In troubled times, it was important to cherish the little victories. Even if they came in the form of more work. It wasn't too hefty of a task, getting the Lucanian - Goddess, did this prick have no shame? - guard up to snuff; the existing force was more than adequate, but they were at war and a peacetime battalion simply wasn't something Tyler felt comfortable trusting. Sure, the castle security guarded royalty and behaved accordingly, but the staffing was a tad sparse to be fending off cultist attacks. That meant vetting new personnel, making sure everyone was adequately trained for a real attack and not just unruly pedestrians, establishing a sensible chain of command, on top of everything else he'd have had to do to settle in anyway. The upside was that it kept him in good shape. While not entirely out of practice back in the ballroom, testing the mettle of his new team definitely whipped him back into a fighting shape more to his comfort.
Now the castle had a full security detail and enough personnel in reserve to nearly defend a second Lucania Castle, with a schedule that kept every guardsman well-rested and well-drilled in the event of an attack. Lucas had simply waved his hand when asked about the budget, and Tyler certainly wasn't going to argue. Unfortunately, it was almost all for naught as Lucas somehow managed to end up fucking hospitalized. At least he got to miss that stupid coronation. King Ezekiel, what a joke. As if Lucas needed another thing to be smug about. He'd been infuriatingly coy about his stupid magic fork, though whatever it was seemed to have spooked him enough that he probably thought he was doing Tyler a favor by omitting information. Naturally, Tyler assumed it would blow up in both their faces and planned accordingly.
Other than that, Estoran palatial life was Estoran palatial life as he'd always known it, though the company was a bit worse this time around. The letter from Theo's mother still sat on his desk somewhere, along with a few half-written replies he gave up on when he couldn't think of what to say. Theodore would've just told him what to write by now.
Maybe he could write that down.
His stresses were overwritten by more pressing matters to stress over before he could, however, as Lucas informed him he intended to call a meeting of the Scions and 'invoke a prophecy', whatever the fuck that meant. At least he was only in charge of security, which was a surprisingly easy task given the guests were solely Scions and Templars. Anyone else was to be detained or dealt with, naturally. Tyler didn't practice a very PR-friendly brand of security, and he made this very clear to his new team.
Of course, the arguments started before the meeting did. While he couldn't help but agree with her, at least superficially, Belle played the part of a bitchy girlfriend trying to talk her man into a fight on her behalf wonderfully. Tyler had intended to lounge around for the entire meeting, quite frankly, but it seemed he'd have to play babysitter after all. No, mediator. Theodore called it mediating.
"Relax, ladies, you're both pretty," Tyler chimed in wearily as the flow of guests filed into the room, "I personally don't think any of our neighbors have the b-" Damn it, Rosemary. "-bravery to intervene on behalf of Kaudus. They'll huff, they'll call us warmongers, and then they'll ultimately do nothing. But I believe His Highness has a point, we can't declare open war on Kaudus while these heretics already infest our borders. Clean house first, then move to the backyard."
Their casus belli was the murder of Theodore Estora IX, as far as Tyler was concerned, and the opinions of a bunch of foreigners mattered to him about as much as the Kaudians, but they needed to exercise some tact against a force that managed to kill two Scions already. They were diplomatically, morally, and - most importantly - spiritually in the right here, they might as well take advantage of it and embarrass Kaudus on every stage.
And if they told him to fuck off, at least he could always fall back to the 'gift ham'.
The tragedy-tinged New Year swept all normalcy away for Maya. Like some of her peers, she had been cutting back on her public appearances of late, and her social media was full of banal recycled content and closely-cropped selfies that were stripped almost entirely of any meaning: there were no more “Come with me to the Juniperus Gala!” mini-vlogs, no more elegant pictures in the Veradian snow or like-fishing selfies with fellow celebrities, and her presence at events was starting to go from “surprisingly absent” to “expectedly declined.” On top of that, Kaspar’s passing had affected her more than she expected it to, but it only stoked the fires of hate she harboured for the Kaudians - which had spurred an entirely unexpected and unholy alliance with Belle of all people, as they worked together via correspondence to gather support for a war.
Additionally, despite their (frequent) disagreements, Maya was stuck to Edmund like glue. Or perhaps, more aptly, she kept him stuck to her - she had never really gone anywhere without him before, but he often took a back seat, managing the whole of her security detail. Like at Giles’ manor, he would usually be in the venue, but maybe not in the room. But she would not make that mistake again: Now, Maya barely let him turn a corner out of her sight. His bedroom in Veradis Castle was adjoined hers by a door that was never locked, and he joined her no matter where she went; to the dining room, in the gardens, never more than a few hurried steps away and always in view. Maya very much preferred her Templar to be seen and not heard, which Edmund was usually happy to oblige, but their constant proximity had provoked more than a few tizzes in the past few months.
But not all changes were bad. Her new indefinite residence in Veradis Castle was proving very much to Maya’s liking. Royal accommodations were quite to her taste, especially since everyone from the scullery maids to the Prince himself bent over backwards at her every whim. Her rapport with the staff and the royal family was made even better by Maya’s magnanimous generosity with blessings; after blessing the castle and Prince Rowan’s infirmary (made even more meaningful by having received treatment there), she gave them out like candy to anyone who asked, and before long she regularly had a line forming at her apartment door full of staff members asking for blessings and intercessory prayers. Maya was happy to oblige; the staff adored her, and that translated into excellent service.
She even wooed Prince Rowan himself - chastely, of course. The two had developed a habit of taking afternoon tea together, the Prince initially eager to please his holy guest, and later joining with genuine interest. Sometimes, his daughter Rosemary would join them, wandering around the parlor and asking endless questions. Most recently, the two had been fascinated to hear Maya explain the movement of heavenly bodies and how their paths around the sun could be predicted over the course of thousands of years. If Maya was being perfectly honest (which was rare) she was half-pleased for the chance to delve into her old area of expertise again, even if it meant putting up with an irritatingly persisted six-year-old.
Needless to say, she was in no rush to depart from Veradis Castle, and certainly not for a summons from Prince Lucas. She had deliberately procrastinated her reply to his letter, but ultimately could not escape it. Functions with politicians and celebrities could be handwaved away without much fuss (although not, perhaps, for much longer) but skipping out on her duties as a Scion would threaten to chip her public image more than Maya could tolerate. So, with no small amount of complaining, Maya eventually packed her bags, Edmund, and a small army of security and made the trek to Lucas-Land.
Only to be barred from entry at the door.
Or, her security detail at least - all of them except Edmund. It was highly insulting, and Maya didn’t trust Lucas’ little magic tricks as far as she could spit to protect her, but she avoided throwing up too much of a fuss; she had no interest in appearing afraid, after all. So it was mostly just herself she grumbled to, under a flawless mask of appreciative smiles, until she finally made it into the interior of Lucas’ manor. She was lead to the dining room in a much fouler mood than she’d set out in - no small feat, considering her reluctance even to come - and to make matters worse, the first person her eyes fell on was Belle.
Despite their prolonged cooperation of late, it had all been through letters, and Maya still had a borderline instinctual reaction to seeing her in the flesh, not unlike looking upon a fly that had landed in her food. She almost had to swallow the feeling as she joined the other Scions, reminding herself inwardly that the enemy of her enemy was her friend - for now.
There was also the not-insignificant benefit that she walked in just as Sir Tyler was taking a dig at her.
Stepping around Scion Hollyhock - brandishing a pig’s leg, apparently - Maya made her way to the table and took her seat, taking a second to arrange her skirt. She was dressed for Estora’s warm climate in a midnight blue maxi dress, the dark chiffon layers contrasting starkly with the fairness of her skin and the brightness outside. She removed her matching wide-brimmed hat to reveal the subtle sparkle of dark gems cast through her hair.
A similar glimmer came upon her wine-coloured eyes, but darker; less beautiful, more dangerous. “Our casus belli was an open attack on the Goddess’ Chosen,” she added to Tyler’s remark, “and bloodshed has always been a perfectly acceptable price for defending Her honour. Preferably less of ours, and more of theirs.”
Edmund slams blood-soaked hands against the aged wooden doors of a well-worn church, just big enough to house a community of a couple hundred farmers. The creaking of their hinges echoes in the wooden structure, though they are dampened by the masses gathered in their pews. Standing at the altar, elevated above all else, is Maya. The altar is empty, except for a single familiar hunting knife. The church-goers just watch, enraptured by the ritual they are watching. Salome beckons Edmund to come closer, but he refuses. He does not feel pain. He looks down, and he recognized the tears in his squire's uniform. His mouth tastes like iron, his limbs feel heavy. Armored men, dressed as the soldiers from the ball, surround him. They hoist him up by his arms, and drag him down the center aisle. Edmund catches a glimpse of those watching. He sees the father who never loved him, the mother who hated him, and the brother who couldn't help. Katarina and Sir Ivanov seem upset. Irina is disappointed. The Scions and Templars seem relieved. He knows they are pleased it isn't them. He is hoisted onto the altar, and Maya stands before him. She looks him in the eyes. He wakes before the knife touches him.
Edmund was subdued when he groggily opened his eyes, naturally waking before the sun had even crested the horizon. The dreams were getting more vivid. It wasn't until twenty minutes into his morning run through the gardens of the castle that he pieced together his dream was more of a nightmare. It took him another ten minutes to reconcile it was just like all the other nightmares since the new year. By the time he was in the bath, he had moved on to more important things. He reviewed the travel itinerary carefully, alongside a map of the region. He had annotated it to hell, making note of ideal ambush locations. As he dressed himself, he dared to look at his reflection in the steamed mirror. His beard had gotten longer, and more unruly. His hair was a matted mess, his bangs just barely dipping into his field of vision. He stalked through his bedroom, grabbed his hunting knife, and cut off the offending strands of hair. It was choppy and uneven, but he was never one for appearance. He popped three caffeine pills in his mouth and dry-swallowed as he put on his crisp uniform. He took a moment to look at the small programs from the funerals, reciting a prayer under his breath. He was practically dressed for war by the time he stepped out into the hallway at the sound of Maya's stirring that morning. He had enough bullets on his belt, and lining a bandolier strapped across his chest, to invade a large village.
Edmund was even more quiet than usual that day. He barely seemed to even look at Maya, but was never more than five steps away from her the second they left Veradis Castle. He kept his revolver in his lap the entire ride, his hand gripped on the hilt. When he holstered it on their approach to the castle, an imprint of the grip left red marks on his hand. He hardly noticed as he followed Maya up. He stood by with bated breath as Maya tried to gain entrance for the security detail, but there were some miracles even the queen of duplicity couldn't perform. Their denial of entry confirmed to Edmund what he already assumed: Lucas knew something, and the last thing anyone needed were prying ears. So Edmund followed a seething Maya, preparing to intervene when she decided to let that rage boil over in another's direction.
