HereComesTheSnow

Final Fantasy: Lightseekers

Rudolf Sagramore

@Izurich@vietmyke@Ithradine@Psyker Landshark

She slipped free again, and the knife-bearing young man wrenched his torso to roll and keep pursuit.

He was being pummeled.

Like a ragdoll caught in the jaws of an overexcited hound, the countless eddies and sudden riptides that swirled about the Faye Pseudolon’s frame as she danced beneath the waves, always just ahead and just out of reach, were tearing him in seemingly every direction.

Though he was no sailor, and had plied his trade well into the interior of the continental landmass’s valleys, fields, and badlands, he was a capable swimmer by any measure— but neither that, nor the strength hidden in his tirelessly trained body, seemed to matter. It was a fool’s errand, trying to catch Leviathan in her home territory— and as he exerted himself more and more, willing his burning lungs to hold out as he pushed to close the gap, that point was proven further and further as she slipped away each time.

Every effortless, almost lazy circle she drew around him drove it home that he was trying to make the best of a terrible situation— had this been in any way intentional on his part, he would die the biggest idiot on the planet.

And through none of it did her song let up. He was right about Naga and their ability to slow their prey, but thbis was no Naga, and this was no mere Slowing.

It had already gotten him into this mess on the surface to begin with, clouding his mind and diluting enough focus that by the time he'd clocked that he was about to spiral out of control into the waves, it had pretty much already happened. And now, surrounded by it with enough resonance to feel in his bones...

A labored swipe barely nicked her white garb as she darted again out of his way, forcing out a grimace. He was running out of time before he'd need to surface, and he knew it. The moment he broke off, he was toast. She'd just pull him down, and let his last bit of air burn out. He had to get ahold of her. He had to reach her. She was right there. Daring him into it. Calling out to him.

_{Hey, kid—}

She opened one eye placidly, meeting his own for the first time with a heart-fluttering smirk, giggling to herself as she drifted away and he surged into her wake. Down here in the blue, that eye seemed to glow an unnaturally brilliant sapphire, shifting, rippling, easy to stare into, impossible to look away from. The shifting tides spun within, riveting, endless, dizzying, entrancing. A mesmer all its' own.

Her song continued. It was like a heavy blanket draped over him on a cold winter night. Warm... snug...

_Rudolf.

Their brackish waltz continued, a slow spiral, a slower and slower spiral. The edges of his vision were beginning to fade. White.

White... He had always believed nothingness was black. Was it white, the absence..?

He had to reach her. He had to reach out. If he could just get a hold of her... dammit...

Each failed attempt was another leaden chain on him. That was the black. Weight. The black was a burning weight, like his lungs, like his heart. Leviathan's song was white. Painless. Light, like he was floating away...

It wouldn't be so bad down here...

Hearing this lovely melody... Watching this graceful woman dance, ebb, flow as though the sea itself...

Danube...

His thoughts were fading and disordered, as the struggle against the currents taxed even his stamina, built over 15 years, to it's limit. The last air in his lungs was burning out... he could hardly focus. a thin line of black, desperately guarding the last color in the world... the shimmering blue he saw in her gaze.

Out of time.

How frustrating. In the end, he couldn't even reach out and touch her. Let alone stop her song.

_{Frustrating. Yes. Hold onto that. It's all been frustration. You listening?
This really what you want, kid?}

Out of time.

...What he wanted?
...What the hell had it been?

What was he reaching so desperately for, anyway?

Tighter. Tighter. Even the blue fading. His mind's eye. One black line on the back of the void. Burning furiously. Every last bit of the wick feeding its desperate rage, its pain, its frustration. Out of time.

This song told him enough. That he could let it take him,

and his worries,

and fears,

and pains,

so many of each he carried... they'd all fade, like this. He'd fought so hard... He wanted it all to be over. That had to be it. That was why he was stretching his arm right now... if he could reach this woman, Lady Leviathan... her song was of warm embrace, that would take it all away. Danube and the sea would wash his soul clean...

<sub>Lose everything.

The tiny wisps of ink gasped that retort.
Everything would be lost.
Dying a failure.
Making one last promise he couldn't keep.

What about that?

...He could rest. Truly. Meeting Neve had been his last confession, ordering his business before... he gave himself. To this hauntingly vast, terrible, beautiful thing called the sea...</sub>

"Aah~ fufu~"

_{She's stopped.}

Rip her apart.

