At some point, he had walked into the flame.

That much he remembered. He’d been a patron in a blacksmith’s hut, closing out a purchase of paired swords. He had talked a while with the gruff Viera, her hair colored once blonde by birth, twice silver by years, and thrice black by the soot of the trade. She was an unfrilled sort, as they all tended to be. Their conversation was brief.

“You look as though you’ve seen a ghost, child,” the older woman noted, eye for detail scanning Rudolf’s face. She saw little that she found promising.

Producing the last clump of gil he had on his person, the Edreni watched the smith’s scowl deepen twice over as he explained that he more or less had.

“…Be that as it may. I still have to put food on my table.” A fair point. “And even for me, this isn’t enough gil to cover a rush order. Not unless you have the materials ready to go— and even then, the hour is late if you’re leaving Costa at dawn. You’re best served looking through my current stock. And I’ve no means of breaking the curse you carry on your back either— don’t waste your breath asking.”

Rudolf dared not waste anything, for he was down to skin and bone to spare.

The native weaponry of Drana was shaped to the needs of the land more than any other he’d met, perusing the wares— predominantly things like dussacks, falchions, machetes. Single, heavy edges, not terribly long or thin, but rather brutally robust fangs. The type made to bite through flesh, bone, and brush the same way with any given swing. In more ways than one, compliant with what he had made of the last five years. After a few testing hews through the straw dummy out back and a few minutes of back-and-forth haggling, he had settled upon his armaments, pockets now light and belt now heavy.

—He heard it, far away. The call of the sea. It came in waves, lapping against a shore. It came in wind, ebbing, flowing, threatening to take the light he bore in its chill. It came in memory— that which ruled this place, beckoning in voice unheard.—

They were called “Crane’s Wings”. He recalled that name being passed onto him after he mentioned he’d arrived recently from Osprey. Supposedly he would infer that the two heavy sabers (close to some breed of dao as anything else) would not only suit his pointedly athletic, fell-handed chopping swordplay well— but also that they themselves were best used with respect to the bond implied by their namesake, auspiciously guiding him to a long life and good fortune, should they never be parted.

“So the story went”, at any rate. Something of a shared legend or motif between the desert and jungle nations, passed into one of the latter's armaments. True to her nature, she simply noted the knife on his hip as a reason it might be more true for him and his ilk than another— and that Sagramori put more stock in such things to begin with. To any random warrior, they would simply be reliable steel.

Well. He would need all the help he could get.

It wouldn’t nearly be the first time he had sought it outside himself.

But he had walked through a flame to get where he was now. That was what it must have been, because there was a torch in his hand. A feeble, scarlet ember, faintly glowing against the yawning void around him, painting the rolling black with its dim ruddy hues— the color of old, dry blood. He had passed through because light was at his back, and he had taken it with him in this torch. Maybe the smith’s forge had been it. Maybe a bonfire

Regardless, there was only one direction to go. He could not chance his luck with the flame again, not if he wasn’t sure what he had done to survive it the first time. Even if he knew, he sure didn’t want to. He hated backing up. That was always true. And more than that, he had somebody to meet.

He trudged forward, spurred by the heat at his back and near his head.

One foot in front of the other, as the path way revealed itself from the gloom only five feet ahead, five feet ahead, five feet ahead, and his pocket of definement flickered. Salt on the breeze felt like spears through him. It tried to impale his flame, too, to steal it away and leave him awash in the mire, seeing nothing, feeling nothing, knowing nothing.

He held the torch close, draping his cloak over it when he felt the chill— and each time he did so, a thousand dispersions, like locusts within the dark cloud, tried to nibble and gnaw away at hi person until he thrust the light back into the void, and could walk again accosted.

The dark would rip him apart, like a body sinking through the sea. This place was where only the light gave him form, allowed him to even recognize what was him and what was not. Without it, he would be another dreg, sliding down, sliding down, falling apart, sliding down.

His path was descending. He looked over his shoulder. He could not see the light he had left.

This meager flame would need careful shepherding, to take where he needed. A gift from Himstus, keeping him alive even in the depths— how many sparks like this had been swallowed already? How was this place to be fathomed, with only a kernel of passion and drive to keep him warmed within it?

