Time: Sola 28th Late Morning
Location: Edin Theatre
Interactions:
Mentions: Anastasia @princess, Kazumin @samreaper, Lorenzo @FunnyGuy

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Laced inbetween the degenerate behavior from the Caesonian public and its head of state were not so bad performances. Kazumin's puppet show was clever. A typical tale of a woman's friendship with an inanimate object with a dark and sad twist. John wondered if it was something of a personal story to this otherwise goofy jokester he remembered. It was not a sad twist for the sake of a twist. It was handled well and beautifully, he found it hard to believe the dance of emotions were just pure inventiveness. But whatever the case was, he gave the man a clap. He deserved it. Hopefully the guy wouldn't get himself killed in the king's court.

He didn't know what to think about Lorenzo's performance. The Duke did put his heart into it, but it came off as a bit cheesy for John's taste. He tried to overlook it and find empathy, and the result was somewhat middling. Perhaps he was biased against Lorenzo due to his theatrics before the performance, or his nonsense John had to deal with the other day. John remained quiet like most of the crowd, simply choosing to blend into the background.

John suddenly felt an itch. A sixth sense, if he were to describe it. He glanced back and forth around the theatre to nothing unusual. Everyone was just enjoying the show in their own way. But he couldn't shake off that feeling that something bad might happen. He comforted himself with the fact that it wasn't the first time he felt this, and most of the times nothing happened. He hoped the only drama here would just be Anastasia's gripping cello performance.

Speaking of, John could felt her performance to the very bone. This wasn't just music. This was a story, told without a single spoken word, and it was a sad one. He could also feel his own story, his own feeling of loss and grief emerging from within, entangling with her own in a empathetic dance. They said last but not least, but this was certainly the most he felt in this event so far. It made all the trouble, the annoyances he had earlier in the day all worth it.

By the performance's end, John was among the applauders. Solemn just like everybody else, but one of the loudest.

Time: 12pm by the end
Location: Edin Theater
Interaction: @Helo Callum @Silverpaw Wulfric @JJ Doe Morrigan
Mention: @FunnyGuy Lorenzo

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Edin's laughter boomed through the banquet hall, loud and obnoxious as if Callum had just uttered the most profound wisdom ever spoken.

“Ah! Now that is a thought, boy!” he guffawed, slapping his meaty hand on the table hard enough to make some napkins fall on the floor. “A dancer and a jester, all in one! Entertaining and obedient! And people say you’re useless, Callum! Ha! Not today, not today!”

Meanwhile, Alibeth grimaced, her expression tightening. She had no interest in the so-called jester, nor did she appreciate Callum's amusement at the idea. “Must you encourage him?” she muttered under her breath

“I wonder how long this one can last before he lands himself on the execution block.”

Edin’s laughter faltered, his goblet pausing mid-air. His drunken amusement dimmed just slightly, a flicker of irritation flashing through his glazed-over eyes. For a brief moment, the air around him seemed to shift as if he might turn his ire toward Wulfric. But then, just as quickly, he scoffed and threw back the rest of his wine in a single, gluttonous gulp.

“Hah! You say that as if half this court isn’t already skating on thin ice,” he muttered, setting his goblet down with an audible clunk. His fingers drummed against the table, his amusement returning, “But I must admit, that would be an entertaining way to end the show. Imagine the grand finale—" he smirked and flicked his wrist theatrically, “a lovely little dance… right off the edge of the gallows!” He roared with laughter again, as if his own jest had brought him back to life.

Meanwhile, Alibeth’s lips pressed into a thin line, her expression momentarily unreadable.

As Lorenzo then took the stage, Edin let out a deep, exasperated sigh, already bracing himself for whatever nonsense was about to unfold. His fingers drummed against the armrest. “Oh, great. This idiot again,” he muttered, barely bothering to lower his voice. His patience for Lorenzo Vikena was thinner than the strings holding up Kazumin Nagasa’s puppet earlier.

At first, Edin was delighted as Lorenzo summoned an entire marching band from the audience. His eyes lit up, his grin stretching wide as he clapped his buttery fingers together. His amusement only grew as the ribbon dancers came on stage, and the poppy petals rained down upon Lorenzo like a self-proclaimed war hero.

Then he heard them.

The instant the trumpets blared, Edin’s fingers went rigid around his goblet, his knuckles whitening. His entire body stiffened, his breath caught mid-sip. It was as if the very walls of the theater had collapsed, and suddenly, he was not here.

Edin’s jaw clenched as his breathing grew shallower. His grip on the goblet tightened, then he slammed it down onto the armrest with a force that sent wine sloshing over the edges. Alibeth, already irritated by Lorenzo’s display, turned at the sound of his goblet slamming down.

“Edin?”

“...A Danrose does not flinch.” Edin exhaled sharply and shoved the handful of popcorn into his mouth with force, chewing with exaggerated enthusiasm. His jaw worked harder than necessary, his fingers drummed against the chair’s armrest.

However, he finally did turn his attention to his family with a look of fury. “Who in the hell allowed those damnable trumpets?! Who approved this?!” He began to rise, looming like a storm about to break. His body vibrated with unchecked fury, his nostrils flaring as his dark eyes burned with something nearly unhinged.

The trumpets still rang in his ears. “I will not sit here and be subjected to this assault on my ears! My court deserves better! My kingdom deserves better! I deserve—”

His hand lashed out, goblet nearly flying from his grip, but before he could send it crashing onto the floor below—

Alibeth’s hand shot out, gripping his wrist with surprising force. Her amber eyes burned into his, and her grip was firm.

For a moment, he looked at her as if he might fight it. But then, something in her expression made him hesitate. His chest heaved, his lip curled, but he did not pull away. Instead, he yanked his arm back with a huff, slamming himself against his seat.

“Damn trumpets,” he muttered under his breath, shoving a handful of popcorn into his mouth. Grumbling, he crossed his arms, shifting uncomfortably as the wretched music continued. Every time a trumpet sounded, he flinched slightly, his fingers tightening around the chair.

Finally, the infernal noise stopped. Edin exhaled, far too loudly, as if he had just survived an ordeal.

And then Lorenzo opened his mouth.

“‘The Duke of Vermillion is here!” Edin mocked under his breath, sneering. “Like anyone gives a damn.” His eyes flicked to Wulfric, as if seeking confirmation that he wasn’t the only one witnessing this absurd display. Then, Lorenzo dared to mock the Varians and Alidasht!

Edin’s eyes widened slightly before he barked out a short, humorless laugh. “Oh, this will go well,” he muttered. “Although… He’s right, for once. We are much better than them.”

“Does… Does he think this volunteer charity event is a competition?” Alibeth’s tone was light, almost amused—almost—but the slight tilt of her chin and the flicker of irritation in her amber eyes made it clear she was certainly anything but amused.

As soon as Lorenzo dared to summon Anastasia as though she were some common musician at his beck and call, Alibeth’s lips pressed into a thin line, her eyes narrowing into cold, piercing slits. “How dare he,” she murmured icily. Edin, still muttering about Lorenzo’s idiocy, seemed surprised by her sudden intensity.

Then, without looking at him, she spoke again, louder this time. “Anastasia is a princess, not some performer to be summoned at a fool’s whim.” She exhaled, though irritation flickered in her gaze as she scanned the stage.

“If she indulges him in front of everyone—” she shook her head, unwilling to finish the thought. The disgrace of it was unthinkable. Instead, she turned to Edin, her voice deceptively light yet laced with frost. “Tell me, Edin, how much longer must we tolerate this fool? Is it really all that necessary to keep the tradition of the Vikena family as members of the nobility considering the risk they present? ”

“Until he dies, I suppose.”

And then, right on cue, Anastasia took the stage. Alibeth exhaled slowly, her gaze darkening. “Of course she went up.” The words left her lips in a cold murmur, more to herself than anyone else.

Edin scoffed loudly before Lorenzo could even start his poem, leaning forward with a self-satisfied smirk. “Love? I’ll tell you what it is—expensive.” He gestured broadly, nearly knocking over his goblet again. “Costs a man his coin, his freedom, and if he’s really unlucky—his peace of mind.”

Then after the first few lines of Lorenzo’s poem, Edin spoke up once more, “Love this, love that—where’s the part where he trips over his own feet and makes this worth my time?” He lazily gestured toward the stage. “I say we speed things up. Someone toss a banana peel in his path.”

The king then let out a long, exaggerated yawn, stretching his arms dramatically before slumping further into his chair. “This is getting dreary. Someone wake me up if he starts making sense… or if he actually throws himself off the stage or something.”

As the words “wipes her juices from his chin” rang through the theater, Edin’s half-lidded eyes shot open. A slow, lecherous smirk crept onto his face, and he suddenly sat up straighter, one brow arching with interest.

“Well, well, well…” he murmured, his voice a deep purr as he leaned forward, fingers lazily tapping against his knee. His mind began to drift—no, plummet—into a vivid daydream, his expression shifting to something disturbingly pleased. The theater faded from his senses as a sultry haze overtook his mind, transporting him to his bed chamber filled with his adoring concubines.

In his vision, they surrounded him, their hands tracing over his body, their voices breathy and eager. “Oh, my King… our god among men,” one whispered breathlessly against his ear.

Another trailed fingers down his chest, tracing patterns through the remnants of oil smeared across his skin. “Your Majesty is perfection… untouchable… desired by all…” she purred.

Edin grinned lazily, arms stretching over the pillows beneath him, letting his women fawn over him. “Of course I am,” he murmured, licking his lips as one of them placed a grape between his teeth. “The greatest king who ever lived… the most powerful… the most needed.”

One of his favorites settled beside him, pressing a kiss to his temple. “No man could ever compare, Your Majesty.”

