood to adulthood, was made by doing odd jobs or assisting villagers. And, while she tried to refuse rewards for doing what she felt was a hero’s duty, sometimes it was difficult not to accept.

Thus, her familiarity with holding up a genuine war effort was nonexistent.

Still, there had to be a way. Even just a small fraction of that treasure could improve the lives of so many of those people suffering under the weight of poverty.

“Then what can I—”

Robin paused.

Slowly but surely, what Rudolf had really been saying sunk into her mind.

She couldn’t help it.

Robin’s lips parted into a wide grin as her heart nearly burst from her chest.

“Y-yes, thank you!”

A few seconds ago, her wish to give something to the poor and weak had seemed to slip away.

But that was no longer the case.

Wasn’t that just like an old hero’s tale, after all?

”Ah, one thing, though.”

As he walked past, he lightly bumped her shoulder with his own, causing the slightly-thick cords of the epaulettes to sway.

”Not to beat a dead horse, but the dress blacks might be a bit much.”

Five days spent on the waves. Two more until they reached Costa del Sol, according to Bikke. For the most part, the voyage had been rather uneventful thus far. The seas had been calm, and they’d not encountered another ship in days. That was about to change.

”OI! On th’ horizon! Airship on our arses, capn’!” The lookout up in the crow’s nest set his spyglass aside, yelling down to the rest of the crew.

”What?!” Bikke roared from his position at the helm, craning his neck back to confirm that, indeed, there was an airship closing in at high speed on their position. ”Damn it! All hands, to stations! Those of ye not on guns, prepare fer boarders! Helmsman, hard to port, get us in position fer a barrage!”

As the airship approached, its Valheimr colors became evident, and Izayoi frowned as she beheld it.

”They must have followed us from Kugane.” She noted with a hiss, her hand falling down to crack an inch of steel from its sheathe. ”To arms, then!”

The airship slowed its approach just before entering vertical range of the pirates’ cannons, causing no small amount of consternation among the crew. Before Bikke’s battle plans could be redrawn, however, movement from the interceptor caught the attention of all on board.

A glint of light shot out from the airship’s boarding ramp, arcing up into the sky before coming crashing down towards the Scurvy Fishman, several smaller flames following its arc. As the light began to descend, Izayoi widened her eyes in surprise, recognizing what was going on. How could she not, when she’d faced so many of them during the war?

”Incoming dragoon! Move!” She cried out to everyone in range, already leaping to the side.

The dragoon’s jump missed her by inches, and the apparent Edreni turncoat in question backflipped out of the way of Izayoi’s retaliatory strike, landing with an unnecessary twirl of his spear. His purple armor gleamed in the sunlight as he landed, tilting his helmeted head, face hidden behind a visor.

”Pity. I was hoping to avenge my fellows. Ah, well. You’re just a side benefit, anyway.”

The flames following the dragoon revealed themselves as several armored Valheimr with large metal backpacks spewing flame, enabling some amount of limited flight and highly enhanced jumping capability. They brandished rifles bearing axe-bayonets as they landed, impaling and shooting several of the pirates after having taken them completely by surprise on their unorthodox approach.

”Godsdamnit, get off me ship, ye cunts!” Bikke snarled in frustration as he brandished a massive battleaxe, one of the Valheimr faux-dragoons nimbly boosting out of the way of his blows with their jump pack.

For his part, the one legitimate dragoon among them regarded his compatriots with disgust, spewing orders with no small amount of derision.

”Alright, squires, time to prove if you’re worth the time I’ve been putting into you. Capture the dragon girl and don’t bother engaging the man wearing armor like mine, not even if he attacks you. Caradoc’s life is worth a hundred of yours’, and if any of you wretches somehow luck your way into killing him, I’ll make sure you die by inches. And try to stay out of our…attache’s way.” His orders given, the enemy dragoon turned towards Galahad, offering a respectful nod.

”Galahad. Forgive the trespass. You’ll understand one day.”

His chance to say anything further was cut off as Izayoi engaged, just barely managing to bring his weapon up to deflect her opening blow. The two went back and forth for a few moments until he flipped away once more, landing nimbly atop the ship’s mast as he surveyed the battlefield. ”None of that, Limbtaker! I’ll deal with you in a moment. Just give me the chance to speak to an old friend-is that Rudolf Shilage??”

The purple-armored dragoon lifted his visor up to reveal a jovial, blonde-haired face ever so slightly younger than his Caradoc fellow. One which was recognizable to the two Edreni men he’d been addressing.

”You’re supposed to be dying of plague, according to Otto! What in the hells are you doing here?!” After a moment, he shrugged. ”Ah, well. Questions for later, if you survive.” He leapt up again, this time plunging down towards Rudolf, spearhead aimed for his heart.

All the while, the remaining Valheimr continued to launch their assault on the ship’s crew and the Kirins, rifle-axes lashing out. Despite their commander’s disdain for them, their effectiveness approached those of legitimate Edreni dragon knights, swiftly moving through the air and striking with impunity thanks to their technological crutches.

”I will enjoy hearing the explanation for this once his corpse riddles the bottom of the sea, Caradoc!” Izayoi yelled in Galahad's direction as she narrowly sidestepped a rifle shot and started to close in on one of the Valheimr dragoons.

As if on cue, brieflly after the turncoat dragoon remarked about his cohort's plus one, what could only be described as a haunting melody fell upon the seas, the voice mesmerizing and yet... foreign. Though they could rival one another upon the proverbial stage, no one in the Kirin would mistake the tune as Ciradyl's; the tone, cadence, and style were distinct from that of the Faye Bard's.

Regardless, even if someone was tone-deaf enough to misidentify the unknown source as the white-haired Faye, they wouldn't be for long, especially after the fact that every non-Valheimr on the ship would feel a mysterious malady bearing down upon their minds. Akin to beautiful waves deceptively hiding deadly undertows beneath, the mesmerizing aria wormed itself into their ears, dulling their minds, not severe enough to affect conscious thoughts, but in a situation where a sharp instinct could spell the difference between life and death...

It was a cruel requiem indeed...

"Yaaarrrgh!" Bikke roared as he made another weighty swing with his massive axe, and yet again these fire-farting knaves jumped out of his reach, in fact, he felt himself just a tad bit clumsier than before, it must due to this... godsdamned singing! "By Danube's tits! Would someone shut that infernal shanty already?!!"