He could not turn away. The waves were closer now. A roar upon his ears, Danube and Ilias in chorus. Only…

No. He did not feel them here. Whatever he approached was beyond them, it had turned them away. He could feel nothing upon the wind that was like a nudge towards a journey— and this sea would not be clear as a mirror, or blue like the open sky. It would be black pitch. Like the one Galahad had confronted him over.

No prayers to either god would avail him any guidance, salvation, or protection. He gripped the old wood of the fragile torch tightly, and chose Imir.

His voice cast itself into the shadow, and was lost. Not even the faint echo of it bouncing off a seaside cliff or the trunks of dead trees he imagined at points—

It simply was swallowed, and torn apart.

He continued on. Now, there really was only one way to go.

With time, the beaten soil beneath his boots gave way to smooth stone.

…“With time,” he said, but what was time here? It was as if he were in Siren’s clutches anew, only he could draw breath without filling his lungs to collapse. He had no idea what time was. By the time he had thought to count his steps, the thought had been torn and shredded away from him, as the shadows danced with the flickering of the ember.

They were deep, long, twisted things. Pillars of ink and charcoal that swirled and boiled with each minute shift of his eyes. At times he believed he saw clouds within the cavorting black. At others, he thought he saw faces, eyes, staring at the lone spot of light he held before melting away with a silent laugh. He saw the Kirins among those. His family. His friends, new and old.

A billion faces wrapped into one. A blossom of many-knuckled fingers fifty hands wide, then flaying themselves down to black bone.

He too saw beasts. Demons. Monsters, wide mouthed and empty-eyed things that looked primed to pounce with each time the flames swayed. Saberteeth, dragons, chimeric things that flowed and melded into one another, and then lost form. His other hand crept to the first wing on his hip. Ferry him to good fortune. To auspicious days. He had fire, he had steel. They cut through beasts and darkness, they pulled man out of the turbulent chaos that surrounded him now— the breath of life, of intent, of civilization itself.

All were borne from Himstus’s gift of the flame to the weary soul. It was fire that warmed the heart, pulled steel from raw stone, brought the first light against the long, cold nights. He would cherish the fire he brought with him. With it, he would keep himself.

There was sand beneath his boots now. A sense of growing vertigo aligned with a vague, hollow feeling at his soles. His footing was dropping away. The sea was out of his vision, but he could hear it. As loud as it was on the boat. He was before a chasm. The abyss was held within

And he wasn’t alone.

He turned, thrusting his torch ahead as he walked along the edge of the crater. He dared not peer in. There was another here, and if he were to sacrifice his balance to stare into deep choking black…

I would not kick you in. Not when you are finally here with me. There is a journey I would see you through. It is my purpose to meet you at its end.

He stopped. At his boot, driftwood. Driftwood?

It was a log, one he could seat himself upon. He reached forward with the flame—

And tinder caught, as scarlet and black mixed before him in a sudden bonfire. His face was awash with heat and cold at once. His eyes narrowed. Across the flame…

You are at a passage. This torchlight will open the gate.

A silhouette much like his own, rising back to its full height, eye level with him. In its hand was a torch much like his own— only it blazed with the same umbral flame that he had coated his knife with, in ridding one of Siren’s many heads.

We will delve.

Who are you?

You know. And I will tell you, should you make it that far.

Delve where? There was nowhere to go. Nowhere to be in this place. This was a shroud cast over nothing.

He could not see its face. Not clearly. He could see a structure in the black-painted haze of its figure. The impressions of a nose line, a jaw, a brow. It wore a tall, conical hat, and a heavy cloak. One his mind tried to paint red.

His mind tried to paint much on its form. It shifted in impression with each impulse, each waver in his flame, each moment. It was Otto. Then it was him. Then it was Izayoi. Galahad. Citadel. Neve. Imre. Esben. Then it was everyone. Then it was none, as though he had to accept it dispersed.

It smiled, and pointed its light-drinking torch forward, across them. Between the two blazes, the same shadows that once danced around them seemed a frenzy, stretched by the pull of the blackflame like writhing, clawing tentacles of the demonic krakens that were said to tear ships and sailors asunder.

Rudolf turned.

Over his shoulder, over the edge, there was the sound of the swell breaking. Something immense rising from the waves beneath.

He could not yet see it.

He would not.

He stepped forward, towards the edge, fire and steel in hand.

He felt ice in his stomach, a ball of heavy lead. Pulling him down. There was nowhere left to go. He could not go back now.