“Mmm… Say it again,” he groaned, his grip tightening in her hair as he tugged her closer.

“You are the only King… the only one we could ever love… ever serve,” she whispered.

This was where he belonged, where he deserved to be—adored, worshipped, exalted. Every sigh, every touch, every desperate murmur of devotion fed his insatiable hunger for admiration.

The women giggled, scrambling to please, hands smoothing oils into his skin, lips brushing along his knuckles, down his arms, over the slope of his belly. His head lolled back against the pillows, a satisfied chuckle escaping him as he basked in the overwhelming adulation.

“Yes, yes… that’s it…” he murmured.

But then a sharp voice through the haze. “Edin.” His eyes snapped open.

Edin groaned in frustration, rubbing his temples as reality crashed down. He shot a sour glance at his wife before huffing and slouching back into his chair, arms crossed over his chest like a spoiled child.

“Ridiculous poetry,” he muttered under his breath.

Alibeth, however, had been listening intently the entire time. The poetry itself was competent, perhaps even moving, but what truly fascinated her was what it revealed. Lorenzo’s so-called art was nothing more than a self-indulgent confession, a carefully veiled lament of a man who did not lose to love, but destroyed it. A man who had no control over his vices, no self-awareness, no accountability. And yet, he stood before them, holding power, speaking as if his suffering were profound rather than predictable.

Her fingers tapped idly against her glass. “A tragic tale,” she mused, voice cool, detached. “Though I wonder if the woman in it would agree.”

She took a slow sip of wine before continuing, her words precise, razor-sharp. “A Duke who romanticizes his own ruin. Who stands before his King and people, not only admitting to drowning in drink but reveling in it—as if self-destruction is something to be applauded.” Her gaze slid over them all and she presented a smile devoid of actual joy. “Forgive me if I don’t weep.”

Finally it was time for Anastasia to perform. Her voice carried through the theater with anything but the grace of a princess. Alibeth’s lips pressed into a thin line as she watched her bring up the Darryn dilemma. “In front of everyone,” she murmured.

Meanwhile, Edin, who had been half-lost in his own thoughts (and, perhaps, his daydreams), initially paid little mind to the performance. But as the music swelled, something strange happened. His chewing slowed, his expression shifting from vague amusement to something harder to define. He stared at the stage, and for the first time in a long while, he was silent.

She is just like her father—impulsive, indulgent, driven by whatever feeling seizes them in the moment.

Alibeth felt naive to have thought she might be impressed tonight, that perhaps Anastasia would at least wield her artistry with dignity. She was talented but what use was talent if it was wielded with such disgraceful abandon? She exhaled slowly, setting her glass down with measured grace.

“Weak,” she murmured to no one in particular, watching as her daughter let herself unravel for all of Sorian to see. “She makes herself look weak. And worse—she makes us look weak.”

Time: 28th, Evening
Location: Edin Theater
Interactions:
Mentions: @princess Anastasia/Ani @Funnyguy Lorenzo, @Potter Seph/Olivia/Percy


With the closing of the curtains came a round of applause further amplified by the staff joining in. And amidst all the clapping, a low raspy wheeze gasped from the hunched-over figure slowly lumbering his way. A hand extended reaching blindly at the air, his head hanging low as the clapping drowned out the panting wheeze.

“ Wa–wuh– *wheeze* ter!” The figure rasped out pitifully like a dying beast.

And yet on they clapped and cheered… almost mocking him, were that he was able to revel in it but there was only one thing on his mind.

Then his hand finally grasped hold of something; a quick inspection revealing it to be some staff’s shoulder pad. There was a small tilt of the head to see the man’s mouth moving, but all he could hear was clapping.

Gods the clapping!

“ W-wa–wuh--!” Gasping out with a coughing wheeze, Kazu sprung his head up only to have those around cringe back in shock from his sudden shout. But, more specifically his face appeared an almost melted glob of sweat and smudge make-up, and his eyes much like his body twitched erratically as the other hand clutched at his chest above his heart.

A look of confusion on the stranger’s face at the exclamation.” A wha? I’m sorry fella, but you got to el-”

Cut off by the hand on the shoulder suddenly shifting downward to grab at the neck sleeve to pull himself closer.” W-Water Blast it! Clapping…stop the clapping…fucking drums…get me water for Pete’s sake! Pounding like drums!” Kazu finally mustered out after managing a gulp of air.

The effort nearly caused him to collapse had the man not stepped forward to hold him up. In doing so, he would feel the farmhand’s heart was pounding erratically as if someone were pounding drums beneath his chest. Every loud clap another vicious drum towards having it explode from his chest.

Now that the state of distress was discovered, those who could quickly scramble to get the wheezing blonde water—and plenty of it.

Almost two minutes passed before a stagehand came running as quickly as they could with a big jug of water and reaching it to his extended hands followed by a loud splashing.

*Gulp Gulp Gulp*

Kazu drank deeply and greedily, having it splash down his face and drench him, the soothing elixir cooling his body and the boundless excitement beneath his now aching chest… course at this point what wasn’t aching on his body?

“ What in the..-that must have been some thirst you worked up there. Are you alright?”

*GAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAASP*

The deepest gasp he could manage.” I can breathe! Fuck! “ Kazu panted out in relief, no longer feeling like he was suffocating.” Wheeeeew…hahaha! Got damn, guessin it was all dat hoppin around..and coffee…think they enjoyed the show?” Turning his attention to the gathered crowd staring at him with mixed confusion and concern.

“ Is that a no? I admit it wasn’t my best on short notice, but you try jumping and spinning while going through a big coffee hyperdose. You got any idea of the pain on the joints moving like a puppet is?” Strained to lift his arms up only for them to flop to his side, the last of his strength used to guzzle water.” Not to mention the faceplantin..don’t see anyone else willingly kissing the stage for their performance.” Kazu said while attempting an angry pose. His body refused to listen.

“ Tch..just envision me glaring with my arms crossed..but then again you brought me the water so I su-”

The guy who helped him stand placed a hand on his shoulder to cease his rambling.” You misunderstand, the crowd seemed to have enjoyed it. Don’t you hear the clapping?”

Kazu with a confused arch of the brow soon a look of understanding, where he then pinched his nose and with a strong inward blowing puff of his cheeks until..pop!” Ahh..so the clapping wasn’t just from my chest then?!” His grouchy demeanor instantly perked up with a wide smile.

Now that his body was no longer threatening to go boom, Kazu allowed the last bit of clapping to wash over him, like being doused in a wave of aloe vera.

Though for a brief moment, amidst all the praise; a certain king’s unexpected praise sent a spine-tingling chill to tremble through his body ending with a feeling of dread in the pit of his stomach, as if an impossibly chilly door opened behind him, an ominous unseen forboding sense lurking just off in the darkness behind it.

A chilly rub of his arms, figuring it to be a bit of shock from cooling his body down so quickly, gave a dismissive shrug of the shoulders.” I got a theater to clap for a cheaply made dancing puppet. Not bad for this farmhand, can’t wait to tell the folks back at ho-” Trailing mid-way of his bit of showboating, his smile faltering, cursing himself for bringing them up now of all times.

“ You sure you ok? Seems like you pushed yourself too hard…maybe hit your head a bit too hard on one of the falls? Might be good to get you to the infirmary or take a seat with all…whatever you may be going through, sir.” The same stranger had stepped over as he spoke, doubting the man could hardly stand, and had moved closer to offer help if needed.

An offer Kazu took without hesitation, limply flinging his left arm over the guy’s shoulder.” No no no! No need, just..just overwhelmed is all.” A forced wide grin and awkward laugh, thankful for the kind input putting an end to his family fretting spiral.

“ Just not used to such applause, is all. But It wasn’t just me, it was a team effort so all those claps aren’t just for me. Naw, they’re for everyone here too..you too, er..” Turning his attention to the man he was hugging in a chummy manner, motioning to introduce himself.

“ Oh! That’s Glenn, sir..Glenn Smitty. And I couldn’t just sit back when a fella is….dying of thirst?” Glenn introduced with a chuckle, a touch of waryness at the blonde’s manic energy, was this guy living coffee and just didn’t know?

A friendly pat against Glenn’s chest by his right hand.” Good to meet ya, Glenn Smitty, by the way.” His face suddenly appeared close, eyes squinting.” None of that sir crap. That’s Kazumin or Kazu to you, my new pal.”

“ Er..pal? I don’t…”

“ Stick with me Glenn, for that was merely the beginning. This puppet’s story is far from over, but he can’t do it without you. Without all of you!” He called out vigorously to the staff.” Were it not for each of you, I..no..none may make the stage truly their own without a good crew behind it. They, the audience may not see it, but I do, even when flung on the blue with a dance play as I did. Y’all still managed to help me to deliver the best damn performance this meager body could! So clap not just for me, but for all of us and performers alike!”

Kazu attempted to stand in a cool, dramatic pose while pointing at the ceiling to finish his inspiring speech of thanks. Instead clung to Glenn staring upward seriously.

“ I-I…um, we appreciate..”

“ Psst..Glenn…make me look like I’m clapping or I’ll look like an idiot…well more of an idiot.” Whispered Kazu.

An incredulous look from the stagehand as the crowd who, while appreciating the speech, weren’t sure what to do. With a shrug of Glenn’s shoulder and a tired sigh, reluctantly moved Kazu’s limp arms miming him clapping.

Seeing this, the crowd awkwardly clapped along.

“ Aye, you’re all amazing, truly! I look forward to working with you all again and next time we will go bigger and harder! Till this theater trembles in the wake of the most explosive performance yet!” The cowlicked blonde claimed boisterously; despite his aching exhaustion, the man’s enthusiasm showed no sign of relenting, merely hampered by all the strife and stress.

