---

"Your terms are acceptable," he replied quickly. "We'll do what we can. Be careful about letting anybody hear you call me a 'good boy,' though. I can think of quite a few of the other students from my time who might try to kill me if they ever hear of it."

Despite how much of an obvious joke it sounded like—indeed, it was one—Kayliss had hit the nail on the head: for all the work that she and others had put in to make it otherwise, Esben did not lie if he could find any way to avoid it.

With that put aside, there was still other business to attend to as long as he had her there, especially if they were to try and push the rest of the team down into Skael first. "If we're to do that, could you send a message to Leonhart for us and let him know just what's at risk? Or, if you have any reason to think he shouldn't be trusted with that, pass the information along to someone we can and have them keep an eye on the crystal there." While it was clear that Valon was a traitor himself, working hand in hand with the invaders as he was, that wasn't reason enough to entirely disregard the claims he'd made about serving Edren's supposed true king. "I don't want to risk it going unheeded while we're on the opposite side of the continent from the invaders' base."

Robin's blade slowly lowered.

Hard man.

Worse then the rest.

The man who had saved her life---

He couldn't be described in such a way. There was no way he could. He found her struggling, clinging to life, her skin stretched over her bones, and took her in and gave her a future.

Gifted her with the tales of legendary heroes. Filled her with lofty ideals that motivated her whole existence.

The idea of being a hero. Of earning the praise of the masses. Of standing up for the weak and defenseless.

These core concepts formed the very center of her being.

Her grip on the hilt of her spada faltered.

Worse then the rest.

The warm eyes, the gentle voice in which he spoke to her, that took a firm edge when she was training---

That couldn't be.

There was no way.

Despite the fact that she recognized the style. Despite the fact that the timeline added up. Despite the fact that their names were the same---

There was no way such a thing could be true.

Robin's grip on the hilt of her blade grew firm again.

"Y... you're lying," she said, though it was as if she wasn't addressing the bandit directly any longer, "There's no way he was---Worse then the rest? That's... that's a lie, if I've ever heard one!"

... The Old Man had lost an arm. He'd never told her why, he'd lost it before they first met. The Old Man knew how to fight in such depth. He'd never told her why, so she had assumed he had some background as a knight or something like that as she'd grown older.

But she never sought to pry. She thought he'd tell her, in due time.

Worse than the rest.

Her Old Man was a hero. There was no way he could be described like that.

So it had to be a lie. That was the only way, right?

@VitaVitaAR@vietmyke

"Did you think it was by accident that he was so effective at teaching you how to kill a man?"

A voice like splitting granite, firm well beyond its years and dripping with a bitter disdain cut through the silence before it could even begin to brew, filling the air after Robin's impassioned, desperate rebuke of the claims laid before her. Its owner had taken to leaning against the wall behind him, trio of confiscated swords still well in hand and tucked under his now-folded arms. The gloom seemed to lengthen the shadows cast over his sharp features more than it should have, but even then...

"A soft man wouldn't find throats so easily. Ask the Valheimr."

Rudolf pinned the scene before him with a dull glare, not quite focused on friend or enemy specifically— rather, looking down on all of it. In truth, the question was a pretty even split between rhetorical framing and genuine query as to what went on in her head, but he spared no time waiting for an answer.

"Really, the only thing that's surprising is that he settled down so close to home. Not two days' ride from the barracks. An old soldier of the kings' armies wouldn't have such a fondness for the swashbuckling. It breaks down in formation. You can't utilize your mobility the same way if you adhere to structure the way you need to. But if you encircle the unsuspecting and unprepared, the angles open up."

"Lord Istvan". "Ardor Fey." There they were, unprompted and freely spoken despite nothing on their persons save Robin's own swordplay priming the scumbags for it. It was ridiculous. An acrid taste on the edge of his tongue— just how often would they be haunted by ghosts of their collected pasts? Valon had been bad enough, and Rudi had only met him in passing. His and her pasts entangling like this was practically a cosmic joke.

His eyes narrowed. His voice curled around him like smoke.

"The initial fighting mass of the Raiders weren't proper recruits— the conscription pool ran across the bulk of western Edren and its countryside. The holdings of Earl Edric Demet were hard to police in previous decades— so Shilage, currying favor, rounded up any band of thieves, highwaymen, or bandits that he could crack the skulls of after tracking down. The choice was to fight under the banner, or deny yourself a second shot at life." though he droned through the history lesson dispassionately enough, he couldn't hide the scoff in his tone. That man offering second chances seemed like such a paradox to him now, even if he had little argument for his stake in claiming one. He shrugged his shoulders slightly, a wry smirk on his face. "'Redemption' was a personal matter, beyond the reclamation of dignity through service and the standards upheld therein. It stands to reason that when these guys split, they'd go back to what they were doing beforehand. Without the Raiders' banner protecting them, the past was likely to follow one way or another. May as well get out ahead of it, right?"

One detail was nagging at his head. He drew one of the blades and held it aloft, as though presenting arms, before eyeing the length, shifting his grip on the hilt, bringing the point up into a tight fencer's guard near the brow as though trying to envision the stance and feel the form for himself. As though checking it against an old lesson. His gaze flickered down to the man being interrogated, then to the last one that had spoken.

"Seventeen or eighteen years, was it? The Lord's second son would have caught something nasty on the wind around that time, barely a year after he was born. Probably nearly met Danube early. It's little wonder you all picked then to sneak off— with Shilage's attention split, he probably put plenty of distance between himself and the barracks before any action could be taken. Timeline fits. I'll give you this much— it was a wise move to follow his lead and make yourselves scarce."

For a moment, it seemed he was about to toss the blade he was fiddling with to the ground, with little more than a disdainful flick of the wrist.

"There's nothing that man tolerates less than betrayal within the ranks. You may have not even made it to see the front."

He instead returned the blade to the crook of his arm, casting the thought away in its place.

"Too much of this works to be a lie." he bluntly stated, gaze now shifting to stare into the stricken Songbird. "And with no reason to be brought up save for recognizing how you fight, in a way that needs them to be intimately familiar with the why of everything being done therein. With how it feels. Not something these types could haphazardly guess at, Robin."

A hard truth. But one that clearly needed saying. She was brittle and inflexible as it was, to deny all the evidence that had been laid out. If she built up any more dissonance, it would shatter her. They had lost too many people as it was.

"Fighting styles change hands like secrets and money. With intent, and as tools to be put to use. Ascribe to them nothing more. After the turncoat dragoon and Izayoi's master rising from the grave she put him in and nearly returning the favor, I'd call this being the checkered past he avoided telling you about 'getting off light'."

---

"Are you men of Shilage then?" Galahad toned subtly, "Sure dont act like it." If Galahad held any surprise at any of the information the highwaymen divulged, the Dragoon's helmet obscured it from view. As far as the bandits were concerned, he was as impassive as ever. Deserters Galahad had expected, though Galahad hadn't expected to be hearing names so close to home- there were some untold dozens of nobles and noble families in Edren, but Istvan was a name Galahad recognized. Rudolf was quick to fill in any possible gaps in memory with a quick rundown of what he expected- though perhaps a bit harsher than Galahad might have done with the same information.

Rudolf was harsh, but he was right- everyone had skeletons in their closets, Robin's apparent mentor not withstanding. A heavy, gauntleted arm pressed on Robin's shoulder as Galahad turned to her. "People change with time. Old becomes new." He murmured quietly, his voice low and quiet, speaking solely to Robin. "No one is without fault. Perhaps he recognized the poor path of his ways and resolved himself to be better- If he is how you believe he is, then you are living proof of his attempts to reconcile his ways."

"If they were your mentor's men, they certainly aren't anymore. Just a group of ruffians abusing and distorting what techniques he taught them. No more, no less." Galahad concluded quietly, before glancing back at the men, his tone growing a bit clearer as he regarded them. "Though not very well it seems. You all appear to be too used to fighting those who can't or won't fight back. The footwork is there, but sloppy.

Galahad's hand pressed to his hip, the other swinging the heavy halberd up and shouldering it. The question remained, what to do with the rest of them. The Kirins weren't exactly in a place to be taking prisoners at the moment, they were too few, and those of them that were there hardly had the time to be standing guard. As frustrating as the bandits were, distracting them from their current objectives, they had surrendered, and Galahad wasn't much for executions- though they couldn't exactly let them go either. Nothing would stop these men from just acquiring more swords and doing much the same as they had been doing before running across the Kirins. The idea of Edreni men harrying the people of Drana Asnaeu wasn't a pleasant thought either.

Maybe he'd just escort the men to a local guard's post and let the local authorities handle all of this business.

"If they don't know where Fey is, then there's no sense listening to them any further.

---

Éliane let out a light sigh, relieved that Kayliss followed the recommendation that she and Esben had given. Having him recalled would have been a loss, but she also had doubted that the deputy director would have disagreed too much in the end.

“I have no arguments there,” she agreed, deciding not to comment on Esben’s infamous inability to lie. “It would be nice to see Solitude again after all this time.”

It hadn’t even been all that long since she had left—maybe some months now, but with all the fighting and the revelations that she’d received on this journey, it felt far longer than it actually was.

It would also be nice to see her family and the bakery again. Maybe she would even invite Esben and the others.

“Understood. But if the border guards don’t recognize me then I’ll be rather insulted…”

@The Otter @Click This

"I'll do what I can." Kayliss sighed in Esben's direction. "Even in my position, I don't have a direct line to foreign royalty. But there's some contacts within Edren I can leverage. With any luck, he may even set aside that ten million for you by the time you're finished in Skael."

A dry glance was sent Eliane's way.

"Not everyone gets their news out of Solitude, you know. You're hardly a national celebrity, don't let it go to your head. Local curiosity sounds more apt. One last thing: Mathiassen? You remember Sigursdottir? She hasn't reported in for some time. Keep an eye out for her on your travels." A significant look was sent his way.

"In any case, the both of you are dismissed. Return to your duties." Kayliss turned and waited for the duo to leave. When they did, she walked over towards the desk in the room and began penning two letters, both with the exact same content...