Would this figure not lead him to ruin? His torch could barely handle the dark up here. In the abyss below even that, where no god’s favor could reach, where his torch would be snuffed as it had the last time the waves took him, would he not be torn apart until nothing remained?

You might. This is not for the faint of heart. But you are here regardless.

One foot dangled over void.

He had wings. He had steel. He had flame.

He could not know what was here, at the bottom of this untamed, godless, lightless sea. He only knew it was passage. Two whispers on the air… One urging him to stay. One urging him to go. He was…

Out of time. Choose.

He had one place left to go.

He leaned—

---

“...ake, child.”

“Huh?”

“You were dreaming. It didn’t look a good one. Have you nowhere to stay?”

He blinked, finding his new swords beside him as he was seated at a bench, facing the fires of the smith’s forge. He had meant to spend a moment there to take stock of what was left after the purchase. Rest a while too, after lugging around Eliane’s gun and babysitting the chocobos, but ended up transfixed by the flame within—

“Did you hear me?”

“No,” he breathed, gathering his things as he shook wakefulness back into his head. “No, I do have shelter. I’m sorry, how long have I…”

“Good then,” she huffed, ears twitching as she plucked a hanging sign from a nearby archway— and as his eyes followed, taking in the purple skies of sundown as she did so. “The hour is late. I would suggest catching up on your sleep there, rather than my closing place of business.”

“Right.” he rose inclining his head on the way out the door. “I’ll be off, then. Thank you for the new recruits.”

He knew he would return. Maybe not to here, but to where he had been. The thought was a cold comfort, as all unfinished business was wont to be.

"But of course, child!" Cid chortled, affording Robin a brief nod. "As I told the young lady here," A gesture towards Miina. "I am bound to all of the Goddess's holy ground, the price being that I cannot leave its bounds. 'Tis a simple matter for me to go between holy site to holy site. As for the undead monstrosity, well..." The priest trailed off, offering a shrug.

"It took no small amount of effort, but we did manage to fend it off. But that tale would take too long. For now, you all ought to continue on your quest as best you're able. Consult with me when you can via any holy grounds you find. I tend to know before long."

Before those gathered could leave, Cid called out once more.

"Oh and, Eve, my child: a moment, if you would please? We have some matters to discuss regarding your progenitor."

___

The next morning, Eve regarded the party with a solemn stare, having never gone to the inn with the party in favor of whatever long conversation she'd had with Cid.

"I'm sorry, but I won't be joining you from here on. Cid has...many answers regarding me. He can summon Eidolons, after all." She left the matter at that and bowed her head before taking her leave, though not without an apologetic glance back.

___



The boat ride upriver to Brightlam took three more days. During that time, the surrounding scenery changed from coastal town, to jungle, and then finally to a slightly more temperate forest as they approached the forest nation's capital. As soon as the Kirins disembarked from their transport, they were hurriedly ushered by stone-faced guardsmen towards the largest tree-building in the city, where the Grovemasters held council.

In comparison to the size of the tree that held it, the meeting chambers that Drana Asnaeu's three Grovemasters met them in was far more constrained, the three hooded figures sitting on carved stools overlooking the entrance.

"Miss Shadesbough and company." One of the Grovemasters, a female voice, spoke. "Please. Have a seat." A wave of her hand, and wood shot up from the floor in the form of stools, one for each Kirin. "We thank you for bringing Neve back, though she ought never to have left in the first place."

This brought a derisive scoff from Izayoi.

"At least she is trying to do something about both the Blight and the occupiers to the north. Tell me, do you intend to simply bury your heads in the sand and pray all of this blows over? Are you even aware of the truth behind this crisis?"

"Silence, warmonger!" A second Grovemaster, this one having the voice of an aged male, rasped angrily. "If you have something you believe we should know, you will say it with appropriate respect or be ejected from this chamber." Izayoi narrowed her eyes at this, her seated self keeping one hand close to her sword.

"Enough, the both of you." The final lord of Drana, this one a comparatively younger-sounding man, raised a hand. "If you know something we do not about the Blight, please. Speak."

The floor was theirs.

"Well, now that we're all friends," the profaned swordsman muttered dryly, leaning forward and clasping his hands as he took his seat upon the offered stump. "To business."