A slow, steadying inhale from Kazu turning his gaze towards the curtains, the stage lie past them and the countless unseen faces.” Do you see it, Glenn?”

A curious tilt of the head.” See what? The curtains? Look, Mr. Kazumin, the next performance will b-”

“ I see a story. A story unfolding that shakes this very kingdom. You, I…all of us in this theater..nay everyone in this whole blasted kingdom working together to weave a tale of such epic proportions, the whole world will feel its magnitude. The land itself shall quake with thunderous applause that the heavens are drowned amidst our cheers and tears.” Kazu’s eyes all but sparkled, lost in his outrageous fantasizing, mind brimming with ideas to tell the biggest story possible.

And much as he hated the things Calbert had done to torture him or to admit it. The grief and pain fueled his motivation. His dance here may have started as an outlet to vent; now saw a way to not only screw with Calby, but to give everyone a damn good show on top of it.

Shortly after, the announcement of Lorenzo on stage would be heard.” Ooh! But enough of that, no way I’m missing the duke’s poem.” Excitement filled him, but sadly not enough to walk.” Dang it…erm, Glenn. Mind doing me one last favor? Please?” Giving a pretty please smile.

“ I really should get back to work, Mr Kazumin. Maybe you should just take it easy back here-”

His right hand shot up to cut him off.” It’s nothing big, really. Just need ya to carry me to the end of the curtain. I can hang on and watch from there, I’ll not be in the way.” A bigger pleading smile.

An annoyed exhale and pinching of the nose.” Don’t think that’s a good idea. Here, why don’t we p-”

Again cut off, this time by Kazu roughly grabbing at his necksleeve once more.” Sorry for the harshness, Glenn. But either you carry me or I’ll claw my way there. If you think I’m gonna miss the duke’s and Ani’s performance after the princess’s amazing kindness even afforded me such opportunity to be here..you gonna have to toss me out otherwise.” Kazu stated with promise.

Glenn, taken aback by Kazumin’s abrupt aggressive confrontation, stared back with surprised shock.” W-What? There’s no need to get so drastic. Besides, there’s no way you’d try that in your state. Le-”

His attempt to guide Kazu would be met with air as Kazu had started to let his body slide down to the ground, but was caught mid-way.” You can’t be seriously trying-”

A sharp head turn and fierce gaze from Kazu.” Want to bet?” A challenging glare.

A reluctant grunt of defeat, Glenn hoisted back up to his feet.” Fine Fine! But you better not disturb anyone else.” Shaking his head, the man helped carry Kazumin to the right side end of the stage where Lorenzo could be seen standing atop the stage.

Then with a grunt and a small hop, Kazu jumped onto the nearby curtain to hold onto.” You’re a real good one Glenn. Many thanks and know going forward, I want it known that Glenn Smitty is my lead stagehand. Together, we will make a tale for the ages.” He finished with a thumbs up.

Rolling his eyes with another small shake of the head.” Right. Sure, sure. I got to get back to work. You just..hang here and don’t cause trouble.” Glenn warned with a stern look. After a quick check that he was fine, would depart to resume his tasks.

Waving to the departed stagehand, Kazu turned his attention to the stage, where Lorenzo was in the middle of some speech.” Whew, didn’t miss it.” Leaning forward in anticipation.

“They could not even share the stage with a young man who was likely raised on a farm! And don't even allow me mention the young lord, Drake Edwards…”

*Gasp*

* Raised on a farm?? That’s me! Lorenzo acknowledged me!* Thought Kazu grinning, unbothered by the fact the duke had insulted the performers and even challenged them.

Were his body not feeling like silly putty, he might have stomped right onto that stage much like he did and accepted it, but he already had his moment.* Yes! Yes! This is the way of the stage!* Spurn on all the more to hear the man’s poem and wow us with just his words. And someday hoped to follow through with a proper challenge.

That had only been the beginning, however, for the duke had invited Princess Ani to join on the stage. This left Kazu floored with surprise and excitement at the chance to see the prince and duke performing together.

Even before they started, already felt outshined.* Hmph, that’s cheating but damn it who cares!* A hint of jealousy as he waited with abated breath, only to cover his mouth to keep from laughing at the way the princess stomped her way onto the stage, seemingly not so approving of the insults.

Once the exchange between the two was finished, most likely discussing what they were going to do, the mood of the room quieted in preparation, and then the dour cello music filled its space with its dark melody.

Closing his eyes, Kazu hugging the curtains, allowed himself to be enveloped and engrossed in Ani’s music blending with Lorenzo’s poem, each word spoken with such conviction and emotions.

The duke spoke of love, but his words, he could only sense pain and sadness. A man who had suffered a heartbreaking loss and as he went on, it was apparent he had been unable to move on. How he exemplified love as a drug; and like any drug, can lead to addiction. An addiction that ruined countless like the man standing before us.

The splendors and wonders of love, but the dangers of it too. A boon. A poison. And how it can bring one immense joy, but if careless, can be one’s curse.

For Kazu, who seldom held thoughts on the topic of love, struggled to understand and relate to the sorrowful meaning of his words. But the way the words flowed out, enhanced by Ani’s playing gave him a glimpse into what it could only feel like to have endured such loss.

His mind found its way to his family, to Percy, his right hand clutching at his chest. For a moment he felt like he was back there at the tree, the suffocating atmosphere when he thought they were…

How suffocating that had been for him already… the idea of losing someone he loved fully….

Images of Calbert and the pinned dolls flashed in his head, both hands clutching together as his chest felt as if being compressed.

The tightness worsened until Kazu finally managed to shake off the unpleasant visages.

No. He can’t be concerned about such things, not as long as Calbert and Marek loomed over their heads. He couldn’t risk giving the bastard another target; a weakness he would crumble to.

A bitter thought to have, but needed as Kazu knew that a lone farmhand with nothing against nobles who have everything. Survival alone would prove nigh impossible for someone of his status.* Not too far from an unwanted puppet.* Kazu chuckled darkly to himself.

When Lorenzo’s poem was finished, Kazu applauded, still trembling from the onslaught of emotion that hit him. Though he felt the poem more so a careful warning of love, Kazu still could not help but feel a bit envious of the duke as one thing was clear.

The man’s love for his wife was truly genuine. Something which a lot of nobles failed to share with their arranged marriages and treating their children as nothing more than pawns to further the line.

Not that he was to talk, having no experience with it himself. It made his respect for Lorenzo rise and saddened at the way the people treated him like a jester, a clown. There, he could relate, and for him, either to be a jester or to be invisible. Such was the life of peasants. A life of unimportance; of boredom; meant only to serve, to be seen and not heard.

Shaking his head to cease the bitter reminders of his place, not wanting to let them ruin the duke's amazingly heartfelt and heartbreaking poem. Certainly not so with the princess now about to perform.

A quick slap to his face to get him out of that dreary headspace.* Enough of that. Princess Ani needs our undivided attention.* A sharp exhale, he turned his focus to the stage.

And hearing her talk of possibly doing an energetic performance had him inwardly regretting not asking the princess. They could have danced and knocked things over like a pair of chuckleheads. A smile, picturing their spinning around on the dance floor.

However, that was no longer the plan it seemed. A smidgen disappointed he wouldn’t get to see the song she practiced, but it was clear this was important for her.” Oh boy..hitting us with feels back-to-back…ah well. Can’t be that bad, can it?” He whispered under his breath, ready for more, and probably a good thing as he doubted his heart could handle any more big excitement currently anyway.

At least he thought that until she began playing, the sad, fragile melody hitting him like a train. Before he knew it, the tears were already gushing down his cheeks.

The princess’s memorium broke right through his dam of pent-up grief and frustrations weakened severely by the duke’s poem though would soon be crashed by Anastasia’s feelings as she poured it all into that cello, the hall its vehicle to spread the sorrowful good bye for all to hear.

Through it, he could feel her grief and pain, but of the care and love she had for Darryn. What made it truly moving, to Kazu was how much Ani genuinely cared for her friends and people. A shame this trait was not shared.

Unable to look away nor stop the tears, now swept into the storm for in this instance she was the world. Crying for us to listen..to remember…to not forget. An apology…to go back just to see your smile again.

Then, as the music soared, so too did his body, feeling as if he was floating adrift among the clouds, the tumultuous storm dying into a calm night with its finishing flourish.

Opening his eyes; face drenched with tears, a long drawled exhale blew from his lips having been holding his breath and his feet lowered back to the ground as if released from the princess’s musical spell.

“ Holy co- That was….like I just got tossed into an emotional hurricane!” It left him feeling emotionally raw but also cleansing like the storm had washed some of his own strifes trapped within him and hoped the same for her. Seeing her in that way hit him with an urge to run out and hug her. How badly he wished he could comfort and thank her and that for her, he would remember Darryn.

Sniffling, he had started clapping as much as feasibly possible, putting his all for her, and Lorenzo both deserved it.” Whoo! You got magical fingers, princess! And the Duke, what a way with words!”

Just as Kazumin finished his applause, shadows loomed over him. Two royal guards stood before him, clad in gleaming armor marked with the Caesonia insignia. Their expressions were unreadable, their presence heavy.
One, a scarred man with cold, piercing eyes, spoke first.
“Kazumin Nagasa.” The second guard, broader and imposing, shifted just slightly, blocking the nearest exit. His gloved hand rested lightly on the pommel of his sword. A reminder.
“The King requests your presence. You will rise and follow us.”
A beat passed. Then, sharper, he added, “Now.”

