Handmaidens!

So, I’ll give you a little bit of context for the Architect-Knight. I’m sure Tsane already has this on lockdown, but bear with me.

The Dark Chivalric Period (characterized by the reign of Queen Aria, who was the Dark Dragon in disguise, as you well know) was a period of strange adventure and Outside-based prosperity. (You may here note that the Khaganate’s aims and methods are strongly modeled off the DCP.) The Architect-Knight was Aria’s right-hand woman (and, yes, more than that), and the series of quests that ultimately gained her that hammer were one of the great triumphs of Aria’s Questing economic policy.

It was also a trap laid by a wicked and vengeful intellect. The hammer’s architectural marvels, the accelerated way in which it constructs and breaks down doors and walls and pillars, all rely on weakening the fabric of created reality. Each one is a facsimile of true creation, a hollow shell over what should truly exist. Aria had hoped to one day make the world hopelessly dependent on the Architect-Knight’s craft, only to tear it all down in a moment.

This is why the Stacks are uniquely vulnerable to her, as something mired in unreality.

Anyway, I’m sure this won’t be a problem. Keep fending off the Rootwalkers, who would very much like to follow the Architect-Knight through the door she’s made, swarming into the Chrysanthemum (which is, you may remember, sacred to Heron).

If Kalentia was here, she’d be very useful— which, of course, must be why she is not here.

---

Eclair Espoir!

Mayzie jumps a little, a flush coming to her cheeks as she flicks her stylus out of sketching-mode and into shorthand-mode (which is, of course, another wickedly sharp reminder of childhood). She slides behind a turned-over table, but then proceeds to poke her head out so often that she might as well be completely out in the open. As if she can’t decide between safety and adventure, for all that she’d claim she’s made that decision.

The crowd has largely done the same; many of them seem to be under the impression that this is a very entertaining floor show, up to and including the Rootwalker that just tumbled down through the door in the ceiling. Unwholesome, untidy things, those; the Order of the Aurora helped stem the tide when they flooded the homehubs of the Avel.

Any minute now, someone’s going to notice that a real Rootwalker is actually here. And that more are trying to fight their way through this very awkward door. And that Vespergift’s worst nightmare is coming to pass.

---

Yuki!

Anka Arju-Wajz, who is playing the part of Suli’s agonistes here, has also drawn her heartblade in order to cover the downed woman. A threat is on her lips; her tail lashes with agitation at the danger, the peril, the thrill in that roar. She is a dangerous, athletically capable, and talented woman.

This, and the ancient bans that still bind Aria Thendragon, save her life. For the ancient queen does not fling her at terminal speeds across the Chrysanthemum, but merely sends her ragdolling into open air; Anka twists and tumbles down several stories, eventually hitting the water with her limbs tucked in and her head lifted.

"Pathetic,” she rumbles. Talons limned with the light of her heart push smoothly through her skin. "You lost already, Elm. Now it’s my turn.”

Magasha calls up fire from the jewels she wears, but is distracted from commanding it by the table that Aria rams into her stomach. Fire descends like snow onto the crowd as Magasha flails her way down the stairs, who are stampeding up and down the staircase away from this scene.

Timatheo tries to get around her, quick as a shade, and she sweeps a leg low to catch him at the knees, then breaks a chair casually over his back.

This leaves Pasenne, quaking, rattling, staring her down as this monster rolls her neck. Pasenne might buy you a moment more to run away with Hazel. You bought you and Suli and Hazel that much time, after all.

She came along because you vouched for her.

(But also, read on.)

---

Cutie!

The Nagi who’s seized you turns to flee, and then finds the tip of a thin— one might even say dainty— heartblade at her breastbone.

“I must insist that you release my associate,” Alcideo says, and only the pulse at his neck betrays that his coolness is just a facade. “Let’s not have any unpleasantness; Management is already on their way.”

He’s got this the wrong way around (hasn’t he?). He’s trying to save you from being saved (but do you want to go with her?). He’s distracting Yuki at a moment where she’s distracted by the woman whose voice is bass-boosted and the fire falling out of the air, and he’s so focused on protecting you that he’s putting himself in danger.

If he ran now, he’d be safe.

This wasn't...this wasn't how Thellamie was supposed to work. Everyone fought with Heartblades! And, sure, a kick or a shove, or uh whatever happened with the skateboard firecracker paint thing back in Crevas. But not this. This was brutal. Anka had flown off the building! And Timatheo was, okay, hopefully? The chair was weaker than his spine, but, but what if it hadn't been?!?!?!

Part of Yuki wanted to just run and hide. She hadn't signed up for broken ribs and months of rehabilitation! Hazel certainly hadn't! In that brief instant, her heart simply wanted to get her and Hazel out of Thellamie right now. She's already defeated one star, how much can this world demand of them?! Dimly, she registers that something is happening behind her that would make it difficult to run and hide with Hazel, but her facing and her focus had been to make sure that Walking Elm and Aria were both in her clear view, so she's not actually looking at where they're all standing.

No, her focus now is on Pasenne. Poor, brave Pasenne who hasn't made an attempt at anything yet as her tail rattles with fear. Pasenne, whose talent is making a good cup of tea and doing excellent makeup and looking great dressed as a slave girl for her disguise. She doesn't deserve any of this, and she certainly doesn't deserve to get yeeted off a fucking roof! Whatever's happening with Suli and Hazel, they'll have to deal with it and make their break to safety. Yuki can't afford to turn around now. And whatever part of her heart was quailing grows silent in the face of her outrage.

Yuki lets out a primal scream she didn't even know was in her and lunges towards Aria Thendragon, ripping her heartaxe towards the side of the monster at full sprint. "What the hell?!" she shouts without ever stopping, learning from Anka's moves that her speed is the only thing keeping her from getting her chest caved in.

"Who the fuck even are you?" She pivots on her foot at full sprint, slides behind Aria and kicks away from her, ripping her cloak off in the same motion to block Aria's view and free up her movement. She launches herself away from Aria and in the opposite direction as Pasenne and Suli, praying she's too far for the counterstroke that could send her flying in one blow. But she doesn't keep going to safety. Instead of running away further, she turns again, using a neighboring wall to kick up and and twist herself towards Aria again. She's moved to be ready to bring down her axe with all her momentum in case Aria sprinted after her. Her muscles flex as she goes almost four feet in the air, her tail whips behind her, and her armor gleams in the evening sun as she comes back down with a rattle and a thunk. She stands and hefts her long heartaxe, the only thing that's actually bitten this monster.

Yuki's lungs are burning and her hair is gleaming with sweat as she raises her face to the monster that's threatening her friends. Her ears twitch, and she manages to pull a thin, feral smile across her face. "You want someone here?!..." she speaks through heavy breaths as she keeps on the balls of her feet to dodge whatever's about to be thrown at her and prepares to run back in again. "You go through me, bitch!"

[Entice: 6+2+2=10.]

Injimo!

"You're thinking about this too hard," said Injimo placidly, ignoring the destruction taking place behind her. "It's simple. Anyone could be a shapeshifted fox, any sense could be an illusion created by a malicious sorceress, any opponent might be an immortal with a plan centuries in the making. Asking questions is a waste of time. The only truth that can't be faked is the truth of the blade."

She shifted her stance, arcing out wide, tracing the tip of her spear through a loop of electricity - and then pulling the entire web tighter.

"To the victor, answers," she said, pulling the knot of the lightning thread tight around Eclair's tea-station.

Tsane!