Upon entry to the dining room, he was less than enthused to find the conversation already escalate into discussions of war. Salome's mocking tone rang in his ears, and he could only watch in disgust while hovering over Maya's shoulder. Sir Ivanov had taught him chess at a young age to explain his experience in his limited engagement in war. But now, as Edmund watched the pieces move across the room, he couldn't help but feel like they were all just pawns. At least some of the pawns were offering protein and carbs, but he didn't have much of a stomach for either. His eyes caught Tyler as he spoke against war, and Edmund simply gave a small nod of respectful agreement.
“Our casus belli was an open attack on the Goddess’ Chosen, and bloodshed has always been a perfectly acceptable price for defending Her honour. Preferably less of ours, and more of theirs.”
"Going to fight the war on Instagram?" Edmund's comment was soft yet biting, barely audible if not for his close proximity at Maya's side. It oozed with a disdain that had been built up over years in her service. It took him half a second to realize he had muttered it out loud. His gaze turned towards Tyler, then Lucas, and then Belle. He refused to look at Maya, even out of the corner of his eye. He quickly spoke louder to fill the pause, choosing to pretend he hadn't made the insult. "We still do not quite know the enemy who attacked us. I am only confident in their wish for the Federation to go to war with Kaudus... and I am not partial to fulfilling the wishes of heretics for an illusion of safety and justice."
Never thought I'd end up here. . . much less by way of invitation.
Justinian let out a low whistle as he stopped by the pond in the front yard, taking the moment to center himself and fix up his appearance at least somewhat before going to meet his fellow Scions. Today had been the first time he'd gone through his usual routine since the attack and it showed. The bags uner his eyes stood out worse than any breakout, while his hair was. . . presentable at least. Too many hairs out of place and his attempts to style up a loose ponytail looked amateurish. Not to mention he'd barely had the energy to put much thought into his outfit. It was formal enough with a dark gretblazer over a white dress shirt which burned with the amber glow of the Mother's mark pulsing underneath, some loose-fitting slacks tightened around the belt and what he *thought* had been his least scuffed pair of loafers but it took until now for him to realize he'd put on his training sneakers by mistake.
". . . It's good enough." A conclusion reached without much confidence and ultimately too himself, despite Bianca waiting in the wings at his side. Their relationship had been frosty ever since his outburst, but Justinian wasn't going to act like he didn't mean at least some of what was said. Besides that, the reveal of Nadine and Ulysses death and the church's order to keep silent on the matter had done a lot to make him grateful for it. He bristled under the need to decieve people by acting as if he knew nothing, to feign shock when the new Scion of Lightning was chosen. To him, it felt more like a move made to save face rather than prevent panic though he kept such thoughts to himself.
With a sigh, Justinian centered himself in the moment slipping from an expression of fatique into an affable grin before making his way to the castle proper to see what the Prince had deemed so important that they all meet. Despite the appearance of calm as he greeted duchesss Patrica with a deep bow, he couldn't help how he fingered the runes placed at the hems of his blazer and the hips of his pants to reassure himself that they were still there. When he arrived within the private dinner hall that Lucas had set up for them, he kept the shiver from showing as he felt the tingle of the barrier that he assumed Lucas had set up.
The wider smile on his face when he heard them already getting into arguments with each other, however, was a bit more open.
Incepta you have certainly chosen your heroes well in this hour.
"I see that we're getting along so well today." Justinian didn't so much walk as prance into the the hall, leaning against one of the dining chairs but refusing to take a seat as he glanced at the gathered Scions. He eyed the cookies placed on the table for a moment, most likely by Ionna given the note and precedent, but decided against it to instead give Hollyhock and Ionna a greeting wave as he spoke. "Gotta say though, kinda funny seeing the soldier types asking for cooler heads while the young princesses are taking on the War Hawk mentality. Pretty sure it's supposed to be the opposite, no?"
He almost suggested that Maya to take a page out of her Templar's book, but he figured the Incepta would be less than pleased with that bit of blatant hypocrisy.
"That being said, I feel like I've spoken out of turn by not greeting our host yet. Good Morning, Prince Lucas. To what do we owe this fine pleasure? Or did you bring us all here just to debate politics while eating finger foods." While the tone remained pleasant, the clip of impatience rang through. He could argue with anyone at any time on his phone, but if Lucas wasn't going to make his point soon, then Justinian was going to be out the door sooner rather than later. While he didn't feel as much vitriol towards the new Scion of time as he had during the coronation, he still saw Lucas as more than a bit of a prick who made it his business to demean and belittle. And the Scion of Earth could take only so much of that right now.
The weeks succeeding the Millennial Ceremony were one of turbulence. The dead were buried, the people mourned, and the country became astir with uncertainty. For some, the atmosphere would’ve been tense, frightening even. What was thought to be a peaceful greeting of the new millenia had turned into the beginnings of a storm, and not many were prepared to greet it.
But for Theobald, the timing could not be better.
After the Templars’ second-in-command chastised him for his actions, the former soldier had kept himself scarce. Only showing his face when it was expected to do so, or out of respect for another. Perhaps it would’ve been surprising to see him at the Scion of Shadow’s funeral, his lumbering figure outfitted in his finest uniform, a strange sight when the two had never even traded a word.
Were it not for the Ceremony, he would have never shown up at all, yet he heard of the fallen noble’s attempts to protect the people and his fellow Scions despite the condition that would ultimately take the young man’s life. It was one thing to be a spoiled child who toyed with the Goddess’ power to save one’s self, it was another to fight for others while ignoring their own crippling circumstances. Theobald could respect that.
What he could not respect, however, was Irina’s complete rejection of his claims in the short time they had spoken, and it was her abject dismissal of his very being that gnawed at him in his times of solitude. There were many things she spoke plainly and true, spearing his desires so viciously it was as if he was still a young boy in Rodion’s training camps, but outright ignoring the true enemy to attack his character just because of an act of discipline drew a shadow of doubt over his war hero’s favored assistant.
A war was inevitable after the smoking gun of that ballroom incident, and no matter how much she wished to coddle the Scions, they would be dragged into it whether they liked it or not. A soldier among the targets the enemy thought to be docile sheep was a powerful weapon, and yet she’d rather dull his blade rather than sharpen it.
At the very least, the church had finally realized the error of their ways and taken away the reminder of his previous foe and replaced it with someone useful. Dame Ionna was someone he knew little of, but her brief display of dedication and strength was enough to draw his favor. Perhaps she could become the grindstone he needed to become a sword sharp enough to pierce this invisible enemy’s heart, rather than a shackle to drag him down into obscurity.
Unfortunately, during the weeks leading up to the meeting at the Scion of Time’s castle he hadn’t had a chance to test her mettle, but with his own free time he had polished his weapons. Returned to his former training regimen, not for retention and habit as he previously had, but to prepare for the battles that were on the horizon.
So when, at the table of conference, the talk of a war with Kaudus began to circulate, the former soldier sat at attention with a half-eaten cookie crushed within his fist. He did not attempt to speak, with the conversation being mainly between the royalty of kingdoms he did not dare, but it wouldn’t take a psychic to notice the tension in his corner of the room. Silently, his presence declared that he sided with the princess of Rosaria and the Scion of Gravity, and his gaze swept toward one of the few he thought of as friend.
He was unsurprised to hear Edmund’s take on the situation. The Templar was someone he thought to be of sound mind, cautious yet firm, unwilling to add fuel to a fire that could aid a third party. But in this scenario, he would rather have his friend’s support rather than allow Edmund to sit on the fence.
”Think of it as a hunting exercise,” Theobald attempted, not directly addressing the royals as that would be above his station, but speaking loud enough that they could hear as he spoke to the Templar of Gravity. ”To catch a cunning fox, you catch a rabbit. Dangle it in an open space and make it look tantalizing enough for the fox to bite, only to fall into the hunter’s trap.”
What exactly was the rabbit in this scenario was up to debate, but he wouldn’t be the one to speak on it. ”These ‘heretics’ have been silent, still and coiled waiting to strike. We have to draw them out of their den, and cut out their throat when they overextend themselves.”
Lost in the finery of the room they had given her, Dominika felt alone. It was a familiar feeling. The servants were never more than a call away, but she was more than a person to them. She was a Scion, a most blessed and beloved child of Incepta. They had been transformed by their faith, as she had, changed from simple strangers to creatures of belief, receptacles for awe and obedience. It seemed, shamefully she thought, perhaps a lessening of them, a weakening of their person and herself, and an unwelcome becoming.
None of them could avoid it. They were bound by duty. The same duty she was. She had acted. She had done what she thought right. And still, there was no solace. Only doubt. Only the long night of the soul. Emptiness straddling the side of her bed.
The loose garments she had donned, felt wrong. The warm softness was overwhelming.
There was a brief set of courtesy knocks before the door to the room flew open, and Ionna entered. She looked a little frazzled, but it didn’t seem to touch her mood. With eyes still bright and a smile on her face she shut the door behind her and let out a long, exhausted sigh.
"Yeesh! Wow, what a night, huh?" Doffing her Templar armor for the more casual clothes underneath, she stuffed the crystal in her pocket and flung herself onto the couch, an arm and leg slung over the back cushions.
Her head poked up, as if making sure Dom wasn’t hurt in some way. A flash of concern passed through her eyes, and was gone the next instant. Apparently satisfied that things were no longer dire, the cheer returned.
"How’d it go in the, uh, whatsit? Snuggly?"
"Ahhh…it was an experience," Dom began, catching herself before she spoke too freely, "The Princess was a most gracious host. She is a very sweet child."
Sliding off the edge of the bed, Dom moved closer to Ionna, taking a seat precariously on the edge of the small coffee table, "However, I am afraid the Scion of Time and Fire do not seem to get along very well. They were most unkind to each other. Perhaps, it was just emotions, we only just survived the night."
Thoughts of the evening seemed to rouse Dom from her retelling and her cheeks ran red with color, "I’m sorry! I was far from helpful. I was not a very useful Scion. Despite Incepta’s great gift, I barely managed to hold one of my assailants off. I will do better next, I promise."