Momentarily engrossed in the cheering he noticed the two imposing guards suddenly surrounded him. Instead of a response, a wet pbbt as Kazu had used a patch of curtains the blow his nose and wipe the snot from his face, not realizing he had done so, still coming down from the emotional wave coursing through him.

“ Ah, pardon me, Gentleman. Wasn’t the princess amazing? Wait….” Their words and imposing postures finally hit him via a sharp beat, a dagger of dread to the heart” What? N-!!”

-To be continued….?

Stratya Durmand

Time: 28th Sola, Daytime
Location: Edin Theater
Attire: Military Formal, but in Caesonian colors
Family Dirk + Crest
Interactions: @princess Anastasia
Mentions: @samreaper Kazumin, @FunnyGuy Lorenzo

The moments leading in to Kazumin’s dance had Stratya wondering what the man would do. A play? She didn’t often see them. “Aye, ‘e’s been done up well,” the knight agreed with Anastasia, though, when he fell and she pleaded with no one in particular, Stratya had to turn herself away and stifle a giggle, pressing her fist to her lips. Her wooden son? Oh my.

“Aye, aye, up ‘e goes. Steady on.” The Captain was impressed with Kazumin’s ability to convey such emotion with his movements. The struggle of something animating for the first time was not a simple emotion.

The Princess’s quiet, whispered interjections were heartwarming. It was a reflection of the Princess’s goodly nature. When the Princess mentioned him being perfect, Stratya shook her head, “who needs ‘perrfect’? Just go ‘bout i’, yer grrand.”

Themes of loss. Difficulty communicating, letting your emotions run away with you, something beautiful lost before it could blossom.

Interrupting her digestion of the dance was the king’s bellowing. Ooh, he’d really gotten into that one, had he? Stratya’s gaze turned to the Royal Box for a moment, attracted by the noise, and almost got back to the stage when,

“I MUST OWN HIM!”

She almost, almost snapped back to the Royal Box. She caught herself. What would she do, glare? A careful breath steadied her, and while fighting the urge to go and hide Kazumin from the King, she realized.. had she seen- yes, there he was. Prince Callum. He’d be happy to hear the news she’d discovered yesterday. She’d have to tell him and Anastasia, later. Today, preferably.

In the meantime, Duke Lorenzo took the stage. H-.. how.. does a Duke have less decorum than herself? As Duke, he should be pretty good at this, right? She realized and wondered, then, how she kept forgetting his reputation. The princess decided to indulge him, and set the musical stage for the poem to follow.

Blink and you’d miss it, as they saying goes. It was wine. He struggled with drink. Stratya leaned back in her seat, taking a slow breath of understanding. And to admit it here, on stage, was this a sign from him? Was this, perhaps, his way of pushing himself to do better, to overcome his addiction? She would have to support him, if that were the case.

Before she could consider such things for too long, Anastasia announced Darryn’s murder to the room, expressed how important he was to her. Her emotional statement had a strong start, but as her performance ended, Stratya was dissatisfied. The Princess cared so much for her departed friend, and yet her purpose in this was so.. wistful and emotional. She had so much power and influence, to waste it like this, when she had the opportunity to make a stance of strength and command.

Right.

As Anastasia’s performance came to an end, and Stratya saw how the Princess was winding up, she rose from her seat and made her way to the sidestage. Once the performance was over, and Stratya was sure, she strode out, kneeling near the Princess and speaking softly, for her ears only.

“Prrincess Anastacia Danrrose. I ‘ave ‘eard yerr caring message. I do find it lacking. Imagine, ferr a momen’, tha’ t’ one tha’ did tha’ to ‘im is in this room, tha’ they’re listenin’. Wit’out lettin’ on wha’ ye do or donnae ken o’ them, withou’ scarin’ t’ poor innocent folk, what ‘ave ye go’ tae say t’ them?” The knight looked out over the audience before turning back to the Princess, “ye’ve said ‘ow ye feel wit’ a beautiful song an’ sta’emen’, now what will ye do abou’ i’? Can y’ musterr y’r strrength thrrough yer tears for y’ fallen frriend, Prrincess?” A beat, and the knight smiled warmly, “make ‘em jit’er in their shoes.”

Knight Captain Stratya Durmand, Defender of the Realm, was prepared to stand to the Princess’s flank, should she decide to make a more powerful statement.

---

“Captain?”

Sjan-dehk awoke with a start. He snapped his eyelids open. Blinding light, stabbing his irises and painting his world a painful white, made him immediately regret that decision.

“There’s someone asking for you, Captain.”

Groaning, he hauled a hand up to shield his eyes from the glare. So leaden were his muscles that even an action so simple felt like an arduous chore. It was as if he had spent the past few days bedridden, and was only now starting to move again. “Wait, Azwan,” he said groggily, his voice hoarse. Colourful, blurry spirals wriggled across his vision, the sort one got from staring at the sun for too long. He blinked several times to rid himself of them. Sunlight peeked through the narrow gaps between his fingers. It was bright. A little too bright. “By the Mother, how long was I out?”

Azwan hesitated a moment. “Thereabouts an hour, Captain.”

“A whole damn hour?” Sjan-dehk exclaimed, his voice cracking, and shot upright. Still addled by sleep, his head swam from the sudden motion. He let out another groan. Closing his eyes, he rubbed his brows with a thumb and index finger, and drew in a deep breath. Briney ocean air wafted up his nose. The slow rustle of breaking waves filled his ears. Far overhead, seabirds cawed and squawked. The swirling eddies within his skull calmed, then stilled. “Should’ve kicked me awake before even a quarter of that,” he grumbled and looked up. Azwan’s broad face, well-defined features, and impeccably shaved head looked back at him.

He cleared his throat and tugged at the collars of his tunics. “I-I thought you needed the rest, Captain,” he said sheepishly, his words trailing off into a mumble towards the end.

A sudden yawn took the place of whatever response Sjan-dehk had thought up. “Suppose you’re right,” he mumbled. And if he had to be perfectly honest, Azwan was absolutely right. Sjan-dehk was in dire need of rest. He had barely slept last night; events simply hadn’t allowed for much of it. For one, returning from the skirmish took far more time than expected – shifting winds pitted Sada Kurau against stiff headwinds for a vast majority of the trip – and so too did his duties ashore. Between changing his ship’s place of berth from the piers to the harbour’s bay, overseeing her repairs and end-of-day routines, and writing daily reports, he was left with just over three hours of sleep before he had to rise again.

And for two, it wasn’t as if he had been sleeping well in the first place. But at least he could be glad that he had been granted respite from the confusing dreams that had been plaguing him, last night. It was also his fault that he had such an early start to the day, he had to admit. After all, it was his idea to return to the site of the skirmish at daybreak.

He cleared his throat. “Suppose you’re right,” he repeated, louder and clearer this time, and turned to look towards the sea. Just in front of him, a line of men from his crew waded through the shallows with trousers rolled up to their knees, and sleeves to their elbows. They picked through debris – little more than charred splinters and tattered rags – drifting in with the flowing tides. Farther away, Sada Kurau waited, svelte form silhouetted against a bright, early morning sky, and flags fluttering in a gentle breeze. Her sails were furled and her yardarms brought to her deck, but Sjan-dehk knew that her crew were keeping a vigilant watch for any dangers, and were ready to prepare her for sail at a moment’s notice.

Everyone was hard at work. Work that came about from his orders. And what was he doing? Taking a nap on the beach. Ridiculous.

“But I’m not the one sweating my arse off or wetting my feet,” Sjan-dehk continued, sweeping his hat off of the ground beside him before standing up with a grunt. He brushed sand from his clothes, then hopped in place a few times to shake it free from his equipment. “And besides,” he went on, placing the hat securely atop his head and securing its chinstraps. “A good Captain shouldn’t rest before their crew, eh?”

“As you say, Captain,” Azwan replied. He cleared his throat. “My apologies, Cap–”

“No need,” Sjan-dehk cut him off with a wave. “If anyone should apologise, it’s me. Shouldn’t have been a grumpy cunt to you. Sorry about that.” Azwan flushed and started to say something, but Sjan-dehk cut him off again. “Mother alone knows all of us could do with more rest, but you know what they say. We rest only when we’re done.”

Azwan nodded slowly. “And…When will that be, Captain?”

“Mother alone knows,” Sjan-dehk replied with a grin. He clapped Azwan on the shoulder. “Anyway, let’s go see whoever’s asking for me before they die of old age. Lead the way, First Officer.”

Setting off at a measured pace, the pair marched up the beach, following the water’s edge. There wasn’t a need to rush; Sjan-dehk was certain of it. That Azwan had taken the time to personally rouse him, and that he had done so in such a gentle manner, was proof enough that whatever the situation was, it was neither dangerous nor urgent. Along the way, they passed more of Sada Kurau’s crew. A few, like the ones earlier, were sifting through flotsam. The rest brought hammers and chisels to larger pieces of wreckage that had beached themselves on hidden reefs and rocks. They chipped away at fire-blackened surfaces, revealing the unblemished wood underneath.

“What are they doing?” Sjan-dehk pointed to the latter group.

“Master Hai-shuun believes that they’re worth salvaging, Captain,” Azwan replied. “Waste wood for fires or material for non-essential repairs, I believe.”

Sjan-dehk nodded, then shrugged. Hai-shuun was Sada Kurau’s Master Carpenter, not him. If he believed that he could do something with these debris, then Sjan-dehk wasn’t going to argue. “And the stuff floating about?” Sjan-dehk went on to ask. “Anyone fish out anything interesting?”

“A few waterlogged ledgers, Captain,” Azwan said, sounding almost apologetic. “But nothing else.”