___

@VitaVitaAR @vietmyke @HereComesTheSnow

"S'all the truth, we swears it!" The lead highwayman protested at Galahad and Robin before gesturing to Rudolf. "See, he gets it! Suspiciously well, at that, but he gets it!"

"So..." The second stooge piped up hesitantly. "Yer not gonna kill us or nothing, nae? Swears we didn't try to murder ye that hard."

"Right well take lockup over death, aye. What're them tree-huggers going t' do, hang us?"

Their fates, inconsequential as they were, were left up to the three Edreni to decide.

___

@Raineh Daze @Ithradine

"Heh, heh, heh." The Gardener chortled as he eagerly took the money, taking care to count the coins out. "Much obliged doing business with you. In that case, I'll keep it simple. Don't bother trying to find her in the actual wastes between here and Osprey overland. Your best bet is to catch her when she returns to civilization for resupply. Far as I'm aware, she favors Redwood for that."

The morbidly obese information broker sat back in his plush chair, the golden rings on his fingers gleaming as he steepled them together.

"Last report has her seen in Redwood not three months ago. Judging by the amount of supplies a small party can carry, and the frequency to which she's been spotted there, I'd say she'll be due to make a return within a week or two. More than enough time for you two to catch up to her. Now, if that'll be all, I'd humbly request for you to leave my place of business."

A side eye towards Arton.

"For sanitary reasons. You understand, I'm sure."

___



True to her word, Master Isolde had set off with the Kirins at dawn the previous day, quietly traveling alongside the group. Though it had been some time since the Kirins had actually traveled overland, Goug seemed as cheerful as ever, whistling a merry tune while taking occasional puffs from a pipe he'd purloined somewhere within Brightlam's markets.

"Now this is journeying, kupo! Not a Blightbeast in sight, unlike Edren, or gods forbid, kupoing Osprey."

"Give it time." Izayoi grumbled uncharitably, her customary scowl visible from beneath the brim of her hat. "I doubt this state of affairs will last, no matter what magics the Grovemasters possess."

Unfortunately for her, Isolde didn't seem to rise to the bait, instead closing her eyes in contemplation.

"We'll likely not make it to Redwood before morning. If I may, I would suggest we make camp soon."

"Agreed, kupo!" Goug said, already searching for a suitable campsight along the forest path. "Be a damned shame if we let some of this fresh provender I picked up in Brightlam go to rot, kupo!"

Not long later, sundown approached as camp was set up. Isolde contented herself with remaining off to the side of the gathered group, though she would make no move to seem unfriendly should someone approach her.

---

It had been a couple days’ travel now, and Rudolf had spent the grand portion of them in a tense, taciturn cast. Events of the prior days had doubtless weighed upon him, as they had every Kirin— gaining one member and then losing her and a second in so little time surely doing their outlook few favors. Worse still, they were bearing down upon the first major test of their quest proper in the Trial of Tides.

Without proving their valor, worthiness, earnest intent to save the world, or whatever else that Leviathan and the Gods at large meant to take their measure in, they would not be allowed access to the Crystal of Water. They wouldn’t be able to verify its integrity… or potentially safeguard it against Valheim. With the Fire Crystal already lost, their success in this endeavor was paramount. Things were already this bad with one crystal in enemy hands. Two, and the invaders’ toehold would surely be nigh-uncontainable, and the remaining nations overrun with a spike of Blightbeasts.

For these reasons, Isolde’s escort to Redwood was a resource Rudolf had no intention of ignoring. No matter how fresh the Grovemasters’ reclamation of Neve was in his mind, no matter how certain he was that the mousey robe-clad woman before him could sense everything Neve had and then some, no matter how much he wanted to let sleeping dogs lie…

“Master Isolde,” he said simply as he approached her spot off to the side, while the main party busied themselves with setting camp. “Do you have a minute?”

He would be a fool to waste whatever insight she may have been able to offer, regarding the biggest piece of dead weight he was lugging around and never using. Bereft of any chance at finding who might have originally laid a curse onto the blade, his next best option was entreating the most adept mages he could find.

No better person to start with than someone that had ascended to her position so quickly.

Isolde glanced up from her meditations, staff laid across her lap. She adjusted her hood, peering at the young man before her.

”Yes? You have a question for me, I take it?” Her gaze focused as she beheld Rudolf, head tilting slightly.

”How curious. Some presence…shrouds you. Not inherently harmful to the body, and yet…”

Uh oh, boss. I think she likes me.

He nodded in response to her first question, though it could just as well have been read as an affirmation of her train of thought that had come just after. Either way…

“...Not without cost.” he completed, drawing the greatsword from his back and setting it upon his lap as she had her staff after seating himself. No point in beating around the bush when he had already twice known what he could and couldn’t hide from mages of less-realized ability than her. “Though my asking pertains to less transactional matters than bargaining fortune for power.”

Progress. At least you admit it’s a deal these days. Still, haven’t you gotten pretty bold with what you’re giving out for free lately?

With his fingertips, he tapped against the flat of the blade before him, no sound ringing out in response and no impact against his bones the way one would reasonably expect from steel of such construction and quality. He met her eyes after a moment’s contemplation.

”There is a curse inlaid upon this sword, and I’ve no means of tracking down the original caster— should they even still exist on our side of the world. With what research I’ve been able to pull together, my best chance at potentially breaking it might be entreating the most skilled mages I can find for their insight and ability. I can hardly imagine many who might outstrip you, seeing as you sniffed out the passenger I’ve got with me faster than even Neve had.”

He tilted his head slightly, as though mirroring her.

”If you’re curious, maybe we could trade questions. But please. The threats we face leave little room for dead weight in our number. Is there anything you might be able to do?”

”With your permission.” Isolde set her staff aside as she took the sword into her lap.

”By all means.”

The Grovemaster laid a hand upon the flat of the blade, a soft white glow emanating from her palm as she began to assense it. A minute passed. Two. After three, she finally opened her eyes.

”Where did you acquire this weapon?” An ironic echo of Kurogane’s same question to Rudolf, if there ever was one.

The corners of his mouth turned up humorlessly. ”As I understand it, a colorful warrior from a far-flung land was more or less dropped headfirst onto my father and his Raiders during the Osprey Campaign. That at the sacrifice of four dozen men, this was his only war trophy to show by the end of things— the same enemy that had torched his march towards Ranbu no Izayoi disappearing shortly after being routed.”

He glanced up, towards the bits of rosy dusktime sky that peeked through the ever-present curtain of green. It felt strange repeating things like this… but at the same time, it was the easier part of the conversation. He had less of the harder stuff to hide. And there was a strange sliver of relief tucked away in that.

”Pretty much chucked it at my feet after he discovered my new ‘occult influences’— given what it had cost for so little use, I doubt he could stand to look at it much.”

So you’re still leaving that part where you put them on full display out.

He returned his gaze to the blade.

”To keep the departure brief, I had no room to get much more detail, beyond us ‘deserving one another’. Why do you ask?”

”Because whatever magic this is, it is not of this land.” Isolde replied softly, the bluntness of her statement undercut by the quiet tone it was delivered with. ”I am familiar with many magics. This spell-weaving is not one I have seen before.” She moved to offer the sword back with both hands.

“Ah. Naturally.”

”If I had both the time and sufficient spell reagents, undoing the enchantment through sheer brute force would be feasible. Unfortunately for you, I suspect it would take months and no small amount of gil in the amount of cursebreaking materials required. However, what I can determine is that the binding is life-linked. It will disappear with either the consent or death of the caster. You said this was obtained during the war with Osprey? Doubtless, its original owner is still among the living.”

”Months, huh?”

He held the bridge of his nose, nodding along slowly as her explanation drove this idea deeper and deeper into the hole.

”Well, with my luck, he may yet drop out of the sky once again looking for it. We could circumvent all that by pummeling the interloper until he croaks.”

Much as he wanted to throw his hands up in defeat and be done with the whole affair, as his drier and drier tone indicated, she hadn’t told him such was the only way he could break this curse. Just the most direct. And banking on the direct route in this life, after five years of this squirrely piece of steel offering anything but…

“Feh. Were it so easy. One moment.”

He rose after accepting the greatsword from her, dashing off to cart it back to his supplies and belongings where he’d set them down in the midst of camp a short distance away. She would see him rifle through the leather satchels and bags with a furrowed brow for a moment, before returning to her side with, of all things, charcoal and parchment in hand, the latter tucked in the midst of the pages of a thick tome.

Doubtless, he’d need to keep these two together, as it was to simply be additions to his growing pile of that aforementioned “research”. Taking a moment to open it up, he had evidently been neck-deep into a section on more domestic Edreni hexes— such as they existed.

”We’ve a long road ahead of us, and one winding through the whole continent at the very least. Gil being one thing, and your duties here being another, of course… I ought to at least be on the lookout for those reagents you mentioned, while we’re on the move. If I can at least solve the supply equation, that’s a step forward. What should I be hunting?”

His eyes burned with a stubborn flame, carrying a smidge of light beneath their duller luster. He couldn’t let this go if his effort wasn’t exhaustive. For the fate of the world(And for your power in it), there were no half-measures. No stones that could be left unturned.

What came next from Isolde’s mouth were a string of rare and valuable materials, with diamond dust, Skaelan black pearls, and the beating heart of a dragon being among the most prominent and important of the bunch.

”The rest of the reagents can be substituted or worked around, but those three are crucial to spellbreaking. But I have a question for you, Rudolf.” Isolde’s hood shifted, showing only the glint of her glasses for a moment.

”What would you do if this sword held no power in the end? Past being very finely crafted, do you not believe it to be something of an irresponsible gamble in going through all this effort on your mystery weapon?”

A pregnant pause hung in the air, as he laid down his charcoal over the now heavily marked parchment and turned her question over on itself in his head— of all the ones he thought he might have been expecting, this was far from topping the list.