---

The relative peace of their trip could only go so far- as it seemed, all good things had to come to the end. The call of an incoming attack wasn't exactly a surprise at this point, but Galahad would've been lying if he'd hoped they'd managed to get away. If anything, the appearance of a Valheim airship just solidified how extremely advanced they were in comparison to the vast majority of what their continent had regularly available.

Quickly pulling on his armor, strode out to the deck of the ship with as the rest of the Kirins began to filter out, helmet in the crook of his arm, halberd sharpened and poised for battle in his other. He expected the airship to fly over them before dropping a clutch of soldiers. It was a surprise then, when Galahad caught a glimpse of steel, a man crashing down from the sky landing within inches of Izayoi with a strike hard enough to crack the deck.

Dragoon

Galahad stared at the purple armored knight in clear shock, clearly not expecting a Dragoon to have came out of a valheim ship. To make it worse, a mockery of his own martial traditions followed the offending Dragoon, some score of Valheim faux-dragoons leaping out on powered machines to meet them as well. To make matters worse, Galahad recognized the armor. Before he even spoke or lifted his visor. It was Valon. He spoke with the same casual candor that Galahad remembered from their time together during the war. Valon was- to Galahad's knowledge a loyal and faithful soldier of Edren, so why was he here? With Valheim, no less. His nonchalant turn of phrase did little for Galahad but to stoke his anger.

"Traitorous scum." Galahad spat, pulling his own helmet on over his head. "You and I both." The Dragoon snorted to Izayoi, the anger he felt overriding and keeping at bay whatever subtle chanting was threatening to dull his senses- at least for the moment.

He barely registered what Valon had said to Rudolf- Shilage- apparently. Galahad recognized the name, but he'd already packaged the words into another compartment in his mind to be dealt with later. Galahad was already in the air, diving towards Valon even as the other Dragoon jumped at Rudolf. The harsh clash of steel against steel echoed as polearms crashed, purple and blue dragoons crashing into the deck. A wide sweep was caught with a with the back of another, Valon stepping forward to shove Galahad back with a kick to the chest.

"I always wondered which of us was better, Caradoc." Valon laughed as he swung their polearms crashed together a second time, a powerful pull and push threatening to throw Galahad off balance. Galahad was surprised, he didn't remember Valon being that strong. "I'm disappointed Galahad! I don't remember you being this weak!" The purple Dragoon taunted him twisting the head of his spear and grabbed the neck pushing the sharpened edge and driving it into Galahad's side, the accursed song beginning to slow Galahad's instincts. The cold metal bit into his armor, warmth and pain quickly flowing in as Galahad managed to kick him off.

Without missing a step, Galahad countered, quick, but hefty twirling blows from his heavier weapon breaking apart Valon's guard. The younger Dragoon cursed as Galahad's axe blade went to cave in his skull, ducking in time for Galahad's axe to clip the pointy top of his helm, tearing the helmet off of him. Valon flashed an angry glare at him, Galahad taken aback for a moment as he swore he could've seen something pulsing in the younger dragoon's veins, an unnatural, faintly purple glow.

"What have they done to you?" Galahad asked, sidestepping out of the way as Valon made a short leap and stab, spear tip piercing the deck. Galahad countered with a leap of his own, soaring high up into the sky. Valon jumped up after him, but Galahad caught himself midair, a swing of his halberd against the mast suddenly arresting his momentum. Galahad kicked out with his foot, driving the armored boot into the sternum of the rising dragoon, sending the man careening back into the deck with a mighty crash. Galahad pushed off the mast, bringing his halberd to bear as he dove down on the fallen Dragoon, but was tackled out of the air by one of Valon's faux-dragoons. Edreni and Valheim Dragoons crashed into the deck, giving the purple dragon knight time to recollect himself.

"Close! But not quite Caradoc!" Valon taunted him, wicked spear twirling in his hands as he prepared for another leap towards Galahad.

After five nights of (mostly) peaceful sailing, perhaps it was about time the ever-fickle hands of fate dealt them another hand, however, after Hien's escape, Proudclad's destruction, and the confrontation with the Revenant, only the utterly naive wouldn't believe the empire to not be a routine nuisance. Thus, sharing Galahad's sentiments, Eve was concerned, yet expectant when another one of those flying ships reared up its ugly hull. With a flex of her gloved fingers, the Pseudolon harnessed her enmity for the villainous empire to spur the ether flowing in her veins, like a swordsman brandishing his blade, she was ready.

Then the enemy came, like meteors, they struck from above.

"..." Apparently, the rogue sentient weapon wouldn't be only the traitor on board the Scurvy Fishman that day, for this... other dragoon, the one leading his cohort of machine-clad soldiers, had history with the Kirins' own dragonslayer. Ah, one of those then, a former ally who cast aside their honor, dignity, and integrity to side with the oppressors, just like a certain Faye crime lord. What did Valheim promise him? Money, power? The typical trappings of the greedy and the treacherous.

Galahad and Ciradyl might have advised her about reserving compassion and empathy even to those who stood against them... However, Valon's nonchalant tone, complete lack of remorse, and most importantly, that infuriating smug mug of his. There were no doubts about it, he willingly served Valheim; twas’ decided, there shall be no quarters reserved for him, nor his men.

"Capture me...?" The False-Dragon snarled under her breath, "I'll sooner burn you and your paymasters to ashes before you can even so much as touch a lock of my hair!" She raised her right hand, fingers poised to release a bolt of azure lightning at Valon-

-only to freeze in place.

As the entrancing voice flowed through the air, Eve felt a shiver running up her spine. This... presence, much more potent and clear than the vague impression she got from The Revenant. There was no mistaking it...

One of her kin was here.

Kin... Pseudolon... Ocean...

"LEVIATHAN!!" Eve roared like a bull seeing red. She promptly discarded her cloak then sprouted her wings, about to take off and search the sea surface for the accursed siren of the deep. "Tch!!" Unfortunately, mere moments after she took to the air, Valon's lackeys were competent enough to identify one of their main objectives and a group of them immediately began accosting her, soaring with jets of flame to try and incapacitate the Bahamut Pseudolon with their axe-rifle fire.

"Rrrrgh!!" Justifiably irked, Eve pivoted her target to take care of these buzzing insects first. What followed suit would be a veritable aerial dogfight as Eve weaved and swerved away from their projectiles as best as she could while returning fire via launching lightning bolts from her hands. As testament to the potency of her elemental magic, a single good hit was enough to put a False Dragoon out of commission, either lethally shocking the soldier themself or sabotaging their jetpacks, causing the volatile gadget to careen uncontrollably.