That came as neither a surprise nor a disappointment to Sjan-dehk. Even when he had first thought up the plan to search the wrecks of last night’s enemies for clues – be it about the missing privateer, or perhaps a reason for those three ships to be skulking around the coast in the first place – he had already known that he wouldn’t get much out of Sada Kurau’s two victims. Both had, after all, exploded in a rather spectacular manner, and the resulting flames would have surely burnt what remained to the keel. Waterlogged ledgers were already far more than what he had expected to recover.

“That’s good,” he said. “Separate the pages before drying them, if possible. If not, leave it until we’re back aboard Sada Kurau. Either Dai-sehk or Mursi should know what to do.”

“Aye, Captain. Underst–”

A yell from the shallows drew their attention. They turned, just in time to see a man leap away from what appeared to be a degloved section of a ship’s hull – the exterior strakes had been torn away, leaving the rib-like framing underneath exposed. “What’s going on?” Sjan-dehk shouted.

“Bloody crabs, Captain!” The man shouted back. “Cunt damn near sliced off my toe!”

Sjan-dehk chuckled and shook his head. Nothing to be worried about, then. “Well, get out of the water and see to your wounds if you’ve any,” he called out. “And someone recover his tools. Master Hai-shuun would have you lot dredge up the entire seabed to find them, otherwise.”

The man nodded, and with the support of another sailor, waddled onto the beach, much to the amusement of their fellows. Getting injured by a sea creature was part-and-parcel of life as a Jafin. Still, Sjan-dehk and Azwan stayed around to make sure that the wound wasn’t serious – it was nought but a cut that looked far worse than it actually was – and to ensure that the man was properly seen to, before moving on.

“Not too far, now, Captain,” Azwan said. “Apologies for the long walk, Captain. He walked right straight into our sentries at the edge of the security cordon.”

Sjan-dehk sighed. “It’s fine, Azwan. No need to apologise. Just means the cordon’s doing its job.”

They were nearing the edge of the beach. Patches of grass chequered the sand here, growing in lushness and denseness the farther away they were from Azwan and he, until they became a strip of grass sitting in front of a small copse of palm trees. “He’s just over there, Captain, in the shade.” The First Officer pointed towards, and into the treeline, just as they themselves passed under the thin, tapered shadow of a wreck’s bowsprit. Shorn ropes hung from the wooden pole, like strips of flesh clinging to bone. Beneath it, the keel sat half-buried in the sand. Barnacles, molluscs, and other marine growth mottled her bow with dark greys and pale greens.

Cynric and Recompense had done a fine job of disabling their opponent without annihilating them outright, although they had still punished her terribly. Much of the wreck’s starboard flank beneath the waterline had been shot away, and where there should be a rudder, sat only a splintered stub. Seawater flooded through these new openings, pushed in by the ebbing and flowing tides, and anchored her firmly against the rocks and mud of the shoals. Shouts and calls echoed from within her exposed bowels, accompanied by sounds of tools against wood and metal.

“Any luck with this one?” Sjan-dehk jerked his head towards the wreck.

Azwan shook his head. “Nothing yet either, Captain.”

“Nothing?” Now that was a disappointing surprise. A curious one, too. Surely, if the crew could find ledgers amidst flotsam, then this markedly intact carcass should be a treasure trove of salvage. They should have found some small items of import, at the very least.

“Aye, Captain.” A tinge of shame tinged Azwan’s words. “I have the crew sweeping her decks again, to be safe. Master Hai-shuun and the carpenters are taking apart her interior to search for hidden compartments and stashes, Captain.” He paused and coughed into a fist. “If I may, Captain–”

“You know you don’t have to ask, Azwan,” Sjan-dehk said. “I wouldn’t have you around if I didn’t want your opinion on things. Just speak your thoughts openly and plainly.”

That seemed to catch Azwan off-guard, and the First Officer remained silent for a moment longer. “As you say, Captain,” he said hesitantly. “I was just wondering if it might be possible that her crew threw her cargo overboard to lighten her. She couldn’t have remained afloat for long, otherwise, not with her lower hull shot through like that. Tidal action could’ve washed away whatever got left behind, Captain. She’s probably laid here for hours before we arrived.”

He paused again. “But that’s just my theory, Captain.”

“It’s a good theory,” Sjan-dehk remarked, nodding. There were some problems with it, of course – for one, any wave strong enough to do as Azwan suggested would have also been strong enough to either smash the wreck into pieces, or drag it out to sea – but it was still a plausible explanation as to why the crew were unable to recover anything of note from the wreck. And if nothing else, it was at least something Sjan-dehk could discuss with his First Officer. But, before he could share his opinions, the two of them stepped under the cooling shade of palm fronds, joining another group of men already loitering there.

Three of them were from Sada Kurau’s crew. They were armed with rifles, and held the weapons vertically, with hands wrapped around barrels and stocks resting on the sandy dirt by their feet. A sword-like bayonet extended from underneath each of their rifles’ muzzles, slender blades polished to a sheen. Steel helmets hung from their waistbelts, conical shapes making them look like small shields. “Captain’s on deck,” one of the sentries, a tall youth with skin tanned dark, announced loudly upon seeing Sjan-dehk and Azwan. The other two immediately stood to attention, holding their rifles flush against their legs.

“At ease,” Sjan-dehk said almost immediately. His attention was drawn towards the fourth man sitting on a boulder in the middle of the sentries. An old, battered bucket sat between the man’s legs, which were clad in trousers that had more patches than it did its original brown cloth. A vest of a similar colour draped from the man’s shoulders, open in front to reveal a scarred chest. The man looked up at Sjan-dehk, his wrinkled brows furrowed and eyes squinting.

“You the captain here?” He asked, rubbing his hand along a jaw covered in scraggly grey hair.

Sjan-dehk held up a hand, signalling the man to wait. He then looked at each of the sentries in turn. “Good work, you three. I’ll take it from here. You can go ahead and return to your duties…” Trailing off, he turned to Azwan with an inquiring look. “Unless you have something for them?”

“No, Captain.” Azwan shook his head. “You heard the Captain,” he said to the sentries. “To your posts.”

“Aye, First Officer, Captain,” the same tall youth from before said, holding a fist to his chest and bowing his head to Azwan, then to Sjan-dehk. The other two sentries similarly saluted both officers before all three of them marched away, heading further inland. Sjan-dehk waited for them to leave the copse. Then, he finally turned his attention back to the man.

“Yes, I am Captain here,” he said, replying to his question at last. “You ask for me. Why?”

The man snorted and wriggled a finger into his nose. “You sure know how to make an old man wait. By the Gods, I thought I’d see them before seeing you, Captain.” He slapped his hands on his knees and let out a long breath. “Look, I’ll get to the quick of it. Save us both time and trouble, eh? How long are you and your boys going to muck around here? It’s been nigh on two hours since you lot showed up, I’ll have you know, and the morning’s not getting any longer. There’s crabbing to be done, and it can’t be done once afternoon comes around, I’ll have you know.”

“Why not?” Sjan-dehk asked without even thinking.

“Well, it’s not bloody natural, is it?” The incredulous look on the man’s face, and his tone, made it seem as if that were the most obvious thing in the world. Sjan-dehk didn’t think so – he couldn’t even see the barest hints of logic behind it – but neither did he have the time or desire to pursue the matter.

“We are still working,” Sjan-dehk said. “Will need more time. If you want to go find crabs, I will tell my crew to let you. They will not stop you. But you do not want that, then I apologise. Find other beach.”

“I’ll catch piss-fucking-all with you lot stomping through the shallows,” the man grumbled. He looked away, a pensive look on his well-creased face as he chewed on his lip. Then, his shoulders sagged as he sighed and shook his head. “Ah, Gods damn it. No use arguing with you lot. I may be an old bastard, but I’m sure as shite in a sty not a stupid one. Give a man a privateer’s flag and suddenly he thinks he’s got the biggest prick in all Caesonia.” He grabbed the bucket by the handle and stood up.

Sjan-dehk didn’t understand what he had said at the end, and so he offered a simple, “I apologise.”

“Bah, you can take that damn apology and–” The man cut himself off abruptly. “Ah, it is what it is. No point getting upset over things now. Besides, I’m not the daft idiot wasting his and his crew’s time. Whatever it is that you’re after, Captain, it’s long gone by now.” He started to walk away from Sjan-dehk and Azwan. “I’m sure as shite that those cunts from earlier left nothing in that wreck of yours. Went through the whole thing like soldiers through a whorehouse, they did.”

“Wait,” Sjan-dehk called after him. The man stopped and turned, his impatience clear on his face. “You say there were other people here? Before us? They also search this wreck?”

“Yes, yes, and yes,” the man replied brusquely with arms crossed over his chest. Sjan-dehk fixed him with a stern glare. He glared back. Sjan-dehk then glanced at Azwan. The First Officer responded with a single nod and stepped into the man’s path. For a moment, the latter looked between the two Viserjantans. Then, he relented, but not before coughing up a glob of phlegm and spitting it on the ground. “Gods damn it, fine, I’ll tell you everything I know. The two of you can drop this ‘tough cunts’ bullshit.”

Sjan-dehk walked around to join Azwan. “You were here earlier, you say. Why? What did you see?”

“Gods help me, would it kill you to slow down?” The man glowered at Sjan-dehk, but nevertheless went on with his story. “To answer your first question, the crabbing hour starts early, I’ll have you know. I’m out here everyday before first light. That’s when it's best to catch the little bastards in their burrows. On a good day, I can easily fill two of these things, if I had another to fill.” He hefted the bucket. “Any road, to answer your second question, what I saw was what I’m seeing now. Daft idiots picking through shite washed up on the beach like pigeons with bread. Only difference is that you lot are privateers, and they were pirates.”