And yet… he saw why it came. It was a natural concern with any long-spanning undertaking, towards an indefinite goal at that. A venture into the unknown and unstructured, one that would take perhaps the whole breadth of his journey and then some extra— the still-beating heart of a dragon, for instance, might end up claiming his very life. Could it be worth that stake on the table? If the chance existed that Kurogane was somehow mistaken in his read of the steel, could he go throwing himself off course while the Kirins still had their main missions to complete?

It was a gamble. That, he would not deny. And really, how many gambles had he already made that had bitten him in the ass?

Forgoing his respect for Etro and allowing a black flame to burn in his soul for the sake of harnessing its power.

Sprinting ahead of Izayoi’s master to the point of tearing his tendons from the bone, and revealing that same sacrilege to the party, putting him beneath their suspicion even now.

Diving for that Valheimr in a mad dash to get away from Valon’s spear, sending himself into the brackish seas below, where Eve’s sister lurked and held a mirror to all the weakest parts of him, nearly dragging him to a watery grave.

Hell… even in accepting that call to arms, he was making a gamble. He, and Earl Demet, and mighty Wulfric, knew it could not have been meant for a failure like him. That any warrior of fighting age in that same village, bearing their dagger and a blazing heart, was more deserving by merit. And yet here he was.

Cursing every subsequent bet he’d made. Living a life mixed upon fear and stern adherence to some ideal of duty he had taken onto himself. Sacrificing luck, sacrificing his sanity, sacrificing all the effort he could pour out from his slight, weak frame. A man possessed in all senses, desperate to give himself to a fragile dream.

All the less responsible choice. All gambles. All with fallouts that caused him pain. And yet…

He looked over to the camp proper. There was Izayoi, still breathing, griping about meddlesome fae. There too was Ciradyl, Esben, Galahad, Eliane, Arton… Even Miina and Robin, who barely cared for any of his prior bets beyond still having him around. All of them, still living and breathing.

He had gambled and lost. He was an exile from his ancestral home. He had stranded himself among those he needed to guard a shameful past from, a furtive pygmy among giant legends-still-written. He had lost trust.

He had cut a tense deal with Eve, who smelled the inherent wrongness about him, for a held tongue— only to have so many secrets pried open by the careless threads of fate, and for her and her pact to leave their number only weeks after.

He had taken a hopeful shot in the dark with Neve, beginning to tell her more honestly of the truth about his contract, his sacrifices, and the curse he had wrought onto himself in a fit of childish rage, against the fate that neither she nor Isolde could have fought. He had barely begun to convey what a shortsighted, cowardly fool he had been, the depths of his selfish motive, but accepted her faith as soon as she gave it— and in what seemed only a breath later, she had been torn from the party, to be held among the Grovemasters in Brightlam under a doubled watch. Aiding them no longer. Holding faith that he was more than what he told her only in word, with no way to prove it to him.

It was like his bets were poison. He couldn’t even blame the passenger residing in the back of his mind, pointedly holding its tongue in this moment for reasons he couldn’t know. Even before he had known of a “Lunaris”, he had been a gamble, demanding incredible effort for questionable reward.

The knightly arts of war as a meek weakling. A squireship across the country, despite so much polishing left on the table.

Living as little more than a babe, while a trusted captain fled in the winter night.

And yet…

Those gambles that had resulted in such turmoil and torment had kept the rest all here. All breathing. He had interfered and shown himself to save Izayoi’s life, no matter what had been made of him in the aftermath. He had carved through the serpentine waves, buying them the opportunity to save everyone the storm had thrown or beckoned overboard. He had, at the same time as each gamble brought him ruin… kept a crucial person in the game.

And even that accursed deal he struck… without it, he wouldn’t have been here, at each key point. He would not have thrown his weighty black blaze upon the scales, and tipped them towards the people that were trying to save the world.

His efforts were as exhausting as they were exhaustive. Even so.

“No. Whatever chance this blade may represent, I believe it worth taking.”

So long as they could push the mission forward, against these impossibly massive odds that Danube had spelled out to him herself, seemingly so many nights ago in the desert now… it didn’t matter what he burned to keep that flame alive. Even if it was stained by pitch, even if it flickered, wavered, weakened at points… it would keep burning.

”I believe this worth the effort, even if there is no special destruction it may wreak once the curse is lifted. Stubborn as it may be, at the very least, it is one more line of sharp steel I would be able to lend to our cause— even a marginal boon is worth pursuing, given how steep our odds are already.” he replied at length, gazing into the twin glinting disks as though to pierce through them, so he might search through the emerald depths that were beneath even as they searched rosy gold in his answer.

”If nothing else, I will have determined the true nature of an old and frustrating curiosity. Put structure and reason upon the formless unknown. A chapter I will close, and no longer need to carry upon my back as we move forward.”

Flimsy, rhetorically.

But all the more reason to put his weight behind it— for it was sincere.

”I find the greater irresponsibility to be in abandoning the things I commit myself to. I have little left to my name beyond them. If it can be done, I have to try.”

For the briefest fraction of a moment, there was a sag in his shoulders, the way that willow trees did when they sighed too heavy at the branches before falling.

”I can’t spare any less.”

Then it was gone, cased anew in iron.

A moment passed. Two. Isolde seem to withdraw into herself for a moment, before letting out a slight giggle.

”Ufu. I see. You’ve genuinely thought this through, and still decided to continue on with it. Quite foolhardy, in my opinion, but admirable.”

The young man shifted a little at that, far from sure of what he’d been expecting. He spent a moment to study the trees, scratching at the back of his head.I guess I’m happy to entertain...

The Grovemaster placed her staff back into her lap, seemingly satisfied with whatever insight that she had gleaned out of Rudolf.

”Then if nothing else, I wish you good fortune and the blessing of the Mothercrystal. It is not the path I would advise, but if you are set on the hard road, then I can do little more to dissuade you from it.”

”Suppose it’s my way of things.”

A slight, somehow-saddened smile.

”For what it’s worth, I do hope the Trial turns out well for you and yours.”

“...So do I. For all our sakes.” he replied after a time, voice faint as the hint of smoke the wind carried over from the beginnings of the campfire. He couldn’t help but feel troubled by that expression, gentle yet melancholy. Familiar to him, in so many ways, for so many reasons. Not the least of which…

“You know, I saw that same look on Cid’s face, down in the temple beneath the desert.” he mentioned beneath a raised brow, a little out the side of his mouth. ”At first I was worried it was about me smelling like a desecrated ruin, like he had felt a severance from Etro’s light in the same breath as he’d explained how Blight manifests, but as time keeps rolling on, and I keep meeting holy folk like you, him, Neve… the more I wonder if it wasn’t something different they saw. And if this Trial is gonna see things the same way.”

He regarded her again, a wry, helpless smirk flashing across his features as the last edge of the sun sunk behind the emerald canopy high above.

”But that’s the whole point of the thing, isn’t it?”

Isolde’s face turned unreadably neutral at the mention of Cid, but she nodded nonetheless.

”We all lose our way at times, Rudolf. What matters is how we choose to proceed from there. Try to pull ourselves out of the holes we’ve dug, or double down and continue to bury ourselves. For what my opinion is worth, I believe you’ve done an admirable amount of pulling, if only for the sake of those around you.”

She rose from her seat, pulling herself up with her staff as a crutch.

”The Lady of the Whorls will judge you and yours, Rudolf. I pray that she does so favorably. Gird yourselves, and keep the greater good of those you are responsible for in mind.”

Rudolf let that sink in, then inclined his head.

”…Thank you. I’ll not keep you any longer.”

He remained seated, watching her rise, before eventually shifting the sword to rest against his shoulder and looking back over the parchment, and his many new side goals etched upon it. He had no heed of the blade, of course— it was the words he was left with, rather, that had truly cut him to the quick.

Once again, he saw his gaze shift from parchment to the hand that held it, pockmarked, worn, and dying of its want to tremor. He flexed his fingers closed, one by one, and found response, crinkling the stiff page as he imagined a grip for pulling. For the sake of others. Out of a deep, deep pit.

“The greater good, huh….”

The words passed into the night air as little more than a murmur, but the rang, and hung in his head, sound bouncing within a bell.

Responsibility.

The trial was a mere day away.

We reach this crossroads again, the dancing shadows of the campside firelight said, plainly speaking in their withering tongue. Is that look in your eye a mind made up?

He swallowed a thick lump of fear, clenching his jaw as if it would break the ice that had begun to grip him at the heart. His knuckles, wrapped tight as a stone coffin around the leaflet parchment, had gone white.

Yes. Now was the time.

Then tread with care, little squire-errant. And try not to destroy your list.

A deep breath, full of smoke, full of mist, full of clean jungle air. The boy rose, staring into the thicket, where any man could melt away and be lost forever in only three bounds.

”Alright.”

---

That evening, Esben would happen upon a most peculiar sight as he ventured slightly deeper into the woods where they were camping. Izayoi, apparently having wanted some alone time, could be seen in a clearing up ahead. With her, however, were two glimmering lights buzzing around the Mystrel.

Upon approaching closer, it was more evident what those lights were: fairies. Woodland sprites that served as lesser elementals within Drana Asnaeu and western Edren. That closer inspection would also reveal each of the two figures carrying something of Izayoi’s: her whetstone and bottle of sword oil.

For her part, it was unclear whether Izayoi was on the verge of murder or merely swatting them out of the air with her sandal, but her expression was growing more and more irritated with each passing second as the fae duo buzzed around her sitting form.

Truthfully, he had intended for his evening stroll to be just that and nothing more. Him, alone with his thoughts, enjoying the cool night-time air as it blew softly through the trees. An evening that would be far more comfortable and relaxing than any in Osprey, or even the ship that had carried them on down.

His plan, had he strayed across wherever Izayoi had chosen to go, was to simply alter his path and continue on alone. Doubtless, she would have preferred that too. Unfortunately for her, she’d been chosen for the attentions of some of the forest’s residents. He could have left them to it; perhaps he even should have done so.