He scanned the room behind a frosty expression, eyes sharp after the second Grovemaster, meaningfully or otherwise, set the tone in his spirited rebuke of Izayoi. Undeniable now that there was extra tension in the air, once opinions had been made known. That much was fine interpersonally, and he had no high opinion reserved for the Grovemasters as a conglomerate for many of the same reasons Izayoi had brought to their attention— but these, fundamentally, were negotiations. Winding eachother into anger would muddy affairs prematurely, before they had even relayed the warning from Cid—

Regardless of the political end of things, as he had an inclination some of the more established representatives present were inclined or even forced to consider, they at least had cause to share information. It would be like not telling Hien. These three were the highest authority in this land, as far as he knew.

He stared into the shadows of the centermost Grovemaster's hood, where he knew the eyes would need to be. This was the one that had quelled the other and urged the Kirins take the floor, so he was most likely to appreciate cutting to the heart of things. If there was any one thing Rudolf had been taught in nineteen years, it was the value in cutting to hearts.

"What my companion alludes to is the answer to your question— The emergence of Blight upon the land has a direct tie to the invasion of the continent at large by Valheimr forces. Beyond the simple confluence of timing, though that was our first lead." he began, voice a hard edge. "Their home continent of Arbor has fallen dead as a victim to the same process, carried out over a century— a leaching of the Mothercrystal's light from the land itself. We believe this to be done through seizure and subsequent abuse of the sacred elemental crystals— the fire of her nation already being lost, and the water of yours now at most risk, the softest target left on the board here."

He wouldn't mince his words here. The situation being discussed was far too dire to allow for it. If they would bristle at the implication of inability to defend themselves, he could simply point back to the 'warmonger' comment, and remind them of the stance that presupposed. That said, he didn't expect to navigate them out of the woods they'd just been thrown into with the opening statement.

Lucky that this argument wasn't being presented by him alone. He'd establish the stakes, then let the better suited pick the ball up and keep running it.

"The current spoiling of the northern lands will be a simple precursor. The situation is dire enough as it is with one crystal already out of the equation— speaking from experience, even Edren is starting to be spread thin keeping the beasts and blight contained. Osprey has been pounded flat enough that the invaders have established a foothold in its capital before it could hope to recover from the recent war— and it was the saboteurs they slipped into the country ahead of schedule that set the tone for invasion. A few of us have personal experience in dealing with this methodology firsthand. It's key that we check their attempts of infiltration while we still can, before the people in your care become wholly overrun."

"Umm, h-he's right," Miina added, glad that someone else had gotten the body of the explanation over with before she'd found her voice to do it… after all, doing the entire explanation herself would have been annoying for anyone else to listen to, and she wasn't good at explaining anyway, she'd probably have wanted to go through all the context of how they knew this and that would mean explaining what they were doing in Osprey, and the middle of the desert at that, and then there was all the fighting and—this was why it was a good thing that Rudolf had taken over. It saved everyone a lot of time and distraction, really.

"We m-met a priest of the G-Goddess, and he explained… s-so we need to do the p-p-protecting! But, eh-heh, w-we'll need as much help as you c-c-can give," she continued nervously, realising that she was putting herself forward a bit much. But this was her home! Even if the important thing that made it such wasn't part of the land, "Although I know th-that it would be hard to g-get all the villages and such to w-work together…"

Or talk at all. Or find them. Hmm, it was odd that Valheimr had started with Osprey. Not that she was really complaining… or maybe they'd already taken root here and nobody noticed? It wouldn't even be that hard…

---

Ciradyl had broken off soon after the group made arrangements to meet up plater after the small incident at the docks. It had been years since she had visited her parents' homeland and nearly just as long since she had a day just for herself. It was indulgent, sure, but she was going to let loose a little. Costa del Sol was familiar yet foreign all the same. She compared the architecture and fashion to her previous knowledge, noting the obvious and subtle details alike. Ciradyl stopped at a local cafe along the way and simply listened in on passing gossip. Something rose from the darker corners of her mind that frightened her. There was a shadow of anger at its people that lingered close behind her apparent joy. The corners of her mouth trembled to resist turning into a grimace. Ciradyl paid her bill and fled as soon as he could from the cafe.