“How do you know?” Sjan-dehk asked. “That they are pirates?”

The man laughed derisively. “How could I not bloody know? Pirates these days like to fly their bloody flags all the damn time, as if they want to be found. They’re nothing like the ones I fought back in my day, I’ll have you know. No, back then, hunting pirates took actual skill. You had to learn how to spot them on sight and even by fucking smell, sometimes. You privateers these days have it easy, and yet somehow the lot of you still find ways to muck everything up more often than not.”

“How many were there? How many ships?” Sjan-dehk pressed on with his questions.

“I don’t know, maybe thirty? Forty?” The man shrugged. “I wasn’t bloody counting, I’ll have you know. But I did see their ships. Two sloops-of-war, maybe eighteen guns each. That should put their strength at a high of maybe two hundred, and a low of maybe a hundred-and-fifty.”

“And…You watch them all the time? Until they leave?”

“Are you bloody thick? Of course not. I don’t plan on dying to fucking pirates, I’ll have you know. I left when it was clear that they weren’t going to leave anytime soon.”

Sjan-dehk nodded slowly. “What else did you see?”

The man shrugged again. “They were looking for something, just like you lot, but I don’t think they found it, whatever it was.” Sjan-dehk urged him to elaborate with an expectant look. “They were arguing, there was some shouting, and it was clear that those cunts were upsets. There was a fight or two, but it was amateur nonsense. Nothing like the brawls the pirates back in my day used to have, I’ll have you know. Looked like a bunch of bloody noblegirls pulling each other’s hair.”

“And…Which way did they go, you think?”

“Well, unless they planned to turn themselves in for being some of the worst pirates to ever sail Aquana’s bountiful bosom, I don’t think they’d go north to Sorian.”

“South, then?” Sjan-dehk asked.

“Or east. How should I know?” The man scowled. “Now, can I bloody go?”

“Wait a while,” Sjan-dehk replied. He turned to Azwan. “Did you understand all that?”

“I understood enough, Captain,” the First Officer replied. “What are your orders?”

“Before that, why don’t you tell me what you make of this, First Officer?”

Azwan looked at Sjan-dehk, his features creased in puzzlement, as if he hadn’t quite understood what had been asked of him. When his Captain said nothing, and merely met his gaze with a raised brow, however, he cleared his throat and spoke. “I don’t think he’s lying,” he began, uncertainty in his voice. “The crew did find crabs in the shallows, so his reason for coming here makes sense, I think. And his story about pirates salvaging the wreck would explain why our crew couldn’t find anything.”

“Good. And what do you suppose we should do?”

Azwan furrowed his brows. “I-I wouldn’t tell you what to do, Captain, but I think we should sail south. They wouldn't have gone north, and it might be best if we assumed that they didn't find anything and continued southwards on their search. If they went eastwards, they would've sailed into open water and could've ended up anyway, Captain." He grimaced. "But they have quite a headstart, Captain. I'm not sure if Sada Kurau can catch them."

Sjan-dehk considered his words for a moment before nodding and flashing him a grin. “Very well done, Azwan. Speak with confidence in future, eh? You've a damn fine Captain's mind. We just need to get you the proper demeanour and you'll be set to haunt the seas on your own ship." He turned to look at the beach, at his crew still picking through flotsam and debris. They were strung out in a long, ragged line all along the coast, with most gathered around, or on the wreck of Recompense's victim. “How long do you need to get them back to Sada Kurau?”

“An hour at most, Captain,” Azwan replied. “Maybe three-quarters of that, if the tides are in our favour.”

“An hour is good,” he said. “Organise that, if you please. I'll finish up here and return to Sada Kurau ahead of you to get her ready for sail. Once everyone’s back aboard, we will weigh anchor. I want us to get moving in an hour’s time, at the very least. Quarter past that, at most. You’re right about their headstart, but Sada Kurau won’t let them slip away that easily. At the very least, let’s see if we can’t find out where they went.”

Azwan nodded. "Aye, Captain," he replied, the excitement showing through just those two words, and in the purpose in his steps as he marched away from the copse and back onto the beach.

Sjan-dehk turned back to the man. “Apologies,” he said. “We will go now. Give us one hour, please.”

The man scratched his jaw. “Gods help me, you’re going out hunting for them, aren’t you?” Although his well-creased face didn't show it, the disbelief in his words were palpable, and the glint in his dull eyes betrayed his approval. Sjan-dehk's eyes similarly showed his surprise, but before he could say anything, the man cut him off with a harrumph and a wave of his hand. "Before you start thinking all sorts of nonsense, I didn't understand a damn thing between the two of you, but I've sailed long enough to know the look sailors get when they're...When we're about to go looking for a fight, and I swear by Triumpheus' shiny arse, the two of you aren't even trying to bloody hide it."

A smile graced his cracked lips, the first since Sjan-dehk had met him. He wiped a hand on his trousers before extending it. "Captain Maxwylle Trellawney. Captain of the Duke of Montague, Royal Caesonian Navy, as was." Sjan-dehk accepted it and gave it a firm shake. "Sorry about earlier, Captain. It's not often...Well, it hasn't been the case that anyone would do anything about pirates like these, not in recent days. I've not seen hide or tail of a serious privateer or even the Gods-damned navy in bloody ages, I'll have you know. It'd take a raid on Sorian itself to get them to do anything, I'll bet both my wrinkled balls on that." He stepped back and looked Sjan-dehk up and down, almost as how a senior officer would with a new recruit. "But Gods help me, it pleases my old Captain's heart to find a bloody lunatic who'd go chasing after pirates hours after they've fucked off. Brings me back to the good old days when I was the one on the hunt, I'll have you know."

"That is what we should do, yes?" Sjan-dehk replied plainly. All this praise for doing what he saw as an obligation was, in truth, making him quite uncomfortable.

"I fucking wish that was the case, but no, it bloody isn't," Maxwylle countered with a snort. "Not been for a long time, now, so you can stop with that Gods-damned humility, take the Gods-damned compliment, and be on your Gods-damned way. You'll want to head south." The lackadaisical tone from earlier was gone, as was his slovenly mannerisms. Sjan-dehk could easily imagine him at the head of a planning table, giving instructions to junior officers. "My eyes aren't what they used to be, but I'll scoop them both out myself with a spoon if those pirating cunts aren't sailing old Windward-class sloops. They were built tough, but they were too damn slow to be of any use, so the navy sold the bloody lot. An eastward course would have them sailing in reaches, and the Windwards never were good at that, so if these pirates have anything between their ears, they'll be going south to take advantage of the morning southerlies. They wouldn't have gotten far, so I'd bet my cock that you can catch them. But if it comes to a fight, don't bloody try to outlast them. Their hulls are thicker than your average noble's skull. Just out-sail them and you'll be grand."

Sjan-dehk blinked and nodded slowly. That was far more information than what he had expected, or could have asked for. "You have my thanks," he said, hoping that such simple words, spoken when such halting speech and clumsy pronunciation, would still be able to convey the full extent of his gratitude. Such knowledge could only come from someone with a wealth of experience sailing and fighting upon the seas, and could easily mean the difference between success or failure, or even between a premature visit to the Abyss-Keeper and seeing another sunset. "We will make good use of this, I promise."

"If you want to thank me, just send one of them down to the bottom for old Trellawney, eh?" Maxwylle grinned and clapped Sjan-dehk on the shoulder. "Stay safe out there and good hunting."

Sjan-dehk chuckled. "Only one?" He asked. Tipping his hat towards the older man, he grinned and said, "You ask too little. I will send two."

---

It didn’t take much effort for Sada Kurau to track the pirates. The scattered trail of flotsam her prey had left in their wakes made following their southerly course a task far easier done than said, as did the terror they had visited upon the coast along the way.

Standing on his ship’s quarterdeck, Sjan-dehk’s lips were drawn into a grim line, and his brows creased in unease, as he gazed across the narrow stretch of water separating Sada Kurau from shore, and at a small hamlet sprawled upon the rocky beach. Even without a spyglass, it was clear that the settlement had been attacked recently, and terribly so. Smoke curled in wisps from torched buildings. Some remained standing as half-destroyed ruins, whilst others had been reduced to little more than heaps of charred timber. People shambled aimlessly through the debris, their faces blank, their movements slow. A handful picked through debris. Others wept over corpses left on the ground. None of them seemed to care about Sada Kurau.

Sjan-dehk tightened his grip on her gunwale, his jaw set. The pirates had come through here, there wasn’t any doubt about that, and it hadn’t been long since they left, if the darkness of the smoke and the lingering embers in the ruins were anything to go by. Sada Kurau couldn’t be more than two hours behind them.

“Still two hours too late,” he muttered angrily beneath his breath. Deep in his heart, he knew that it couldn’t have been possible for him to have caught the pirates here. They had too much of a lead, and as quick as Sada Kurau was, she wasn’t one of those arcane vessels that existed in myths. That she had managed to get here in as little time as she had taken was miraculous enough.

But that didn’t stop Sjan-dehk from admonishing himself. “Too fucking late,” he grumbled.

“Did you say something, Captain?” Azwan asked from behind.

Sjan-dehk shook his head. “Just talking to myself. Nothing to worry about.”

“Master Dai-sehk would disagree, I think,” Azwan said and joined Sjan-dehk at the gunwale.

“He disagrees with many things,” Sjan-dehk replied with a mirthless chuckle. “I suppose that’s what makes him such a good surgeon.”

“As you say, Captain.”

For a moment, neither man said anything more. The two of them simply looked at the ruined hamlet, at the sobering sight of its wrecked buildings and shell-shocked people. Azwan shifted uncomfortably, his face as grim as Sjan-dehk’s, but with shades of grief and reminiscence in his features. After what felt like eons, he finally spoke. “Master Hai-shuun has examined the flotsam we fished out of the water, Captain.”