Yet Esben still held a strong sense of curiosity, and in the face of something so harmless, he wasn’t one to deny it. So he had walked closer, his tread softening the moment the decision was made. Silently, he stepped into the clearing, leaning his back against one of the trees at the edge of it as he watched the scene unfold before him.

”Thieving ingrates!” Izayoi hissed in frustration, seemingly loath to resort to violence against the forest fairies as of yet. After a moment, she stilled, closing her eyes. And in a moment, vanished. With the two fairies being as close to each other as they were, Izayoi ripped her belongings out of their hands in the blink of an eye, her speed having increased a fair measure beyond what it had been in Osprey. It seemed weeks of intensive training and life-or-death battles were having their effect on her.

Her maintenance tools reacquired, Izayoi took care to secure them in a pouch before turning back to the fairies with a finger raised to lecture them.

”Do you often go about stealing what doesn’t belong to you? What a fine way to invite reprisal from those more unscrupulous!”

”Aww, this lady’s no fun, Eos…”

”No fun, Selene! No fun!”

It was then that the fae duo turned, spotting Esben.

”Oooh, what about this one? He’s dressed funny, too!”

”New friend, new friend!”

”That’s what I get for standing out in the open, is it?” He’d almost expected the pair might manage to keep playing keep-away with Izayoi’s things, despite knowing how quickly she could move. Whether they just weren’t prepared or were truly unable was a small disappointment—immeasurably better than what chaos may have resulted had Izayoi truly needed to resort to attacking them, but still a disappointment. ”I don’t have anything to give either, so don’t be thinking you can try the same game with me!”

With his hands ready to fend off any pickpocketing attempts, his eyes fell to Izayoi rather than the floating sprites. ”Do you always find strange new acquaintances everywhere you go? I thought Chisaki was a one-off.”

The two sprites, one glowing purple and the other green, began to orbit Esben nonetheless, occasionally pulling at his hair or poking him in the side.

All the while, Izayoi sighed, sitting down atop a fallen log.

”It is a distressingly constant pattern in my life, yes.” The ever-growing glint in her eye seemed to suggest that she was taking no small amount of satisfaction in seeing someone else be harassed in the same situation she’d just been in.

”How much do you know of these spirits? My master once had a phase in which he believed he could provoke an Eidolon to challenge. I learned much of them by osmosis during that time. And by proxy, lesser spirits such as the fae.”

When one of the two fairies started pulling at his eyebrows, Esben’s hand shot up, gently catching her leg between his thumb and finger. ”That’s enough,” he commanded, letting the green one go after a moment. While pulling at his clothes and hair was much more preferable than trying to open up his pockets, something he was keeping a watchful eye out for, there was still the easy possibility of pushing it too far. ”I’ve never encountered one, so any information I have is academic at best. The closest I’ve come were Eve and Siren.”

Once he felt he could safely take his eyes off the fairies for long enough to gauge Izayoi’s reaction, he frowned at the clear look in her eyes. ”I do hope that look isn’t just reserved for me, but I suppose I should be glad you’re getting some enjoyment out of this. Just so long as I don’t have to see that expression too often.”

”Hardly,” Izayoi huffed, though she made no move to help Esben. ”Any of you would suffer the same from myself. The gods know I could use some form of entertainment for a minute.”

”Wheeeee~” The green fairy seemed more thrilled than anything to be picked up and moved slightly before both of them continued to whirl around Esben. All the while, Izayoi sighed and rubbed her forehead, the constant movement and noise of colors threatening to give her a migraine.

”In any case, they seem to like you. Keep this up, and they may even deign to offer a summoning pact. Though I’ve little idea of what goes on in such a process. My knowledge of spirits ends at that point.”

”Seems like a question for Cid, no?” he mused, taking some small satisfaction of his own seeing that Izayoi was struggling to follow the two flying around him just as much as he was. The mutual skadefryd made things just a bit more bearable. ”Or Isolde, not that I particularly want to deal with either for the time being.”

Or the pair of fairies, though he doubted either would give much of a straight answer.

Izayoi only returned that inquiry with a noncommittal shrug, but the fairies seemed to perk up at the mention.

”Ooh, pact? You hear that, Eos?” The purple fairy, apparently Selene if the process of elimination was anything to go by, spoke first.

”Contract?”

Both fairies began to whiz around Esben at even faster speeds, seemingly sizing him up. More pokes and prods ensued, with Eos staring straight at Esben unblinkingly.

”Jiiiiiii~”

Perhaps he should have known this would happen the moment Izayoi mentioned anything of the sort. As it was, it was mostly thanks to his own self control that he was able to meet Eos’s stare levelly, ignoring Selene’s continual attempts at messing with his hair and clothing. ”There’s nothing really stopping either of you from following us around anyways, is there?” he asked, entirely rhetorically; the only real answer on that front would likely be ‘getting bored with the Kirins.’

But he couldn’t deny that they might be useful, assuming they could actually follow instructions. ”You’d have to behave yourselves. I’m trying to get the others to keep a lower profile, too, so that means you would have to be keeping quiet and hidden a lot of the time.”

”Oh, we can always leave if we get bored. The pact calls us back when you actually need us!” Selene piped up cheerfully.

”I heal people!” Eos chimed in before pointing at Selene. ”She makes bad people slow!”

”—But if you wanted to, we could do the pact right now! You seem nice enough that we wouldn’t mind helping out every now and again!”

”Hmm.” Heedless of the fairies still flying around and poking at him, trying to get a faster response, Esben fell silent as he thought. Certainly, with Neve having to leave them, having some additional source of white magic to keep the group alive would be useful, and take some pressure off of Miina. In the same manner, if they could be used offensively, it could help to make up for some of what they were lacking now that Eve was gone, and once again, take some pressure off of Miina. Assuming there was more to it than just what Eos had said, which he was assuming was the case.

But he wasn’t one to enter into contracts lightly, certainly not with supernatural beings that he’d never seen before in his life. That was the stuff of story, and was nearly always presented as folly, and arrogance of the highest order if the one making the deal thought themselves able to avoid any trouble and control whatever was making it with them. ”What would the details of this pact be?” he asked, breaking his silence. ”There has to be something in it for you, beyond just entertainment travelling with us from time to time.”

”Weeelllll, there’s the small price of a chunk of your...your...what do you people call it?”

”Mmm...aether?” As much as she was helping Selene, it looked like Eos’s mind was focused on something entirely different. She almost looked...hungry?

”Yep, that! It’s not like we’re asking for your soul or your firstborn or anything. Plus, we’re not wanting as much as, say, Leviathan or Ifrit would! Besides, it comes back!”

Esben nodded once. ”Well. How about we see how well we work together, before we set anything in stone? We’re all travelling to take part in a trial of some sort right now. If the two of you care to accompany me, we can consider that a trial all its own?”

Selene tilted her head at that, giving the matter some thought. Eos seemed content to follow her lead, patiently buzzing around. After a moment, she nodded.

”Okie! We’ll be holding back the good stuff for now, then. Just basic healing from us, maybe a little fey wind to speed and slow things down. Well, I say holding back, but that’s about the most we can actually do without a summoner feeding us aether. What you put in is what you get out, really.”

”Oh, wait!” A light seemed to shine somewhere in Eos’s brain. ”Trial? You mean Leviathan’s?”

”Right, that tracks! Hers ought to be the only one around these parts, unless it’s some silly mortal thing.”

”You would be correct. I’m not sure I’m interested in what passes for a legal trial here.”

”Oh, goodie! She probably won’t kill you unless you tick her off too badly, so…try not to? In any case, we’ll just tag along with you somewhere now.”

”Like in a funny hat! Do you have a funny hat?”

Meanwhile, Izayoi observed the proceedings, her head tilted.

”I must admit, I am impressed. Your actually succeeding in winning these two multicolored gnats over was not an outcome I was expecting.”

Esben looked over the pair towards Izayoi, one eyebrow raised. ”Women usually find me some degree of interesting,” he replied with a shrug, before turning back to the fairies. ”I’m sure I’ll find something for you. But, then, to start this off, I do have one request of the two of you...”

He leaned in closer, whispering so that only Eos and Selene could hear him.

”Get me that ribbon she uses to tie her hair back.”

---

The night was thankfully still, the many ambient noises of the jungle still abuzz in the background as the Kirins slumbered, the sounds an endless all-clear that the rotated watch really only needed to listen for.

He had grown accustomed to this quickly enough, despite how far it was from the lands he had always called home. He was smarter and calmer than many save his master had given him credit for, and it was a simple matter to recognize and differentiate a noisy safety from the quiet calm before the storms, be they sky or sea. This difference he knew, and this difference he felt in spite of the safe calls of smaller nighttime birds, an approaching omen like ozone on the wind alerting him even in the depths of sleep. A bad feeling, like cold and thick water on the air pelting him, an oncoming pressure that his master, no matter how smart, could never feel so like him.

He stirred, the black omen reaching out—

“Werk?” came the bleary question as a friendly hand scratched at his crest, and he received his answer in words at the same moment as his eyes revealed it.

”Korin,” Rudi breathed, voice quiet so as to not wake the others. In his other hand, he held out a sugar cube— the kind Eliane kept on hand in the moments where she offered to share her bitter-smelling brew that kept all his naked flockmates awake long and swift to act. ”Hey, buddy. Sorry I woke you up. Could I ask you to Watch?”

Watch. Korin was a smart Chocobo, and while Rudolf always felt like a bad day on the way, he had proven himself to be an agreeable sort with the birds, skilled at guiding them, riding them, and mindful to keep them taken care of. He glanced down at the sweet morsels in the small man’s hand— he was well-trained, and indeed knew the “watch” command as well as any, but he answered to Galahad chiefly among the many riders in this flock. And he really wanted to sleep more.

But he could smell the sugar at the end of his beak, and it was an easy task on nights like these… for a very rare treat.

He worked his beak, then rose, gingerly plucking the sugar out of Rudolf’s palm.