Tsane loved her grandfather.(1)



"Do you think," she suggested to Cair, "you could go and get some sort of lightning grenade or scroll or something?"
"Fresh out!" said Cair brightly. "Heron was carrying most of those, and those she wasn't got broken down for elemental essences."
"How about ice?" sighed Tsane, rubbing her temples. "We can take advantage of all of these water effects with frost magic, right?"
"Oh, for sure!" said Cair. "I've got an entire crate of blizzard staves back here. Heron fought an entire army of guys armed with them."
"Then that'll have to be good enough. If we freeze enough of them we can stack them into a wall and that should buy time for Injimo to get back," said Tsane. "Which seems to be the only plan we're capable of following."
"Hey," said Cair. "Maybe Heron comes back instead?"
"She's not coming back," snapped Tsane.
"Sure she is. She always comes back when things are getting dire. I've seen it a hundred times!" said Cair happily, pulling open the lid of a massive blue treasure chest to reveal a trove of sapphires and twisted ashwood. Enough to plunge the Stacks into a new ice age.

[Overcome: 9]

"Mmm. I disagree, utterly."

Rise out of seat, drain cup without slurping. Snap gesture, barrier magic around tea set. A summoned item, rather than a magically created one: it is not permissible to see it destroyed or damaged. Threat determined, priorities established - do not allow the diners to come to harm. Do not allow a mess to be created, or failing that at least minimize its impact so that it may be swiftly cleaned later. Do not allow this bitch the satisfaction of successfully baiting me.

Eclair places one hand over her heart and closes her fingers around the forming hilt of a heartblade. She pulls it free without flourish, this slender curving sword with its iridescent gleam coating it from tip to simple cross guard. She flips it over in her hand, spins once on the balls of her feet, and throws it full force at the spot where her barrier is being crushed by the lightning web.

Sparks fly. Her own barrier wobbles and shatters under the force of her blow, and she rushes in during the flash to pull the table away and preserve her teapot and the remaining supplies and dishware. This is not enough to save them, but it does buy just enough time to unsummon the set before the trap can swing all the way closed. Nevertheless a stain on her honor; she has been forced to rescind an offer of tea without offering an apology.

In the meantime, her heartblade ricochets off the impact zone and spirals up into the air where the edge of the blade almost bites into the ceiling. It sails over the net that still has Eclair boxed in and neatly slices the Rootwalker in two. She allows her eyes to briefly flicker over to the strange door all of this madness had appeared from to mark how many more, if any, had come following after to this point. With a sigh, she puts her hand back over her heart and summons the blade a second time without any variation to her technique.

"Logic is the blade that can defeat all forms of deception or sorcery. The mere fact that someone would lie to you at all, or involve you in some centuries-long scheme is itself a valuable piece of information. Take for example yourself. On the surface you appear to be dodging attempts at interrogation but with only a minor amount of inference and questioning I can paint a relatively vivid picture of your situation.

"You are familiar with me by name but not by reputation. You furthermore believe you have cause to treat me as a threat, and you believe this so strongly you are willing to endanger non-combatant diners and waitstaff for the sake of maintaining focus on the clearly more dangerous opponent. However! In your continued insistence on delay tactics where you would be better served by offense (were I such a threat) I can safely conclude you believe two more things: in the first that I am better than you, and in the second that this makes your job something more akin to an advance scout. You intend to twist your defeat into mine by discovering a weakness in my technique or tactics. This proves that you are a woman of intelligence who ultimately agrees with my beliefs."

Eclair buries her sword in the tangle of the lightning knot and twists until the threads of electricity pull wide enough apart that she can hurl a light-infused (and hastily wiped down) fork through that space and impale a second Rootwalker as it stumbles through the portal.

"However. Your stance is imperfect. Your feet are pulled closer together than they ought and your toes are pointed slightly inward. It is not enough to break your technique (which is impeccable), but in connection with the tension with which you hold your spear I feel confident enough to make this assertion: you do not believe your partner is going to arrive. Whether you have accepted this or not, Princess Heron is not coming. Is something delaying her? Or are you off mission? That is the question on my mind. And with that question in mind I am offering you this second opportunity. You refused my offer of tea, but will you at least lower your barrier so that I may defend these people without restriction? As I am without my armor and my skateboard escape is quite impossible for me to begin with, and if your goal is strictly to ascertain my capabilities and proclivities you are certain to learn more working with me in this moment than against me."

Three paces to the left. A quick turn of the head to ensure Mayzie's safety and continued cooperation. A single, very stubborn and equally jarring hiccup that forces a hand to my mouth. Shake head once, twice. Resume grip on weapon.

"Simply getting out of my way is likewise agreeable. But no matter what, know this. Regardless of your actions or intentions I will arrive at the truth. And I will walk the path my vows demand to reach it, without fail."

[Defy Disaster with Radiance: 6 + 5 + 2 = 13. Risking personal mobility and managing with style]

Cutie breaks the surface, and gasps his first clean breath in what must’ve been hours.

He misses drowning.

The sounds. A startled shout, fast-fading. A heavy thud. A cough. A gasp. The sound of dozens, hundreds of people crying out and fighting to escape somewhere, anywhere. (It was farther away last time. This close, he can make out the waves of panic. He can hear the individual screams.) Something shatters, splinters, and he can’t turn to look, and he’s afraid to look, and his imagination fills in the gaps.

How? How did this happen? He was just bringing out a plate of cinnamon rolls. He only had a few minutes left in his shift. A lady, a pretty lady was smiling and laughing with him, and he can’t tell how much his heart is racing or fluttering. It’s all gone wrong. It’s all gone so, so wrong. There’s smoke. There’s fighting. There’s screaming. No, roaring.

Yuki?!

Racing. His heart is definitely racing. It’s not making them leave any faster. It doesn’t seem much to care.

She’s different. This isn’t like when she misses the dodge roll and the boss only had a sliver of health left. She. She’s angry. He’s never heard her so angry. He still can’t turn to look, but he can hear as well as ever, and a hundred AMVs tell him what she, what Yuki must look like right now. What she could look like. (The tray? No. No. It’s too far away. Can’t go back for it. Maybe make her another treat afterwards. Say something now. Now. She needs you to say something. She needs you to be there for her. Do it. Talk. Say something. She needs you. She needs you. You have to say something. Say something. You need to. You have to.)

Cutie is still. Cutie is staring at scales. Cutie is silent.

Walls of coils press in on all sides, gently, as they carry him away. Hugging him close. Shielding him from. All this. Behind them an axe sings and a leopard growls, and they know Yuki is still on her feet and fighting.

Cutie snuggles in deeper. Even though he doesn’t deserve it. It’s just. Instinctive. The coils. They’d do it for anybody.

And then they stop.

And his heart freezes.

(Say something. You have to.)

“‘Deo, please.” He’s fighting to keep his voice from cracking. He’s fighting to keep his eyes dry. “You’ve got to get out of here. Get everyone in the cafe out of here. Through the back halls if you have to, just get them as far away as you can. I,” There’s a thousand things to say. There’s no time to say anything. There’s no room to get it wrong. “I’m sorry. Tell Miss Yaz it’s not her fault. I’m going to be okay. I promise. The one with the axe?” Be strong, Cutie. Be strong like her. “That’s Yuki Edogawa. She’s my friend.”

(He doesn’t deserve this. Not him.)

“Just, please, Deo. Go. I’ll be okay.”

Handmaidens!

I do regret to inform you that, given your circumstances, you'll be able to freeze all of the Rootwalkers in the room, but if you don't do it from outside the room (say, inside the tearoom where Injimo is having so much fun), then you'll end up freezing yourselves, too. (This isn't fatal, thankfully; can you believe that in Yukisworld, people can't survive being frozen in an ice crystal if you have warm blankets and tea ready after the crystal's shattered? It truly is a bleak place.)

But it would be best practices to clamber down into the tearoom, pump the room full of ice essence, and in the process seal the door shut with more ice. Then you'll only have to handle the assassin, catch the Architect-Knight, and enter the Stacks by another route! Simplicity itself.

---

Yuki!

"Don't use your name," Walking Elm says from behind you, her voice still high and cheerful. As sweet as poisoned honey. "That's not information they need yet~!"