The black flames exploded outward, burning away the veil as the world returned to him for that instant, as a cascade of bubbles from an involuntary howl rising to the surface. He lunged with every last fiber of his being, to bring his stalwart steel to bear against this woman. Her shackles on his mind had released, and his grimace was now a bestial, maddened snarl. He couldn't let this slip. This was the corner he'd been backed into. Before she could do any more damage, he'd tear into her. This was his chance—

Barely.

He had barely nicked her, not even the alabaster skin, not even enough to draw out blood. Just a scratch on the cerulean scales...

And then once more, the world began to spin. Dizzyingly fast, impossible to escape, a leaf in a whirlwind. They rose together as his mind tried to catch up, still in the haze of empty lungs, until...

"GAH!"

He was flying.

Airborne by scores of feet, as the spout of water fell into the sea beneath, and he continued to rise with momentum.

Air stung as it replaced the salt and water that had begun to seep into his lungs. His head spun as it, for the second time, reordered the world. Rain was hitting his face, the clear skies he had said goodbye to as he'd hit the water supplanted by a tempest. Lightning cracked above him, shook his bones.

Below, the tides raged and boiled. He could hear the swell. Whatever Leviathan was doing, none of it was good.

A song again filled his ears. From the ship. From a familiar voice, not borne of waves, but of wind.

Ciradyl. Kirin!

There, in that suspended moment of terminus at the height of the steep arc his frame drew, he wrenched his body 'round as his mind and limbs blazed with emboldened will once more. He had his head back. He finally had his fucking head back, and only seconds to use it.

Four heads stemming from a central mass of upswelled water, each in the shape of a serpent's sinuous body. The ship, buffeted by churning waves, accosted by all four points of that hydra's compass rose. Two barreling straight into the deck. Two more with maws wide open, as the seas coalesced within them, as though draconic. On the deck, his compatriots in formation, still accosted by the false dragoons and Valon.

They'd get swept off. Into that same mess. Gravity was taking hold again. He had to act— Gravity!

As Ciradyl's aria flooded his mind with that long-lost impetus, it grabbed onto the idea and executed, out of time for anything else.

By some miracle, he flexed his right hand and still felt the knife's sabretooth hilt in his grasp. It wasn't balanced for throwing, had the suggestion of an edge for most of its length, but it was strong, sturdy, and superb for punching through the hide of anything on the planet with enough force. Up here, he couldn't see his quarry within the surging mass... but if he wanted to hit the center, his angle had been thrown off slightly. Angles, distance... they ran through his head, pushing his visual calculus as hard as he could.

His free hand reached into the pouch at his hip, palming two orbs that thrummed with condensed aether. One sparked with purple energy in his grasp, reacting to the idea his will was clustering around, the other...

"ARTON!"

He whipped the arm and his torso behind it over, praying he put the right amount of spin on it as it rolled free from his fingertips. The green glint of the Shield Materia caught the thunder overhead— it had long overstayed its welcome in Rudolf's hands anyway, once Galahad had him dead to rights on the nature of the barrier he'd brought forth in the desert. It had no room in his hands, better serving someone stalwart, sturdy, properly able to protect... and standing in front of the three of them. They had all sought him out and tried, in their own ways, to look after him. this was the only way he could do the same.

As for the gravity, well...

The purple energy crackled as his will flooded either hand, and he dropped fast. Faster, as he angled his body, bringing the blade to bear as it trailed a streak of smoke. Faster still than even terminal velocity, as the magic pulled him down. He wouldn't be hitting the central mass where he suspected the Pseudolon's body sat within this construct, but he could hit that first incoming head, shaped like a Naga, at the point he knew was a sure kill.

Toyed with his head. Nearly drowned him. Proved that his every pledge to not give up on those around him, to try his best to overcome his own weakness, that he and no other was the master of his body and mind, proved them all lies. He'd been helpless this whole damned time, and her song had turned him into a witless, drowning corpse, holding up Danube's mirror to his soul, to the part of him that gave in, every time—

The first head of the hydra bore down on Izayoi and Galahad, set to swallow them into a one-way trip to the abyss— The one he'd just succumbed to, only surviving by dumb, dumb luck.

Thunder cracked.

He poured every ounce of that anger into the fifteen inches of steel, his last fang with which to hunt, and it blazed with weighty umbra as he drove it deep into the base of that first thalassal Naga's skull.

Blades of Iron Roses: An Anime-Inspired Knight RP

Gerard Segremors

@Eisenhorn@Octo

An understated lesson Cyrus had beaten into him (literally, this being more a byproduct of weathering the task than an outright communication between the two of them) was a reminder of the value inherent to recognition of small, incremental victories. "Take what you can get" was a phrase that had of course never left the "oaf's" catalogue of old standbys, but there was a difference in remembering it and truly needing to live it.