Sjan-dehk nodded. “Good. What does he think?”

“Pieces of crates and barrels, planks that he believes are used for repair work,” Azwan replied. Sjan-dehk threw him a sidelong glance with a raised brow. The First Officer cleared his throat and went on in a voice that was markedly less confident. “I-It looks like they’re jettisoning rubbish and supplies they believe to be unnecessary, Captain. Might be that they’re making space for plunder, or trying to increase speed.” Again, Sjan-dehk said nothing and simply looked at Azwan. “I would continue along the coast, Captain,” the First Officer concluded. “W-with our speed, we might be able to catch them, still.”

“Well done,” Sjan-dehk said, nodding and patting Azwan on the back. “We’ll make a damn fine captain out of you, yet. But for now, bring us three points to larboard handsomely and make distance between us and shore. We’ll continue tracing the coast at full sail.” He looked at the hamlet again, and his face turned grim once more. He chewed on his lip. “And have the crew beaten to quarters. Everyone at their stations, guns loaded and ready to fire at a moment’s notice. Have lookouts search the coast for any signs of our friends, but I want them to keep an eye on the horizon as well, just to be safe.”

“Aye, Captain.” Azwan nodded. Then, he turned towards the hamlet as well. “What about them, Captain?”

That was one question Sjan-dehk had hoped he wouldn’t have to answer. He chewed on his lip, his brows furrowed in thought. More than anything, he wanted to send his crew ashore to help those people in some way or other, even if it was just to give them what little Sada Kurau could afford to give. But there he knew that there wasn’t any time for such altruism. Every moment spent here, and not on the chase, was another moment the pirates had to slip away. And letting them escape could very well mean allowing other hamlets or villages or settlements to suffer a similar fate.

“Who’s the duty scribe this morning?” Sjan-dehk asked.

“Yayansha, Captain. I think he’s below decks, completing this morning’s logs. Shall I call for him?”

Sjan-dehk shook his head. “No, no need. Belay my earlier orders. I will handle things on deck. You instead will go to my quarters, get the maps of local waters, and bring them to Yayansha. From here on out, I want every attacked settlement we come across, as well as this one–” he pointed to the hamlet “–to be marked on our maps and added to the log with both absolute and relative positions, and details of the attack. That means what we see, what we believed happened, and what we did, if we did anything at all. Find Adnash, he’s good at drawing maps, and have him make copies of everything Yayansha makes. We’ll give those to the privateers when we return to Sorian. See if they can be convinced to send anyone to lend a hand.”

Azwan nodded. “Aye, Captain. Yayansha to annotate our maps, Adnash to make copies of them.”

“Let’s get this–” Sjan-dehk began, but something caught his eye. Or rather, someone – a young woman on the beach. Her threadbare dress was tattered at the hem, and her hands were dark with blood. She stood over a mangled corpse, tears cutting rivulets down a face dusted with dirt and grime. Red, puffy eyes, blue irises, and a despairing gaze looked towards Sada Kurau. Sjan-dehk met it for only a moment, felt it pierce him to his soul, before he couldn’t hold it any longer. He averted his eyes.

“I’d give them what we could if we had the time.” His voice was low, and tinted with shame. Whether those words were aimed at himself, at Azwan, or even at Sada Kurau, he didn’t know. They just had to be said.

“I know, Captain. We all do.” The First Officer cleared his throat and awkwardly patted his shoulder. “We’ll do our duties, Captain, and catch those pirates before they can do this again.”

Sjan-dehk drew in a deep breath and nodded. “Aye, we certainly will,” he said firmly. When he looked back at the beach, the woman was gone, but the body was still there. Sjan-dehk straightened his back, pressed his fist to his chest, and gave them – the body, the woman, and the hamlet – a quick bow of his head. “The Mother knows her own, even if they know not her. May she bring them peace.” Sjan-dehk wasn't a devout man by any stretch of the imagination, but he only had such words – meaningless as they were – to offer.

Then, he turned to Azwan. “To our duties, First Officer.”

Sada Kurau passed three more settlements after leaving the hamlet. With each, it became more and more evident that the pirates’ patience was wearing dangerously thin. They no longer razed buildings – that took far too much time for too little reward, Sjan-dehk figured – and instead vented their frustrations on hapless villagers. The coast was lined with corpses. Most appeared to have been shot, but there were more than a few who swung from trees and makeshift gallows. Men and women; the young and the old; the pirates had spared no one. And from what Sjan-dehk could see through a spyglass, for some, death had been but the last of a series of depravities visited upon them.

To see such devastation, and to know that the perpetrators were just beyond reach, weighed heavily upon Sjan-dehk’s shoulders. How many more would have to suffer? How many more had to die before he could finally catch up to the pirates? These questions were familiar to him. He had asked them before, and thus he knew that they served only to demoralise him, to infect his spirit with hopelessness.

And yet, he clung onto them, for he also knew that those same questions, and that same weight, was what galvanised him. It was what pushed him. No matter how many the pirates killed, no matter how far or how speedily they sailed, Sada Kurau would catch them, and she would punish them dearly. There could be no other way. Sjan-dehk took in the despair, and tempered it with his resolve, until it transformed into tranquil, righteous fury. And he knew his crew did the same, for by the time Sada Kurau found her quarries, a steely, solemn silence had descended upon her decks, interrupted only by the most necessary calls.

The two pirate vessels sat in a line, almost bow-to-stern, and just off the coast of a village that appeared to be on the cusp of being a town. The main road running from square to shore was paved, and a majority of its buildings were built from stone and tile. Its population, however, was still small enough for the pirates to corral everyone in the square. At least, Sjan-dehk couldn’t see movement elsewhere in the village through his spyglass. “They outnumber us,” he said matter-of-factly.

“We shoot faster, Captain, and straighter,” Mursi replied from beside him. The Master of Arms stood with a smoking pipe cradled in one hand, and the other on the gunwale. His head of black hair was in a mess, as it usually was, and his clothes were stained with gun oil and lubricant, as they usually were.

“That, we do,” Sjan-dehk muttered. He continued watching the events in the square. An argument seemed to be developing between an elderly man and one of the pirates. The two gesticulated wildly to each other, whilst armed men walked down a line of kneeling villagers, stopping at random. “Looks like they’re asking questions,” Sjan-dehk continued. The argument became more heated, until the pirate drew a pistol. “Don’t do it, you bastard.”

The old man stepped back, his hands raised in front of him, but it was no use. A single shot, a small puff of smoke, and he fell where he stood like a collapsed sail. “Fuck,” Sjan-dehk spat, lowering the spyglass. He had seen enough. “Well, they either don’t see us, or they don’t think of us as a threat.” He shook his head, then pointed at the two ships. “We’ll prove them wrong. I want those bastards gone. We’ll sail in and rake them with our starboard battery, then loop around and hit them with the larboard. Mursi, what do our guns have in their chambers?”

“Solid shot, Captain.”

Sjan-dehk nodded. “Hit them with that first, but reload the larboard battery with explosive shells. No matter what happens, we must eliminate them with those two passes. Otherwise, it’ll get messy.”

“It’ll be done, Captain,” Mursi said and marched off to the gun deck.

“Azwan,” Sjan-dehk called out and turned to the First Officer, who stood on his other side. “Have all senior officers gathered on the quarterdeck, latest by the end of our second volley. And tell Kai-dahn that he can bring his Seaborne up on deck. I want them ready for an amphibious assault as soon as possible.”

“We’re going ashore, Captain?”

“Aye. Taking out their ships won’t stop them from wrecking this place. It’ll probably just make them angrier savages.” Sjan-dehk stepped away from the gunwale. “We’ll finish this properly, and that means taking the fight to those bastards. By push of bayonet, as the army likes to say.”

“As you say, Captain,” Azwan said and hurried off to carry out his orders.

Maxwylle hadn’t been exaggerating when he said that the pirates’ ships were durable. Sada Kurau’s initial volley, although accurate, did little damage to them. Her solid, iron cannonballs couldn’t punch through the thick planks which armoured their hulls. The shots either embedded themselves into the wood, or bounced off due to the steep sloping of their tumblehome designs. But, whether because of shock, or a lack of crew aboard, neither ship returned fire, allowing Sada Kurau to take her time meandering into position to deliver her second volley. No matter how strong a hull, or how thick the wood, they were nothing before the sheer destructive power of explosive shells. Resounding blasts echoed through the air as gaping holes were torn into the ships’ sides.

So confident was Sjan-dehk of Sada Kurau’s victory that he started discussing the upcoming landings with his crew in the midst of all the cannon fire. He, and the other senior officers, crowded around a small table on the quarterdeck, their eyes drawn to a hastily scribbled diagram of the village.

“Excuse the shite drawing,” Sjan-dehk said. “But it’s the best I can do on short notice. Anyway, before I get too deep into things, I’ll outline our roles for this operation. I’ll be leading the first wave of Seaborne, along with Wahkyara. Kai-dahn, Azwan, the two of you have the second wave. Dai-sehk, you’ll go with them with your physicians and healers– I mean, healer. Hai-shuun, Avek, third wave. If we need a fourth, it’ll have to be Mursi and Sai-keh, but let’s hope it doesn’t come to that. Sahm-tehn, the ship will be yours. Sohn-dahn, your boys will be on standby in case we need more hands for any non-combat duties. Everyone clear?”