Aria clutches at her throat. For a moment, it's illuminated from within; starlight flecks her lips like blood. Things that are not muscles shift under her skin. Then she draws her lips back into a crazed smile, all for you.

"You are brave. A knight. I used to have knights like you." Her voice is a hoarse whisper, the roar gone. She pushes her starglasses back up her face, hunches down low. Her tail drags across the floor. "Heroes! I hate heroes." That word there, it reverberated with a second voice, one that is slick with mud and hate.

She comes at you like a comet. You sidestep, flick your axe out, and she slams into it, keeps coming. She catches you by the throat, smashes through the thin wooden wall of the cafe. You wrench free and careen into tables, smashing abandoned plates and teacups on your way down. But she doesn't press her advantage, she doesn't leap on you and give you a bad end, all claws and teeth and the sweet smell of death. She clutches at her face and cackles, hair spilling out between her fingers.

"What do they call you? The Rootfelling Knight? The Lumberjack-Knight? All the great knights have a title. Oh, what I would have made of you back then!"

Take a String on her; she imagines you among her court and its chains on her heart stir. (She thought she could inhabit a role and avoid contamination by the world, as if it would not enclose itself around her- right, Yana?) She is also giving you what she thinks you want: honorable combat between a knight and a monster.

Your throat aches. You are lying in broken porcelain. Take a Condition, too. You are facing Aria Thendragon, though you haven't gotten her name yet. You are fighting the champion of a Fallen Star, a dragon of rotting wood and light and command. Fighting her, in any context, is a very good way to pile up Conditions.

---

Cutie!

See, even I remembered this time!

Anyway, Yuki just got bull-rushed through the cafe window by that scary lady. No read on which of them is getting out of there. You'd really hope for it to be Yuki, but...

Alcideo doesn't say a word. He does do a duelist's salute with his heartblade (you never asked him if he could fight, did you), and he puts his trust in you.

Take a String on Alcideo. Go ahead. It's yours for the taking.

The snake-princess starts slithering in the other direction, heading upwards, just because the whole press of people is going down- and then she's stopped by a hammer slamming down onto the stairs, and a sudden wall bursting up out of the floor underneath that hammer, and then, oh, and then?

Cousin It from your Addams Family comes crashing down on top of the wall, except she's got bare arms, both of which grab the hammer and heft it up.

Dear damosel / death-delighting;
invasion I incited, / an influx of idiots
wood-worked / without will,
but bitches / my back do break.

"The Handmaidens harry me hence, hard-treating me. Come, carry this callow--" She breaks off, swings the hammer, shatters a heart-arrow the size of a bloody ballista-bolt (see, now she's got me doing it). On the other stair of the Chrysanthemum's helix, Yaz nocks another arrow. The Chrysanthemum is not helpless.

"So much violence, Hazel~" Walking Elm is following you, arms outstretched welcomingly. "What a fuss~ Why don't you come with me and I'll make sure both of these knights fix everything they've broken!" She smiles and it's radiant and perfect and you're holding your breath, aren't you?

"...ugh, my head," the Nagi princess groans, holding one wrist up to it. Her breath is coming hot and quick and her cheeks are flushed. You can feel the warmth in her shifting scales. You are holding your breath and not getting turned on at an unfortunate moment, aren't you? "What... are you... doing...?"

"Finding a happy solution for everybody," Walking Elm says, and the sun is behind her now, throwing her face into shadow. Above the two of you, another one of Yaz's shafts splinters into jagged shards of magic which fade away harmlessly. "I don't want to have to hurt anyone, believe me!"

And it sounds so much like she means it. She's a very good actress, after all.

---

Eclair!

"Everyone," one of the chefs says, banging on a pot with a ladle in order to get attention, and it's just misfortune that you're the closer one to that noise, isn't it? "We've just received word that we need to evacuate the building! The stairwells are unsafe, so if you'll all follow me through the staff entrance?"

Mayzie looks from the chef to you and then back to the chef and then back to you. "Come on," she hisses, standing up. "Now's our chance to get away from this mess, Miss Logic!" She's still got your notebook, and in this moment she's split as to whether to stay or to go whether you will or no.

If you had a String on her, you could pull it. But there are ways and means to get that sort of String in a moment like this, aren't there?

The floor beneath all of you trembles. Somewhere down below, there is yelling and the sound of smashed tableware. The sort of thing that every member of the Order instantly attunes to and itches to fix, isn't that right?

Sayanastia!

It is easy to become the axis on which the world turns. Too easy. Perhaps that was her sin.

All she does is present herself. No more than that. As much as her pride insists that that alone is all she is doing, the world reacts the way she knows it will. She needs draw no sword and give no speech and everything falls into its order, the order it is used to, arrayed against her, the Archenemy. Arrayed against...

She huffs what she resentfully knows to be a laugh. She thought she could get away with breath, thought that she could transmute it into an engine of destruction. Sure enough her breath out came with a flick of entropic void, vaporizing the left half of a loungechair. But the world long ago adjusted to the rhythm of her breath. The world long ago adjusted to the consistency of her opposition. The world long ago moved on from her rises and falls. The world instead turned its attention to novelty remixes like The End Dragon.

She can smell her, even from here. The stench of rotting wood, insects and compromise. Willing to settle for a filthy bog, swarming with microbactrial life and buzzing cicadias, as the only approximation of true void and true peace her feeble echo of a mind can conjure. Obsessed with her hatred of heroes and the backwards-approximations of them that were her knights. Hatred had been a trap so obvious that even she, Sayanastia, for all her blunders had never fallen in to. She'd raged and corrupted and ambushed and possessed and cursed and transformed, but she'd never hated Heron or Civelia. To do that would have been to take them into her heart, undoing the purity of her purpose, taking her eyes from the goal of universal nonexistence and lowering it to a pathetic tripartite romantic comedy. She could at least take solace that her decline had been one of tragic gravitas and...

Fuck. It was just fucking elegance again, wasn't it? Every time she thought about her downfall it came back to this absurd obsession with being elegant.

"Yana...?" said Cair cautiously. She did not react but for the elegant flick of a tail. "Nice of you to join us...?"
"The End Dragon is here," said Sayanastia. "A pretender and, worse, a failure."
"Oh. So, hypothetically if the Architect-Knight were to have gotten her hammer from the Stacks, it wouldn't have been a minor and isolated incident...?"
"What care I for she, chained to her rhymes by ropes of hair?" sneered Sayanastia. "A shadow of a shadow. No, I shall address my wayward puppet, and you shall clear my way."

Injimo!

"Looks like you were wrong," said Injimo with a smile. "Looks like my backup is here after all."

The enormous, looming shape of the Dark Dragon Sayanastia raises up behind Injimo, endless in her majesty.

And then it baps her on the back of her head with a wing. "And so shall you."
"Ow," said Injimo. "But also, rude?? I'm fighting a -"
"You are losing to a drunk who correctly guessed that Heron's arrival is not immanent," said Sayanastia. "Do not embarrass yourself further."
"But -" another wing-clip to the back of the head got the message across. "Ow! Okay! I'm going."
For a moment, Eclair Espoir was left face to face with the undivided attention of the Dark Dragon, the terror of the ancient world, the breaker of the first sun, the ruin of castles, she whose waking scream bought forth the terrors that would haunt the world for ten thousand years.

"I appreciated the parry with the teacup," she said, before leaving heralded by darkness.

As it turns out, time does not actually slow down when you go flying through a cafe. There's no time to lament the loss of the beautiful porcelain tea sets, now in shards all around her. No time to consider where everyone else might be and how they're recovering. No time to think of a complex strategy to lure this monstrosity somewhere without getting murdered.

Even so, there's a lot going on in Yuki's head right now. Her mind is burning and she still clutches her axe. Fear, despair and anger war in her head.