"Pff, come on, they caught us all by surprise," she said, waving Dom’s apology off right away. "Besides, you held your own! If you hadn’t, we wouldn’t be talking right now, right? You’d be with Nadine." The woman’s name brought a wince to Ionna’s face. "And, uh, speaking of that…I’m sorry I ditched you. I figured you’d be safe enough and, y’know, Nadine didn’t have a Templar. I just thought someone oughta try and go after her." She flung her arms over the sofa then, exasperated. "Hoo boy, wrong call. Irina was not happy about that. I mean, she’s never happy about anything, but she was extra unhappy. Yeah . So, maybe it’s better in the future for both of us if I just, y’know, stick by you!"
"You did the right thing! You were brave and I am proud of you," Dom exclaimed, awkwardly placing a hand on Ionna’s arm as a sign of her conviction. "I am no soldier, I will trust your judgment."
"Poor Ulysses, I hope Nadine is alright," Dom said, worry seeping into her voice once more, "You think she’s alright, don’t you?"
Ionna smiled up at her, but there was doubt clear on her face. "I…hope so," she said, patting Dom’s hand. "I didn’t really know her well, but she seemed tough. You two got on though, right? What do you think?"
"Yes, I would like to think so, she must be alright. She was nicer than…some of the others. Not that they aren’t nice. It’s just, you know, they are very different. They are very busy."
"Today wasn’t what I imagined it would be like. Of course, Incepta has a plan, she always does, we just have to…" Trying to explain, Dom found a lump growing in her throat, and rubbed the water away from her eyes.
"Do you ever miss it? Your life before being a templar?"
Ionna was quiet for a moment, perhaps thinking, perhaps giving Dom time to settle. Eventually she sighed again, flopping back onto the couch with a shrug and a smile. "Mmmkinda. Mostly all I did was help my dad out with his work, and duel whenever my uncle could find a match for me. Not a lot of midnight ambushes, yeah, but not a lot of anything else, either."
"How about you? You miss the old days?"
A nervous energy took hold in Dom, a sure sign of guilt playing out across her face as she answered, "Every day. I was stressed, underpaid, underappreciated…but it was simpler then, so much simpler then! If only I had known. Perhaps, when this is over, we can travel, we can visit Pogona. I would see the port again, I wonder what they are building in the shipyard now? A great ship, surely."
"Dueling, is it not dangerous? Some hot tempered nobles would arrange matches in Lorenzia, but it was mostly for show. It was something of a fashion to acquire "dramatic" scars, for some time at least, before letting it be treated."
Dom paused, her lips pursed in a frown of thought, "You do not seem very hot tempered or very unkind. You are not what I imagined a seasoned duelist to be like. Why would your uncle wish for you to fight?"
Ionna shrugged, like she’d asked her why the wind blew. "S’just kinda how things are in Rodion. But it’s not all bad–it’s actually kinda fun! Yeah, some people get a bit heated, and there’s a lot of pretension when the gauntlet is actually thrown down, but tempers are mostly for soldiers. All the best duels I fought were against people who were kinda like you! Y’know, nice, a lil’ quiet, but then when they’re in their element it’s–boom! All action, and determination."
"There’s somethin’ special about bein’ one-on-one like that. A lot of folks say you can tell how a duel’s gonna go before it even starts. They’ll point out the records, or the weapons, or they’ll say someone looks nervous or distracted, yada yada, but I dunno. I’ve been surprised a few times, and I think I’ve surprised a couple people myself.
"Nothin’ like tonight though. Yikes. Don’t get me wrong, bein’ a Templar is great! But, wow, talk about missing the simpler times. I think you’ve got the right idea. Pogona, a nice boat, some sun. Mm! But hey! At least you don’t have to worry about bein’ underappreciated anymore, huh? I bet your old shipyard brags about you now, has plaques stuck to all the ships you worked on. Tell you what, Incepta sure didn’t underappreciate you."
"Ah, they were quite proud, embarrassingly they named a small ship after me. I told them not to, but they wouldn’t listen," Dom said, hiding her second bout of discomfort, with a small chuckle.
"I hope that she is not too displeased with me. You are no less favored by the Goddess though! You were in the thick of the fighting and you didn’t get so much as a scratch," Dom said, nodding sagely to herself as she spoke.
Rising to her feet in a sudden motion, Dom looked around the room, searching before she took hold of nearby silver candlestick, no doubt priceless given the weight in her hands as she pointed it at Ionna.
"Dame Ionna," she said, with unexpected formality and seriousness in her voice, "I have been negligent as a Scion. I have been weak. I will begin to remedy this failure tonight. You will teach me to fight, starting now…please?"
Ionna watched with surprise as Dom took up her weapon, only staring, blinking. For a moment it seemed like she wasn’t going to answer at all. An awkward end to a stressful night.
Then she smiled, beamed really, and hopped up off the couch like a coiled spring. She ran around to Dom, heedless of the candlestick, and shook her lightly by the shoulders. "Will I ever! Ohmygosh this is gonna be so much fun!" Letting go, she plucked up a small lamp and discarded the shade, then moved to stand beside Dom. "Alright, Your Holiness!" she said, all the faux-formality sliding right off. The bounce in her step was just as evident in her voice. "Your first opponent is…you! Well, your form, your balance, and your confidence! Without those, you might as well be pointin’ that thing at yourself! So! Like my uncle used to say—‘Observe and repeat.’" Ionna held her lamp up in a ready position, then, taking it in both hands, raised it high, stepped forward, and swung it down. "One!" she said. Next she brought the lamp to the side, stepped, and swung horizontally. "Two!" And finally, she brought it low, and, with a last step, swung it up diagonally. "Three!" Finished, she twirled around with a satisfied smile, holding the lamp at her hip like she’d sheathed it. "Your turn!"
"I see," Dom said, mirroring Ionna’s motions, clumsily at first, and then with some confidence.
She turned mid swing, a half uttered question escaping her lips before the candlestick thumped unceremoniously into a nearby lamp, showering the floor with glass and torn paper fabric. Two guards appeared, weapons drawn, eyeing the Scion and Templar with caution.
"Sorry! We were just practicing," Dom managed, gently placing the candlestick back onto the coffee table. "I believe we are finished for tonight, thank you."
The guards nodded, holstering their pistols before vanishing with polite nods and only moderately irritated faces. Dom could see the relief in their eyes, everyone was still on edge and a false alarm was more than welcome...given the alternative.
"I’m sorry, I fell to distraction, but That was fun!" Dom whispered once they were alone again, covering her mouth to hide her laughter.
Dominika Kovač Pignatelli
Being separated from Ionna had been difficult. She knew better than to question the Fyodor. She knew little of the Templars, beyond the painfully obvious, much less the working of their ancient order. Ionna had been kind, they had gotten along well, and her joy had been a comfort in times so heavy with tribulation. Nothing had been said by Fydor or anyone else. Feelings of doubt were impossible to escape. She did not think she had done anything wrong. Her own worry harried her and would not allow her concern to fade. No one had blamed her, no one had brought her to task following the bloodshed at the banquet, but in the quiet hours of the night, she felt certain she had failed. She could not shake off the thorny thoughts that she was not the Scion of Metal that was needed.
There was nothing she could do about such fears, except to keep going. Times were strange and getting stranger. A Templar had been named twice. A Scion and her Templar were dead. It seemed a trifling thing in comparison to have a new Templar. There was a quite strength to Sara, different, but steel forged with the same strength as that Ionna had brought cheerfully with her. She had not sat idle, traveling the across the realm. Making appearances, attending functions, doing all that could be done to make it appear as if the Scions and Church were in no great danger. And Sara had been wit her the entire time, her new protector and her new shadow.
Perhaps, another friend? Dom had begun to hope as much. She had fallen in easily with the serious Templar. She found her books interesting and her faith a boon in the deepest pits of her own doubt. Having always looked to the future, building ships over the years, she found it pleasing to talk about the science fiction that Sara read. To share baked goods acquired on the road or in some small shop was a welcome comfort. Dom had felt an outsider from the day she became a Scion and she suspected at times Sara was an outsider too. Few would dare to demean her in Dom's presence, but Dom knew that some would whisper insults in the darkness. Some, could not forget the past and would only see a foreigner. Dom felt an unexpected protectiveness about her new Templar. She remembered the lurch in her stomach seeing the Scion of Fire mistreat her. She had decided she would not allow it. She would not be silent if such matters arose.
The additional training she had begun hastily on the night of the attack with Ionna had continued with Sara. Each Templar fought in a different way, had mastered different skills, but it Dom found it hard to not be awed by their expertise. She acquired fresh bruises each day, new reminders of the vast sea of skill she had to cross. However, instead of feeling discouraged, Dom felt renewed. She had come to hold an almost obsessive devotion to her new talents as a Scion. She had channeled the energy once reserved for her craft, bending and shaping of metal into ships capable of sailing the seas, surviving great storms, and weathering blistering combat, into her the gifts that Incepta had bestowed upon her. She could do nothing less. It was the only way to find meaning in the recent violence.
Beyond the sorrow that the passing of the Scion of Lightening and her Templar had brought, Dom found herself particularly burdened with legal matters far outside of her own experience. To be named the successor of Marchioness Nadine Lucienne was an honor, one she would have happily refused had it not been the decision of the kindly woman herself. Such news were not happily received by all and Dom found herself troubled by the conflict that loomed on the horizon. Duchess Odette Lorelai had a noteworthy reputation and Dom suspected she had no interest in an amicable resolution. She could sympathize, she could understand the woman's frustrations, but it felt wrong to betray Nadine's will. Nadine had been an experienced Scion and a learned practitioner of magic, Dom saw only the hand of the Goddess in her final actions. Uncertain, she had asked Sara to render a judgment and to offer her thoughts. It was a delicate matter and she had no desire to be cruel or to wound the no doubt mourning Duchess. However, in the same breath she could ignore want Nadine had wanted. To do the right thing was not always easy...or pleasant. She had sought out the Archbishop Elijah. He had advised her well and discreetly recommended a fine lawyer to help her navigate the unfortunate situation.
Chocolate chip cookie in hand, Dom listened with disquiet as conversation unfolded around her. Bloodshed demanded so freely, war proposed as if a mere game, it troubled her to her other Scions speak thus. Yet, there was hope in the restraint others suggested. She had traveled more broadly than most, in her prior life, unbound sailing on the ocean by the quirks of geography that came to be borders. She held no great hatred for any nation, not even the Kaudians. War did not appeal to her. In the anger of her spiritual equals, righteous as their fury might be, fearful as they all were, she saw only more suffering being promised to the wholly innocent.