It was a nice enough surprise that Gertrude had let him off the hook with just "oaf", he supposed, but perhaps it was more downstream of him reinforcing her deductions than anything else. He doubted he'd truly earned a lot of goodwill in either case.

Regardless. They had a job to do, not interpersonal work dynamics to muse on. He stepped forward as his fellows began to fold the investigation in with that of with Court Mage Arken, gauntleted fist tapping against one of Rolan's pauldrons. Much like Renar, he too had sort of drifted away into the outskirts as things left his field of competence. Once you went into the finer details of fey magic beyond the warnings and customs a rural boy worth his salt knew by heart, things went over his head fairly quick.

"I'll tag along. With two we cover more ground, cross-reference finds, and keep an eye on eachother in the event we risk running into trouble."

Final Fantasy: Lightseekers

&

Rudolf Sagramore

---

That morning, funnily enough...

---

One of the unavoidable facets of road life, or more broadly any travel under the open sky, was the uncompromising regularity of waking with the dawn. Rudolf, even with his habit of waiting until the dead of night to train, was neither exception nor stranger to the concept.

That said…

“Nngrh.” he grunted, one golden eye peeling itself open as his hammock rocked with the sway of the mast. As though it weren’t enough that the first filaments of green-gold dawn crept past the horizon so early on the open sea— Bikke had dropped anchor just so in a position that the embattled swordsman’s little nest, tucked neatly away in the rigging as it was, largely faced eastward.

He groaned into the pages of his book, the same tome on curses his Master had managed to deliver the week before.

Damned buccaneer, why wouldn’t he just keep his boat on the same heading? Their course was set, wasn’t it? Why roll the dice on this stuff?

”Ilias, I know I’ve strayed, but could we talk about five minutes, here? Just five?”

The only response the Winds of Change offered, of course, were a stray gust that slapped the pages against his cheeks and the continued retreat of night’s end.

Guess I’m up, then.

Pulling the book free from his face, the white-haired young man sat up, accepting his fate blearily yet dutifully. In short order, the hammock had become a burlap sack to hold his book, boots, and canteen as he unfastened it from the mast. So long as he was up and off the unused rigging before the crew rose, they’d be none the wiser.

His larger possessions, of course, were below, leaned against the mast by the greatsword. Folding the burlap over his arm, the young man stepped off the mizzen and into the void—

And landed a second later onto the deck, soft as anyone this side of Esben or Chisaki could reasonably manage. Safe…

The morning breeze blew again, now low enough to carry salt and spray with it, dashing flecks of cold against him. He shivered, swore, and stalked away from the railing— hoping his quick circuit of routine stretches might warm him back up. By the time the sun broke down into the sky proper, he had finished and arrived on his answer—not remotely enough.

Thus, the fifth day at sea began, with Rudi desperately wishing he still had his cloak and hat to hide behind.

The sea was rough and unforgiving. As much as Neve was used to the toss and turn of a fishing boat, the river was much more forgiving than the open ocean. Her stomach threatened to spill forth from her throat on more than one occasion, and her soles yearned for the sweet touch of grass. Above her head was an endless yawn of blue, and all around her were tongues of froth and the roar of waves. Although beautiful, the sea was powerful, mysterious, and unique… more or less similar to the man that she could hardly keep her eyes off.

Neve had never seen this man before. And yet, there was something… off about him. She wasn’t sure why, but it was as if her mind wanted to repulse him before she even spoke a word in his direction. Was it because he was sleeping all the way up there? Was he a pirate? The woman had been so lost in her thoughts, that she didn’t even realize that he had thrown himself right off the edge of his perch and landed upon the deck with not so much as a groan of pain. Neve gawked as he sauntered off, only to do what he appeared to be good at doing. Exercising. Sitting against the inner woodwork of the ship, she observed him for a long, long time, until it seemed that he was finished. Her curiosity rejuvenated her, and she found herself bouncing to her feet and approaching the strange man who had also, in tandem, soured the back of her throat.

”E-excuse me good sir,” Neve approached with a timid smile, nodding her head in a friendly fashion. ”But I don’t believe we met. M-my name is Neve… I joined the Kirins a while back.”

He’d felt her eyes on him for a while.