Emotions collided with logic as she walked through the busy streets once more, ignoring the various glances cast her way. It felt like a great weight pressing down on her chest and taking her breath away. Her knuckles turned white as they grasped the fabric of her dress in ball around her chest. Ciradyl stepped to the side and began to take deep, long breaths while slowly releasing her grip. What a foolish mistake to set off on her own. Time had yet to the given her the grace to act properly with her newfound freedom.

---

Ciradyl curtsied deeply to the grovemasters after Miina and Rudolf had finished speaking, adorned in the finest dress she had acquired in Costa del Sol. "My companions speak with the sentiments and wisdom of our humble party. Please heed their warnings and accept that your struggles against Valheim and the Blight have been a mere prelude to a far more sinister plot. We would not present ourselves before your mercy and insight if we did not believe the situation to be dire." Her head had been lowered in reverence for the entire duration and only deigned to look up at them once she had concluded her speech. Truth be told she did not have the greatest hope for these proceedings. The grove masters were notoriously set in their ways and resistant to change much like the titanic trees in which they made their cities.

Her gaze turned over to Arton, who seemed rather keen on avoiding drawing any attention to himself. Nothing had concerned her more within their group than the sudden shift in his demeanor. Ciradyl knew little of the swordsman and had little interest in correcting that, but even she could tell that something was amiss.

---It wasn't as if she was here from the start. She didn't know the very roots of this situation. But she'd been here long enough to know exactly what would happen if no actions were taken.

Robin took a deep breath.

She'd never been in this sort of situation before. Prior to now, her acts had largely been without any sort of pushback or resistance. Alone, she'd took up the pleas of those in need and struck down bandits and monsters who were at the root of their suffering. Together with this party, she'd fought at the behest of those who needed it most.

But here---

These were the ones who needed that help. Everyone in their nation needed that help. But they were resisting it? Wouldn't such a dire possibility warrant action as swiftly as possible? Wasn't there enough proof already?

"If they're not stopped," she began, "Your people will suffer. So many people are going to die. These beautiful forests---"

The boat ride here had been surrounded with a sort of beauty she'd never experienced before. Surely, she love the natural lands of her home nation, but this was different. The dense jungle filled with exotic cries, with flowers and fruits she'd never set eyes on before, had been nothing short of a wonder.

"---will be razed and destroyed. And it won't stop there, they'd drain everything they can, they'll bleed your nation and its people dry. I can't allow that. I want to draw my sword for your people's sake. So please, heed the words of my companions so we can put a stop to this!"

---

---

"Such vitriol," Esben muttered to himself, his eyes still placed on the one of the trio that had taken the most hostile tone with them. He'd already reached out, one hand laying lightly on Éliane's shoulder, unspoken counsel to hold her tongue for a few minutes more. Not that he was feeling terribly charitable towards the three Grovemasters—the distaste that they maintained for Skael and those that lived there wasn't any secret, driven in part by the gulf in technological advancement between the two nations.

Undoubtedly, at least one of the three had already gotten themselves convinced that the Blight could be blamed on the 'godless technologies' of the southerners, a tract that some from Brightlam had been known to take. More often after the contact with Valheim, and seeing that the invaders were similarly advanced as Skael, perhaps even more so. He didn't have particularly high hopes that anyone in such a position could really be swayed towards the viewpoints the group needed them to take, but so long as the Grovemasters didn't require unanimity in their decisions, that should prove fine. He was more focused on watching for any other reactions from the three, rather than just the expected isolationism and anti-technological diatribes.

Whether it was just due to his own uncharitable mood after spending the trip upriver with distinctly less sleep than he would prefer, the mutual disregard with which he and most of Skael held the Grovemasters in turn, or if there was anything deeper to it that hadn't become obvious yet, the second of them had certainly drawn his interest. Unfortunately for him, the other pairs of eyes he'd ask to keep their own watch on the man were either no longer travelling with them, had already spoken up, or would likely be expected to speak up before too long.

"That warmonger jab wasn't an invitation," he said quietly, leaning in closer to Éliane. "But I don't mind if you want to press his buttons a little. Just be judicious about it."

---

So the behavior of the city guard was not an isolated incident and was indicative of the attitudes of the leadership of this country after all.

Éliane should have expected it, but somehow she was still disappointed. The grovemasters were clearly sticking their heads in the sands of Costa del Sol, comfortable in their ignorance as the rest of the realm continued to fall apart around them as they preached their unique brand of morality and insufferable attitudes. At a time when a great external enemy threatened Ibros, the four nations should have been uniting as one (under the aegis of Skael, of course) to eject the Valheimian foothold on the continent and to rid them of the blight.