And yet, even if she did manage to dispatch two or three of the hostiles, Eve found herself missing more bolts than she should and simultaneously, having a harder time dodging than usual, even though she was supposed to be a scion of Bahamut, Dragon Emperor of the Sky!

This... Etrodamned melody-!!

@Izurich@vietmyke

Even in the wake of his heart-to-heart with Neve that morning, Rudolf had been at his usual haunt when they'd shifted from full ahead to battle stations. Already a bad situation, one he'd prayed they'd not be facing until they'd gotten well ashore. Bereft of his main armaments like this, his only true mainstay would now be the dagger at his hip— eternally reliable, but without a doubt a sidearm. This wasn't a situation like the prisonbreak, either, where he could abuse the threatening veneer of his greatsword to chew up space and attention, the deck was no chokepoint.

So as the guns and pirates wheeled about the ship and the airship slowed to a crawl overhead, Rudolf on the mizzen had stowed his meal and switched to a low crawl along the beam and rigging, closer to a thief than a swordsman in posture, Rondel in hand. Barely armed, and wholly unarmored. Terrible setup, but one they didn't have time to rectify. At the very least, he could provide another angle of attack on any boarding parties, see most of the field—

”Incoming dragoon! Move!” Izayoi's voice sliced through the clamor, flash-freezing his blood. Horrified, his head snapped to the sky—

Only to catch the streak of a purpled steel comet as it nearly took the mystrel's life wholesale, flanked by a dozen or so Valheimr troopers with blaze-belching packs strapped to them. Why? Had Valheim really wormed its way into the ranks of Edren's dragoons?! They were practically the nation's honor guard in the north! Infiltration of the banquet that brought the original iteration of Kirin together was already bad enough— just how deep had their claws gotten?

And... worst of all this, as he watched from his perch with a white-knuckled grip, was that despite the cold, disgusted tone that colored it, the voice of the dragoon in question, was...

Dodging a series of attempts on his head by Izayoi, the knight in purple leapt up to the main mast, caught sight of the white haired Edreni, and—

"—is that Rudolf Shilage??”

"No, you have the wrong guy.

No, you can clearly see I'm from Sagramore, check out my knife.

No, no, no it isn't, there are no Shilage aboard."

All of these protests raced forth from mind towards mouth, but died on the lips when the man that prompted them revealed himself, and Rudolf finally matched the voice up with that inkling memory, one now years out of date. Valon. That was Valon, of the Arkha household— a friend Otto had made of similar age and standing to the Shilages, a little before they'd rode out to Osprey. He barely recognized him, the guy had been as young back then as Rudi was right now. Hell, younger!

What the hell was he doing, flanked by Valheimr, screaming his na—

The flash of steel, as the dragoon leapt high once more...

Oh, shit.

White-hot adrenaline rushed through him as he calculated the arc in his head, moments away from certain death as the steel thunderbolt was now turned on him. He launched forward off the mizzen into the void, now filled with buzzing Valheimr faux-dragoons, as a crash sounded behind him. Not blade buried into wood, but metal on metal. Had somebody made the intercept? Galahad? Izayoi? Had he read the dragoon's trajectory wrong?

A grimace crossed his face as he tried to marshal his thoughts, colliding with one such and grabbing hold, dimly aware of a dirge being sung somewhere beneath the din. Why Valon? Why now? Why the hell Valon?! Glory-hound he may have been when they'd last met, only in passing at that, but his loyalty to Edren had been proven twice enough for anyone in the War!

"The Fuck-GEDDOFf!" the jetpacked Valheimr squawked, trying in vain to course-correct for the sudden doubled weight crashing into and then hanging off him. Failing that, he attempted to bring the rifle-axe to bear—

Opening his axillary artery, through the armpit, sealing his fate. Rudolf ripped the rondel free quickly, bearing the torrent of blood that rained onto the deck as he brought his knife down again to follow up—

Only for his catch's death rattle to bring part of the flame-spewing back into the path, nicking the fuel line and letting out the noxious liquid that fed the flames—



Oh, that doesn't sound right at all.

—but also letting in air. Rather than descend to the deck to join the fight, as one would expect of slaying one of these rocket-packers, Rudolf had only time to let out a tortured "oh just my fucking luck" before the unregulated pressure dumped the entire tank of fuelinto the thrust in one go, dead Valheimr and still very much alive, heavily disoriented Edreni spiralling through the void... right over the edge of the railing.

"Overboard!" he managed to bark out, letting go and forcing the world to stop spinning on him as he made his unplanned exit from the Scurvy Fishman. As he fell, the entrancing, nerve-dulling song grew only louder. Had Valheim tamed a goddamned water naga? Couldn't those slow you?

He sucked in a big lungful of air... and he and the bloodied corpse both hit the drink, the song now surrounding him, seeping into his bones along with the cold of the sea. What he was faced with... not the undulating, serpentine form of a Naga, but instead that of a young woman, slipping through the waves as though on the edge of a knife, eyes closed as she sang her somber, arcane notes towards the battle overhead.

A horned, visibly draconic young woman. Oh, I get it. I see what's happening. "Leviathan", if he had to bet on it.

Ah, he was alone in the water with an aquatic version of Eve, who was on his side and still wanted him dead a little bit. Cheeks puffed full of air as they were, the young warrior still found time to grimace as he brought his Rondel into his dominant hand, pawing through the water as he tried to match her speed. He could feel the effects up there already— if they wanted to have the best chance of beating Valon enough to get some questions answered up there, then he and his trusty knife would need to silence her down here, one way or another.

Ideally, before any sharks caught the scent of the massacre that had started spilling down to sea with him.

Times like these, Rudolf "Sagramore" really just wanted to go home.

---

Ciradyl had been merrily humming a tune as she diced some vegetables on a wooden cutting board. She had taken up helping the head cook with meal preparation in order to brush off the rust of her own skills. It had been an rather enjoyable experience and the crew seemed to light up each time Ciradyl was there to serve them their meals. Once served, she would often perform some musical accompaniment to overwhelming applause. It was bitterly sweet taste of what her life might have been had Osprey not been ravaged by war. This was soon cut short by the commotion and voices been raised above deck.