Fear of being injured by her opponent, of being laid up in a foreign place. Hers is a primal fear, the desire to run and hide because, well, who's ever been in a real fight before? Would this woman who seems to hold the power of a star truly hurt her so badly, perhaps even kill her if she makes a mistake?

Despair at a fight she could not possibly win. She does not believe that she can gain a victory here, not after that last blow, not after her axe has been so ineffective. Whatever she needs to win, she doesn't have it. Not this time, not here. The sword that she bore when she was younger glows with no light. It is dull, and it was rusted until she polished it. She bears it as a reminder of what came before, of the fun and joy and light that Thellamie held to her. But she's not that person now, and the skills of a fencer and a knight are not up to the task of defeating whatever she's fighting. She is, perhaps, beginning to have an inkling that this is a chosen of a star or some such magic, and she doesn't know how to combat that. She has learned no spells to sever such a power source, if any even exist.

[Yuki takes the condition Hopeless]

But even knowing that she cannot win, her heart is still stirred. This is the person who threatened Hazel. A villain who might have abused him. Who nearly tore apart her fellowship and would have hurt Pasenne and Suli! Her heart burns. And on top of that, she's being mocked? Threatened? What kind of person is this who imagines taking her and molding her into some title?! How dare! It is this that keeps her hands on her axe, keeps it materialized before her.

She uses her arm to balance the axe handle on the ground and puts one foot under her. She gingerly raises herself to bent knee, then to a stand as she brushes porcelain off herself. There was one more thing gently nibbling at the edge of her thoughts. The voice of the other woman, the flower one who had tried to grab Hazel. The voice is wondering what this monster has to hide?

She hefts her axe. "I'm sorry to tell you that I haven't earned a knight's title yet" she says, slowly advancing. Her legs are shaking too much to stand still and her voice quivers, but she can walk, slowly. Back through the path of destruction, away from people who might get hurt, things that aren't destroyed yet, the people she needs to protect. She breathes, a slow, long breath, and her nostrils flare. "Why did you try to kidnap the golden faun?" She says, taking another step forward. It is either that or flee and flee and never stop running.

"And why are you...why are you fighting like this? Where's your fucking heartblade to meet my axe? Is this really what you want for Thellamie? Or the queen you serve who told you not to talk? Cuz the Khatun might be a jerk, but I'll take her over this any day." She charges then, axe forward, hoping in her heart that something, anything comes to help her but unwilling to back off until...she's not sure. Until she knows her friends are safe maybe? Or until she's satisfied herself in this fight.

[Rolling to figure out Aria Thendragon: 5+3+1=9. This is a two question plus physical conflict roll, Aria gets to ask Yuki a question. My questions are:
What do you hope to get from the Golden Faun? How could I get you to fight with a Heartblade like Thellamie combat is supposed to work? and how could I help you deal with your problem?]

"...Mayzie."

Eclair stumbles when she steps forward into the space that used to be occupied by a lightning web. Without an opponent to focus on the alcohol reasserts its grip on her. It's a question of focus: control over her body, or her thoughts. Each took conscious effort and there was only enough focus in her right now for one. Her notes had never been more important than they are right now.

She grabs the second heartblade (the first that she had thrown) in her left hand, and lets the pair of them wrist against her wrists. Not even halfway to being serious; that at least was some manner of relief.

Frustration. Frustration. Frustration. An investigation where nobody and no circumstance would allow her to conduct a calm and plain interview. Minimal opportunity at best to engage in forensic analysis and evidence gathering. Even this simple trap, which only required her to spend three nights inside a house of leisure before she could collect her data, had chosen to simply shudder and collapse under the weight of unlikely legends all stuffed inside a comically dense and tiny box.

Irritating. She clicks her tongue against her teeth.

"In my room you will find a messenger bag next to my armor. Please place my tablet inside of it, next to my my pen and paper notes. You should be able to see a small black pouch with a golden butterfly clasp. Take it and keep it."

As apologies go, it's the best that she can offer. The majority of her requisition budget is inside; enough for one person to travel across Thellamie and, if they were smart and careful about it, to settle. It was meant to be used to source new teas for the Manor, but surely the Headmistress would not object to paying fair wages to a consulting detective on such an important mission.

She shrugs, and wobbles her way toward the crowd and the staff exit, which remains the cleanest path toward any other part of the Chrysanthemum.

"If you would also be so kind as to place your hand on the back of the right shoulder of my armor while you are in there, I would... appreciate that. That will disarm the trap I have placed and summon it to my person. The right shoulder only, thank you. You have performed admirably, in spite. In spite of my..."

A sigh.

"Being me. As per our arrangement, this marks the final time you are required to look upon my face. Thank you. I am sorry to have failed you so utterly and so repeatedly. Goodbye."

It should be a short walk down to the floor where the noises are emanating from. Find the mess and clean it, by whatever means necessary. Ignore the distractions. Ignore the nonsense. The investigation could continue as it ought to once the bath house was properly maintained again.

Cutie remembers to hold his breath.

…after the first breath.

It’s not as bad this time? His head does feel a little dizzy. The warm coils, the relief of Alcideo’s escape, they’re suddenly so, so tempting to sink into. And he’s distractedly aware every time the lady in the autumn dress takes an elegant step closer. But he can still think. He can remember to keep holding his breath. He can piece together that a faint whiff from far away must not be as bad as getting the full blast up close. He can see what’s going to happen if this Nagi has to fight two on one.

(Well. Nothing for it, then. Just one step in front of the other, Hazel.)

“Excuse me, could you please let me go? I can help.” He spends his stored breath to free himself. He doesn’t take another just yet. Cutie is a professional of Cafe la Faune. Never late to a shift, can’t be kept down by the odd spilled drink. With a one and a two and a zip and a bop bop bop, off goes his shirt, on goes his vest, and it does take him a little longer to remember how to properly tie a shirt into an impromptu mask. Then, he breaths again. And his head only stays a little bit dizzy. “I think her perfume does something if you smell it too much. It made me feel really loopy when she grabbed me. This seems to be helping?”

Funny. He’d asked for this shirt on day one. Some of the other hosts went about their jobs with only the vest and the very very very short shorts, but thank everything that wasn’t a requirement. Miss Yaz had told him so, told him that he was doing just as good a job in a shirt and vest. That he didn’t need to be that daring to make the customers happy. He wasn’t sure there was enough encouragement in the world that would make him wear that to work.

He stepped behind the Nagi, and took up his post. Between her and the autumn lady.

Well it’s a good thing he’s not working right now, isn’t it? If there was supposed to be a uniform for dueling, then his got lost in the mail.

“If you go ahead, I’ll hold her off as best as I can. Maybe try and get some distance too? I think that’ll help your head. Miss Yaz - I mean, the Nagi with the bow, is a friend too, she should back you up.”

Another crash of magical arrow meeting magical hammer.

“I practiced a bit with Yuki, no worries. If we’ve got them outnumbered, we might as well take advantage of it, right?”

He hopes that’s a good enough reason for the plan to be a good one. He can’t think of a better one. Squinting into the light, he puts one foot back, holds his hand ready, and focuses on the silhouette before him.

“Could you please just leave, then? I’m pretty sure nobody would get hurt that way.” His wrist itches. Now is probably a bad time to scratch it. “And, besides, I’m not really interested in being King? Or transforming anything? Really, it’s neat enough to be here.”

Thank goodness he practiced talking with Yuki while practicing with Yuki.

Yuki!

The terror of a bygone age in front of you takes her starglasses off for a moment. Behind them is light like sludge, like tears, like bile rising in a throat. Light that has curdled. Light that is capable of animating the bodies of the dead when laced with the flora that it is more closely attuned to.

O daughter of Yukisworld, the First Fallen made an elaborate system of magic because he was a fucking nerd. (Just ask Tsane.) He refracted his light into a dizzying series of essences, each one ripe with possibility, with secrets to discover, with unexpected edge cases and combo spells that not even he could have imagined. But each of us? We are peers to the magic of this world, and ours is alien to what our lost brother made down here. Even mine. One day, you might have the chance to really see that. But here's the magic of the Rot Star, the Poison Star, Spite themselves.