Yet wherever the Kirins went they were met out outright hostility. First it had been Galahad’s foolish father, and now it was the stubborn pride of the grovemasters. Osprey, occupied as it was by the enemy, had been a breath of fresh air, at least.

Éliane had to be held back by Esben from immediately biting into the attitudes of the grovemasters before her. Just by observing, she could tell that if Drana Asnaeu kept on the same course, they would be the next to fall under the Valheimian thumb, and the blight.

When Esben finally leaned back in, she was already ready to go. Nodding at him briefly, she cut in once the others had said their piece, deciding to act once more as the big stick of the party.

She adjusted her uniform, now properly laundered and properly looking the part. “As the representative from Skael,” the pink-haired officer began, “I in part speak for the government of Skael when it comes to the investigation and persecution of those perpetrating or facilitating the spread of the Blight… intentionally or inadvertently.”

The unamused Skaelan stared direct in the eyes of the second grovemaster that had called Izayoi a warmonger.

“My government has been historically uninvolved in things as petty as war, but with the news that my fellows here have relayed, we are preparing for the worst. The pacifistic Skael will be tripling its war budget, and if Drana Asnaeu is the weak link on the continent, if by the inaction of this very council it provides a foothold for Valheim and the Blight to further take hold on Ibros, then we will not hesitate to preemptively move to remedy such inaction and unpreparedness.”

The threat was obvious. Do nothing, or worse, hinder the cooperation of Kirin and the nations, and Skael would force the grovemasters to be ready. It was a bluff, in the sense that she was definitely not authorized to speak on this type of policy, but she doubted the Overseer would split the details when it came to matters of national security and the Blight. She paused, considering an extra line. Fuck it…

“Warmongering? If Drana Asnaeu is invaded, you will have to commit yourself to defense regardless, no matter who it is. Alternatively, if you are occupied by a country that isn’t the enemy, then you will also be ready…”

In other words, if Skael invaded, they would have to stick their heads out of the sand anyway or they would be occupied. But if they were occupied then Drana Asnaeu would also be safe. Win win.

Éliane thought it was a perfect argument if she said so herself.

---

...

Esben had to fight the urge to start staring at Éliane.

I said judicious. Did she think I said generous?

There was a minute tightness around the edges of his face that hadn't been there a second before, but to the oft-craven young man's credit, his gaze was held with nary a waver. Beyond that subtle narrowing of the eyes, his impassive mask that half the party had already cracked before seemed to have been further refined.

At least, outwardly.

I must have forgot who some of the people I was trusting to handle this with more delicacy than myself were. I guess this is how we're doing it, then. No putting that genie back in the bottle.

Miina's response was less reserved, staring slack jawed at Éliane's whole-hearted endorsement of more or less invading her home under the pretext of protecting it from invaders. Not that she had a massive attachment to the country as a whole, the place was obviously too weakly united for that… but she cared about the geography. The forests, and the freedom to move about as they would (although she preferred the warmer parts), and not needing to deal with huge built-up settlements like she'd seen in Osprey and everyone else had taken to so well that they could only be familiar with the whole concept. Far more than Miina herself was, at least.

Also, the older woman's attachment to big guns and things that made loud bangs did not speak well for how any hypothetical war would go for the forests as a whole, even if she was happy to write off the people or the lifestyle.

If she was indicative, at least.

---

Perhaps Galahad should've expected such a reaction from the Grovemasters. Perhaps it was their general disinterest in matters of war, or their general apprehension in the face of development, but it honestly surprised him just how withdrawn Drana Asnaeu was from the world stage. Even when Leonhart had sent out his many invites and letters to the banquet in Balmung, Galahad could count on one hand how many from Drana Asnaeu responded to the calls- just the composition of their party alone was indicative of the Dranian response. Galahad had- perhaps generously assumed that the Grovemasters were just reserved in their actions, but perhaps they really were just ignorant to everything happening around them. It was frustrating- truly. No one seemed to truly understand what was going on- how close to peril they were. They'd rather stand on ceremony or resolve petty grievances- his own family included. It was beyond frustrating- aggravating really.