Bedecked in a black dress, adorned with lines of silver, Dom looked different than she had months earlier. Her hair was longer, falling just below her shoulder blades. A hint of confidence had grown within her, a fragile thing that still reached desperately towards the sun. To be silent seemed wrong, when great violence was being lightly contemplated and offered as haphazardly as the tea the child princess had poured for her.
"To swing a hammer uncertainly...imprecisely, is a quick way to smash your own fingers. I was always told to measure most carefully before I began any new work...Beginnings are...ummm...such delicate times and one must always consider the cost," Dom said, coughing apologetically.
A year spent in cold silence, and still Renault felt pressed for time. As the train sped on towards Castle Lucania—terrible luck, being named after a castle—he found himself praying for a delay. An obstruction, a technical problem, hell, he would have settled for a minor derailment if it meant he could finish reading first. Who would have imagined so much could happen in one, itty bitty year? It was like missing the penultimate episode of a gripping drama; so much context, so little time.
But fate seemed determined to keep him punctual, so, he chose to focus. Nothing was truly inconsequential, but he eschewed the minor details lost in the broader strokes. Hikes on some of Lorenzia’s imports, Doumercene copyright battles, Rodion lieutenants maiming each other over parking spaces. Entertaining to be sure, and useful circumstantially, just not this circumstance.
He'd spent the week since his release catching up on the Kaudian conflict, starting in Rodion and following the branches outward. National attentions shifted harshly after the incident at Giles’ Manor, and it brought him no small amount of satisfaction to know the truth of the matter. Giles was a moron, but pinning it on his tax policies? It was almost too bold.
That led him to finally reading up on his fellow Scions, as well as their Holy Hounds. Few of the names had changed since his incarceration; most notably, the Scion of Time had been murdered. Renault was surprised to see they’d rewarded the old Templar by sticking him to Theodore’s successor, although considering who it was, there was a chance the Church was hoping Sir Morris would fail a second time. Who knew, perhaps if Prince Lucas lived long enough, the High Cardinal’s shriveled old heart would give out. A win either way.
The rest was mostly refresher. Following his aunt’s career so closely had made him fairly aware of the other Scions. He had never met any of them of course, but there were plenty of people who worked for them, either directly or downstream, with whom he had grown quite…familiar. But insight into routines and traveling patterns was no substitute for conversation. In his career he’d come to prefer one-on-one meetings to impersonal dossiers—though he learned to make use of both.
The security check left only him and his Templar to proceed. Zacharie Chaudoir, a fellow countryman. Effectively blind, which Renault figured made him about as useful as Sir Morris had been to Duke Theodore. But, he was a mage, and evidently a good enough one to make up for his sight. He was also used goods. Not a bad thing, some of Renault’s favorite clothes were hand-me-downs. The Scion of Shadow had passed away of an illness, and though he was the last person to dismiss such a death so casually, he found himself wondering how Zacharie had taken it. Blaming himself would have been foolish, but preferable. Guilt was easy to work with.
He missed Duchess Bachmeier’s introduction, which was a shame. How did she feel, being the latest host to Incepta’s darlings? Surely she’d doubled the efforts of Duke Giles, but if something did happen, she must have known her head would be next on the block. Well, that was a worry for later. For now, he made his way into the meeting room to join the rest of his peers.
It was like he’d shown up late to a birthday party. There Prince Lucas sat, crowded by the heads of people who might have been acquaintances at best, looking as happy to host as he was to attend. In fact, the only people who seemed at all happy to be here were the templar with a mouthful of food, the effete Scion of Earth, and the toddler.
Well, it couldn’t hurt to throw another smile into the mix.
The conversation was palpably tense and covered in a thin coat of noble pretension. Nice to see things hadn’t changed. The topic, unsurprisingly, was war. He had wondered what Prince Lucas’ plan was, if he’d meant to lead the Scions on some holy, vengeful crusade and burn Kaudus to ash. However, it seemed quite the opposite. Good. Surprising, but good.
“The Prince has a point,” he chimed in. “Straining international relations when we’re on the verge of war seems unwise. Besides, it’s not as though the Kaudians are going to topple our borders. We were attacked from within. The knife is already here—we shouldn’t turn our backs to it.”
At Renault’s words, Lucas felt pertinent to give him his attention, outright ignoring Belle’s look of disbelief. He was, however, glad to see he wasn’t alone in holding things off. Why the princess and apparently the Instagram star were suddenly so bloodhungry was beyond him. Rationale would win this fight, and he wasn’t interested in having to ward off sharp nails aimed towards him if he outright said he thought they were both stupid.
That said, Justinian’s paltry attempt at steering the conversation irked him. “Bold of you to dismiss politics when that is how the world is run,” He didn’t let Justinian’s asinine comment slide. “If you truly think it isn’t prudent to at least discuss where everyone’s head lies, you’re more foolish than I thought you were. And don’t think I didn’t notice you completely sidestepping your own opinion on the topic. If you’re going to sit on the fence, butt out and let the adults speak.”
The high prince then stood from his seat, eyes leveled with the new Scion in mild disinterest, contrary to his current action. “Since High Cardinal Margaret didn’t see your holy sigil as a blessing on Gaia, I thought it prudent to introduce everyone to our newest holy associate,” He spoke, gesturing towards Renault. “For those unawares or unfamiliar, this is the Scion of Lightning, Renault Allard.”
Renault smiled and bowed politely to the table. “Thank you, Your Holiness. Charmed to meet you all. I hope I can be of service in these troubling times.”
Belle looked less than pleased to find opposition to her words. It was clear she had expected more support; she had nodded fervently along with Maya's words, but she was immensely disappointed with the general response to their argument. She didn't miss how nonchalant Lucas had been about the majority being in his favor for once.
She straightened up at Renault's introduction, raising an inquisitive eyebrow. "A pleasure to see you again, Your Holiness. I believe I didn't have the pleasure of introducing myself as your ceremony was cut short: I am Princess Isabella Rosaria, Scion of Water and heiress to the Rosarian throne," Her quick response came, but she didn't let it dwell before immediately jumping back to the topic at hand. "Then do you truly believe inaction will get us anywhere? Because our lack of appearances has already spread doubt like wildfire on dry leaves--soon all will think of us as cowards unwilling to defend ourselves, content with cowering behind our knights and protection and unwilling to act. Why wait until they strike again and take another of us out? And even with a new Scion of Lightning, we are still one fewer after the loss of our Scion of Shadow. Surely the enemy must be aware of this!"
Sonia let out a long sigh, a product of her previous neutrality. She rose from her seat as well, giving Renault a bow. "Templar of Light Sonia, Your Holiness," Her mannerisms were much more formal than her tone, but she couldn't hold herself back any more as she took her seat again. "I find myself agreeing with my fellow Templars. The sly eagle doesn't kill at whim."
"The eagle won't have a perch if we roll over and do nothing," She shot back immediately.
Sonia visibly bristled, but it was more because she was finding Belle irritating as opposed to actually getting mad. She took a glance aat the silent Abram who found the sandwiches much more deserving of his attention. She scoffed. "You accuse people of cowardice but you're letting your emotions run you," She stated. "Then what happens? You get yourself into a huff and march right into their trap. I'd bet my good eye that that is exactly what they're counting on."
Meanwhile, Princess Rosemary had all but ignored the conversation at hand, her attention on something much more important: the return of Ionna's cookies. Her ponytail and dress looked comical as they bounced from the mad dash the little girl made to them. She took a second to read the message before her tiny hand grabbed a pair. "Sonia is the best in the world. Sonia has the coolest eye in the world," She stated quietly to no one in particular, already reaching for a third. "Sonia is super strong and punched a hole in the wall once and Daddy wasn't happy but he said it was okay. It was cool so I'm taking two cookies for that one." She swiftly returned to Lucas' side, nudging her way under his arm. Rather than let her struggle, he turned his chair and let her sit on his lap. The girl immediately got comfortable and proceeded to devour the sugar cookies.
Edmund's gaze turned between the varying conversations as the debate over war continued. His eye twitched slightly at the prolonged debate. Justinian seemed to have an even enough understanding of the situation, keeping his opinion on the matter subtle... and quite frankly, attempting to move the conversation to its true purpose. While some were royals in the room, only one of them held real sway. The other two acted like children, and one of them had an excuse to. The Templar of Gravity's attention was diverted to Theobald when he chose to weigh in. His argument was the closest to persuasive, but he could see past the metaphor. Underestimating others was a strength of his: failing to understand the point seemed to be as well.
The newest Scion's arrival soured an already unpleasant mood for Edmund. He found his teeth gritting slightly, his hands flexing into balled fists at his side. An apostate in all but name, chosen by the goddess herself. Edmund silenced the growing chorus in his head screaming that there must be some mistake: but the goddess doesn't make mistakes. Somehow, Renault fit into her plan... just like Lucas and Maya. But a man of the church like the Templar of Gravity was not going to dare trust Renault as far as he could throw him. It was even more disgusting when Renault dared to agree with postponing the war, planting a semblance of doubt in his mind. Tyler had already speculated these heretics could steal the powers of Scions... was Renault one of them? Was he a plant to take them all down? Background checks had shown him clearly rooted in Doumercene politics, and a brief chat with a newer recruit in the security team who worked for a former noble in Doumerc confirmed that Renault was a menace.
It wasn't until Belle and Sonia's disagreement that he was able to snap from his stupor. His eyes locked onto Belle, and then Sonia. More bickering, more idle chatter about how sending others to their death would keep them safe. He nodded at Sonia's words, but turned his gaze back to Theobald as he spoke loud enough for those gathered to hear. "I believe your metaphor is either abhorent or mistaken... you are not a hunter this time, your holiness... you are prey. By methods we are still trying to wrap our heads around, they managed to corner all of us at once and abscond with a Scion. This is not a cunning fox we are hunting, we are chasing ghosts." His gaze briefly turned towards Belle and Sonia, before turning his gaze back to Theobald. "Sending others to die in your place to create an illusion of strength does not change that you are prey, and that we still do not understand what we are fighting. Sending forces to fight the Kaudians would leave us weak." Edmund's blood was hot, his voice low and biting in unexpected indignation... and a surprising confidence. He had been worried that he had been the most fearful and paranoid of the church's chosen, but now that they were all gathered together and speaking about the deaths of thousands like it was good for their image, the first of many walls cracked slightly. He looked briefly down at Maya in her seat, before looking up with a scowl to Belle.
"We are here for the divinely appointed of Incepta to hide behind: that is our purpose. From what I remember of that night, it seems that some of the most open to war here were the ones who cowered the most."