Any good swordsman and soldier made a point of honing that nebulous “sixth sense” that always seemed to save lives on the battlefield that would otherwise be lost, inklings of change on the wind that heralded heavy, unseen blows or a spike in killing intent. As a denizen of the swordsman village, and before that second son of a rising knightly house, Rudolf’s was honed to all but a razor’s edge by training and time behind the blade—

And that had been before he joined up with Team Kirin, looking over his shoulder each night for prying eyes in event that his great ruse was discovered— and once it had been forced out of him by the revenant that had been made of Izayoi’s master. These days, after the confrontations with Eve and Galahad, part of the reason he’d taken to sequestering his nights up in the rigging on the ship was to insulate himself just as much as the others.

It was all but impossible not to feel the weight of their suspicious gazes on him. Made for horrible sleep, as though the recent spur of dreams weren’t enough.

Regardless, he’d caught enough glimpses of the who this was in the peripheral as he’d loosened up to realize he couldn’t quite “wait for her to lose interest at the weirdo deciding to do static stretches on a moving vessel” the way he’d initially assumed. Admittedly, there was a bit of luck in that— the white mage wasn’t a crew member that he’d need to hastily bargain out of telling the good Captain that he’d been coloring outside the lines on their tense agreement.

But the downside was, of course, that it meant he was dealing with a new member of their team. A bead of sweat rolled down his brow, having nothing to do with the first half hour he’d regimented out every day for the past five years.

No. Incorrect. An old one. The oldest of them, even, from all the way back to that initial banquet in Balmung that had turned into a national security event maybe days after Earl Cadmon had redirected that initial call-to-arms to Sagramore village. To Rudolf, once and always his listless, troubled squire. In spite of her recent absence, this woman had tenure on him to the order of eclipsing even the idea of joining the fight.

The others would have been talking to her. He couldn’t avoid the inevitability of the confrontation, not if he was so dead-set on maintaining his place on this dispatch. In that vein, she deserved not to be kept in the dark, same as any of them—

”I’ve heard,” he said in a curious, guarded tone. ”I figured the others would want their time to catch up with you. Felt wrong to intrude.”

But what had they told her of him? What would someone like this make of his actions in the desert, on this journey, or even five years ago? Those were unmistakably a white mage’s robes, they were naturalborn wielders of curative, restorative magic, weaving the current of the world to cleanse rot, curse, as many manners of evil as it took to actually earn a little leeway from the people of Ibros. Just off the back of purifying and healing. And she had been staring him down! Just like her Black Mage counterpart in the desert!

Did he do something to earn this attention now, when they were this close to shore? Was he gonna get the boot? Had he made his final mistake at some point? Thirty minutes, man! Just sitting there! Watching him! The last time someone like her had watched him, he nearly got a damn bolt through the brainstem!

What did she know?!

You should take a breath, man. You’re still half asleep.

SHUT UP GO HIDE

Regardless, he took the advice, rising and folding his arms as he leaned against the wood, flanked by the greatsword that might have been longer than he was tall. On that note, there were maybe only a couple inches between the two of them. A puff of air escaped his nose, voiding the lungs of stale and suppressed panic, and he spoke again.

”I’m Rudolf, a warrior from Sagramore village in Edren.” he inclined his head, tone even, practiced. His golden eyes were still colored by a gleam of caution, though— and seemed to be taking her measure. She was young, he realized now that they were properly speaking, but probably a few years ahead of him— at a guess, about the age of their Skaellar cohort. Seemed to be… trying to be friendly. He didn’t mind awkwardness, certainly not after getting to know Miina, but was that the start and end of her timidity?

Or was it because she could sense something wrong, and this was just a preamble to another one of his least favorite moments to have to endure?

”It’s good to meet you. Seems you were missed quite a bit.”

At the very least, her method of a “warning shot” probably wasn’t an impression of Dhinas, so… silver linings.

Well, he was pleasant– for now. Although this man had come off as kind and considerate, the very depths of Neve’s mind nagged at her like an old hag. There just had to be something wrong with this man. Was he a criminal? A murderer? Both? Whatever it was, it would have to wait to be discovered, and even then, she wasn’t about to shun a man who had allied himself with Izayoi and seemingly promised to help restore the Light. It would just take far too much energy to spur infighting.

”Yes, well, ah,” Neve stammered over her words, feeling a light blush come over her cheeks as she wondered what to say. Meeting new people in such a way was always a challenge. ”I guess you could say that’s an understatement. At the time, I was the only healer among their number. But they’ve seen to have done well without me.”

She rubbed her arms as a chill passed over her. It appeared to be a brisk day, and her white gown was doing little to stave off the breeze. Neve shivered lightly. ”You said you were from Edren?”