The Faye tore through the lower hallways nimbly maneuvering around scrambling pirates as she hurried for her quarters. Several hard thuds came from above just as she reached her room. Her keen hearing could just about make out what was being said. The door was flung open hitting a wooden stool as her eyes quickly searched for her armor. She scrambled to slide the leather chest-piece over the white blouse she had been wearing. Ciradyl had just gotten her bow and quiver slung over her shoulder when the ethereally melody flooded her ears. Her eyes flicked to Heaven's Chorus and wasted not another second grabbing it, rushing out of her quarters. There was something sinister, deeply unsettling about the notes that made her nauseous.

Ciradyl emerged on the top deck holding the violin and bow. Immediately she flinched as the strange song grew louder in her head. She couldn't take anytime to take stock of the chaotic battle unfolding around her and immediately readied her bow on the strings of her violin. After a deep breath, she drew the bow across the bow across Heaven's Chorus and after the brief prelude began to sing.

You are an ocean of waves
Weaving a dream
Like thoughts become a river stream
Yet may the tide ever change
Flowing like time
To the path, yours to climb

A faint, rainbow-like glow emitted from the Faye as she focused all of her energy into the performance. What normally would have granted a boon to her allies on the ship served instead to rid them of the malicious shackles on their mind. The two aether-projected melodies collied in a discordant symphony as each fought to rise above the other. Ciradyl could feel a fierce push-back from whoever, or whatever, was performing against her and it took all of her concentration not to break her trance-like state. There was little else she could do so she entrusted her protection her allies.

Drown it out. Focus.

Do not miss a step. Concentrate.

Every now she caught a glimpse of Izayoi, Galahad, or Eve moving in for a strike or dodging one. Wait. Where was he? Every time that she had came out onto the top deck she could see Rudolf sitting in his normal, isolated spot. The prismatic glow around her flickered as she wondered where he had charged off to before becoming stable once more. No time. Team Kirin couldn't afford to be hampered by whatever foul curse this sinister melody brought forth.

One of the unavoidable facets of road life, or more broadly any travel under the open sky, was the uncompromising regularity of waking with the dawn. Rudolf, even with his habit of waiting until the dead of night to train, was neither exception nor stranger to the concept.

That said…

“Nngrh.” he grunted, one golden eye peeling itself open as his hammock rocked with the sway of the mast. As though it weren’t enough that the first filaments of green-gold dawn crept past the horizon so early on the open sea— Bikke had dropped anchor just so in a position that the embattled swordsman’s little nest, tucked neatly away in the rigging as it was, largely faced eastward.

He groaned into the pages of his book, the same tome on curses his Master had managed to deliver the week before.

Damned buccaneer, why wouldn’t he just keep his boat on the same heading? Their course was set, wasn’t it? Why roll the dice on this stuff?

”Ilias, I know I’ve strayed, but could we talk about five minutes, here? Just five?”

The only response the Winds of Change offered, of course, were a stray gust that slapped the pages against his cheeks and the continued retreat of night’s end.

Guess I’m up, then.

Pulling the book free from his face, the white-haired young man sat up, accepting his fate blearily yet dutifully. In short order, the hammock had become a burlap sack to hold his book, boots, and canteen as he unfastened it from the mast. So long as he was up and off the unused rigging before the crew rose, they’d be none the wiser.

His larger possessions, of course, were below, leaned against the mast by the greatsword. Folding the burlap over his arm, the young man stepped off the mizzen and into the void—

And landed a second later onto the deck, soft as anyone this side of Esben or Chisaki could reasonably manage. Safe…

The morning breeze blew again, now low enough to carry salt and spray with it, dashing flecks of cold against him. He shivered, swore, and stalked away from the railing— hoping his quick circuit of routine stretches might warm him back up. By the time the sun broke down into the sky proper, he had finished and arrived on his answer—not remotely enough.

Thus, the fifth day at sea began, with Rudi desperately wishing he still had his cloak and hat to hide behind.

The sea was rough and unforgiving. As much as Neve was used to the toss and turn of a fishing boat, the river was much more forgiving than the open ocean. Her stomach threatened to spill forth from her throat on more than one occasion, and her soles yearned for the sweet touch of grass. Above her head was an endless yawn of blue, and all around her were tongues of froth and the roar of waves. Although beautiful, the sea was powerful, mysterious, and unique… more or less similar to the man that she could hardly keep her eyes off.

Neve had never seen this man before. And yet, there was something… off about him. She wasn’t sure why, but it was as if her mind wanted to repulse him before she even spoke a word in his direction. Was it because he was sleeping all the way up there? Was he a pirate? The woman had been so lost in her thoughts, that she didn’t even realize that he had thrown himself right off the edge of his perch and landed upon the deck with not so much as a groan of pain. Neve gawked as he sauntered off, only to do what he appeared to be good at doing. Exercising. Sitting against the inner woodwork of the ship, she observed him for a long, long time, until it seemed that he was finished. Her curiosity rejuvenated her, and she found herself bouncing to her feet and approaching the strange man who had also, in tandem, soured the back of her throat.

”E-excuse me good sir,” Neve approached with a timid smile, nodding her head in a friendly fashion. ”But I don’t believe we met. M-my name is Neve… I joined the Kirins a while back.”

He’d felt her eyes on him for a while.

Any good swordsman and soldier made a point of honing that nebulous “sixth sense” that always seemed to save lives on the battlefield that would otherwise be lost, inklings of change on the wind that heralded heavy, unseen blows or a spike in killing intent. As a denizen of the swordsman village, and before that second son of a rising knightly house, Rudolf’s was honed to all but a razor’s edge by training and time behind the blade—

And that had been before he joined up with Team Kirin, looking over his shoulder each night for prying eyes in event that his great ruse was discovered— and once it had been forced out of him by the revenant that had been made of Izayoi’s master. These days, after the confrontations with Eve and Galahad, part of the reason he’d taken to sequestering his nights up in the rigging on the ship was to insulate himself just as much as the others.

It was all but impossible not to feel the weight of their suspicious gazes on him. Made for horrible sleep, as though the recent spur of dreams weren’t enough.

Regardless, he’d caught enough glimpses of the who this was in the peripheral as he’d loosened up to realize he couldn’t quite “wait for her to lose interest at the weirdo deciding to do static stretches on a moving vessel” the way he’d initially assumed. Admittedly, there was a bit of luck in that— the white mage wasn’t a crew member that he’d need to hastily bargain out of telling the good Captain that he’d been coloring outside the lines on their tense agreement.