---

The watch had been largely uneventful, save for a few colorful permutations of the long shadows that came with weak and dying firelight, and that same undercurrent of chittering night animals. They were making good time to Redwood, and had luckily evaded being stalked by anything that might otherwise give a go at their Chocobo—

“Sir Galahad.”

Which was why Rudolf quietly tread forward, as though a stalking sabertooth, and was largely masked by the many calls of the night, at least to the ears of the slumbering party. Galahad’s may well have been a different matter, a keen knight of the crown by any measure, and always dutiful on watch, but that was fine—

He was the last person Rudolf meant to hide from.

“Seems I’m restless tonight,” he began, voice tense and low as he stalked in a wide circle, starting from where he had crept until he delivered himself to stand before the knight. His brow was slick with a colder sweat than the jungle bore, his gut full of heavy lead. “With the trial at hand, I have some concerns to address, at the very least...”

In his hand, stained a deep crimson in the ruddy firelight, was Valon’s spear. The silhouette he cut was doubtless familiar enough to Galahad— everything Rudolf had known of spearcraft beyond the soldier’s basics had come from the other knight’s most boisterous tourney rival.

“My swords are of humble make. Given how I have broken better already, I’d like to feel comfortable with my next most favored option, if this Trial might demand we fight. Indulge me a spar, until my mind settles?”

The back of the dragoon’s armor was lit by the firelight, the faint blue sheen of a blue dragon’s scales in the accents reflecting myriad colors as the young warrior approached him. Galahad shifted quietly, though his armor was hardly subtle as he glanced back towards the camp and the young Rudolf that had appeared. His halberd laid across his lap, a gauntlet sitting next to his helmet on an empty space on the log as a bare hand scraped a whetstone across the cutting edge. A surprised eyebrow raised as the older warrior gazed upon the younger.

It was a rare occasion that Galahad had ever sparred with any of the Kirins- though the reasons for not sparring varied with the individual. In Rudolf’s case, Galahad was surprised the young man had even approached him. Their interactions always held some degree of tension to them, and though this was not particularly less tense, Galahad had been of the impression that Rudolf had been avoiding him. He supposed he’d discover the reason soon enough.

”You know we have money now, right?” Galahad chuckled lightly, ”A well made set of blades for a warrior would not be a difficult investment to sell to the Kirins.” Still, the dragoon pulled his gauntlet on and stood.

”We do.” came the beleaguered confession, behind a glib shrug. ”The vast majority of my cut of our windfall in Osprey went into… charitable causes. And I haven’t put myself in a fair position to ask for loans.”

”I’ll admit, my mind isn’t exactly at ease either, these past few days have been… Irksome… to say the least. Unfortunately, I don’t imagine the others would enjoy their sleep interrupted by the sound of clashing steel, nor do I think the next watch would be particularly happy if I woke them up early-”

Galahad paused mid-sentence as the silver plumage of his chocobo, Korin, quietly padded over to them. The surprised eyebrow now turned to the chocobo, before shifting back to Rudolf, bemused realization crossing his face. Galahad snorted softly as he regarded the young warrior and chocobo standing next to one another. ”Et tu, Korin? My closest confidant conspires against me?” In a way, Rudolf and Korin standing next to one another reminded the dragoon of himself or his brother, a decade ago.

”Very well Sagramore, let us go find a place where the steel won’t bother the others.”

---

Finding a clearing in the jungle wasn’t the easiest task, but a small brook gave relief to the thick throng of trees that otherwise covered the area, neatly dividing an impromptu arena for the two to train. Dragonhide wrappings covered the hefty blade and point of Galahad’s halberd- he didn’t carry much in the way of training weapons, and even if he didn’t doubt Rudolf’s fighting abilities, an accident was hardly something they could afford now that they were short a white mage.

”I recall you claimed only modest mastery of the spear.” Galahad commented, the heavy halberd swishing through the air as Galahad brought himself low ready stance. ”Before I get impaled in the stomach, I'll ask now: Would you like to amend that claim?”

”That line again…”

”Apologies. I speak how I was taught.”

In response, Rudolf settled into a long guard, settling his weight forward, cloth-wrapped blade- not as ideal as Galahad’s, but better to seal an edge than nothing- extended higher and further out— exaggerating his range for the first moments of engagement. Honestly, it wasn’t terribly removed from how he held the greatsword in ochs guard.

”Then allow me to be forthright. Compared to yourself, not really. Compared to Wulf, not really, and I got plenty of bruises proving it to me. Those are my measuring sticks, if such is illustrative.”

”I always figured Wulfric to be more of an axe person, it matches his personality.” Galahad commented drily, ”Wulfric is better at fighting people than I am- folk like you and I tend to focus mostly on beasts, well, until recently anyway.”

I wonder about that.

“Have you had a chance to get used to it? Dragoon weapons tend to be longer and heavier than an infantryman’s weapon, the balance is more forward than what you might be used to.” Galahad asked, as he began to slowly circle towards the right, indicating that they were to start.

”Anyway, let us begin. On your guard, Rudolf.”

”May thy blade chip,” a deep, bolstering breath. “and shatter.”

Galahad’s pace slowed as he slowly circled towards the right, his own weapon prepared to guard against any sudden lunges. As his back foot uncrossed and pressed onto the soil, dirt and mud kicked off the ground and scattered as Galahad made a short leap forward, lunging with the speartip towards the space a few inches left of Rudolf’s head, before pulling the weapon back and swinging the haft wide, striking at towards his side with the butt of the weapon, probing the younger warrior’s defenses.

That was his game, then.

Rudolf had been watching, waiting, studying the older spearman from behind his extended guard, and in that tense period of measuring between them come to learn that Galahad wasn’t kidding— the looted lance was a far cry from even a halberd in how forward-ended its’ weight had been, balanced to be brought down heavy upon the necks of dragons from above as it was. This weight this far out would leave any normal soldier struggling—

His eyes flashed as he read the slight crouch, the shift in stance, the uncrossing of the legs. His opponent was about to pounce. The deceptively strong forearms of the shorter man flexed, adjusting his grip. He was no normal soldier.

And as Galahad lunged forward, Rudolf sprung forth to meet him, choking the thrust with his own, heavy point hurtling in to meet the dragoon ahead of schedule. His found the inside line, as Galahad’s lance ripped through the air a good distance from Rudolf’s head. The younger man’s thrust held no such trickery, instead simply extending out towards center of mass as he carried his own weight behind it with the step-in, and its velocity all but doubled by matching timing with the Dragoon’s lunge.

He knew Galahad better than to believe he would earnestly miss with his opening salvo. He knew very well what happened to him if he allowed stronger and more skilled warriors the comfort to try and get cute— he had to cut his misdirections off at the stem, and keep him honest with the openings they left.

And his instincts were right. In a flash, the taller man had pulled his halberd back, stepped off-line, and brought his haft around to crash into Rudolf’s midsection as he was forced to weave around Rudolf’s thrust—

To which Rudolf pivoted out to his left, bursting through his feet to mirror the Dragoon’s new angle (roughly 45 degrees askew from their first line of engagement, for you folks at home that might help visualize) as he brought his spear back to guard—

Planted as his feet found purchase again, grip shifting to bring the weighty head low—

And swiped it towards Galahad’s ankles, bones jarring as the sturdy hafts of the two wyrmsbane lances collided and rang. Galahad grimaced as he parried the strike, the older dragoon moving the heavy halberd with a speed and alacrity that seemed to defy the weight of the weapon itself. Well, he should’ve expected Rudi to be more than the average infantryman. Using the haft of the halberd to keep the spear outside his frame, Galahad brought the axe around to bring it down onto the young warrior, followed with a reverse strike the back spike, slowly working towards closing the distance despite the size and reach of their weapons.

”I’m surprised you reached out, if I’ll be honest.” Galahad grunted, as he lunged forward with a pushing kick to the chest, fast as lightning, his back foot pushing back to grant them distance quickly after, preparing his own guard with his weapon. ”What concerns seem to weigh on your mind?”

Rudolf grunted, bracing his core as he took the impact, not quite quick enough to dodge or block. As one would expect of a war veteran as thoroughly seasoned as Galahad, he adjusted the speed of his entries frighteningly quick the moment he’d gotten a remote read on the tempo his opponent was working at— good thing they were both agreeing to pull their punches.

He slid back a distance before catching himself, and returning to stance, pulling his guard and grip back. While he was strong enough to manage thanks to the tireless training that had seen the lowland swordsmen recognize him, he was no highland dragoon— not so used to the exaggerated balance that this felt comfortable. He’d have to shift to something more evenly distributed along the haft— closer now to a quarterstaff or poleaxe grip.

He frowned as his brows furrowed, and his breath loosed.

“We’re less than a day from the start of this Trial. It’s gonna be what stands between us and the Crystal of Water— And I’m assuming, since you’re allowed to take part where Neve wasn’t, your guess is as good as mine regarding what we’re in for. Despite your ties to the king—” he replied, the tail end of his rhetorical question coming out as a grunt as he burst forth, closing in behind a thrust rising from a low angle, the difference in height between them exaggerated in their stances.

”I can’t say- oof” Galahad grunted as he caught the thrust on the flat of his halberd, staggering backwards as the followthrough slammed his own weapon into his chest, ”Damn, that’s a good hit.” Galahad grimaced as he used the haft of his weapon to push Rudolf back and away before springing back a step, before lunging forward with a thrust of his own.

”I can’t say I disagree with you. It sounds like we’ll have a fight ahead of us.” Galahad started again, grunting between parries and thrusts, ”My only thought as to why they chose to disallow Neve was to make things ‘fair’, Etro damn them.” Galahad snorted. ”As though we should be particularly concerned about ‘fairness’ at this stage. Our enemies certainly aren’t playing fair. We ought to be given some windfall.”

“Isn’t the point to prove we’re worthy in the eyes of the Primordials to begin with? Maybe we have to display the qualities they seek with no foreknowledge. Naturally be, and that’s how we prove intent. As opposed to any asshole—” Rudolf offered neutrally, as much as one could when parrying the butt end of a polearm. It seemed . “Looking to make a grab at it like Valheim. Doing it correctly not just being about ‘us’ versus ‘them’. It being about us versus anyone that might misuse their access. If it’s something like that, I can see why we’d be no different for security matters.”