”Yeah,” he nodded, taking this as it went.”Born and raised. The village is close to the heartland, but technically within the Lunaris fiefdom— a few days’ travel west from Balmung. Honestly, it’s probably closer to the capital than Castle Demet.”

Nothing wrong with disclosing any of that… Honestly, with the embarrassed flush and tripping over her words like this, he was perfectly ready to meet her at the level she presented— if she was a good enough actor to feign the stress of introductions this well seemingly on the fly, after five days on the same couple thousand square feet?

She’d have earned whatever advantage it’d confer her, if this was some kinda expert sleight of hand. At this point, the only surprise would be if this was never about bringing the elephant in the room up. May as well take what he could of just talking, before he had to argue whatever case he could scrounge together.

Man… It’d be nice to not have to. Just once.

”It’s been a fun time for some of us to adjust to the warmth up here, especially out on the dunes.” he said, fairly comfortable in his plain black shirt he’s slept in once he’d gotten the blood flowing and the sun had crested the horizon. If his coat had survived the raid on Mizutani’s manse, he might have offered it over to her— but she had no such luck. ”I take it you’re from warmer parts. Drana, since my being Edreni isn’t an automatic mark against me— as far as I can tell.”

He looked out to the sea for a moment, drinking in the dawn as it scattered over the glimmering crests of each wave.

”And the team… made it work, without a dedicated healer. That’s how I’d say it. There were a couple real close calls, especially when we were confronted with Izayoi’s master in the desert.”

He felt the phantom pain of his knee shredding itself, in that desperate race to save her life, and the echoes of the cold flame in his palm.

He turned his gaze back to her, inclining his head and closing his eyes. ”We really worked poor Miina hard to get us patched up after that one. Rest assured, you being back on board’s likely to be a real windfall. Even aside from them being glad you’re alright.”

Huh, he came from a village rather than a city like Balmung, then. It wasn’t uncommon, however. Even in Drana Asneau, there were villages that weren’t even marked on maps. They were overlooked and ignored, which was both a blessing and a curse. Being overlooked meant that said villages could keep their secrets, sometimes even from the Grovemasters themselves. But that also meant that no one would miss them if the Blight ravaged their folk and destroyed their villages; it would take days for Brightlam to send aid once they received word of the destruction.

”Good to know that you all were able to cooperate with each other. Now that I’m back, I’m hoping to make it easier,” Neve murmured, her smile becoming more genuine as she once again looked him over. Yes, the man seemed decent enough. But still… ”Speaking of which, Rudolf. Is something ailing you?”

“…”

He sized her up in turn. All his years and many modes of training, reading body language, expression, little shifts in the eyes and eye contact… be it preparation for blueblooded socializing or simply swordsman’s instinct…

She wasn’t lying about her intent. At the very least, not the way someone expecting this to turn into a struggle might.

What did that mean, then?

Did she really not know?

Wasn’t told a thing?

Not once, even in spite of the past almost-week of getting filled in on what had happened by those original four members, each one with a front row seat to that desecrated shield? He’d even brought up the battle that had pulled it from him, but she still was in the dark enough to ask that question and mean it?

”I… That depends. What have the others told you?

Voices of the team flashed through his head.

”You’re letting whatever you’d prefer to hide speak for itself, I think.

“It must truly be horrible for you to push back like this.”

"... the High Caretaker didn't smite you on sight... there may still be hope for you yet. Please tell me it's true."

”I dunno. I guess all I know how to do is run away.”

“I forged this cage all my own. This is no way to live.”

This was a totally new person. A totally new day. Before him, somebody that one way or another would need to know what was going on, just for the sake of being brought up to speed with the rest of the party. He had to at least reveal part of it, enough to match what the others had found out by the hand of Etro.

If he had to go that far, why not just… push it further? Closer to what they all deserved from him? Take advantage of the fact that this was the first impression, and do it right?

”I’m reasonably sure I know what you’re getting at. I’d like to spare you any redundancies, Neve. If you’re up to speed with what the rest of your team know, I’d ask to keep it to that. If not…”

”Would you like to amend your answer?”

He was so, so tired of this shit. Even if he knew it wouldn’t suddenly ease every burden. Who wished for lighter loads when they could just wish for broader shoulders?

For once. Could he just be strong?