But the downside was, of course, that it meant he was dealing with a new member of their team. A bead of sweat rolled down his brow, having nothing to do with the first half hour he’d regimented out every day for the past five years.

No. Incorrect. An old one. The oldest of them, even, from all the way back to that initial banquet in Balmung that had turned into a national security event maybe days after Earl Cadmon had redirected that initial call-to-arms to Sagramore village. To Rudolf, once and always his listless, troubled squire. In spite of her recent absence, this woman had tenure on him to the order of eclipsing even the idea of joining the fight.

The others would have been talking to her. He couldn’t avoid the inevitability of the confrontation, not if he was so dead-set on maintaining his place on this dispatch. In that vein, she deserved not to be kept in the dark, same as any of them—

”I’ve heard,” he said in a curious, guarded tone. ”I figured the others would want their time to catch up with you. Felt wrong to intrude.”

But what had they told her of him? What would someone like this make of his actions in the desert, on this journey, or even five years ago? Those were unmistakably a white mage’s robes, they were naturalborn wielders of curative, restorative magic, weaving the current of the world to cleanse rot, curse, as many manners of evil as it took to actually earn a little leeway from the people of Ibros. Just off the back of purifying and healing. And she had been staring him down! Just like her Black Mage counterpart in the desert!

Did he do something to earn this attention now, when they were this close to shore? Was he gonna get the boot? Had he made his final mistake at some point? Thirty minutes, man! Just sitting there! Watching him! The last time someone like her had watched him, he nearly got a damn bolt through the brainstem!

What did she know?!

You should take a breath, man. You’re still half asleep.

SHUT UP GO HIDE

Regardless, he took the advice, rising and folding his arms as he leaned against the wood, flanked by the greatsword that might have been longer than he was tall. On that note, there were maybe only a couple inches between the two of them. A puff of air escaped his nose, voiding the lungs of stale and suppressed panic, and he spoke again.

”I’m Rudolf, a warrior from Sagramore village in Edren.” he inclined his head, tone even, practiced. His golden eyes were still colored by a gleam of caution, though— and seemed to be taking her measure. She was young, he realized now that they were properly speaking, but probably a few years ahead of him— at a guess, about the age of their Skaellar cohort. Seemed to be… trying to be friendly. He didn’t mind awkwardness, certainly not after getting to know Miina, but was that the start and end of her timidity?

Or was it because she could sense something wrong, and this was just a preamble to another one of his least favorite moments to have to endure?

”It’s good to meet you. Seems you were missed quite a bit.”

At the very least, her method of a “warning shot” probably wasn’t an impression of Dhinas, so… silver linings.

Well, he was pleasant– for now. Although this man had come off as kind and considerate, the very depths of Neve’s mind nagged at her like an old hag. There just had to be something wrong with this man. Was he a criminal? A murderer? Both? Whatever it was, it would have to wait to be discovered, and even then, she wasn’t about to shun a man who had allied himself with Izayoi and seemingly promised to help restore the Light. It would just take far too much energy to spur infighting.

”Yes, well, ah,” Neve stammered over her words, feeling a light blush come over her cheeks as she wondered what to say. Meeting new people in such a way was always a challenge. ”I guess you could say that’s an understatement. At the time, I was the only healer among their number. But they’ve seen to have done well without me.”

She rubbed her arms as a chill passed over her. It appeared to be a brisk day, and her white gown was doing little to stave off the breeze. Neve shivered lightly. ”You said you were from Edren?”

”Yeah,” he nodded, taking this as it went.”Born and raised. The village is close to the heartland, but technically within the Lunaris fiefdom— a few days’ travel west from Balmung. Honestly, it’s probably closer to the capital than Castle Demet.”

Nothing wrong with disclosing any of that… Honestly, with the embarrassed flush and tripping over her words like this, he was perfectly ready to meet her at the level she presented— if she was a good enough actor to feign the stress of introductions this well seemingly on the fly, after five days on the same couple thousand square feet?

She’d have earned whatever advantage it’d confer her, if this was some kinda expert sleight of hand. At this point, the only surprise would be if this was never about bringing the elephant in the room up. May as well take what he could of just talking, before he had to argue whatever case he could scrounge together.

Man… It’d be nice to not have to. Just once.

”It’s been a fun time for some of us to adjust to the warmth up here, especially out on the dunes.” he said, fairly comfortable in his plain black shirt he’s slept in once he’d gotten the blood flowing and the sun had crested the horizon. If his coat had survived the raid on Mizutani’s manse, he might have offered it over to her— but she had no such luck. ”I take it you’re from warmer parts. Drana, since my being Edreni isn’t an automatic mark against me— as far as I can tell.”

He looked out to the sea for a moment, drinking in the dawn as it scattered over the glimmering crests of each wave.

”And the team… made it work, without a dedicated healer. That’s how I’d say it. There were a couple real close calls, especially when we were confronted with Izayoi’s master in the desert.”

He felt the phantom pain of his knee shredding itself, in that desperate race to save her life, and the echoes of the cold flame in his palm.

He turned his gaze back to her, inclining his head and closing his eyes. ”We really worked poor Miina hard to get us patched up after that one. Rest assured, you being back on board’s likely to be a real windfall. Even aside from them being glad you’re alright.”

Huh, he came from a village rather than a city like Balmung, then. It wasn’t uncommon, however. Even in Drana Asneau, there were villages that weren’t even marked on maps. They were overlooked and ignored, which was both a blessing and a curse. Being overlooked meant that said villages could keep their secrets, sometimes even from the Grovemasters themselves. But that also meant that no one would miss them if the Blight ravaged their folk and destroyed their villages; it would take days for Brightlam to send aid once they received word of the destruction.

”Good to know that you all were able to cooperate with each other. Now that I’m back, I’m hoping to make it easier,” Neve murmured, her smile becoming more genuine as she once again looked him over. Yes, the man seemed decent enough. But still… ”Speaking of which, Rudolf. Is something ailing you?”

“…”

He sized her up in turn. All his years and many modes of training, reading body language, expression, little shifts in the eyes and eye contact… be it preparation for blueblooded socializing or simply swordsman’s instinct…

She wasn’t lying about her intent. At the very least, not the way someone expecting this to turn into a struggle might.

What did that mean, then?

Did she really not know?

Wasn’t told a thing?

Not once, even in spite of the past almost-week of getting filled in on what had happened by those original four members, each one with a front row seat to that desecrated shield? He’d even brought up the battle that had pulled it from him, but she still was in the dark enough to ask that question and mean it?