Zach could not say he was happy with the Mother's plan as of late. Tragedy upon tragedy befell Her chosen, to say nothing of the rest of the nation. A Scion missing and later murdered, the king dead, and Kasper - it wasn't fair. Zach felt as if he'd done nothing but attend funerals and pray for the past few weeks, which was still a morbid improvement from watching Kasper decline, guilty as it was to admit. Who needed cultists when fate was so cruel already?
The resumption of his duties brought no respite either. Reassignment to a new Scion was as bitter as it was relieving - lightning this time, not shadow. He didn't know if it would've been easier or harder to see another Scion of Shadow standing beside him. He didn't really wish to know either. Not that he'd made much use of his blessing prior; it would, in theory, be an easy adjustment for him to receive a new element. But the news came with conditions that brought no peace to his heart. Zach desired to be of service, to do good in the world, especially in such troubled times, yet the High Cardinal informed him that the position demanded vigilance not only from without, but from within. He was not to be a protector, but a jailer.
The new Scion of Lightning was a criminal, and Zach was given explicit orders to watch him very carefully. He'd wanted to protest; Kasper had slipped away from him countless times, he was hardly the person to be entrusted with such a rigorous task, but then he considered who might be assigned in his place. Renault's crimes were not - on the surface, at least - irredeemably damning. It wasn't like he was an unrepentant mass murderer or serial rapist. Granted, he was a politician, which some would argue was even worse, but his crime was trying to access forbidden magics. He could speculate on what the man intended to do with such power, but it would only ever be that, speculation. This was not a soul he could dismiss out of hand, and that gave him pause. Surely the Church could find another Templar, one less merciful and less willing to see the good in a downtrodden criminal. It might've been what Renault deserved, but embittering a holy Scion was not something the nation needed right now.
So Zacharie accepted.
The man was... strange. Weird hair, predatory smile, fake-charming in the way he'd imagine a spider would be to a fly. Appearance aside, exactly the type of person one would imagine to be involved in politics. Even his blessing felt political; Renault simply shook Zach's hand, as if they'd closed some important deal and not sealed a covenant before Almighty Incepta. The new Scion of Lightning spent much of his time after acclimating to the outside world again, catching up on current affairs, the types of thing Zach assumed one did when they were released from a lengthy imprisonment. If he had family or loved ones, Zach didn't see them. He decided not to pry.
Seeing the summons from the Scion of Time was a surprise, given how hushed the entire ordeal of Renault's Scionhood had been kept by the Church. An invitation to all Scions was an invitation to all Scions, he supposed, but to organize such in only a week was a level of thoughtfulness Zach didn't figure the prince had in him. The introduction once they'd actually arrived shocked him more; Prince Lucas had been downright courteous, which was more than he could say about the rest of the room, already arguing before the meeting had even begun. He kept to the fringes of the discussion, hovering dutifully behind Renault as expected. The food might've been an appealing way to avoid any questioning pointed his way, for what a mere Templar's opinion was worth here, anyway, but one look at the cookies just reminded him of Kasper at Sir Tyler's blessing ceremony and that soured any appetite he could muster.
"If I may, esteemed Scions," Zach piped up, "I don't believe this conversation is going anywhere. No one in this room is directly drafting the war declaration, no matter how much some of us may like to." He didn't have a solution to the Kaudian problem either, but war would solve nothing of their current woes and only breed more sorrow for the nation at large. His Scion raised an excellent point as well; should these enemies of the faith turn out to not even be Kaudian, they'd only be turning their backs on the threat they already faced, and if they were, he doubted an invasion would end in a decisive conquest if the enemy could disable and capture any Scions on the frontline on a whim, no matter how intent Scion Theobald was on printing his name in the history books beside Alderman.
"We should be looking at more immediate and actionable solutions rather than drawn-out campaigns on the Kaudian front, don't you agree?"
The New Year was just as strange for Jannick as it was for any Templar. On top of the fallout from the attack, there were three funerals to attend, a coronation, and only days ago, the (hushed) announcement of a new Scion of Lightning - it was the fastest replacement since Princess Rosemary herself was blessed. The Federation seemed to shudder under their feet as it changed so fundamentally and so quickly, and everyone walking on the shifting surface was liable to lose their footing.
But aside from political and ecclesial changes, Jannick’s private life changed too. He had kept his promise to Holly much like he’d kept his promise to Sir Ulrich as a kid - with much regret and inner complaining at first, but ultimately with grace - and made somewhat of a pest of himself ensuring that he always had eyes on her. He had taken it upon himself to bulk up her estate’s security, and wasn’t neglecting himself either. Holly stayed home a lot more than usual, which he knew was a dark sail on the horizon that he wasn’t sure how to handle, but in the meantime, it gave them the chance to practice Wind magic together. Granted, it was more Holly practicing and insisting that Jannick “just feel the groove of it, y’know?” but somehow, he’d managed to pick up a couple of things. He was no force of nature yet, but he could do more than funnel smoke into vents, which in his mind was an improvement.
And he certainly wouldn’t complain about Holly’s new homebody tendencies. Beyond the usefulness for training, Jannick wasn’t in a hurry to get Holly back into the spotlight. The dossier Irina sent out chilled him to the core, and he scarcely trusted the halls of Holly’s own estate, let alone throngs of worshipers and city crowds in the foreign countries Holly often frequented.
He was similarly in no rush to answer Prince Lucas’ summons, but Holly insisted that her duties as a Scion couldn’t be denied. They both packed light, but Jannick’s get-up was a bit heavier than Holly’s. Clad in his Templar uniform, extra magazines and a new set of throwing knives lined his belt and holster, and a billy club - more versatile than a blade, he thought - hung at his hip.
Holly’s host gift went over about as well as Jannick expected, although he did insist before they left (and still maintained) that if his mother had been hosting, a nice ham would have been better received than any fancy wine. When the gesture was curtly (or perhaps mercifully) ignored, Jannick offered Holly an encouraging smirk before showing her to a seat.
War was already the topic before the two of them arrived, and continued with a rising fervor that Jannick found… uncomfortable. He simply stood stiffly behind Holly’s chair, looking around at each Scion as they spoke, but not daring to offer his own two cents. He didn’t really have any to give; he never had a mind for politics, and the intricacies of international relations were far over his head. But the prospect of an all-out war with Kaudus still filled him with deep dread. His reasons weren’t well-considered or even particularly principled: he just had brothers at home, and nephews too, many of whom were either of fighting age or approaching fast. If the Federation committed itself to a war, a real war, they would probably end up in the thick of it.
Someone new arrived, and barely put a blip in the conversation. But Jannick’s attention was diverted, and his gaze darkened significantly when it fell upon Renault Allard, the new Scion of Lightning. Immediately, Jannick kicked himself. Dammit, he knew that stupid name sounded familiar when he got High Cardinal Margaret’s notice, but he’d neglected to follow up on his hunch, and now he paid the price.
Renault Allard was supposed to be serving a life sentence in Veradis Maximum Security Penitentiary. One of Jannick’s buddies had been on the team sent to apprehend him; they’d sent all the mages they had to confront Allard, suspected of stealing information related to banned curses. They stuck him with charges of high treason, apostasy, and about a million white collar crimes after the fact - everything they could find to bury him, not that it mattered all that much when the Church herself wanted to see him rot. He’d been the talk of the barracks for a month, and Jannick had seen his file in so many cautionary memos he could probably write it by hand.
And now he was a Scion.
Jannick shifted a little, subtly putting himself a little closer to Renault - between him and Holly. He didn’t trust that snake oil salesman grin as far as he could kick the teeth out of it, and he wouldn’t be letting him near Holly. It was a shame he was assigned Sir Chaudoir as his Templar; Jannick had been hoping to ask the mage for some real help with magic, but those plans would have to be scrapped now.
He had leveled Renault with a disapproving glare he’d perfected as a police officer when Edmund spoke up. His words were enough to bring Jannick out of his accusatory reverie - and they didn’t sit right with him. He frowned; he didn’t think Edmund was that type.
“Well, let’s not be hasty,” he insisted diplomatically, breaking his silence. He was a little surprised to see how much of a wreck the other Templar looked now that he was looking right at him. “I mean, ‘cowering’ is a little unfair, don’t you think? The first response in any situation like that is to run; trying to be a hero doesn’t help that much when it kills you.”
If I'm the child, then why are all of you wasting time playing these games.
Justinian continued to find himself less than impressed with Lucas as the prince attempted to shame him, only giving back a polite smile and a wink before turning to watch as more and more people turned against Princess Belle, who seemed very much backed into a corner by Sonia's rant. While the Scion of Earth did agree with the Templar of Light, and most of the words the Templar of gravity and Lightning followed up with, all he could think is what the point of all this arguing was. Entertainment? Was the Young Prince just bored and wanted to see his alleged peers snipe and rage at teach other by poking at a hot button issue in public. Or perhaps he was trying to cow Belle's ambitions o-
God this is why I hate this. Everyone's got an angle and everyone got a part to play.
As he wondered at the Prince's intentions for this meeting once more, his eyes fell on the newly minted Scion of Lightning. Renault Allard, a man known by reputation alone but that reputation was more than enough to leave the Earth Scion with a bad taste in his mouth. He had been lucky to avoid any encounter with the man in his attempts at humanitarian aid with Theo, but the rumormll and his own brief research ito the man following the announcements were more than enough to paint a picture of an utter snake. That he was chosen felt as big a farce as that of the Prince, and under normal circumstances, Justinian would never give the man a second thought. But these were far from normal circumstances, and while the man was a disreputable snake with an interest in the truly heretical, he knew how to play this dumb game better than likely anyone here.
Maybe that was why the Incepta had chosen such a man, because it was clear from the outset of this talk that the imminent of threat they all faced wasn't enough to get people to actually focus on talking about what is, rather than falling back on baseless speculation and rhetoric.
"If you aren't aware of what my position would be on this matter, you should do more research before calling these kinds of meetings. It's the least I expect from people when they bring me to these things." Justinian leaned against the dinner chair, fingers tapping away at the wood as he took the time to gather his thoughts. As tempting as it was to keep biting back at the Prince, the words of the Templars brought him back into focus. He had nothing to win by getting pulled into this. "As Sir Edmund and Princess Belle have both stated in their own way, we are on the backfoot right now. We don't know nearly enough about who we're facing, what they're capable of, and what their actual motivations may be for targeting the Scions besides the ones the seem obvious."