The way he looked at her… it made her skin crawl. Neve wasn’t sure what she was nosing her way into, but her curiosity was getting the best of her. This could be dangerous, something she could regret… but could she push through, just to seize the chance to help someone that needed it? Despite the fact that she had no idea what Rudolf spoke about, there was something off about him, something that didn’t feel quite right. Was it the Blight? If so, could she help him at all?

Neve shook her head slowly at his first question. The others hadn’t told her anything. Whether it was because it was simply unimportant– or because there was nothing that could be done– or what was done had already been done and there was no changing the past. Whatever it was, she could tell that he suffered. And Neve disdained seeing someone suffer so. Her bottom lip quivered, and she reached out, placing her hand gently upon his elbow.

”The others haven’t told me anything,” she whispered to him, honeying her words to soothe him. Neve locked eyes with him, nodding her head in encouragement. ”You can tell me as much as you want me to know.”

He managed to fight the urge to shrink away at the arm, when her hand made contact with the crook of his elbow— but still, he felt himself pressing a little further into the wood of the mast, eyebrows going high in bewilderment as he caught the quiver on her lip. What… what the hell was going on here?

He’d given her nothing but wary, guarded suspicion. No word out of his mouth wasn’t rooted in it. Even now, in a herculean effort just to weigh his options, he was still glancing over his shoulder for a specter from before— treating the words of their peers like a knife she held over his back.

What the hell are you doing, getting so worked up by someone like that? Don’t cry! We just met, don’t you know somebody could really take advantage of a heart that unguarded?

I don’t get it. Not at all. Seriously, don’t cry!

Her eyes, big, brilliant blues, caught his. Like the summer sky, they were bright and clear… hiding nothing.

She meant it. She meant it, even after all that. The whisper of her words was practically scattered by the morning breeze, but even in spite of the saccharine coating, as though she were coaxing forth a stricken dog… try as he might, for all he knew this is how one would be hidden from him, he couldn’t sense a lie.

No wonder they missed having her around. This, undoubtedly… was a good person.

“Well… That was unexpected.” he began, finally managing to rip his gaze free of hers by slamming his lids shut. He could feel himself starting to quake under the pressure, that which only earnest benevolence put on you.

That, too, was like the open sky. Swallowing everything into itself. He came from steel and fire, even if he was a timid, useless product of that heritage. He always had a hard time with kind people.The others reaching out had proven it once more over this voyage.

”The way I’ve been running from everyone, I was certain I’d drawn enough ire for them to at least warn you away. They’re within their right to. I’m not even certain it’s incorrect—. Your aetherborne senses aren’t lying to you. But if I haven’t, then…”

One eye opened, golden disk within catching the sunlight as it sprayed the two of them with the many hues of dawn, each fiery and relentless in their own right.

A good person like this, doubtless, deserved that much. If not from them, from him. He didn’t know if it was innocence, an overloaded sense of empathy, or pity, or what, but…

He couldn’t let her goodwill be wasted. He couldn’t dash her hopes against the cold stone of the world, when she tried to place a balm on his ails. He couldn’t betray her expectations that she’d pull him out of the dirt by pulling her down with him.

He’d seen this look before. He’d been met, once, with another who genuinely just wished to see the end of his woes, back when they were so petty and childish. He had seen what the world had done to her. He had run from her grave, the night he brought this ‘ailment’ upon him. He had run from the white mages, too, when even their purifying work could do nothing to ease her suffering.

No matter who they were, he let everyone down. He failed them, always running away when it was time to live up to the faith he’d asked they place in him.

He couldn’t bear to see such a person fall victim to that timeless curse that followed him— how many people? How many people had he foolishly allowed to put themselves in the crosshairs of his next fuckup?

He’d already shut out so many. To the point where they had frayed. Where he had frayed, to this state. How could he just switch now? Did he not owe it to those who had reached out and been rebuffed already to at least stick to his guns? What made this any different?

You’ve had your time to think about it. Let’s ask again. Are you committing to something, or running from something else?

…

…

Fire, and steel.

Both eyes opened now. He wished he could say they were resolute, renewed by purpose, filled with that sacred volition. He doubted that were remotely true. He knew what he was. He had proven his cowardice beyond all doubt. Five years and counting, he had proven it.

”Second chances are precious things.”

But courage… came in choices. Just one step.

He took a deep breath. Whatever happened next, this time, would be on his head. He had to pay their efforts forward. Hers too, braving this inauspicious, disquieting air that surrounded him. That was a choice. That was courage.

…It’s hell to fight alone.

”Then I give up.There’s no way around it— You Win, Neve. I’ll tell you myself. Just… You may wanna have a seat. This is… a terrifying thing to do. We may be here for a minute.”