And for a moment, she looks lost.

"Why...?" It's a sigh out of floral psuedo-lungs. "I... there was... in the beginning there was... my knights..."

Then she focuses her attention back on you, and her rictus grin returns. "The why doesn't matter, squire," she hisses, and there's another voice underlying hers again. A wet, awful voice. She flicks out the arms of her starglasses and slides them back up her nose with her middle finger. "First comes the Wildwood. An empire of leaves and bones. Then, in the end, the mushrooms; and after them, nothing." She purrs that word like it's a pickup line (and that was her, not the wet voice rejoicing in leaves and bones).

She casually tosses a table your way, and your axe only barely cuts through it. Casual. She's relaxed about this, for all that getting nicked made her angry. She's not taking this seriously as a challenge, a duel, a battle against an equal. That's how you could do it (you realize, ducking another chair). She wants knights. She wants someone she could love to hate. She wants-

A roar echoes throughout the Chrysanthemum. Aria's head jerks up, and an awful laugh bubbles out of her. "So you're here, too. I'm allowed this. I'm allowed this!"

She turns and starts running. And once she's out of the cafe, that's when the wood starts growing out of her.

(You're still not satisfied? Well, her problem is that she's a corpse puppeted by starlight, with a personality so big that it still serves as the container of that light. You'd need to drain it out of her, then put your head together with Heron- or someone who's pored over her library- to fill it up with something else to sustain her, and even then you'd still have Bad Queen Aria to deal with, now free to pursue her goals to topple Thellamie free of a master. Or you could put her to rest.)

---

Cutie!

Ignore the dragon transformation behind your foe. (It's incredible, really. The speed of the growth, the way the branches curve like real ribs, the scary woman dangling from vines in the place where a real dragon would have a heart.) Her eyes are gold, her breath is sweet like apples, the way she sways is like the branches of a willow tree in the wind.

"Yes! Let's leave! Nobody needs to be hurt, just come with me!"

She reaches out, and somehow you manage not to take her hand. You rebuff her, in fact. (Politely, I'm sure. There's a good Cutie!) It doesn't matter whether it's just a step back or a defiant flourish of your Heartblade; it's enough that you, in this moment, reject her. Because she's dangerous and fake and you've got a Princess of Crevas fighting right behind you to protect you from people like her.

"Well." She sighs and draws her Heartblade, and it is thin and black and some sort of sap runs down the groove in the blade; the carpet hisses where a fat, sticky gobbet falls to the ground. "There is really no need to be difficult, is there?"

She lunges for your legs. You do not want to be pierced by that Heartblade, Cutie. It is very, very good at causing pain. The sap will spread in your veins and it will burn like ant bites and cramping muscles and you're not good enough to be here and you are never going to college. If she is the carrot (and I think we can all agree that carrots are vastly overrated as a root vegetable), that sword is the stick whittled down to a vicious needle.

Get stuck by that awful thing and you might just curl up into a whimpering ball for her to carry away.

---

Handmaidens!

It is an unfortunate truth that there is just enough glorious, showy empty air in the center of the Chrysanthemum, above and around that showstopping tree, for two dragons to have a battle- provided, of course, that they are quite willing to smash each other into either side of the spiraling helix staircases that run all the way up the sides of the tower. Or, for that matter, through the walls and into the cold winds outside.

But Aria (you know her, Yana, of course you know her, in your heart there is still a connection to this body, and you can feel the awful light that fills her up, and the weight of the bog that she wants to turn the world into, the petulant plan here at the end of all her clever plans of carefully orchestrated decay and collapse, long centuries past, but the light was never the source of the hate, that's all past life cringe married to the trauma of being killed) isn't much of a dragon, is she? A parody in glistening wood and flowering vines and white bones. But she's enough of a dragon to twist in the air and then flare her wings out, beating powerfully up towards her other self.

And here's the thing, darling Handmaidens: dragons are the bones of the world. The First Fallen convinced the slumbering coils of the dragons to be instead of roiling in not-existing. Which means that there's no room for two dragons here. Not in the too, too solid world. One needs to win.

Aria slams into the Dark Dragon like a kiss with fangs. Only room in a hive for one queen! Only room in Thellamie for one dream! And this sure isn't fair, two against one, given that the Rot Star's riding her veins, its light bursting against Yana's shadows, saying: you are small, and you are less than you were, and you will never have this glory again.

Heron would know what to do. But Heron's not here to figure out the option that a Paragon would choose.

---

Eclair!

You're as drunk as any kitty maid has ever been, here or anywhere else among the stars. But it's all sloshing about in your head. Your feet are certain and sure on the stairs, and that demands all the peerless focus of one of the members of the Order. You pass through the evacuation of the Chrysanthemum untouched, even as the pretty ladies and boys who work for smiles show off their training to make sure that no guest is getting left behind.

Your feet lead you, and they lead you-

Here.

Why are you here, a few steps to the left on this landing? Because, here, it leads into the backstage of a theater stage, to all the props, the costumes, the masks, because this is a Lunarian comedy that they're doing here, which isn't to say it's a comedy written by Lunarians but rather a comedy about Lunarians, and part of that is the exaggerated costumes, the over-elaborate dresses, the masks, the masks, each one hung up with care on the wall.

There's one missing.

She was here.

Eclair Espoir, do you dare take the space where there used to be a mask and put it over your own face?

Maybe this is the drink talking. But this is one of my temples. The magic trick makes new magic tricks, and this is one of them. You can catch a glimpse, here, if you act with holy irrationality. If you look out on the empty audience as Timtam would. If, for a moment, you are wearing the absence of her mask.

Either way, your armor settles comfortably onto your shoulders as you look at this empty space. Catches you up in a hug. It missed you, too. (I can say this here. Doesn't it make you almost believe it's better than being true?)

---

Yuki!

All the way back to you, sweetie. I'm not going to leave you dangling in the wind! Because Suli is the one dangling in the wind.

It's hard to get one of the Nagi to lose their, for a lack of a better word, footing. But Cousin It over there cheats with their magical hammer. A trapdoor with a slide leading right out into open air is just mean. You get to see Cousin It kick her right down into it, even as two dragons rage in the center of the tower.

And if I know anything about you, Yuki Edogawa, it's that you're not going to let your Sulochana fall. Not when you're watching her claw at empty air.

Yuki stands in the ruins of the cafe first floor. She’s more than a little stunned. What she saw behind those glasses. It had been like her light. She unsheathes her old sword for the first time since she had had them take it down from the ceiling of the great hall in Kel where they’d had it enshrined. They’d been so embarrassed when she came back that they’d let it rust. A monument of course, and it had been quite high up in a stone hall in the mountain, too hard for someone to get done regularly to polish, and besides it was the chosen one’s sword, it wasn’t supposed to rust! But they hadn’t looked closely at it either.

It’s still just a sword. She’s oiled and polished it now, no more brown spots. But just a sword. No glow. No strength or courage filling her heart and making her believe she could accomplish anything. Her time is past. But even so, behind those glasses, that had been just like her light. Only…only it was sick. How could that be? Did stars get sick? Was the star itself sickness? Could there be a starlight of sickness? Or was it that the monster, the…the dragon was sick and did something to the starlight in her?

She brushes a hand along the sword. It wasn’t sharp. She hadn’t sharpened it because she didn’t plan to fight with it. Because…because she thought that everyone in Thellamie fought with heartblades and because it seemed wrong to want to actually kill someone. She was fighting in a fantasy world where you didn’t do that. But were star-chosen dragons bound to the same rules? It didn’t seem like it. Thought she still believed in knights, right? At the beginning, she had knights. Did that make her a queen or a princess then? Or at least a noble of some kind. You only had knights if you were high-ranking, right? And that meant she fit into…something. Some place, some castle or fiefdom or, well, something. Yuki didn’t know, but there had to be something.