”No, I understand that- perhaps I’ve just been losing my patience as of late- but frankly the adherence to ceremony is… aggravating, to say the least.” Galahad growled, ”Active hindrance is what it feels like, really. But I suppose we make do with what we have, it seems like that’s what we always do.”

Taking a step back, Galahad held out a hand, ”It’s a dragoon’s spear. Let the weight lead the strike and follow through with your body: concentrate your energy into your legs and hips, then leap forward.

Rudolf nodded slowly, talking the lull to backpedal five paces and do as he was told— leaping into the air and torquing through a full-bodied lunge that drove the spear’s point into the earth. The head bit deep, but he had to admit as he pulled it away… riding the weight like that was an uncomfortable loss—

No,

Surrender.

— of some element of control. How ironic, given the position he’d made a defense of only moments ago.

”It is aggravating. And it is what we always do. All my life I’ve done that, for certain.” a firm edge lined his words as he stepped back, breathing heavy, rose-gold eyes staring into Galahad and showing every bit of the frustration was shared… and yet also mixed with something else, something darker, like oil spilt upon the surface of a lake. ”And when I did not respect that, I’ve seen what my greed gets people. That’s…”

He paused, grip on Valon’s spear going white knuckled and unsteady for a moment. His brow furrowed. His teeth grit. He drew in a deep, quaking breath, raising the bladed point…

And as though casting off a cloud of fear, struck the ground between them, carving a deep line into the earth. As though he were swiping at the shadows that clung to his face, settled around the eyes beneath his hanging bangs in the dim jungle night. From beneath them, the eyes pinned Galahad as well as any spear. He had to say it. It had to be now, before he turned away. Before the spar dragged more energy out of him, and took the strength he had mustered to build to the moment.

“That’s why I brought us here, in truth.” he grit out, each word baked in a shell of old fear that hardened into tight discomfort. A soldier, reporting to his superior officer with nothing good in tow. “Whether it be by Grovemaster decree or revelations from Cid, we’ve lost two members of our party in less than a week. Whatever we feel about it, that’s the state of affairs we’re left fielding. With us being right upon the Trial’s doorstep, we can’t afford any more surprises that would hinder us.”

Responsibility, right, kid?

He swallowed a lump of ice. A bead of sweat ran down his brow. Was it nerves? Was it the spar? He had no way of knowing, past the band that seemed to wrap around his lungs. Each word that slipped free circled around him, like old ghosts unwilling to give up their haunt.

“...You told me to report to you when I believed that the occult presence within me might become a problem. Trouble comes in threes.”
Three bounds. That was what it would take to disappear if he bolted right now. Gone in the brush, likely lost in the forest until disease or thirst took him.

Was he still thinking that? Listening to his instincts?

Responsibility.

“If we are to have our merit judged as a group by the third holy authority to meet our party… then I can no longer keep uncomfortable secrets to myself, only to have them blown wide apart when we need it the least.”

Responsibility.

Responsibility.

Or was he preparing for the verdict that awaited tonight’s end? Making contingencies?

Memories bubbled up from within. Each one that crept up towards the surface carved a path through his mind he felt every second of like knives through the heart. Like they were flaying him. He wanted nothing more than to forget all this. He’d tried for five years. Never to any good. If anything… it all cast itself into sharper focus with each failure. Each reminder of cowardice. Of weakness. Of how helpless he was against the cruel indifference of the very world they now fought to protect.

Responsibility.

And how far he would go to fight against it.

Responsibility.

He could not bear them, but could not rid himself of them. If they were stuck dragging him down in that limbo between the two, then… The only right thing to do was clear. The only sensible thing. The only pragmatic thing.

“If you are to lead this team through whatever we think this may be, for the fate of the world… then you need the truth. All of it.”

No stone unturned. Not one thing omitted. Between him and the world itself… he chose a drop in the bucket.

Galahad’s mouth had flattened into a wry line, halfway to a frown, but the man was silent for a moment. For that moment there was little but the still air and the faint sound of insects in the brush. When he’d spoken to Rudolf the first time, a part of him hoped this day would never come- the more realistic part of him knew tonight was inevitable. He’d asked for this, after all. Now he’d realized why Rudolf had came to him- the young man had been something of a raw nerve for the past few days, Galahad had been wondering what changed.

The air filled with the heavy swing of steel as the halberd’s axe made a half circle in the air, its spearpoint hovering above the ground for but a moment before it cracked the earth, embedding itself far enough into the ground that it remained perfectly upright, even as Galahad leaned against it. Orbs of ice matched the stare of gold.

”You seem to have much weighing down on you.” Galahad finally broke the silence, his voice calm and even, as he crossed gauntleted arms. ”I appreciate your forthwith. Speak freely. I shall listen.”

He had the floor. The swordsman nodded stiffly, each muscle in lockstep. As though every fiber were being controlled and reined in, guarded against errant impulse.

“Well, you may as well get comfortable.” He began sardonically. “Have a seat—“

A face flashed across his mind’s eye. Blue eyes, full of conviction and hope, framed by golden bangs and white robes. Someone they’d both just lost. Galahad for the second time.

“—or stand.” he hedged, biting down that spark of embarrassment from before. “Up to you, just… It’s funny. The last person I tried to talk to was Neve. She barely let me get any further than what you knew before this thing showed up in our day.” He planted the spear into the earth, but couldn’t bring himself to mirror Galahad’s languid posture. “And now, she…”

A sigh, that turned into a hiss of frustration, that then turned again into a low growl.

“I’m stalling. This is difficult for me, I’ve only ever talked about what I did with… one other person. And since it was the lowest point of my life, what I said then is a nice and convenient blur.”

He grimaced. Disgust welled in his gut. Honestly, part of him wanted to vomit.

Out with it, boy.

“You know what. We can take this from the top. So:” he kept ahold of the crimson haft, glancing at it out of the side of his eyes. “I surmise you’ve put at least a few things together on your own, between what I’ve told you and what people like this thing’s owner have let slip. I’m a Shilage. I’m familiar with the Demets. I maintain regular contact even after my exile, so my relationship with the Earl is tight beyond familial friendship— so probably had a squireship beneath. Those details.”

This was awkward and meandering, but a start all the same. He dearly wished he could rattle off a staccato rundown of all the facts in boilerplate analytical language, but the die had been cast. Especially, he realized, if they were concerned about the role the mind and souls might have tomorrow.

“For the sake of eliminating redundancy, what can we call implicitly understood regarding the subject? I’m not wasting watch hours yapping about shit you’re already aware of, if I can help it.”

”I've put together most of it. The family background and relationships. You certainly didn't make it easy for me.” Galahad sighed, ”I was aware the Shilages had some sons. I believe I met the eldest during a tourney once before. I don't know how the occult presence enters the picture or it's effects.”

“...Then you have seen the highest peak, and now the lowest valley.”

The eldest. At that, Rudolf had for a moment gained a stricken look upon his face. There were a deluge of questions burning, boiling, at the back of his mind. How was his condition? Did he participate, or just attend? How did he look like he was doing? Where had he been? What had he done?

He couldn’t. The expression faded.

If he did, something he needed to keep the rest of this going would break. Be it time, be it focus, be it…

“Yes, there were three sons in that household. I don’t count myself among them for many reasons. I really never could.” he intoned bitterly, hitting a rolling start. “The name Shilage is synonymous with a fierce warrior, daring, bold, driven, ruthless, sure. No doubt songs will be sung of them in time, refraining in the family creed: ‘All by blood held, in blood shall be earned’. You’ve met me. You know how little of that I am. It’s always been that way. I really did almost die from that sickness we told those knuckleheads about, but even when I had recovered, I still couldn’t measure up. And I knew it.”

Their spar had turned up a good share of loose stones, between the strikes hitting the earth and the two combatants’ movements. Now, stock still, Rudolf kicked one, watching it bounce along before settling again.

“Caradoc or not, as a knight you’re more than aware that any soldier needs a strong body and strong heart.” he continued, not waiting for an answer, not asking a question. “I was a lame duck, flocking with sturdy chocobo. Scrawny and meek. It wasn’t long before my younger brother began to outstrip my capability, just as bad as the elder always did. I was told to try harder, even though I was always trying as hard as I could. It didn’t make a difference, even though I’d figured it out.”

It was laughable, compared to what he carried now. But as a boy, as a son desirous of knighthood?

“When Otto and our old man rode off to join the war, I wanted to follow. I wanted to do them both proud. Do myself proud, too. I thought maybe the efforts had paid off— but I was still too weak, and likely too young. I’d be helpless on the field. I got sent west.”

Lunaris. The broad western fief under the stewardship of the venerable Demet house— a land that had, more than once, been the flame burning at the crucible that was his boyhood. As far away from the war as you got while still being in the kingdom.

His eyes narrowed, considering that in a new light after his last talk with their party’s other veteran of that war he was so keen on ‘proving himself’ in. All the more pointless and stupid.

“It was under Earl Cadmon and Lady Seva’s eye that I was to continue my education and training during the war. A lot of places to see and study and work up sweat there— few of them better than the ruins of the culture that came before. I spent plenty of nights camped out there, when I wanted a change of pace from the Demet keep.”

… A shudder, bile on his tongue where it didn’t belong. He was losing his nerve. Falling apart, swimming in memories he had fought to never reckon with like this.

“A lot to learn from those ruins. Some would say too much. People go missing in the depths, hear voices with no owners bouncing off the stone, return touched— even the archaeological expeditions tread with care. Setting foot in there on your own, as a desperate child, wanting to feel strong…”

His face by now had set into a collection of hard lines. He looked half again his age in the low light, even in spite of a small build and fine features. The shadows pulled out every tired crease in his face— and deepened again, as he thrust a thought into the lance he held, the haft and blade burning with a black blaze that marred the earth even as the point seemed to sink deeper.