”I… That depends. What have the others told you?

Voices of the team flashed through his head.

”You’re letting whatever you’d prefer to hide speak for itself, I think.

“It must truly be horrible for you to push back like this.”

"... the High Caretaker didn't smite you on sight... there may still be hope for you yet. Please tell me it's true."

”I dunno. I guess all I know how to do is run away.”

“I forged this cage all my own. This is no way to live.”

This was a totally new person. A totally new day. Before him, somebody that one way or another would need to know what was going on, just for the sake of being brought up to speed with the rest of the party. He had to at least reveal part of it, enough to match what the others had found out by the hand of Etro.

If he had to go that far, why not just… push it further? Closer to what they all deserved from him? Take advantage of the fact that this was the first impression, and do it right?

”I’m reasonably sure I know what you’re getting at. I’d like to spare you any redundancies, Neve. If you’re up to speed with what the rest of your team know, I’d ask to keep it to that. If not…”

”Would you like to amend your answer?”

He was so, so tired of this shit. Even if he knew it wouldn’t suddenly ease every burden. Who wished for lighter loads when they could just wish for broader shoulders?

For once. Could he just be strong?

The way he looked at her… it made her skin crawl. Neve wasn’t sure what she was nosing her way into, but her curiosity was getting the best of her. This could be dangerous, something she could regret… but could she push through, just to seize the chance to help someone that needed it? Despite the fact that she had no idea what Rudolf spoke about, there was something off about him, something that didn’t feel quite right. Was it the Blight? If so, could she help him at all?

Neve shook her head slowly at his first question. The others hadn’t told her anything. Whether it was because it was simply unimportant– or because there was nothing that could be done– or what was done had already been done and there was no changing the past. Whatever it was, she could tell that he suffered. And Neve disdained seeing someone suffer so. Her bottom lip quivered, and she reached out, placing her hand gently upon his elbow.

”The others haven’t told me anything,” she whispered to him, honeying her words to soothe him. Neve locked eyes with him, nodding her head in encouragement. ”You can tell me as much as you want me to know.”

He managed to fight the urge to shrink away at the arm, when her hand made contact with the crook of his elbow— but still, he felt himself pressing a little further into the wood of the mast, eyebrows going high in bewilderment as he caught the quiver on her lip. What… what the hell was going on here?

He’d given her nothing but wary, guarded suspicion. No word out of his mouth wasn’t rooted in it. Even now, in a herculean effort just to weigh his options, he was still glancing over his shoulder for a specter from before— treating the words of their peers like a knife she held over his back.

What the hell are you doing, getting so worked up by someone like that? Don’t cry! We just met, don’t you know somebody could really take advantage of a heart that unguarded?

I don’t get it. Not at all. Seriously, don’t cry!

Her eyes, big, brilliant blues, caught his. Like the summer sky, they were bright and clear… hiding nothing.

She meant it. She meant it, even after all that. The whisper of her words was practically scattered by the morning breeze, but even in spite of the saccharine coating, as though she were coaxing forth a stricken dog… try as he might, for all he knew this is how one would be hidden from him, he couldn’t sense a lie.

No wonder they missed having her around. This, undoubtedly… was a good person.

“Well… That was unexpected.” he began, finally managing to rip his gaze free of hers by slamming his lids shut. He could feel himself starting to quake under the pressure, that which only earnest benevolence put on you.

That, too, was like the open sky. Swallowing everything into itself. He came from steel and fire, even if he was a timid, useless product of that heritage. He always had a hard time with kind people.The others reaching out had proven it once more over this voyage.

”The way I’ve been running from everyone, I was certain I’d drawn enough ire for them to at least warn you away. They’re within their right to. I’m not even certain it’s incorrect—. Your aetherborne senses aren’t lying to you. But if I haven’t, then…”

One eye opened, golden disk within catching the sunlight as it sprayed the two of them with the many hues of dawn, each fiery and relentless in their own right.

A good person like this, doubtless, deserved that much. If not from them, from him. He didn’t know if it was innocence, an overloaded sense of empathy, or pity, or what, but…

He couldn’t let her goodwill be wasted. He couldn’t dash her hopes against the cold stone of the world, when she tried to place a balm on his ails. He couldn’t betray her expectations that she’d pull him out of the dirt by pulling her down with him.

He’d seen this look before. He’d been met, once, with another who genuinely just wished to see the end of his woes, back when they were so petty and childish. He had seen what the world had done to her. He had run from her grave, the night he brought this ‘ailment’ upon him. He had run from the white mages, too, when even their purifying work could do nothing to ease her suffering.

No matter who they were, he let everyone down. He failed them, always running away when it was time to live up to the faith he’d asked they place in him.

He couldn’t bear to see such a person fall victim to that timeless curse that followed him— how many people? How many people had he foolishly allowed to put themselves in the crosshairs of his next fuckup?

He’d already shut out so many. To the point where they had frayed. Where he had frayed, to this state. How could he just switch now? Did he not owe it to those who had reached out and been rebuffed already to at least stick to his guns? What made this any different?

You’ve had your time to think about it. Let’s ask again. Are you committing to something, or running from something else?

…

…

Fire, and steel.

Both eyes opened now. He wished he could say they were resolute, renewed by purpose, filled with that sacred volition. He doubted that were remotely true. He knew what he was. He had proven his cowardice beyond all doubt. Five years and counting, he had proven it.

”Second chances are precious things.”

But courage… came in choices. Just one step.

He took a deep breath. Whatever happened next, this time, would be on his head. He had to pay their efforts forward. Hers too, braving this inauspicious, disquieting air that surrounded him. That was a choice. That was courage.

…It’s hell to fight alone.

”Then I give up.There’s no way around it— You Win, Neve. I’ll tell you myself. Just… You may wanna have a seat. This is… a terrifying thing to do. We may be here for a minute.”

One didn’t have to be a master of reading people to realize that this individual, this man, had suffered immensely. Neve noticed the look in his eye, the glimmer of his golden irises… he was fighting himself. But from what, exactly, she couldn’t tell. He stated that others had pushed him away, had grown ireful of his presence. There had been drama among their number, but she couldn’t tell until he had brought it up. It caused him so much tumult. Whether or not he deserved it, well, it wasn’t for her to decide. At the very least, she would come to a very least by the end of his story. Even then, Etro would forgive him, as would the others.