But then, what did that other voice mean, about the wildwood? And did the dragon want that, or just the mushrooms and the nothing? She’d heard about this kind of, she vaguely recalled. That was part of Heron’s legend, right? A dark dragon who kept trying to return the world to nothing. Was this the same dragon? Or uh…well, she looked up at the dragons battling in the skies. Could they both be the same dragon somehow? Thellamie had a long history and Yuki knew there were many stars and many cities and peoples, but it still seemed kind of weird that there would be multiple dragons all longing for the nothingness of the void. Like, that was a role that usually had one being fill it in most stories since it was kind of the big boss role. Kind of?

But then, did the dragon want that? She wanted knights, right? She’d fought Yuki like she wanted Yuki to be her knight. That other voice had called Yuki a squire as an insult, maybe a fair one since Yuki had claimed no title for herself. But the dragon herself hadn’t, and the other voice had kind of…like…disagreed with the dragon. The why mattered to one of them. Ugh, was that other voice the tall woman who had gone after Suli and Hazel or like some voice of the star speaking through them both or something?

Yuki sighs, tries to brush and pick all the scattered shards of porcelain off herself and achingly gathers herself to exit the wrecked first floor of the cafe.

Pasenne

Yuki is a bit caught in her own head and she isn’t in the open air right now. But you are. You were the only member of the fellowship who wasn’t attacked, not really. You were kind of near that flower one, but you had a veil over your face that caught most of the pollen and you slithered to safety when she started to charm Sulochana. You were planning a heartblade ambush maybe? You’re not sure, everything was very confusing and you weren’t exactly sure what Sulochana was planning there either, so you were hoping to let the wait staff kind of sort things out first and then help your mistress once you understood what you were supposed to do. You may also have been hoping that any of the other fellowship members would come back and tell you what to do, but that hasn’t happened.

Only, well, mistress ran up the steps and now you’re in the crowd and somehow half of her coils are dangling through a window in space. And so it’s up to you to catch her! You heroically throw yourself from the crowd, despite this putting your nearly bare chest and stomach on full display, and gallantly catch your mistress with your own coils. You’re a hero!

Two fingers, reach back and touch shoulder. Feel residual warmth. Allow for quiet smile, slightest tick of nostalgia. Thank you, Mayzie. Memories of you shall remain the only treasures worth holding onto in this accursed town.

Reach into apron pocket. Retrieve traditional notebook. For safety's sake, include color notes with observations taken at evidence site.

RED: Timtam was here.
BLUE: Working at Chrysanthemum? For Chrysanthemum? Possible implication of involvement up to highest levels of management. Best explanation for the procurement of my VIP ticket. Better than

Eclair looks up from her notes for a moment and frowns. She shakes her head.

Khaganate treasure. Although, thick Khaganate presence in establishment does suggest possible money ties. Raiders and houses of pleasure make for strong partnerships.

Mask missing from Lunarian-styled play held inside establishment. Style of surrounding costuming is a plausible match for Target's identity obfuscation tactics. Room cleanliness noted as exemplary, organization levels are beyond reproach. Odds of one mask among dozens going missing without active interference unlikely beyond the point of reason. I will say it again.
RED: Timtam was ABSOLUTELY here.
RED: Timtam has a connection to this place.
MYSTERY SCORE UPDATED: C+ → B-

Is it possible even that she was lying when she swore her oaths of service and sisterhood?
But then what reason would she have to invite me to come here herself?

Eclair blows on the ink to help it dry and flips her little notebook shut. She carefully caps the pen and tucks the pair of them safely away again before reaching for the twin heartblades poking up out of the ground in a crossing pattern in front of her.

There is... a song in the air. A Siren's temptations and the final musical act of a play, just on the other side of that curtain on the empty stage. All she need do is consign this place, which she now knows to be complicit in some manner of crime against the world, to its fate and she can cavort here with nobody to see her and have answers. Not speculation, she knows. Answers.

What point in decrying the lack of investigative opportunities when if the very next moment a chance to take the truth and kiss it comes along she simply walks away? What point in duty? When has she ever not been obligated to at least bend the rules of the Order for the sake of a case on its behalf? She has even already done so once tonight when she misused her requisition funding to help Mayzie. Is this not the ultimate expression of that fact? Now that she has her armor on, she!

Two fingers, reach back and touch shoulder. Three fingers. Four. Surface is cool to touch. Clutch tightly, as though to feel the hand that caressed this space not twenty breaths ago.

"Logic," she mutters, "Is the blade that can defeat all forms of deception or sorcery. I will find the answers hidden behind your mask when I pry it off of you myself, Timtam. Count on it."

Order of operations. Mustn't forget, order of operations. The cleanup comes first. The investigation follows after. After all, she need only wait in this city for two more days, and the truth would come home to see how she was doing.

Heartblade one, taken in left hand. Heartblade two, taken in right hand. Flourish, hold blades apart. Stance, tips pointed apart at 180 degrees of separation, blades held parallel to ground. Bring hilts together, join into twin-sword. Hold resulting polearm in left hand. Draw longsword from scabbard with right.

And now Eclair, walk. There are messes to be cleaned. There are people to be helped. There is a single faint glimmer of respect and trust that must be protected at every cost to yourself.

Farewell, foolish opportunity. Tempt me not.

Sayanastia!

Damn it. She was happy.

Her entrance had been perfect. Her opponent had been respectful. She had not found herself immediately overmatched, destroyed in moments by an interlocking sequence of relics, handmaiden curses and secret techniques. The fight was proceeding downright languidly compared to her battles with Heron, and she dispersed into that time like salt in water.

Take the first clash as an example - thoughts running in the long, languid seconds between pounces. Teeth, she had long ago learned, were ineffective as primary armaments against anything but the most overmatched opponents. And yet The End Dragon had come for her baring hers, looking to grapple, bite, and break. The correct response would have been to hate her to death, pouring so much raw contempt into her glare that the lesser being instantly ceased existing. The first time she'd fought the Hero of Ages that had been the only attack she had utilized; every few seconds obliterating one of the hero's companions. The only thing that had saved the worlds was the sheer number of friends Heron had bought to the battle. She had not left with any.

It was a simple thing to do, even now. Less than a technique, less than a spell, all it would take was a flicker of the feeling and then this whole situation would be over. The light of the Stars would go out, and the Dark Dragon would be alone.

But oh how delicious it is to, instead, hit her opponent in the jaw with her tail. To flow backwards, tail wrapping around that jarringly-shut muzzle, pulling tight and then flicking her opponent away like a gnat to smash dramatically into the side of the great tree. A technique she had once suffered from the Saffron Dragon, another of Heron's companions from a later age. An arrogant duelist who had thought that the techniques she had spent developing for single combat made her Sayanastia's peer. Look now, Saffron! I performed your vaunted technique without practice or preparation, to better effect than you ever managed! An elegant move, flawless from conception to execution, one to crush and humiliate The End Dragon. A small victory, one to revel in.

And one that took her one subtle step further away from the hatred that would end the fight.

Her next technique was elegant too - a whisper of cutting void that undid the force of The End Dragon's wings, sending her opponent plunging into stone and rock. It was something she had picked up from how her void toads caused miniature shockwaves to knock flies from the air, and wasn't it such a clever use of the mechanics of air pressure and entropy? And then it is time to use one of Heron's tricks - obliterating a conceptual distance set, meaning that when she raked her talons through the air cracking grooves shattered the exposed bones of The End Dragon. It was beautifully done. So beautifully done she let herself preen, and select yet another of her accumulated techniques to reveal, rather than use the move that everyone knew she had and meant nothing more than that she was still the Dark Dragon.