”I suppose I know a thing or two about needing to live up to family expectations. I've spent most of my life trying to live up to my father's expectations– We see where that's gotten me.” Galahad sighed quietly, his voice almost bitter, ”Though perhaps it's better this way. Admittedly, perhaps my brother might’ve been better suited for this talk- you two are a lot alike, he would’ve liked you.”

The old noble families of Edren were traditionalists by nature- Demets, Shilages, Caradocs- most, if not all of them hailed from military backgrounds, and a culture of breeding strong warriors was almost always within the forefront of their minds. As regrettable as it was, Galahad was almost unsurprised how hard Rudolf had to work only to not be seen as enough- his younger brother too was no warrior, Galahad could remember the embarrassment his father had when his brother had taken up the white cloak of a healer- armored or not.

As if in answer, Rudolf’s eyes fell. That was right— Galahad had mentioned a brother. Back around the campfire, when he and Esben had linked up with the main body of the Kirins. He’d even visited Sagramore, for training. That seemed a century ago now… even though they were treading towards ground as raw as if it had been ripped through only yesterday.

“Were it so simple.” He ruefully intoned. “I should have liked to meet him, hearing you speak— but we missed eachother. He was out on dispatch before I ever saw the Crandor Basin.”

”It is good that you didn’t go off to the war. War is never as glamorous as the bards tell it. I still see their ghosts at times, the men I lost, the men I killed. Their faces remain in my dreams and plague my nightmares. It is… unpleasant, to say the least. Killing dragons and monsters was a simpler time. Galahad sighed. ”Even that was a fluke. I told Eve as much: The ‘Youngest Dragoon’ in history is a complete accident, a stroke of luck. No prodigy like the bards love to sing.”

“Mm.” he grunted, the vague hints of a shrug touching his shoulders. They were narrow, small. Tired. “If only that lack of prodigy you say you share with me were the extent of it. We wouldn’t even be speaking like this— even if I were still on this quest with you, I would at least bear my name with pride, and the old man’s blessings for Good Hunting.”

Galahad gestured towards the lance in Rudolf's hand, shrouded in black darkness. ”So you stumbled upon something in the ruins, whatever it was resulted in what we see now. I can see what might happen with a young boy and mysterious powers, I assume you killed or almost killed someone? “

A long silence held, as the words rang within the younger man’s skull. The deduction had been a simple one, given the way he had framed everything over the journey. A small part of him wondered if he, subconsciously, had made sure it would come to whomever would eventually pull this all out.

Cadmon had told him something about that once. “Every story will want to be told, whether you let it or not.”

Only time, with its millions of days to bury beneath, can truly silence it. Time you ran out of, the moment we started talking again.

“…Let me clarify something.” he began, swallowing the blaze as he ripped Valon’s spear from the earth and tossed it away. He wanted nothing in his hands. No safety valves. No distractions. Just himself and what he had to say, before this whole exercise was made pointless. He tasted iron. Oblivion was right around the corner. “We’ve already hammered home the point— I suck. I’m hopeless. No matter how hard I worked, I could never meaningfully overcome my limits. Not even after my first visit to Sagramore. Not even beneath a different collection of guiding hands. So when the war ended, and I had nothing to show for a year’s worth of work aside from broken vows, and misplaced faith…”

An arm rose, as though bidden by another, palm skyward. He was a beggar. A servant. A knight swearing fealty. A vagrant accepting alms. A man at the end of his rope, making a payment in quiet desperation. All of these. None of them.

Another orb of flame, barely the size of a bead, burned at the base of his hand. Within him, a torrid inferno licked at his mind— and the one who had granted it looking on from wherever it sat, silently holding it in check.

“I ran from that reality, and the gods that ordained it. I followed a voice that called to me, deep below the stone. I didn’t stumble into anything—”

He crushed the point of burning dark, fist so tight it threatened to draw blood from the palm.

“—I forged this contract directly. It was borne of my own volition, to satisfy my own facile ego. I thought of nothing but wanting to feel like I wasn’t helpless. That the Mothercrystal’s light was a small enough sacrifice, if I could just stop losing.”

A laugh bubbled up from him. It was a bitter, painful, ugly thing. He felt like a hole had been drilled through his gut— like maybe the dragoon fifteen feet away had skewered him while he rambled. He hadn’t. Maybe it’d be better if he did.

“I suppose if Otto’s making tournament appearances, his face healed pretty well by now...” he murmured. “That’s good. I thought I…”

Not even the grimace could hold a grip upon his countenance forever. As he trailed off, it fell, leaving him numb beyond the fact that he could only stare a hole into the earth between the Dragoon’s feet.

“I never told anyone what I had done. I knew the ramifications of it by the time I’d resurfaced. It wasn’t terribly long before I got sent home, to welcome my father and brother back from the front with Edren’s victory in hand— and they returned with their unit shredded and a single trophy. Big sword that doesn’t cut worth a damn. You might be familiar.”

It was a moot point to worry about keeping that stupid thing obfuscated.

“Otto suggested we spar to cut tension, to catch up, and be brothers for old times’ sake. So he could check how I’d gotten on in the year and a half since he’d seen me. It was a lot like this, in some ways. We were tired. Stressed. I was desperate to prove myself. His body hadn’t yet adjusted to peace. He was stomping me, until tempers flared, and….”

He heard it.

A sudden yelp of surprise and agony. Crackling, popping flame. His own heart, hammering like Midgar’s many forges, crashing like thunder.

He saw a man, no older than he was now, clawing at the inky lines of black that tore at his jaw, his eye, his very fate.

He was right there again. He maybe hadn’t ever left.

His shuddering breath caught, then forced itself free of his lungs. Some of his voice loosed with it, like he was jettisoning a scream that had begun to build at the back of his throat prematurely. A rough, choked grunt of a sound. His teeth grit, and he wrested control back.

“...Yes. I did nearly kill someone. It was the only time I ever lost control— the only time I had pulled from the well at all, until I chose Izayoi’s life over mine. The presence in my head and I have a clear understanding. As you can see, I’ve been burning luck left right and center since. If I had more of fate on my side, you still wouldn’t know I was even remotely tied to that family— but now you can see why I refuse to challenge being disowned. It is more mercy than I deserved from them. I turned my back on Etro. If I had revealed myself a mage, it would have been more acceptable— and that was how they learned of it.”

”So, now we find ourselves at present. You've had that within you from the moment you joined our company, what makes it different now from back then– and what would you have me do about it?“ Galahad asked, his tone even. He glanced at the Valon’s weapon, now given to Rudolf, and the halberd resting on his own back and sighed. ”If you worry that I'm going to attempt to slay a ‘monster’, I find that to be a fair bit overly dramatic– unless you're capable of separating that entity from your body at will. I'll say this: you're not the only one of our number with demons from their past– though perhaps yours are a touch more literal.”

“No. Not you. Leviathan.” he sharply intoned. Saying this was no comfort to him, but finally, steel had brought itself back to his voice. The hardest part was over. He could be a dutiful soldier again, all difficult information of consequence relayed. “My concern is what the Trial of Tides may judge within me. If my willfully severed connection to the gods may see it find me wanting.”

His eyes narrowed.

“If it may turn me, and thus everyone, away from where we need to go. You’re the leader of this deployment, Galahad, however we may not adhere to traditional rank— and you cannot accurately assess risk without this information.”

He stepped forward, drew his bone-hilted knife, and dropped to his knees, driving the blade into the line he had carved with Valon’s spear. He was at the shining knight’s mercy.

“I was desperate to redeem myself. I wanted to commit my full effort to seeing this quest through. I believe it all I have left. Even so.”

He drove it deeper. Lower into the earth, the last fang of a dark, wounded tiger, judged by the brilliant dragon from the mountaintop heavens.

“This is bigger than me. Much, much bigger. I refuse to make that mistake twice. Not when the world itself is at stake. If you need to jettison me… I will be gone.”

Wrenching the halberd from it's place in the ground, Galahad stood to his full height, swinging the blade around in a wide arc before letting the haft settle on his shoulder. ”If you truly find yourself to be that much of a risk to the Kirins and our efforts, then I'll ask you to recuse yourself from this journey. Galahad said plainly, ”But as it stands, I’ll take any blade I can get. Despite how we’ve gotten here, I still believe in you. No one is without fault- We cannot change what we’ve done in the past. Only how we impact the future. I believe the gods to know this as well. Galahad said quietly as he strode over to the fallen spear and picked it up. He tested the heft in his own hands, twirling it with practiced dexterity, the heavy blade whipping through the air. ”If our world is such where one’s past wrongs doom them from a life of honor and redemption, then perhaps it is not a world worth saving. For all the cowardice and desperation of your past, the Rudolf I have known has shown neither, facade or not. You’re bolder than you realize- though perhaps we can work on the honesty.”

Galahad brought the heavy spear down its weighted butt cracking lightly on Rudolf’s knelt shoulder. ”Stand, Rudolf. I am not a lord for you to pledge fealty to, or some greater power for you to kneel to. We’re warriors, Rudolf, and kneeling does not suit us. Steel your will and redeem yourself, take it with your own hands, damn whether the fates allow it or not.”

A breath.

Two.

He drew the knife from the earth gingerly, as though he needed to move with the utmost care. Perhaps he did. His rise, in turn, was as well a slow one, seeing his gaze go high as if he meant to pierce the canopy above, and take in those stars again.

The enormity of it all, obscured and obstructed, as it had that day. A gathering sinking thunderhead… versus blooming, climbing life.

“It’s funny.” he murmured, barely more than a whisper caught by the wind. “Everyone that I’ve convinced to trust me with this gets hurt in some way. The last one that tried to talk about it was Neve. The first was Eve. Look where they are now. Lost and gone… Like the luck I burn. I might end up burning you too, fellow warrior.”

For all it had sounded jest, there was a warning in there. For all he couldn’t keep a wry laugh out of his voice… he couldn’t fully bring himself to believe it. Still so very fearful beneath the surface, he finally glanced over.