”I shall stand,” she told him. ”Even though we just met, I am here for you, friend. Tell me your woes, and perhaps I will find a way to soothe the pain in your heart.”

He blinked.

”Right. My, uh… My bad.”

This was now a horrible start. He chose wrong. He chose so wrong, he sounded like an idiot—

He brought a fist to his mouth and cleared his throat, cleared the thoughts. Here went nothing.

”Then let’s get down to it. To begin with, as I said, that unease you’re getting— It’s not just in your head. Near as I can surmise from others, it’s a real wrongness about my person. Similar to a curse, or a desecrated location, but different in a key aspect—“

His thumb jerked towards his chest. Right over the heart, where a pool of black pitch was welling.

”It’s the result of an exchange, rather than a hex or affliction. When we faced the revived corpse of Izayoi’s master in the desert, I said it got hairy. That there were close calls. One of them… was a moment where Izayoi had been left defenseless. A technique of hers had saved our lives, but she’d in turn incurred a bad rebound. If I had to guess, her body had been pushed past it’s limit. Point is, the revenant corpse was still standing… and it saw her as it’s biggest threat.”

He opened his palm, the web of scarring from battle, ritual, and a lifetime of little mistakes faded by now into the background of what he saw upon it. Remembering that fearful day, even now, brought a wedge into that pool above the heart, like a sword dredged in the black. After a moment longer, a small wisp of dimness had coalesced, then faded. Even if Neve hadn’t seen it, he knew she would feel it.

He held his palm out to face her, illustrating the shield.

”By the time I realized it was going to run her through, it was already moving. I had no time to think about it. I’m a swordsman, but I’m no match at all for even the dead husk of the man that trained the Wild Dance. I suck at what I do, you see. So… after keeping it hidden for half a decade, I turned that thing you felt just now loose, and managed to stop it in its tracks. The strength I didn’t have within me, I paid for in my fortune. Maybe my future.”

He let the hand drop to his side, resting the elbow on the crossguard of his blade. Despite bearing some of his weight, it seemed to leave Bikke’s deck totally unmarred. So far, nothing too out of line with what the others already knew… as an aggregate, anyway. He already wasn’t sure he’d told any one person all that, but the nerves had been on fire for each one.

”I’ve been seeing that manifest pretty bluntly since then. I’m beginning to think the majority of the bad luck came in having to rely on it to begin with— I’m sure you can imagine why the others may have suddenly had some hefty concerns about whether or not I was all I said I was.”

Neve stared at Rudolf as he spoke, her eyes growing as large as moons as he continued on and on. This was not the Blight. This was nowhere close to the Blight. She hadn’t heard anything of the sort. There was nothing that she could do to cure this ailment or to vanquish the darkness within him. She bit the bottom of her lip as he continued speaking, twisting her hands together as she allowed him the freedom to state what happened. But within her churned a deep, dark sensation that she had felt before. Back then, when she entered Drana anew, and scented the Blight on the wind. There was nothing that could be done. There was nothing that she could do.

A hard lump swelled in her throat. She glanced away, snuffling lightly as she attempted to drown the agony within her. ”I… apologize, I t-thought I could do something to help, to tend to a wound or an illness that plagued you but… unfortunately, that isn’t the case,” she whispered, her voice so faint that the wind threatened to sweep her words away. ”But know this. You are strong, Rudolf. Strong enough to withstand this. Strong enough to use it to help others. Etro will bless you for your heart, your courage, your resolve.”

”...I don’t know if I have that right. I chose this, after all, it...” He stood stock still, every muscle in his frame tensed as his mind grappled with those words. Was this what he’d seen in that unreadable shift in the High Caretaker’s expression? Was the contract he’d forged… not turning his back on Etro’s light to begin with?

Neve reached out, slowly, tenderly. She wrapped her arms around him, attempting to draw him in for a hug.

”Worry not, Rudolf, for this, too, shall end.”

Eyes wide and unbelieving, he nonetheless allowed himself to be pulled forward into the white mage’s warm, reassuring embrace. She would feel that for all the young man’s frame felt to be made of metal, he had been hiding a tremble beneath the surface. His breath, for a moment, seemed to escape him. His heart hammered.

He’d given an attempt or two at a hug to those in need, even as recently as four days ago with Ciradyl on the mast. But…

How long had it been since he’d ever received one, like this?

It may have just been the morning sun, but there was a light tinge of red on his face, thankfully pulled past her shoulder and out of sight by the hug. For a moment he stayed there, silently cared for by this person that defied all reason.

Then, slowly, one arm reached around her back, as though she were a fragile sculpture he dared not break.

”...Thank you, Neve. You’ve nothing to be sorry for, this… There are a lot of things in the world that nobody could expect you to cure. I know that much.”

Feather-light, and unwilling, maybe unable to bear the thought of any more, he squeezed back. A far cry from Wulfric Demet, and the bear hugs he crushed both Rudi and likely Galahad half to death with, the young warrior’s was a thing full of trepidation, each moment a trial overcome.

He stared ahead. In the end, what had he really said that was any different than what had been forced out of him? Was he satisfied with so little?

He stared ahead… And the words slipped free, quiet but sure.

”You don’t know me well. I’m weaker than you think. There’s a lot I’ve run from. Things I couldn’t handle. There’s a lot I’m still running from, living on inside me. That’s the type of person I am. That’s why I made the deal I did, and bet my soul on it— I couldn’t bear a powerless feeling. I ran from it. You’ll learn that, sooner or later, but… Thank you. I’ll give it my all.”

She really was too kind.

Courage, huh…

Nngh, this song---

The moment Robin had set foot on deck, she could feel it. It wasn't a direct attack on her, not really. It didn't hurt. She could still move normally. But something was working its way into her mind, somehow. Enough to make everything seem just that bit more off---

No.

Her fingers wrapped around the hilt of her blade as she smoothly drew it.

Certainly she was going to have to compensate for this twisted song, though it seemed as if it was lightning a little. Ciradyl had joined the fight, and begun to weave a song in a bid to counter it.

Either way---

If she wanted to be a hero, Robin couldn't allow something like this song to hold her back.

Robin took one set forward, raising her spada as she leaned forward.

She'd push her way through it and ensure her blade reached her targets. She'd defend this boat an everyone on it. That traitorous dragoon, the valheimr utilizing their strange jump-packs, all of it wasn't going to be out of the reach of the edge of her blade.