Her opponent's light screamed that she was lesser than she was. But look! She didn't know how to do this before! Or this! Look at all the beautiful things she knows, the wisdom and power that age has granted her. And after I have shown you all of these techniques, then perhaps I will show you that I am also still the Dark Dragon on top of all of that, and obliterate your humiliated wreckage so that you never trouble me again.

But... perhaps I don't even need to do that. Perhaps the humiliation is enough, and you will eventually learn that there is no benefit to rising against me. Perhaps when you fall, I will let you regain your strength. You can test mine as many times as necessary because I go to war knowing that, at the end of this diversion, I am still the Dark Dragon. And I can undo you simply by hating you. It would only take a second. I just need to... stop being happy first.

[Fight: 6]

In an empty field back on Earth, tucked away off the beaten path in the woods, there is an old stump, and there is a patch of clover. If he was standing by the clover, and Yuki was farther than the stump, he was safe. If she was any closer, and he wasn’t ready, she’d get him. It’s a distance he’s gotten quite familiar with. It took him an awful lot of afternoons getting got to get acquainted with it.

The autumn lady’s hand reaches out. Past the stump.

Cutie’s hand closes around the outline of a hilt. In one motion - like he practiced! - he draws forth the outline of a sword, and doesn’t swing it wide and dramatic-like, but remembers to stop when it’s properly centered. When he could see her through the blade.(1)

Yuki had said duels were scary. Sometimes a good scary! Sometimes not. As she’d told him of more and more of her adventures, he only now realized he’d forgotten to ask if they ever got *less* scary. Had her stomach tied itself in knots before she jumped into action just a minute ago?

“Woop!”

And that’s all the time he has.

He blocks low to ward off the lunge as he takes a half-leap back. Thank you, Yuki, for picking a sword that did lunges for him to practice against. Thank you, Yuki, for letting him practice with you long enough for him to ignore the instinct to keep running away from the scary venom sword. (Thank you, Yuki, for letting him hear stories of a brave knight-in-training, who stood her ground and fought for her friends.) Though the thanks will have to come later. Right now he’s trying very hard to keep breathing.

Cutie plants his feet, swipes back, and only yelps a little bit as he barely catches her counterstroke. “To be faIR! Your knights -eep!- are breaking everything,” sidestep, lean, but back to the center. “And hurting people badlYYY,” he can’t get pushed back. Hold his ground. “And putt-woah putting all our guests -woop! hup!- in danger,” swing when he can. Remember to make her defend too. “and you're trying to king, kidnap, king and kidnap me!”

A clang, a feint, a twist, and their swords lock, striving to push the other back.

“I think those are some pretty good reasons to be at leastalittledifficult!”

A knight of Kel would beat her. Cutie can at least hold her here. He has to.

[Rolling to Defy Disaster with Daring, like Yuki would. Cutie is risking his own composure, remembering the duel and forgetting the heart: 4 + 3 + 0 = 7]

Aadya!

It's no choice at all, really.

Even before you saw Juniper helping lead people away from the Chrysanthemum, across from the holy monastery of Vesper Victoria's, you knew that you had to get involved. So it's as you're making your way inside, using your bulk to work against the tide of people breathlessly yelping about dragons-- fire-- the trees coming to kill us all-- maid knights--

That's when the front of the Chrysanthemum explodes.

The beautiful murals, broken. The supporting beams, splintered. (One falls directly towards you; you catch it like a training weight.) The Serigalamu huntresses all about break down streets, herding fleeing customers and employees and the goblins of a petting zoo alike towards safety. (They didn't do that in Crevas. Something to note.)

When you run inside, you're accompanied by two other women: Juniper, her face pale, and a Serigalamu woman with a drawn heartsaber. Across the street, Sayanastia the Dark Dragon is pinned against a statue of herself by this city's worst nightmare. And across the city, bells are tolling: invasion. forest. our nightmare is here.

---

Cutie!

Back and forth! One and two and hop! The two of you dance across the platform, even as something unfortunate happens to Cousin It above. Everything is focus! You slip into the rhythm of evading her stabs, start reading her tells, because for all that she's a peril, she's not a spontaneous swordfighter. Like a video game opponent, she fights like someone with a preset list of moves. She's got the reach on you, but you are adapting admirably, and then she manages to fence you in, against a bit of remaining banister on these great big stairs, with quite a drop behind you, but you see the opening and you take it--

Her wicked weapon tumbles out of her grasp as you twist it away, and it descends to the floor. (Don't worry about it falling tip-down. That's fine. Probably.) And now, disarmed, having lost the battle, she...

Reaches up and pulls down your makeshift mask.

Time seems to slow. Behind her, you can see Yuki. You can see your would-be Nagi savior being helped up. You can hear something unfortunate continuing to happen to Cousin It.

She is cradling your chin and leaning in.

You wanted a hard choice, little Golden Fawn? Well, one way or another, you've got one, because here's what you can do:

• you can stab her in the ribs with your sword, without hesitation, just show Yuki that you're capable of actually stabbing someone, to protect yourself, stab someone who doesn't have a weapon, someone dangerous, her eyes full of light, her lips rich and full, OR
• you can let her kiss you.

Show us all who you are, Cutie.

---

Yuki!

So you stagger out of the wrecked cafe, exhausted, and notice a lot of things:

• the giant hole where the front of this building used to be, and the way that the wind's pulling chrysanthemums out from that great big tree in the center of this place, in a rather unnatural way
• the awful woman who gives you the bad vibes leaning in to give Cutie there a kiss
• the Serigalamu huntress in a gaudy tiger-striped one-piece bathing suit and starglasses who is pulling a heartbow back to her cheek, aiming at the both of them, that's right there's a new challenger here, taking aim from a lower and now mostly-abandoned turn on the stairs
• Pasenne heroically pulling Sulochana back up onto (for now) stable ground
• your friend Eclair grinding on the face(?) of Cousin It with her skateboard

I think you have plenty enough to be dealing with. Good luck, dear; you always do shine under pressure.

---

Eclair Espoir!

The Architect-Knight is a figure from ancient stories, a dependable henchman and lackey for Bad Queen Aria. Any story about plucky knights deserting from her ranks (including the ancestors of the Order of the Aurora, looking for something good and true to serve rather than the emptiness in Aria's heart) wouldn't be complete without their being suddenly fenced in by walls, by cells, forced to escape a prison-labyrinth being built up all around them. (Fortunately, almost all of these "dungeons" were demolished, and good riddance.)

She is a nightmare. She is unbreakable loyalty given to a monster. She has really let her hair go while she's been imprisoned.

And she is at the beginning of a combo chain.

Time to start cleaning up around here, isn't it?

---

Handmaidens!

Well. Hrm. That big tree there has become a very bad problem. Even with its roots sealed away, even with all of those paper talismans dangling from its branches, even with all of those iron bands around its trunk, somehow the poison of the Rot Star has entered into it. It's obviously starting to die, but it's releasing hundreds-- thousands?-- of blossoms into the city through the hole that was made when Sayanastia got bulldozed through the front wall. That is almost certainly Bad. But you're the Handmaidens of Heron! Which will make your impending failure to contain them even worse.

Also, you're getting a pinging from Kalentia in the group chat at the same time, because apparently she's in the middle of a collapsing dream-prison that had some sort of awful evil tree magic bloom at its heart, looking for her, and you all should watch out for Rootwalkers or things of that nature! It looks like a Fallen Star is making a big move, so be ready for that!!

They call her the Violet Flash. This is why.

Owing to height and weight advantage, opponent will attempt hammer blow from above head, at left. Dodge in direction of swing, use drafting to follow in semi-vacuum behind, swing around and run up length of arm. Roll heartblade at center of balance along wrist, cut at thumb, forearm, elbow, bicep, and shoulder. Rise into air, crash down with sword. Momentum presses body up again, use to dodge counterswipe. Fall again with heel kick plant weight on opponent chest and push to floor.