He waited for the chorus of acknowledgements to end before drawing everyone’s attention to the drawing, pointing out a few details. “From what I can see, the village, town, whatever it is, isn’t too complex. Single main street down the center, two poorly-defined avenues along the flanks, all converging on the square. There’s a few multi-floor buildings in the centre, but elsewhere, it’s all simple houses and such. On the right, we’ve fields, and on the left, jetties.”

“How many enemies are we facing, Captain?” Kai-dahn asked.

“A hundred-and-fifty, maybe two hundred,” Sjan-dehk replied, quoting Maxwylle’s numbers. “I’m assuming that they’ve disembarked most of their crew, if not all of them. Can’t imagine why their ships didn’t even try to return fire, otherwise.”

Kai-dahn’s visage darkened. “Then that main street will be a problem. It’s too wide for us to advance down safely, not with us outnumbered so heavily, Captain. Our flanks would either be too weak, or entirely open to enemy attack.”

Sjan-dehk nodded. “I agree. That’s why we’re not going down the centre.” He tapped both avenues in turn, then the scraggly line representing the beach. “After Wahkyara and I land, I’ll take Detachment One down the right. Wahkyara will swing left with Detachment Two and secure the jetties and secure the ships, just in case there’s still any pirate left aboard with ideas of joining the fight. The both of us will advance as far as we can. Give us some room to breathe. Then, when the second wave lands, Kai-dahn, you will link up with Wahkyara, and Azwan, you will join me on the right.”

“That leaves the centre open, however.” Kai-dahn furrowed his brow. “They can storm through and cut the both of you off from the second wave, or worse, envelope both Detachments, Captain.”

“Yes, but we have Sada Kurau.” Sjan-dehk looked at Sahm-tehn. “You’ll use her guns to dissuade anyone trying to come down the main street. Doesn’t matter if you don’t hit anyone. Just make it clear that it’ll be a terrible idea for them to even try.”

Sahm-tehn’s thin lips twisted into a frown. “That street goes straight to the square, Captain. I imagine you don’t intend for us to fire explosive, shrapnel, or canister, but even a solid shot can ricochet off the ground and crush the people we’re trying to save. I don’t imagine you want that, Captain.”

“No, I don’t,” Sjan-dehk said and turned to Mursi. “I was hoping you might have a solution.”

Mursi chewed on his lip a moment, tapping his fingers on the table, before nodding. “We can remove fuses from shrapnel shells and empty them out, Captain. We’ll be left with a hollow iron shot that should shatter on impact with the ground, but still be hard enough to kill a man.”

Sjan-dehk grinned at him. “Thank you. You just saved me from looking like a fucking idiot.” He drew a circle around one of the buildings near the middle of the street with his finger. “But to be safe, we’ll have this as our limit of cannon fire. It’s a house with a blue roof, you can’t miss it.” He turned to Sahm-tehn again. “But before you fire on the street, we’ll need Sada Kurau to cover the first wave’s landing. I doubt they’re stupid enough to come out into the open or even try to mount a serious shore defence when it’s clear that we’ve got artillery superiority, but let’s play it safe. Give them full broadsides, and do whatever you must to keep them away from the beach.”

“Aye, will do, Captain,” Sahm-tehn replied.

“At the end of it, no matter which wave you are, we’ll all regroup in the square,” Sjan-dehk said, pointing to a few rectangles on the diagram that were larger than most. “There’s a big, long building that has a tower thing sticking from its roof. If you get turned around, use that to get yourself orientated. Based on what I’ve seen of local arms, firepower will be our greatest advantage. We can shoot faster, straighter, and hit from a lot farther than them. And so, we’ll all be going in with longarms, myself included. Mursi, see to it that we all have rifles.”

“Already done, Captain.”

“Good. Oh, Kai-dahn, I’ll brief Wahkyara myself on the specifics of the landing. Send him to me before we start loading the boats.”

“Aye, Captain.”

Sjan-dehk stood back upright and stepped back from the table. He looked at everyone present in turn, and they similarly looked at him. There were many emotions on their faces. Anticipation, nervousness, a touch of excitement, even, on Kai-dahn’s. But none showed fear. Sjan-dehk knew they felt it, however, just as he did. But that was normal. Nobody was truly unafraid whilst standing on the cusp of battle. “We’ll be fighting on Caesonian land for the first time, today,” Sjan-dehk said. “But we’ve all done this many times before. In Kai-dahn’s case, I’m sure this should be your hundredth.”

“Hundred-and-tenth, Captain.”

“Of course you’d be the sort to keep count.” Sjan-dehk shook his head with a chuckle. Calls echoing from the main deck told him that Sada Kurau had fired her final guns. “But anyway,” he continued, his voice and face serious. “We’ve all seen what these pirate bastards have done. We know that they deserve whatever terror we’re about to unleash on them. And we sure as the Abyss know their type. Scum who believe that they’re to be feared because they can brutalise those who can’t fight back.”

He paused to watch his officers nod in agreement. “So let’s show them the error of their ways. If they want to be seen as a fearsome threat, then we shall treat them like one. We’ll fight them as how we fight any of our greatest foes, and crush them like how we’ve crushed everyone else before. After all, only three things from the sea are unstoppable. One is a tsunami. Two is a typhoon–”

“And three is a Jafin!” Avek finished heartily, his boisterous laugh echoing across the ship.

“Exactly.” Sjan-dehk grinned. “Now, shall we?”

Time: 12 noon
Location: The Edin Theater
Interactions: @JJ Doe Fritz and Morrigan @CitrusArms Stratya @Samreaper Kazumin @Silverpaw Wulfric @Helo Callum
Attire:Dress, Hair, Necklace, Headpiece

---

Anastasia sat up, still catching her breath as she took in the view of the audience. She didn’t turn to Stratya as the knight’s words met her ears. Instead, she let them settle, absorbing them. Her fingers curled loosely around the cello’s neck. When she finally spoke, her voice was soft but steady.

"I hear you, Captain," she said, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. "But I don’t believe my message was lacking at all. I have no doubt I have reached them."

She smiled at her over her shoulders, "I did not come here to make anyone jitter in their shoes. I came to make sure Darryn was not forgotten. To make sure the people who never knew him would understand just how much he mattered." She lifted her chin slightly, her voice still warm, "And now, they do."

Then, the energy in the theater shifted. The murmurs in the audience began to swell, anticipation in the air. Light flooded the stage as the curtains swept open, revealing the grand finale in a breathtaking display of movement and color.

Dancers whirled across the stage, their bodies in perfect synchronization, and Anastasia’s heart swelled as she took in the sight. And then—there he was.

Fritz, slipping onto the stage effortlessly. Anastasia let out a quiet, amused breath, watching as he spun into the routine without missing a beat. His presence was fleeting, disappearing just as seamlessly as he had appeared, leaving the audience none the wiser.

She didn’t have long to admire the spectacle. The curtain call was upon them. She took one last breath, gathering her composure, before moving toward her mark. She caught sight of Kazumin, looking more than a little flustered. She raised an eyebrow at him, but Fritz had already whisked him into position, smoothing over the situation with the same effortless grace he always carried.

Then, the lights dimmed. And in the next heartbeat—flash! The mirrors vanished, the brilliant explosion of light and confetti revealing them all to the audience. Thunderous applause erupted, rolling over the stage like a crashing wave.

Anastasia’s breath caught as she looked out at the crowd, at the sheer emotion still lingering in the faces of the people. She bowed with the others, heart pounding, her body still buzzing with everything that had led up to this moment.

The cheers swelled again as Fritz spoke, and Anastasia clapped along, her smile bright despite the weight still lingering in her chest. The applause was deafening. She turned toward her fellow performers, giving them a soft, genuine look of gratitude. No matter what, today had been worth it.

Then, the spotlight swung upward, casting a golden glow over the royal box and Fritz called upon the royal family for their opinions, and for once Anastasia felt a little nervous.

Her gaze flickered toward Morrigan, who, to her delight, offered a sweet little kiss in approval. A soft smile graced Anastasia’s lips, and without thinking, she blew one right back.

But the moment was brief. As her gaze shifted, her breath caught as she had locked eyes with the King. It hadn’t been intentional, and yet, once her eyes found his, she couldn’t seem to look away. As Edin’s voice filled the theater, Anastasia held her breath. She had poured her heart into this night—not just for Darryn, not just for the people, but somewhere deep down, for him, too.

And yet, as he spoke, her name never came.

Then—Kazumin.

Edin’s entire demeanor shifted, his voice alight with interest and enthusiasm.

Still nothing.

Anastasia’s fingers curled subtly into the fabric of her gown. Her throat tightened, the weight of it pressing against her ribs, and for a moment, she felt her vision blur ever so slightly, barely registering her mother's brief statement and clapping with the crowd. However, as Wulfric had begun to give his opinions, he came down and approached her.

"Hi Wulfy," Anastasia greeted softly, her voice laced with warmth despite the tears still clinging to her lashes.

She accepted his hand without hesitation, allowing him to lead her back to the center of the stage. When he pulled her into a hug, she clung to him. "Of course it hurts," she murmured, voice barely above a whisper. "But I want it to. It means he’s still missed, and that’s a good thing."

Wulfric brushed a hand through her hair, his touch grounding her, and she let out a soft, breathy laugh. Pulling back just enough to meet his gaze, she gave his hands a firm squeeze. "And you're strong too, Wulfy!" she added with a small, adoring smile.

“You broke my heart with your words, and I love you for that. But what I loved even more? That everyone finally got to hear the beautiful melodies that have blessed the palace for as long as I can remember. Ana, I am so proud to call you family.”

She looked up to her brother, her eyes widening slightly in surprise before softening, the weight on her chest easing just a little. A small, wobbly smile broke across her lips as she blinked away the last remnants of unshed tears.

"Thank you, Cal."