Luckily for them, they had the Kirins to explain to them just what was going on: The Blight and its causes- namely Valheim and its continued corruption and invasion of Ibros. Some of them were calm and factual, others were passionate and idealistic. Éliane in particular was... a bit more aggressive and to the point. Galahad couldn't say that he exactly disagreed with her stance- his patience too had began to run thin. Though he wasn't exactly sure about the implications or directness of her statements, she was not wrong. Ibros needed to stand united. A vein on his forehead pulsed.

"Hopefully, it won't come to that." Galahad clarified, his voice calm and collected. "But to be clear. The threat that both Valheim and the Blight represents is incredibly real, and present."

"The Blight as we know it has expanded aggressively in just the past few months alone, and as young Rudolf has said, we've come across direct knowledge that ties to Valheim and their exploitation of the Sacred Crystals as its cause. The time to sit idle has long passed us. Valheim airships have already appeared in the skies just beyond Drana Asnaeu's borders. Valheim's spies may already be within your borders." Galahad continued, conveniently leaving out the fact that the Valheim airship in particular was chasing them- hoping just the threat of Valheim's proximity might give credence to their cause.

"We are going about the task of putting a stop to Valheim's machinations. The very least that we need is a dedicated healer for our expedition. Neve understands the gravity of the situation at hand, which is why she sought us out. Skael's stance is obvious- and if it hadn't occurred to you, even the old enemies of Edren and Osprey have seen fit to put aside our blades for now. The reality of the situation is, all of Ibros is facing calamity and needs to stand together- and the Crystals are the key. It is my hope that you'll allow us to do our duties."

"But for the sake of our world, we're not asking."

The Grovemasters listened to the various Kirins' speeches in silence, though the mood turned decidedly colder than it had been already after Eliane finished with hers. Predictably, the eldest Grovemaster bristled in anger while the younger two practically locked up, becoming taciturn. Once it was evident that the Kirins were finished speaking for the moment, a single beat passed before the younger male mystic began to speak once more, his hands folded in front of him.

"You bring grave tidings - and dire threats. Had a relation of the Edrenian royal family not been among your party," A nod in Galahad's direction. Evidently, Neve had revealed some information when she'd first returned. "Perhaps the mention of the Four Crystals alone may have lent credibility. As it stands, however, those entrusted with knowledge of the Four are also aware of whomst else know and pass the information down to our successors: we Grovemasters, the Edrenian royal line, Skael's Overseer, and Osprey's fallen imperial house. My apologies for my bluntness, but the presence of a Caradoc among you means that this bears no small chance to be a blatant political manipulation."

"Manipulation?" The elder scoffed. "Master Alambert, you do them too much credit. This is extortion! You heard the Skaelan: kneel to this union of Edren and Skael or face invasion. I had hoped that young Leonhardt would not be as grasping and greedy as his predecessor, but it seems that was in vain."

"You would condemn Edren for its part in the war while denigrating me as a warmonger?!" Izayoi cut in, incredulous. "What mad raving is this?"

"Silence, Demon!" The Grovemaster spat back, furious. "I know full well what you have done in return! Massacres, abductions, poisoning the land. You are not blameless in this! Look me in the eyes and speak truthfully that you were not a beast as vile as nearly the whole of the Edreni war machine!"

Izayoi fell silent at that, her gaze nothing but smouldering fury, unable to refute his words.

"Master Zacharias, Lady Izayoi, please! Some order!" The final Grovemaster chose this moment to raise her voice, trying to lower the tension in the chamber. "Now, I would like a bit of clarification before we move to deliberate. The young lady there mentioned a priest of the Mother who set you on this path? May you describe this person in greater detail?"

"His name was Cid." Izayoi replied. "He referred to himself as the 'High Caretaker'." The eldest Grovemaster seemed to almost choke in that moment, while the younger woman tilted her head in thought and the younger man didn't seem to react at all, as if the name held no relevance to him. "I see. Thank you. If we could trouble you to remain here for just a while longer, we will convene to determine our decision." She rose and gave a polite dip of her head as her compatriots left ahead of her without a word.

”I'm sorry.” Neve murmured after her masters left, her expression downcast. ”If I hadn't said as much about some of you as I did, perhaps they might have listened...”

"Highly doubtful." Izayoi sighed. "The woman is the only one who seemed to not have her mind set the second we entered the chamber."