“We’re to follow in the footsteps of the Warriors of Light from ages past. And you’re saying you’d welcome a tenebrous heretic in the ranks, and choose oblivion over pruning a dying leaf? Condemning our continent? That’s hell you’re walking into.”

”I doubt the Warriors of Light were saints either. The tales of bards are always more heroic than the actual men and women.”

Even so.

“My turn to say it, Sir Galahad.”

As he turned to face his counterpart properly, his grip on the knife had firmed. The words hadn’t fallen on totally deaf ears.

“Would you like to amend your answer?”

”Now that I'm on the receiving end I can see what you meant by ‘again’- it does sound rather… Dramatic, doesn't it?” Galahad snorted quietly, offering the young warrior the spear once more. His voice slowly grew in tone. Not quite demanding, not quite soft spoken, somewhere inbetween. ”Do you want to leave? Do you want me to tell you to leave so you don't have to decide on your own? I won't beg you to stay and fight alongside us. Decide for yourself, Rudolf: Who are you? What do you want?”

…

Honestly?

Maybe he did.

Maybe he was looking for a way out.

Maybe he wanted to hear his expectation, doubt, and fear, all realized.

Really, did he know anything, at this point?

Who was he?

Rudolf.

Not of Sagramore. He was never born to the lowland redmanes. Only their guest.

Not a Shilage. Whatever his blood had come from, those ties had been burned at both ends of the wick.

Rudolf, a man not even twenty. Rudolf, a man defined by an abyss.

Rudolf. A man refusing to want anything. Except…

He reached forward. Were it all so easy as this. As extending one’s hand.

“...I did say I have unfinished business. And that I don’t want to leave a job half done.”

And slowly, that hand closed around the spear’s haft again, pulling it free from the dragoon’s grip. With it, he loosed a breath he hadn’t meant to hold, as the weight became that tiny bit more familiar.

“I want… to believe there’s a reason it’s me standing here, and not someone else. It could have been so many others— so I wanna know why me. Until I do, at least… I’ll keep lending my sword.”

”In time I'm sure the reason will reveal itself.” Galahad said with some degree of finality, taking a few steps back towards the center of the clearing. The vicious halberd spun through the air once more. ”Until it does… Ready your guard. Our fight has not ended just yet.”

It had been just a pretext. An excuse to get the older man alone for the ultimatum. Rudolf hadn’t really been desperate to shore up his spearcraft. And yet…

His weight lowered, ready to spring, and he centered his balance.

…Here they were.

Once more, with feeling.

“May thy blade chip… and shatter.”

---

Later that evening, Izayoi could be found kneeling by the stream they’d camped by, her hair falling down just below her shoulders as she cursed sulfurously under her breath. On closer inspection, she seemed to be running something through the water and fiddling with it.

A person with proper fear response would probably choose to retreat, considering the samurai’s mood. In Eliane’s case, though…

The Skaelan woman was someone that was wired for anything but a proper fear response. She had been getting an extra breath of fresh air by the stream where Izayoi’s obvious fussing drew her in closer, clearly annoyed with something.

Eliane wasn’t Miina, so fortune favors the bold. “Something wrong?”

”No, I’m merely agitated for no reason whatsoever.” Izayoi shot back without even raising her head. ”Perhaps tis simply that time of the month.” Obviously sarcastic. ”Did you want something, Eliane?”

The pink-haired woman canted her head to the side at that. If she was aware of Izayoi’s obvious anger, she did not show it. “Perhaps,” she allowed, with some minor amusement, before continuing seamlessly into a proper question, “I can assist with whatever it is you’re doing?” Eliane’s hands were idle for the moment, so why not stop to help an obviously frustrated Izayoi?

”...There is no need.” Izayoi gave up whatever she was doing as a bad job for the moment, tucking whatever she was holding into her kimono before rising and facing her companion.

”If you are curious, your countryman is an idiot. In any case, moving on. We are down two members of our party and forced to engage in this ridiculous test. I hope you’ve restocked on ammunition ever since the battle at sea.”

“If you say so.” Eliane gave her a look, but shrugged, wondering what Esben had done. She found him to be an intelligent man, even if he had his moments. Izayoi’s immediate change of topic was completely unsubtle, even for Eliane, but considering the topic she easily took the bait and chuckled darkly. “Better the test than me having to make good on my threats. Thankfully I’ve restocked, although it was difficult. Most of the people here have hardly heard of the concept of gunpowder, let alone advanced Valheimian ammunition.”

She produced one of the rounds from a pocket, because of course she carried minigun ammunition in her pockets now wherever she went.

”At this point, I would almost have preferred that you were entirely serious.” Izayoi murmured darkly, her frustration with the Grovemasters more than evident. Nonetheless, she nodded when Eliane confirmed her resupply, folding her arms.

”I believe I shan’t have to ask, but I may as well: how have you been faring considering all that has happened? None of what has happened since the desert has been entirely expected.”

Eliane shrugged at that. “It would have been interesting, at least.”

She briefly scratched her cheek as she pondered Izayoi’s question. “Ambivalent. We are far in over our heads, but we’ve been making solid, tangible progress where I hadn’t expected us to,” she admitted. “So– worried but content. I have a real enemy to point my weapons at.”

Despite the conversation, her eyes continued to flick towards her counterpart’s pocket, obviously still curious what had happened between Izayoi and Esben. “And what about you? After the events in your country…”

Izayoi sighed at that, letting some of her weariness show as her shoulder slumped slightly.

”Believe me, despite everything, I would still rather be on the front lines in Osprey. Had this quest not been of the utmost importance, Lord Hien could not have persuaded me to leave.” She turned and stared straight at Eliane, meeting her gaze.

”You, of all people, ought to understand. Despite how crucial our mission is here, would you not prefer to face the invaders in your country, had they been there? I believe it was mentioned offhand you are a figure of some local repute in the capital.”

Eliane inclined her head. “I think I understand, to an extent. Skael has had the great fortune to not have been attacked in living memory, but in your position I would do no differently.” The Skaelan woman made a grimace before continuing with another nod. “Yes… a battle in the capital. Our politics are something else entirely…”

Izayoi nodded in understanding. ”Then I am glad we are in alignment.” She paused for a moment, tilting her head as she considered Eliane. ”Forgive the presumption, but your deeds and demeanor remind me of myself years ago, in many ways. At your age, I was also a captain of a lord’s guard. Hien’s father, if you must know. And I was just as eager for a fight.”

Canting her head to the side as well, Eliane considered Izayoi’s words, the obvious parallels making her pause even if their personalities were quite different. “Yes, I can see the similarity. Striking, actually,” she agreed, hoping that similarities remained as they were and meant nothing more for the future, for her country’s sake. “Don’t think I’m ready to open a new bakery yet, though…”

”Believe me, life will hardly wait for you to be ready.” Izayoi remarked dryly as she picked up on Eliane’s subtext, speaking from experience. ”Fortunate that you already have a secondary plan for the course of your life. You learned your skills from your family, then?”

Eliane shrugged at that. “I did. The best bakers in the entire country, if you ask Esben. He’s not wrong, but I doubt that man has been there as many times as he implies.”

”I see. I take it you wish to visit Skael once we are finished here in Drana Asnaeu, then?” Izayoi paused, furrowing her brow. ”I confess, I am not eager to return to Edren. I will not gainsay you should you elect to push the matter once we are finished with this ridiculous trial and these ridiculous excuses for rulers.”

She grinned. “Can’t wait to get back. The weather here is nice but the awful governance of these people taints the very land like the Blight.” Thinking back at the equally unpleasant dinner with Galahad’s father, as entertaining as she had tried to make it, she couldn’t help but to agree as well– to an extent. To her, Edren might have been a lesser country, but it was still coffee mecca. “I’ll stress that we try to avoid Midgar as much as possible. I doubt the Duke likes me very much either, now…”

”Oh, you wish to avoid Midgar?” At this point, Izayoi’s tone could be mistaken for sandpaper. ”Yes, imagine how I feel.”

Eliane winced. She could be dense at times, but even she could recognize when she was treading into deep water like this. “Sorry. That was out of line of me.”

”Bah,” Izayoi scoffed, relatively unbothered despite her words. ”Think nothing of it. Merely an ageing widow’s grousing. As I’m told, I believe old hags are allowed a complaint or five daily.”

Eliane tilted her head. Her fellow swordswoman wasn’t even that old, but she decided not to comment on that aside from giving her a wry smile.

What fresh hell was this? How, in the name of Dhinas, Imir, and the Mother, had their current situation come to be?

Why was she even asking herself this? Izayoi had been there for all of it:

The Kirins had parted ways with Grovemaster Isolde once they'd reached Cascona Landing, but not without her giving them precise instructions for how to conduct the ritual to begin the Trial of Tides.

They'd reached the site of the trial the next day: a cliff overlooking the sea, some ways away from Costa del Sol. At its peak was an ancient altar designated to veneration of Leviathan in olden times, before worship of the Mother and Her Seven became commonplace. While the Eidolons were no longer worshipped directly by most in the current era, they still held a place of reverence in the Mother's light as regulators of the land's aether.

The party performed the ritual to the exact letter as they had been instructed by Isolde. As if bid by command, Leviathan arose from the ocean in moments, summoned by the call given to her. The Lady of the Whorl loomed over the cliff, her serpentine head staring down at the Kirins.

"You dare offer challenge?!"

And then she'd reared back before firing a jet of pressurized water out of her mouth to sweep across the party.



Izayoi peered out from over the fallen rubble she'd taken shelter behind, reaching down to her sword. What the hells?! They'd conducted the ritual precisely as they were bid to! Was the trial supposed to be a damned deathmatch? Small wonder the Grovemasters didn't wish to risk Neve, then!

"The Eidolon leaves us no choice! We fend her off, or we drown in her tides!" Izayoi hurled her cloak and hat off, glowering all the while. "Once we finish here, I am more than inclined to make Eliane's threat to those sanctimonious bastards in Brightlam come true!"