The Architect-Knight is a dangerous opponent and the largest single threat to the Chrysanthemum if left unchecked. In this exact moment, she is an extension of Eclair's skateboard. The pair of them slide across the floor toward a decorative fountain while Eclair whirls her opalescent heartblade all about her with the air of a fire dancer.

If Yuki Edogawa has a moment to watch this, she will note with whatever degree of interest she finds appropriate that none of these apparent blows have landed on Eclair's opponent. Instead they knock debris and porcelain into a single neat pile toward the wall, push furniture to the side and upend it into the sort of formation a restaurant would choose at closing time, as well as purge the dust from the area she crosses as she goes. She stomps her foot at the last second and flips off of the Architect-Knight.

It is necessary to put herself underneath the opponent in time to knock her into the sky and bat her back down into the water without damaging the masonry. Eclair lands lightly on the lip of her skateboard and flourishes with both weapons.

Single breath, apply Light enchantment to extend size of heartblade for exactly three seconds. Kickflip with board to gain air, aim swing on left-to-right diagonal down to redirect hammer blow into water. Resulting gate should wash unaccounted for rootwalkers down from upper level, dagger, dagger, dagger at one, six, and eight o'clock positions to finish. Land, heelgrind, push away and repeat climb on opposite arm. Denied full feeling in limbs, opponent will attempt shoulder check. Plant swordarm on neck and perform somersault to strike at back of opponent's head.

At some point during the action, Eclair has managed to tie a large white cloth to the tip of her tail. She defends it with strategic sweeps from both her heart and metal weapons, picking up momentum as she goes. All that wet hair is perfect for a mop. Her tail-cloth follows behind, drying the errant splashes and wiping clean the grime and bits of disgusting plant matter from the walls' many murals.

She drags the Architect-Knight across the length of the cafe twice over, and though she is not such a miracle worker that she can repair the gaping holes left by dueling dark dragons, she has at least left the rest of the building so pure that this is the only damage of note. For the moment.

"A paltry effort. I cannot continue to call myself a Maiden of the Aurora if I do not at least double this output. Do you have more to say, or may I move on to the next crisis?"

Eclair clicks her tongue with distaste. She polevaults off her heartblade to let her tail reach a stubborn spot on the ceiling before landing with a curtsy.

[Defy Disaster with Daring, risking her own physical wellbeing (and reputation, one supposes): 5 + 4 + 2 = 11. If Fight is more appropriate I will switch course.]

Tsane!

Rootwalkers - she sleeps. The whole point of being a monster researcher was in drawing proximity to power, and these guys weren't it. But Rootwalkers directly empowered by the Rot Star? Now that's Real Shit.

A Rootwalker is just a template, one which can be upgraded in a dizzying number of ways by magical manipulation of the plants growing on its back. Poison explosion fruits obviously, but also shield bubbles that protect nearby zombies, acceleration spores that send them into frenzies or repair their damage. And worse, they were then layered into precise ranks and formations by their superiors, forming interlocking puzzles of boons and curses and effects. Disassembling an organized, empowered Rootwalker formation was somewhere between jenga and sudoku and Tactical Terrors: A Guide To The Fourth Age had been filled with hundreds of illustrations of example formations and the proper sequence of attacks that would cause them to unravel. Little Tsane had spent many long afternoons standing pensively in the yard, looking at formations of plush toys wearing various roses, daffodils, posies and tulips to denote their various types as she pondered the order in which to kick them over.

Fairly often, Grandpa Rurik had been made to stand in these formations wearing little flower-crowns Tsane had made. Sometimes he tried to ham it up, change the puzzles or offer suggestions, but she'd usually just glared at him and told him that the rules said he had to wait his turn.

She'd never got him to settle as a kid. For a man who stayed inside and made dresses all day he sure did hate standing in one place. At the time she'd considered it a frustrating distraction from the real game, but now she was here again, getting to play her childhood game for real - and once again grandpa was messing it up by not standing where he was told.

She could see what he was trying to do. He wasn't stupid. If all of these zombies were weakened, and all of those ones were wet, then the entire formation would come apart in a moment with a single blow from Heron. Failing Heron, maybe Injimo could manage it - but that was the hardest of maybes. She didn't know much about what it took to deadlift anvils or whatever it was that Injimo did all day to get that figure, but she did know that Injimo fucked up often when she was put on the spot. And here Rurik was not even asking her, betting everything on either Heron coming back and nailing a one in a million shot, or hoping that We Have Heron At Home could avoid choking when put on the stand. WHERE AS. SHE HAD. FIREBALLS. FOR DAYS.

"Fuck it. Fuck this," said Tsane, rolling up her sleeves to reveal the glowing magical glyphs drawn on her arm. "I am over it. It's long past time."

And she started blasting. Complete psycho mode, just prime and fire, blowing through bottles of spell-ink. Sometimes precise where she could afford to be, but otherwise if Rurik had messed with the clusters too much she just burned the whole puzzle indiscriminately. She was capable of it. Maybe if she showed it off more then people would start planning the damn battle around what she could do!

Yuki breathes. In, count to four. Hold, count to four, exhale, count to five. Even in battle, if the exhale is longer than the inhale, it stills your heart. In the press of rage, fear, and moment to moment reaction, she'd fallen back on her muscles. On years of training and practice, and a little bit of mental preparation and fantasy, and then a whole metric boatload of emotion driving her forward against every part of her body screaming in fear. But she breathes, and her tail balances her, and her ears twitch as her eyes flick about while she calms her beating heart.

Now that the dragon was gone, and she'd had a chance to dig herself out, she could look at what was going on around her. She probably should have been freaking out now, too. Like, vast dragons were doing battle in the air right out of a Godzilla film, the beautiful spa she had been staying in had been blown wide open to the wind, and multiple fights had broken out in the area as a bunch of plant zombies flooded into the place. That was good cause for freakout. Only...the comedown from fighting what had turned out to be an honest to god evil star princess dragon really overtook the rest of that. And in the time that she'd had to work her way out of the wrecked cafe, she'd had time to breathe and gather herself again. She was filthy, covered with porcelain dust, bits of what must have been sticky sap from where she'd wounded the dragon (holy shit, she, Yuki Edogawa, had wounded a dragon, omg omg). But even for all that, and everything crashing around her, she was calm again, and she could take in the situation for a moment, even as the situation flew past her.

First thing. Holy shit, that's Eclair again! She'd come here from Crevas too! Yuki was so glad she was okay. Yuki was...holy shit she was using that big dude with the hammer as a mop with a siiiiick grind, and yes she can see that this is somehow cleaning up the cafe even as Yuki makes her exit from the space. She really, really wanted to say hi to Eclair this time, but she's been flung around so much already today and Eclair doesn't look like she needs any help, so that can wait. But holy moly, gotta get sword lessons, gotta get sword lessons, gotta get sword lessons aaaaah!

Second thing as she reluctantly turns away from that. Suli and Pasenne are okay, at least okay enough. Hazel is also okay, but the tall plant girl who was maybe speaking through the dragon (still tbd on the voiceover there) is right there trying to hypno-kiss him and that's a problem. As is the Serigalamu taking aim at both of them.

Okay, split second decision, the Serigalamu doesn't get to take the shot. It might take out tall plant girl, but they're too close and she's not letting Hazel get shot. Also, like, Suli and Pasenne are recovering right there and she's counting on them to figure things out with Hazel, if she goes that way, she's just setting up the archer to get multiple shots. Further note to self, also gotta figure out this transforming heartblade thing, a throwing axe would be so good right now actually.

But no, no throwing axe for Yuki. "Hey new person!" she shouts as she tries to jump down to the Huntress. "What's you're deal?! Don't shoot my friends!" Sadly for Yuki, the only real way she's got to prevent that is throwing herself in the way with the jump.

[Rolling to figure out the huntress over crossed swords. 3+1+1=5. Question even on a miss: "who do you love?"]