One didn’t have to be a master of reading people to realize that this individual, this man, had suffered immensely. Neve noticed the look in his eye, the glimmer of his golden irises… he was fighting himself. But from what, exactly, she couldn’t tell. He stated that others had pushed him away, had grown ireful of his presence. There had been drama among their number, but she couldn’t tell until he had brought it up. It caused him so much tumult. Whether or not he deserved it, well, it wasn’t for her to decide. At the very least, she would come to a very least by the end of his story. Even then, Etro would forgive him, as would the others.

”I shall stand,” she told him. ”Even though we just met, I am here for you, friend. Tell me your woes, and perhaps I will find a way to soothe the pain in your heart.”

He blinked.

”Right. My, uh… My bad.”

This was now a horrible start. He chose wrong. He chose so wrong, he sounded like an idiot—

He brought a fist to his mouth and cleared his throat, cleared the thoughts. Here went nothing.

”Then let’s get down to it. To begin with, as I said, that unease you’re getting— It’s not just in your head. Near as I can surmise from others, it’s a real wrongness about my person. Similar to a curse, or a desecrated location, but different in a key aspect—“

His thumb jerked towards his chest. Right over the heart, where a pool of black pitch was welling.

”It’s the result of an exchange, rather than a hex or affliction. When we faced the revived corpse of Izayoi’s master in the desert, I said it got hairy. That there were close calls. One of them… was a moment where Izayoi had been left defenseless. A technique of hers had saved our lives, but she’d in turn incurred a bad rebound. If I had to guess, her body had been pushed past it’s limit. Point is, the revenant corpse was still standing… and it saw her as it’s biggest threat.”

He opened his palm, the web of scarring from battle, ritual, and a lifetime of little mistakes faded by now into the background of what he saw upon it. Remembering that fearful day, even now, brought a wedge into that pool above the heart, like a sword dredged in the black. After a moment longer, a small wisp of dimness had coalesced, then faded. Even if Neve hadn’t seen it, he knew she would feel it.

He held his palm out to face her, illustrating the shield.

”By the time I realized it was going to run her through, it was already moving. I had no time to think about it. I’m a swordsman, but I’m no match at all for even the dead husk of the man that trained the Wild Dance. I suck at what I do, you see. So… after keeping it hidden for half a decade, I turned that thing you felt just now loose, and managed to stop it in its tracks. The strength I didn’t have within me, I paid for in my fortune. Maybe my future.”

He let the hand drop to his side, resting the elbow on the crossguard of his blade. Despite bearing some of his weight, it seemed to leave Bikke’s deck totally unmarred. So far, nothing too out of line with what the others already knew… as an aggregate, anyway. He already wasn’t sure he’d told any one person all that, but the nerves had been on fire for each one.

”I’ve been seeing that manifest pretty bluntly since then. I’m beginning to think the majority of the bad luck came in having to rely on it to begin with— I’m sure you can imagine why the others may have suddenly had some hefty concerns about whether or not I was all I said I was.”

Neve stared at Rudolf as he spoke, her eyes growing as large as moons as he continued on and on. This was not the Blight. This was nowhere close to the Blight. She hadn’t heard anything of the sort. There was nothing that she could do to cure this ailment or to vanquish the darkness within him. She bit the bottom of her lip as he continued speaking, twisting her hands together as she allowed him the freedom to state what happened. But within her churned a deep, dark sensation that she had felt before. Back then, when she entered Drana anew, and scented the Blight on the wind. There was nothing that could be done. There was nothing that she could do.

A hard lump swelled in her throat. She glanced away, snuffling lightly as she attempted to drown the agony within her. ”I… apologize, I t-thought I could do something to help, to tend to a wound or an illness that plagued you but… unfortunately, that isn’t the case,” she whispered, her voice so faint that the wind threatened to sweep her words away. ”But know this. You are strong, Rudolf. Strong enough to withstand this. Strong enough to use it to help others. Etro will bless you for your heart, your courage, your resolve.”

”...I don’t know if I have that right. I chose this, after all, it...” He stood stock still, every muscle in his frame tensed as his mind grappled with those words. Was this what he’d seen in that unreadable shift in the High Caretaker’s expression? Was the contract he’d forged… not turning his back on Etro’s light to begin with?

Neve reached out, slowly, tenderly. She wrapped her arms around him, attempting to draw him in for a hug.

”Worry not, Rudolf, for this, too, shall end.”