"Sir Edmund has stated better than I ever could the reason why even entertaining the issue of the Kaudian empire right now is farcical at best, and potentially damaging at worst." Something Sir Edmund has also showed. Justinian thought with a grimace as his eyes shifted to Maya briefly. He may have felt compelled to join Jannick in calling out the Templar's cruelty had he not been guilty of similar when under duress. How much those words were meant in earnest, the Scion could not say, but the man's closing statement was a low blwo regardless. "But neither is the Princess wrong, at least on one point. Something has to be done aside from waiting for their next move to either pick us off or, Incepta forbid, that this enemy gets their hands upon the newly born Scion of Shadow whenever they do appear. That said, I'm no soldier nor do I have any experience in info-gathering besides looking shit up on google. What we can even do right now, I have no clue."
"The only reason I came here was the hope of dicussing matters related to the collective threat we face, not engage in political theater. Unlike some of those present, I have no reasons to keep my views on such things private, so I really hope that I didn't put myself through the unneccessary risk of coming here just to talk about an event I have no real say in."
@Mcmolly Dame Ionna, pardon me if this is unsolicited advice, but I wanted to tell you all I know about your new Scion so that my short time as the Templar of Fire does not go to waste. His Holiness can be a difficult man to deal with, though perhaps he will open up to you more as a fellow Rodian. It will be difficult to get him to rely on you as his protector because he trusts in his own strength alone; even the blessing of Incepta feels alien to him, and he rarely, if ever, uses his magic. He will see you not as his ally, but his captor, and though I gave him a wide enough berth during peacetime, his soldier's honor prevented him from disobedience. Unable to face this internal conflict, he will place the blame on your shoulders. He yearns for the battlefield, and in a way, I understand how it feels to be pulled away from my calling. I may not look it, but I was a teacher at an orphanage before circumstances led me to becoming a knight, and then a Templar. Feeling so lost, it is easy for faith to dwindle. But when faith diminishes, our hearts desire a 'goddess' to worship nonetheless and will seek a substitute. For some it is wealth, for others, pleasure. For myself, I lost my way, and instead of honoring my oath to The Mother, I sought instead my Scion's approval and abandoned my place at his side. With such distorted intentions, Incepta would not deign to grant me victory or success, thus Scion Nadine slipped from my grasp. As for Theobald, he has forgotten his reason for fighting. He no longer fights to protect the homes, lands, and lives of Incepta's believers. If he did, he would not spurn his gift. His new 'goddess' is glory. It is this, his soul, that I am most worried about, and it is my hope that you will succeed to bring him back to the light where I had failed. Despite his best efforts, I do not hate him; I have received worse under Dame Irina's tutelage, so I hope that you can face your new charge with an open mind and a magnanimous heart. He is not evil. He is merely lost. But The Mother is merciful. The Mother forgives.
On that note, I am sure you have received the updates on our unknown assailants. I merely wish to remind you of this: Termina simply does not exist. There is only One Goddess and She has no shadow, for Incepta is not only the light, but she is All. Her divinity is shared by none. To even entertain the existence of such a shadow is to give power to disbelief. This does nothing but erode faith and weaken our resolve. The ability to cancel magic means nothing. It is true that magic is a blessing from The Mother, but is this entire world not a blessing? It is no secret that even nonbelievers can use magic, as much as the beauty and bounty of this world is available to all. Incepta is the Goddess of all mankind, not just of her believers. Incepta granted humanity with the privilege of delving into the hidden secrets of this world, which includes science as well as magic. The scholars of Doumercene are constantly finding new ways to use magic, so magic cancellation may merely be a new scientific innovation, and not necessarily an unholy affront to The Goddess. As for the ability for a non-Scion to use a Scion's unique element, while concerning, this should not shake our faith. As Templars, we can receive a portion of our Scions' blessings and, though an act of blasphemy, perhaps the blessing can be taken by force or through coercion. Though it is in the Church's best interest to speak of divine matters with certainty, the truth is that we cannot claim to fully understand the secret laws by which The Mother gives out her blessings. We have only past patterns to base our understanding off of, and perhaps the pattern can change. The attack struck at our heart; not only were Scions targeted, but it occurred deep within our territory. But the attack that strikes at our true heart, our faith, is the mention of this Termina. But it is here, in our faith, that we are strongest, and this strike should leave not even a scratch. Dark Goddesses are the stuff of delusion and fantasy, phantoms whispered by madmen, deceivers, or entertainers. There is only One Certainty, One Absolute. Take strength in the remembrance of Incepta, Our Mother, Our Goddess.
Being reassigned to Scion Dominic had been something of a shock for Sara, especially after Irina's vehement insistence that she stick to her Scion like glue. Perhaps Fyodor had overridden her decision; Sara hoped that Irina wasn't sore about that. Still, Sara felt that her reassignment was a sign of her inability to connect with Scion Theobald. She had failed to prove to him that her devotion meant far more than her blood. And though no longer having to deal with his petty hate brought some relief, Sara did not feel that this relief was earned, especially as it only compounded on her failure to retrieve Scion Nadine.
However, Dominic was a pleasant and amicable Scion to be assigned to. When told that Ionna had started to train Dom on self-defense, Sara decided to take up the mantle and continue her lessons, though Sara lamented that, compared to a Rodian duelist, her own form was little more than street thuggery once the veneer of knight training was removed. As for Sara, she had lost the fire magic that she had been practicing since two Scions prior and had to learn metal magic from scratch. Given the lurking danger, Sara needed to get up to speed as fast as possible and pressed Dom for any metal-bending pointers she could share. Fortunately, metal magic was much more Sara's style. She had found fire to be too chaotic and restricted herself to heating solid objects that she could more easily understand on a physical level. But she already viewed her armor and weapons as extensions of her body, tangible and certain. To mold and shape these as she saw fit was not as difficult as conjuring a flame from nothing and controlling its flow. Sara also appreciated that Dom took every opportunity to treat her like a friend, sharing meals and hobbies, which facilitated the proximity that Sara was obligated to maintain. But though Sara was grateful to The Mother for easing her path, she still felt it was not earned. If a trail fell into one's lap, it was one's duty to overcome it; if a blessing fell into one's lap, it was one's duty to share that blessing. How had she overcome the difficulty of being Theobald's templar? How could she share the ease of being Dominic's templar? The worst possibility though, was when Incepta blessed someone with excess in order to reveal their true natures, that of greed, hedonism, and pride; bringing them high before casting them down in shame as a lesson to others. Sara hoped that this was not to be her fate.
Though Sara attended the coronation with her Scion, as was proper, she had little interest on who sat upon the throne. Since royalty was hereditary, they didn't need to woo the public or promise any degree of improvement to citizen's lives. The crown would change heads, and the little people would carry on as usual. What did come as a blow was Kaspar's passing. The young Scion had seemed so gentle, and though Sara initially suspected foul play, she was sure the intelligence that they received was accurate, and reminded herself that their enemies would have made a show of it had they been responsible. To some it might seem meaningless for Incepta to grant him Scionhood only to take him away so soon, but to Sara, perhaps he was so virtuous that she wished to elevate him further before taking him back into her embrace. As some might say, perhaps he was 'too good for this world'.
Interacting with: Basically everyone at this point
Arriving at Castle Lucania with Dom, Sara followed her Scion inside, nodding to Duchess Patricia who ushered them in, though Sara could not remember who she was. Sara thought she may have recognized her and assumed she was a noble, but if she was watching the gate for Prince Lucas, then perhaps she was just the top maid. Inside the meeting room, the sounds of argumentation assaulted Sara's ears. Hearing the topic was that of war with Kaudus, Sara felt immediately unwelcome, and muttered a quick, 'Incepta, give me strength,' before proceeding deeper into the room.
Noticing that Hollyhock's gift had gone largely ignored, Sara thought of a way to hopefully deescalate the situation. "May I?" Sara asked Scion Holly before gathering some plates and utensils and proceeded to cut slices from the large ham. With two plates, she walked over to the head of the table where most of the arguing was. "Her Holiness, Scion Hollyhock was gracious enough to bring a gift; it would be a shame not to partake of it." Sara placed the two plates in front of Lucas and Rosemary. She was sure they were the two highest ranking nobles in the room, so it was only proper to serve them first. She returned to the group later with two more plates, this time for Belle and Maya who were together; Belle first because she was also a noble, and then Maya because she was nearby. "We should speak calmly," Sara said to no one in particular, "after all, we're all friends here." She did this to make her presence apparent to those who wished for war in the hopes that they would perhaps stop discussing their plans within earshot of one they might consider an enemy. The next two plates were for Dom and Theobald, Sara decided to serve the Scions first before their templars. As she passed by Dom, Sara gave her a pat on the back, offering strength and encouragement for the conversation that she was currently embroiled in. She offered Theobald a sad smile when giving him his plate, but otherwise said nothing. Next was Justinian and finally, the newest arrival, Renault (Sara assumed Hollyhock would happily serve herself).
"A pleasure to make your acquaintance, your Holiness. I am Sara, Templar of Metal," Sara greeted him, hoping to make him feel welcome before offering him his plate of ham. Though he dressed like a noble, something in his demeanor implied to Sara that this was not the case. She did not know who he was nor of his past crimes, so she approached him with an untainted earnestness.
Next she served the Templars, in no particular order, other than prioritizing those furthest from the ham to those closer. Finally, she offered Ionna a plate while taking a cookie for herself, complimenting her Scion in exchange, "Her Holiness Dominic is determined, always, to improve herself." With a plate of ham and a cookie, Sara took her place at Dom's side and proceeded to eat quietly.
A unified front from the Time Duo gave Lucas a little more confidence. Everyone had their own opinion and it was interesting to see the divide. Lucas wouldn't necessarily call anyone wrong--if he had proper proof that it was Kaudus that murdered Theodore, for example, he would've likely lead the charge himself--but the differing perspectives reminded him that the group was a lot more varied than he considered. There was some bias in this; the mind of royals was a stark contrast from those of humbler beginnings and it wasn't strange to see their priorities in different places. Except he wasn't sure what Daniela was trying to say. She was probably trying to relate to her blacksmith job or something.
But wow. Here Lucas thought Belle was the dumbest Scion, but apparently Justice decided to wrench the crown from her head and parade it around. It genuinely astonished him; never mind the fact that despite him initially ignoring Belle's words it was good to see where people stood, but to call this political theater was comical. Who, exactly, were they performing for? As far as he remembered, everyone chose to enter the conversation and it wasn't why he called everyone here. Not that he minded as, again, it was good to see where everyone's thoughts were. A few opinions surprised him and some decent points were shared. He was also relieved that most seemed to seek reason, even if he did feel Belle had a point.