___

Half an hour passed before the Grovemasters returned, returning to their seats. The eldest spoke, sounding none too happy with the decision they seemed to have reached.

"We, Masters Zacharias, Isolde, and Alambert declare henceforth that you and yours will be allowed to undergo the Trial of Tides to access our sacred crystal. The gods and Leviathan will decide your worthiness. However, Initiate Shadesbough will return to our custody. This decision is final."

Izayoi narrowed her eyes, displeased, as Neve hung her head, eyes closed and hands clasped.

"Please understand," Master Isolde at least sounded genuinely conciliatory. "Neve is arguably our most talented successor, and most certainly worthy already. It was deemed that her presence at the trial would afford you an unfair advantage. In the meantime, I will join you partway on your journey to the site of the trial, as I've business in Redwood regardless. We can discuss the specifics once we are on the road."

"She's right." Rudolf watched the three highest authorities in the land take their with a tight-lipped frown, only loosing the sigh he'd been holding out through the nose once they were well and truly gone. What an abject disaster. Skaelan diplomacy amounting to little more than a thrown brick was already one thing, but the reveal of the Caradoc ties to stewardship of the Edreni Crystal had called the specificity he'd opened with into question, hamstringing the point in their favor it had served as.

Furthermore, the invocation of Cid's name specifically had nearly been an opportunity they'd wholly missed. Were it not for Izayoi and the final Grovemaster salvaging the proceedings by raising that point at the last second... Well, he had little doubts that things would have fully dissolved.

A dull, brassy eye slid over to regard Neve, her shoulders slumped in regret. "You saw that old coot walk in with a full head of steam. Axes were there to be ground already— and you had plenty of reason to want to reassure them you were in safe hands while away." he elaborated, waving his hand for a moment before folding his arms. He would have little else to say until their return.

He should have just opened with it to begin with. His instincts had told him as much, but he'd held off— gambling on the frame the deliberations would take.

It was on him for still not learning his lessons, then.

---

By the time the Grovemasters returned with their decision in hand, Rudolf had grown tired of sitting around, and now leaned against one of the walls. The boat ride the prior three days had already left his legs wanting more of a stretch— and just as well, because each word that spilled forth from Zacharias's mouth he could feel winding the rest of him tighter.

"...That's one way to get rid of us." he noted, flinty gaze pointedly lingering upon the old man after a quick glance to poor Neve. She must have been feeling worse than useless at this point. "And no room for her to choose, too— we know where we all stand at this point. Looks like you got everything you wanted."

He clicked his tongue, eyes narrowing on the hooded figure, even as Isolde piped up with a token attempt at amelioration— explaining their reasoning, at least.

Well, look at that. Guess you got what you thought you mighta wanted after all. The one that couldn't trust you enough and the one that was trusting you too much are both out of the picture. It's all coming up Rudolf— Your conscience feel any clearer?

I never wanted this. And my choices, clearly, haven't mattered at all lately. This is what's becoming of every commitment I've made my mind up on— dissolution. In ways I never expect, and my work on them never prepares for.

Maybe it was "luck of the draw". I certainly don't see any of my agency at play here.

No need to accuse, kiddo. Save this unspoken animus for the man in the hood. You and I are on the same team, same as ever. I've a vested interest in keeping us alive. Have a little faith— or are you unwilling? We're all in this together.

...Well. Save the aforementioned, that is.

He sighed bitterly, stepping off the wall. "Whatever. Let's settle this Trial while time's still nominally on our side. I have unfinished business with Leviathan anyway."

Oh no.

Now she was entirely representative of the group's magical abilities, and one of the most important people in the entire country was going to be accompanying them—maybe she could just pretend to be a terrible swordsman? That'd avoid causing any incidents with her lack of talent or depth, right?

… could she even do that and help pass this trial? That sounded very… difficult. Not just because it was a trial, obviously, but because the mention of waves and Leviathan put her in mind of the fighting they'd just done with Valheim. Hopefully, nobody would start drowning in a way they'd need to cut the ocean open again; she wasn't sure if that sort of rescue was replicable.

"Unfair h-how, though? Is a h-healer really that important to it…?" She still couldn't keep the first thought from coming through her head. Oh, there were plenty of other things white magic could be used for, but that seemed like the biggest one that could constitute an 'unfair advantage', as it stood out as the only thing that wasn't easily replicable.