Robin inhaled, deeply, sucking in air and forcing herself to focus. She couldn't completely shut it out even now, but she could push as much of the song's influence into the back of her mind as possible.

Light flowed up the edge of her spada---

Robin moved.

She caught one of the Valheimr as he landed, plunging her blade cleanly through his neck and then stepping back as a bullet whizzed past her. The trail of crimson disappeared in a flash as the lights gleamed brilliantly on her sword's edge. She knew the real Dragoon had just targeted Rudolf, but she was plenty confident he'd evade.

So she'd thin some of their numbers and then go to his assistance as quickly as possible!

Another bullet.

She'd seen where the fake dragoon was aiming, ducked to the side. It was closer then it should have been, though. The song was definitely still afflicting her, even if she was able to fight through it.

Robin lunged forward, her blade flashing only to be met with steel.

He'd managed to block. That wasn't right, either. She should have been faster.

But that didn't matter, she just had to get past him!

Robin stepped back and disengaged, the lights along her spada growing brighter still.

She could break the axe with a solid strike and her light materia. Even if he blocked---

Robin went for a low thrust.

But something somewhat unexpected happened.

Rather then being blocked, or piercing his body, her strike missed by centimeters as the Valheimr twisted his body and prepared to ascend.

But it did catch, and pierce, the pack on his back.

The effects were obvious almost immediately. As the Valheimr attempted to ascend, he instead went careening into the air with a terrifed scream, trailing smoke and flames and nearly crashing into one of his fellows as he hurtled far higher then intended.

And then, with one last scream, he was engulfed in flames as the sound of a violent explosion tore its way through the sea air.

"... Everyone! Go for their packs!" she called. Not only was it a weak spot, but they could probably disrupt their assault like this! And now she could---

"Rudolf?!"

Robin was completely stunned by the sight of her fellow Edrenian catapulting over the edge of the boat.

What happened?!

---

Neve barely had time to try and peer into the turbulent waters before she was yanked backwards by the collar of her robes. "He can handle himself," Esben said firmly as he pulled Neve way from the railing. "Think now, worry later—we can't afford to have anybody else go overboard when we're getting swarmed like this!" He released her as quickly as he'd dragged her back, pointed back towards where Ciradyl stood, playing to counter whatever song had tried to worm itself into the Kirins' minds and hamper their fighting ability. "Stay by Ciradyl, I'll keep you covere—"

He cut himself off as he caught the glinting reflection of a rifle turning their way; he smoothly stepped around Neve, placing his buckler in the path of fire; his hand almost instantly went numb as the bullet ricocheted off, the small shield twisting slightly from the impact. The false dragoon lunged after that, a jetpack-assisted rush to try and impale the both of them on his bayonet. Esben slapped that aside as well, seizing the barrel of the rifle with his hand and yanking hard to free it from the grasp of its airborne wielder.

The Valheimer soldier spun off to one side, releasing the rifle so as not to lose all control in his flight. He righted himself quickly, turned to face Esben and Neve with his sidearm drawn, still airborne—

—Only to find that Esben had been quicker to bring the rifle to bear, chambering a new round and blasting a hole clean through the soldier's chest and out through his jetpack. It exploded almost instantaneously, some shrapnel of metal and bone lodging itself in the deck boards. "Damn," Esben muttered to himself. "Should've gone for his head, that way I could scavenge some rounds off of him. Move, Neve, I've got you covered!"

---

That night he dreamed of nothing. His eyes closed and all went silent and dark. It was heaven. Etro had granted him a night of much needed respite.

It had been increasingly harder for Arton to hide his developing condition from the crew and those of Team Kirin not already aware. No longer did he venture outside of his assigned quarters and he when he did he ensured he was covered head to toe. He would give the crew a vague mention of feeling under the weather, stating a self-imposed quarantine as his reason for isolation.

Black veins like creeping tendrils had covered the majority of his left arm and had started to move towards the center of his chest, spreading from the bite on his shoulder. Every time a blight-beast entered a certain radius, not matter how small, he would feel that blackened scar burn. He offered a quiet prayer up to Etro for letting him savor this rest undisturbed. Arton stared at the rough floorboards of his room, wondering if Neve had let anyone else know of his sorry state. It would not take much investigation to figure it out.

He fell onto two knees alongside the bed, his right palm braced on the mattress as he bow his head. "Danube, guide me on my path. Vania, grant me the wisdom to seek guidance from my allies. Himstus, push me to fight until my last breath. Illias, bring me to a new beginning. Dhinas, lend me the courage to see this through. Imir, give me the endurance to push through. Ithar, bring your mercy upon me should I falter. Etro, cleanse me of this Blight." Arton had spoken similar prayers since the temple in the desert hoping at least one of the gods would grant him a blessing, just enough to halt the blight within. The fact he had been able to sleep at all last nigh was surely a sign their eyes were turning to him.

After prayers came the arduous process of donning the layers of armor he as so fond of. His reluctance to go without it surely benefitted him in this situation. Arton was nearly finished tightening the straps on his bracers when the dulled, intelligible sounds of shouting came from above. Another monster? Blight-beast? The scar had yet to react so it was not the latter. Hard thuds on the dense wood above in quick succession told him that either was unlikely. Quickly he grabbed his armaments and rushed out of his room. Muffled clangs of metal rattled in his ears as he picked up the pace. It sounded like they had been boarded by something.

The swordsman fell to his knees, immediately hurling as a mystical melody crawled into his mind. His sword fell to the ground, bringing his hands over his ears. It felt as though his head was going to split open. A cold sweat began to drip down his forehead when, not fast enough, the feeling dulled greatly. Arton retrieved his weapon through ragged breathing and steeled his nerves as he arrived at the stairs leading outside.

It was chaos.

Everyone was already thrown into a pitched battle on the deck, with most of Kirin already engaged. As he suspected, Ciradyl was playing an equally enchanting melody that seemed to be offsetting whatever had pierced his eardrums earlier. Flying soldiers? He grimaced knowing there would be little role of him to playing in any offensive operations. His eyes searched immediately for Neve's distinctive profile, finding her immediately along with Esben.

"Esben, I'll watch over Neve and Ciradyl! You got a better chance at taking these guys out! His voice projected over the sounds of battle, a slight raspy tone to it. Arton had gotten a lot faster thank to his training with Izayoi but right now there was no way for him to take out any targets in the air. He only prayed that all this commotion did not attract the attention of a Blight-Beast larger than what they had been dealing with.