Lucas rolled his eyes at Justice. "You're right, I should've researched you sooner; at least that way I would've known you were a complete moron and not waste my time in any future conversations," Lucas sighed. "Incepta forbid I decide to let a conversation play out to see the opinions of my fellow Scions. I should've researched and made educated guesses to what their opinions should have been instead of hearing it directly from them. Never mind the fact that if I asked you what my five policies were or which duchies I ruled, you'd be clueless. Just stop talking, you're robbing the flowers of valuable oxygen wasted on you."
That said, he didn't miss Reynold's little slip of the tongue, his own eyes narrowing at the other man. This is why Lucas never bothered being nice. He was well aware of the man's crime and knew that he'd get an icy welcome, at best, and foolishly thought if he gave him a proper introduction, it'd smooth things over a bit. He felt doing the polite thing would help and would give him a good idea on what to look for, and as always, he was proven that he should have stayed an asshole. Maybe Henry was onto something when he called him an idiot.
Once Sara placed the plate down in front of him, Rosemary perked up, thanking Sara as she walked away. Lucas was about to ask if she was hungry for actual food but was interrupted by Belle slamming her hand down so hard everything there shook in place. Rosemary shrunk back onto Lucas in fright, the man glaring at the princess in turn, but now she was the one paying no mind to him. If looks could kill, Belle's ire would have killed Edmund where he stood. "Need I remind you who it is you're speaking with?" She asked him darkly. "I've taken tongues for lesser insults and I'll have yours if you do not show the proper respect. You know not of what power truly is if that is your narrow definition."
The prince held back a sigh and held Rosemary with one hand while the other adjusted a fork and knife for the kid. Sonia scratched the back of her head, clearly wanting to be anywhere but here. "Let's not forget that royal titles go over Scion ones. Like Dame Sara said, we're all on the same side here," She said at the room at large, though she definitely gave Renault a look before she continued. "An immediate solution would work best, but we're currently wandering around in the dark, aimless. They have more information on us than we on them and it'll take some time to gain a leg."
Lucas took two and a half cookies from Rosemary and adjusted her so she was close enough to eat, the girl devouring the slice she was served. Did Sonia not feed her or something? "Chew slower or you'll choke," He told her, pulling a cup of water closer in anticipation. She giggled at him, but carried on slower, keeping her manners about her despite still sitting on his lap instead of a chair.
"I've already sent out my own network to gather intel based on what Dame Irina's report detailed. I expect results sooner than later," Belle stated, straightening up. "Do you truly believe it best to sit around twiddling our thumbs until they decide to attack again? Because to the eyes of all, it is we who have been deemed cowards for returning to our estates and quivering in fear, reducing our public appearances and jumping at unfamiliarity. As the Goddess' chosen, is not our duty to act on her behalf to those wicked enough to dare attack her children?"
Rosemary finished chewing and dabbed at her lips with a cloth before looking at Hollyhock with wide eyes. "This is delicious!" She declared, ignorant to the conversation and snatched the glass of water Lucas got her.
Rosemary pushed her plate away, satisfied, her eyes wandering over to the tuning fork sticking out of Lucas' jacket. As she reached for it, however, Lucas pressed his phone into her hands instead. The distraction was a success as her eyes widened, her tiny hands latching onto it immediately and paying no attention as Lucas stood, gently placing her down in his seat. He promised Henry he would try, and while it was easy to half-ass it and call it a day, Lucas knew he wouldn't be able to face his former mentor if he didn't give it his full effort. Even if the group in front of him gave him zero inspiration or any hope, he'd drag them all along if he had to.
He walked behind the chair and rested his free hand on it, waiting until he had everyone's attention. The various curiosity and disinterest from some did nothing to add to his confidence, but he wouldn't leave them wondering for any longer. "Before I begin, I'll make it clear that whatever is discussed today stays between the people in this room. Should I find that this information has somehow gotten out to anyone else, I'll know who it was, and that'll be the end of your time as Scion or Templar. I'll make sure of it," He decided to get that much out of the way as he pulled out the tuning fork, facing the group at large. "This was too important to be entrusted to any communication that wasn't in-person. And while my visions have been less than helpful, Scion Anani has ensured that I'm not left completely blind in this trying time."
He looked down at the instrument in his hand, taking in a deep breath. Despite his nerves clawing at him, he was determined to make it work. "With all of you here as witnesses, I will dive into the sin of Invoking a prophecy--to willingly call on a vision instead of waiting for Incepta to grant me one," He announced, knowing full well that few would understand the implication but it needed to be said. "Instead of looking to the future, however, we look back to the Prophecy of Anani."
No doubt there would be questions, but they would have to wait. Lucas squeezed his eyes shut before his nerves got the best of him, tightening his grip and banging the fork against the chair in front of him. A single A note rang, mana rippling through the air as it glowed, golden mana streaking around the room. The holy sigil appeared on his forehead once again, but the difference between this and any other vision was that when Lucas opened his eyes, what were once green were now a golden hue as he recited:
She of gold is Incepta Her teachings illuminate the righteous way Her temple guides humanity to prosperity
Her blood thrives through her chosen ones They shall be called Scions and revered They will be living proof of Her power
This power will flow through their veins Once they pass their power will return to Gaia The inheritor shall find themselves with Her symbol
For one thousand years will Her Scions shape Gaia With their might they will bring countries to their knees But beware: Power will always corrupt those that lust for it
This much was recognizable to anyone who had opened a book in the church as it was known to the public as the Primordial Prophecy, which was the very first prophecy that Scion Anani had received from the Goddess. Its words were recorded a thousand years ago and it was the very same prophecy that brought her under Incepta’s light when she had doubted the goddess. It was famous, it was well known, and to everyone present, this was all there was to it. However, they would find that Lucas had more to say:
Nine hundred ninety four years will pass The Light of Incepta will rise on Gaian soil Her birth will be accompanied by tears of a night sky
Born of William’s lineage with eyes of golden earth Her heart will charm all who meet her She will lead a fruitful life blessed with love
When Gaia cries for help she will come forth She shall wield her Blessing as a blade of might Her enemies will fall to their knees
She will guide her people to prosperity Gaia will recognize her as their savior And prosperity will follow anew
At this, Sonia outright stood up, shocked. She didn't get the chance to say anything just yet, however.
On golden shores Incepta waits Her light shines through her love for her children Her shadow is red of blood
An unknown daughter of darkness desires the fall On the night of the red moon it begins The mana of Gaia twists
Under the Estoran star will Incepta’s chosen connect United Her blessing grows ever stronger Together they drive the shadow away from Her golden shores
Beware Termina Beware the red of blood
The golden mana fully dissipated, disappearing without a trace. The holy sigil similarly dimmed from Lucas' forehead and he closed his eyes, leaning heavily onto the chair. After a few seconds, however, he dropped down to one knee, clutching his chest as he gasped for air. The tuning fork also fell to the ground without making a single sound, his free hand clumsily grabbing it and stuffing it in his jacket. It had taken more out of him than he had expected. Still, he refused to stay down for long, pulling himself up and standing, even if he looked like a stiff breeze would knock him out.
"Right now, we're aimless," His voice was sharp despite looking like he was about to pass out at any moment. "While each one of us has differing opinions on what our next step should be, it's crucial to be fully informed first. And though it is ultimately up to the individual on their next course of action, we need to make a unified stand. It doesn't have to be text chains and friendship bracelets, but at least if we give off that impression, the enemy will think twice before their next attack."
He glanced over at Sonia for a moment before he continued. "And...the Light of Incepta is..." He paused, glancing down at Rosemary, who was fully engrossed in reading a book on his phone and gave no attention to the conversation at hand, letting out a giggle. The confirmation was enough to drop Sonia down to her seat, the woman in complete disbelief. Lucas understood her shock, at least. "I--We have to do this. For her."
Belle matched Sonia's disbelief. "But she's just a child," She couldn't help but remark.
Now that that much was out there, Lucas supposed he may as well tell it all. "Yeah...the enemy pressed 'fast-forward' on Incepta's timeline. Ro--The Light is supposed to challenge Termina in around ten years. But for whatever reason, the enemy is moving now. Any other questions?" He looked around the room.
Prophecies. Renault was glad he’d had a light breakfast, otherwise he might have been ill.
Surely Incepta hadn’t freed him from his imprisonment for the sole purpose of protecting a child. A royal child at that, who had at her disposal every ounce of strength Estora could muster, and then some. His eyes wandered to the girl, preoccupied with Lucas’ phone while the lot of them discussed the future of, he supposed, the world at large. The edge of his smile curled slightly, and briefly. It wasn’t like he could be disappointed with her; she would probably find the burden of heroism as unappealing as the rest of them. That didn’t make her any less hopeless.
Well, it was this or the cell, wasn’t it?
He took a quick stock of the rest of the room. Princess aside, the assembled royalty left much to be desired. Lucas was an outcast, and a loser by every metric his surname didn’t pass for him. Princess Isabella had, to his knowledge, been a vapid if harmless figurehead, until the attack at Giles’ manor had evidently turned her into a vapid, bloodthirsty figurehead. The warhawk lived up to every Rodion stereotype Renault had ever heard in any bar, which, while he respected the predictability, surely hindered them here and now. The Scions of Gravity and Wind, if the reported drastic reduction in their public appearances was anything to go by, had been reduced to cowardice; the latter at least had the good sense not to demand war as retribution for the attack. The Scion of Earth was an impetuous idiot, and the Scion of Metal wilted like a wallflower, but at least their interests aligned. Honestly, there’d been more reason shown by the church’s armored dogs than the Mother’s favorites, pained as he was to admit it.
Where did that leave them?
“A united front is most wise, my prince,” he said, obsequious. “But much easier said than done. I’m sure you of all people are aware of how fickle the court of public opinion can be. It will take quite some work to convince even our supporters—to say nothing of our detractors and even less our enemies—that the Scions of Incepta stand resolute against the coming storm.
“To hear it said, following the attack, everyone fled to weather all matter of PR disasters. Though, the less generous were more biting with their criticism. Some, through misunderstanding surely, might have mistaken these actions for fear. All of this hearsay, of course, but all the same, sometimes hearsay is all it takes.”
He rounded up by the head of the table, glancing between Lucas and the rest of the Scions. “In my humble opinion, scattering again so soon would only set the rumor mill churning. And besides, with some manner of threat still present within Estora, it seems like a quick way to put targets on our backs.”
As Lucas called the meeting to order, Sara gave him her attention. Though he had referred to invoking prophecy as a sin, Sara had her doubts as most rules concerning scions were more a matter of church decree than scriptural, though she understood the need for prohibition against abusing one's powers. As the prophecy started, Sara clasped her hands together, quietly reciting along with the all too familiar words, but as Lucas continued well past the point of familiarity, Sara squeezed her eyes shut in an attempt to force her ears to concentrate and her mind to remember. She shuddered slightly as she listened, trying to interpret the prophecy on the fly. Part of her was inclined to reject it as Lucas making up prophecy, but she did not take him for a blasphemer, and the details in the language of the new part of the prophecy matched with the part that she was used to hearing. She could only see this as a powerful, revelatory moment that she was blessed to partake in.
Even after the prophecy finished, Sara kept her hands clasped, muttering prayers of thanks and forgiveness, letting herself live fully in the present to imbibe this sacred hour. Finally she looked up, staring at Lucas with conviction. "I have no questions, your Highness, but I did want to share the good word. Among the intel on our enemies that was revealed to us prior, there was mention of the name, 'Termina'. This apocryphal name evokes the fear of some dark goddess. But rejoice, my brethren! For the prophecy has made the truth clear to us. Termina's blood is red, like ours. She is mortal. A powerful mage, perhaps. A charlatan and deceiver, certainly. But mortal, nonetheless.
Your Highness, I will be the first to admit that I have misjudged you. As one mentioned in the prophecy as well, yours is a heavy burden indeed. I will lend you and this gathering what strength is in me. Incepta be praised! Long live her light!"
At this, Sara closed her eyes again, welling with tears as she lowered her head, reclasped her hands and seemed to resume praying.
@Hero@Obscene Symphony Unfortunately for Ionna, the time and place for snagging a cookie had passed. The dream of a ham and cookie sandwich was killed by the awful mood in the room. Only Rosemary was brave enough to take one. Of course, Hollyhock was tided over by constantly snacking throughout her trip here, so she didn't feel the need to scarf cookies down her throat this time.
As much as she wanted to plug her ears and hide in the corner of the room, Hollyhock was forced to bear witness to her fellow scions. She did not possess the nature of a child that allowed one to simply let discussion fly over her head. The words of her fellows were something that Hollyhock didn't want to exchange. Hawkish words, allegorical rebuttals, and serpentine insults were thrown around like nothing.
While she didn't want to participate in such a dour meeting, that didn't mean she was daft about matters. . She also had the mental fortitude to see Jannick shuffle over to place himself between her and the new Scion. She could easily guess that he was someone that Jannick didn't trust. That lack of trust quickly extended to Hollyhock. She wasn't going to interact with him unless he directly sought her out. Though, even if Jannick trusted him, Hollyhock probably wouldn't interact with him unless she saw him eating a parfait.
While her ham gift mostly failed, it was nice of Sara to partake and offer some ham to others. Hollyhock wasn't going to cut into the room's mood like she was. Though, only one of them was guaranteed to try the ham.
"I'm glad to hear you like it," she told Rosemary with a smile, "I could get you something even better for your birthday!"
Then came Lucas' recital of the prophecy.
While Hollyhock was pious, she didn't raise an objection to Lucas' actions. If what he said was true, then she couldn't personally blame him for wishing to accelerate Incepta's will. Or, given that the first verse was what they were familiar with, had the remainder not been transcribed and subsequently forgotten.
Her reaction to the prophecy was significantly less pious than Sara's. Rather, it was pensive. She was deeply thinking about its meanings. Being red of blood could have denoted the state of Terminus, but it could have just as easily denoted a metaphorical meaning. The red moon was another clue. While Hollyhock wasn't an astronomer, she still knew about the concept of a lunar eclipse. That checked all the boxes--namely, shadows and red.
Though, Hollyhock was a coward. Or perhaps she did not want to participate in a serious and intensive discussion about meanings. She had whispered to Jannick her thoughts about the eclipse and and pushed forward another topic to the others.
"If the prophecy is about forming connections with each other," she said as she stood from her seat, "the best time to start is ten minutes ago. Which can only mean one thing."
Hollyhock placed her hand on the plate that held her gift and pushed it forwards towards the centre of the table. She wasn't about to bond over conversations about war, insults, or overt violence.
The Scion of Earth continued bickering with the Prince, Princess Belle bickered with everyone, Dame Sara tried to make peace; while Jannick had never before been in a room with all the other Scions and Templars for anything beyond idle pleasantries, the charade was quickly growing old. If not for the cloud of dread looming ominously over the whole conversation, it would have sounded a lot like the half-interested arguing of siblings at the dinner table. But they weren’t arguing about sports teams or who to vote for as mayor, they were deciding the fate of the continent. As such, no matter how much Jannick would have liked to tune the conversation out completely, the uncomfortable stone in his stomach wouldn’t let him.
Of course, if Jannick had known what was coming next, he’d have preferred the bickering. Putting a decisive end to all talk of war, Prince Lucas stood, and with little ceremony, invoked a thousand-year-old prophecy before their very eyes. The first words were familiar; no Sunday School student in Veradis, let alone a Church Knight, could ever forget the Primordial Prophecy, and Jannick was sure he had it carved on the inside of his skull.
But where it was supposed to conclude, Lucas continued, chanting new revelation in a voice that was not his own.
Jannick’s faith was emaciated at best, but surely no one on earth could ever shake the deep-seated fear and awe that came from hearing the words of the Goddess with his own ears. This was no priest dourly reciting scripture; this was the living word of the Mother, breathed through one of Her Chosen right in front of him. Jannick’s eyes grew wide, and his breath caught; it wasn’t until his vision began to swim that he realized he wasn’t breathing. He stood as stiff as stone, struck with trepidation and wonder, afraid to move a muscle. Once more, he felt the eye of Incepta on him, scrutinizing his every move, watching his response to Her revelation.
Judging him and finding him wanting.
Jannick heard little of what the Prince said when he came out of his trance. His awe quickly grew to anger as the new words of the Prophecy echoed in his mind. He did not doubt their authenticity - nothing could fake the feeling of the Goddess’ presence - but he resented them. What cruel game was the Goddess playing? On the heels of such tragedy, to drop this bombshell on them - what sounded to Jannick like a warning of a world-ending threat. Would it have killed Her to reveal all that a little earlier? Why would a supposedly loving Mother keep such important information to herself until the eve of disaster?
Jannick set his jaw, looking coldly over the assembly. The same as he long suspected, the Goddess just liked to watch them squirm.
As if to confirm his suspicions, the first reply came from Allard, the snake’s words dripping with artificial honey in a shameless display of sycophancy. He sugar-coated insults for his fellow Scions - including Holly, which Jannick did not miss - in the guise of counsel, and recommended a course of action Jannick immediately opposed. As had always been the case, Jannick had no mind for politics or theology - he understood none of the prophecy beyond the incontrovertible truth that it was genuine, and had no idea how to respond to a national threat - but he was comfortable in the knowledge that if someone like Allard wanted to go one way, then he should go the other.
He had to resist rolling his eyes at Dame Sara’s fanatical outburst, but at least she was sincere - he could not say the same for Allard, who seemed to lie with every breath. But a gentle tap on his arm drew Jannick’s attention to Holly, stooping so she could whisper to him. She was theorizing that the “red moon” in the new Prophecy might refer to a lunar eclipse. Jannick nodded as he straightened, feeling pensive and overwhelmed. Holly betrayed no such trouble, at least on the outside. He was glad one of them had some idea what was going on.
That being said, while Holly’s theory sounded very plausible, he suddenly remembered a story told to him by a visiting Knight from the forests of Doumerc, who described how the sky would turn red for days, sometimes weeks in the midst of serious fires. That sounded end-times-y enough for a doomsday prophecy, and he wasn’t sure how he felt about it.
For the moment, he kept that to himself, instead reaching for a second helping of Holly’s gift ham to encourage the others to take their share. But it felt out of place to say nothing, too.
“Princess Rosemary is a child,” he offered inoffensively, hoping to lighten up their otherwise bleak scenario. “But so was Prince Aaron when he ascended the throne, and look what he managed to accomplish. She’s his granddaughter; maybe she has that spark in her, too.” He offered the Princess an encouraging smile.
He wouldn’t speak for Holly, but if she allowed him, Jannick was willing to offer his strength to help Rosemary fulfil her part of the Prophecy, even if the Goddess short-changed her. An affection for her beyond mere patriotism, which he struggled to explain, spurred him to action. Fortunately, Holly seemed on board as well, if her icebreaker attempt was anything to go by.
Forcing herself to breath, Dom felt the room spinning around her. It was as if all her fears had been realized in one fell swoop of uninvited horror. To live in interesting times was bad enough. The bloody celebration that haunted them all, even months later, was painful memory enough. Dom had barely registered anything following the related prophecy. Bits and pieces had reached her, beneath the blanket of fear that had enveloped her. She knew nothing of the new Scion, save his name. She had paid no heed to the rumors, whispered as they were. All the same, the newest Scion advocated a reasonable course that seemed mercifully underdeveloped in terms of violence. Sara's fervent faith struck a familiar chord, an unexpected response from the steadfast Templar. There was steel in her words, and Dom wished she possessed such confidence and certainty in her own beliefs.
She had always held onto a dutiful piousness, a simple, childlike view of religion, rooted in the long recalled superstitions spoken of by sailors as they crossed the seas. She had attended services regularly at the simple chapel buried in a corner of the dockyards. She had donated appropriately. She had carried Incepta in heart with boundless love and given the same affection to the Church. She had listened unquestioningly and without much thought. To be a Scion, to be so touched by the hand of the Goddess herself, had made it impossible to deviate from this course. And yet, she found no relief in the prophecy Lucas offered, only a new horror, now named, that loomed beyond the horizon.
"We are in this together, then, we must protect the Princess," Dom said, discovering to her own surprise that she was speaking, her voice steady and clear as she rose to her feet. She met Holly's eyes gratefully, finding some comfort in her manner. Her Templar offered hope and Dom sensed the truth in Jannick's words. Still standing, she reached gracefully for a portion of the gift ham that Holly had once again brought to the forefront, selecting a modestly sized slice and placing it on her plate. The dearly departed pork was something simple, something she could understand, and something she could measure.
"We must set aside our differences and dedicate ourselves anew to this holy task," Dom said, sitting down and burying her hands in her lap as she cast a desperate glance at Jannick, Sara, and then Holly, looking for any reassurance, any indication that she had not gone too far, that she had no said too much.