Eyes wide and unbelieving, he nonetheless allowed himself to be pulled forward into the white mage’s warm, reassuring embrace. She would feel that for all the young man’s frame felt to be made of metal, he had been hiding a tremble beneath the surface. His breath, for a moment, seemed to escape him. His heart hammered.

He’d given an attempt or two at a hug to those in need, even as recently as four days ago with Ciradyl on the mast. But…

How long had it been since he’d ever received one, like this?

It may have just been the morning sun, but there was a light tinge of red on his face, thankfully pulled past her shoulder and out of sight by the hug. For a moment he stayed there, silently cared for by this person that defied all reason.

Then, slowly, one arm reached around her back, as though she were a fragile sculpture he dared not break.

”...Thank you, Neve. You’ve nothing to be sorry for, this… There are a lot of things in the world that nobody could expect you to cure. I know that much.”

Feather-light, and unwilling, maybe unable to bear the thought of any more, he squeezed back. A far cry from Wulfric Demet, and the bear hugs he crushed both Rudi and likely Galahad half to death with, the young warrior’s was a thing full of trepidation, each moment a trial overcome.

He stared ahead. In the end, what had he really said that was any different than what had been forced out of him? Was he satisfied with so little?

He stared ahead… And the words slipped free, quiet but sure.

”You don’t know me well. I’m weaker than you think. There’s a lot I’ve run from. Things I couldn’t handle. There’s a lot I’m still running from, living on inside me. That’s the type of person I am. That’s why I made the deal I did, and bet my soul on it— I couldn’t bear a powerless feeling. I ran from it. You’ll learn that, sooner or later, but… Thank you. I’ll give it my all.”

She really was too kind.

Courage, huh…

Final Fantasy: Lightseekers

Rudolf Sagramore

@Izurich@vietmyke

Even in the wake of his heart-to-heart with Neve that morning, Rudolf had been at his usual haunt when they'd shifted from full ahead to battle stations. Already a bad situation, one he'd prayed they'd not be facing until they'd gotten well ashore. Bereft of his main armaments like this, his only true mainstay would now be the dagger at his hip— eternally reliable, but without a doubt a sidearm. This wasn't a situation like the prisonbreak, either, where he could abuse the threatening veneer of his greatsword to chew up space and attention, the deck was no chokepoint.

So as the guns and pirates wheeled about the ship and the airship slowed to a crawl overhead, Rudolf on the mizzen had stowed his meal and switched to a low crawl along the beam and rigging, closer to a thief than a swordsman in posture, Rondel in hand. Barely armed, and wholly unarmored. Terrible setup, but one they didn't have time to rectify. At the very least, he could provide another angle of attack on any boarding parties, see most of the field—

”Incoming dragoon! Move!” Izayoi's voice sliced through the clamor, flash-freezing his blood. Horrified, his head snapped to the sky—

Only to catch the streak of a purpled steel comet as it nearly took the mystrel's life wholesale, flanked by a dozen or so Valheimr troopers with blaze-belching packs strapped to them. Why? Had Valheim really wormed its way into the ranks of Edren's dragoons?! They were practically the nation's honor guard in the north! Infiltration of the banquet that brought the original iteration of Kirin together was already bad enough— just how deep had their claws gotten?

And... worst of all this, as he watched from his perch with a white-knuckled grip, was that despite the cold, disgusted tone that colored it, the voice of the dragoon in question, was...

Dodging a series of attempts on his head by Izayoi, the knight in purple leapt up to the main mast, caught sight of the white haired Edreni, and—

"—is that Rudolf Shilage??”

"No, you have the wrong guy.

No, you can clearly see I'm from Sagramore, check out my knife.

No, no, no it isn't, there are no Shilage aboard."

All of these protests raced forth from mind towards mouth, but died on the lips when the man that prompted them revealed himself, and Rudolf finally matched the voice up with that inkling memory, one now years out of date. Valon. That was Valon, of the Arkha household— a friend Otto had made of similar age and standing to the Shilages, a little before they'd rode out to Osprey. He barely recognized him, the guy had been as young back then as Rudi was right now. Hell, younger!

What the hell was he doing, flanked by Valheimr, screaming his na—

The flash of steel, as the dragoon leapt high once more...

Oh, shit.

White-hot adrenaline rushed through him as he calculated the arc in his head, moments away from certain death as the steel thunderbolt was now turned on him. He launched forward off the mizzen into the void, now filled with buzzing Valheimr faux-dragoons, as a crash sounded behind him. Not blade buried into wood, but metal on metal. Had somebody made the intercept? Galahad? Izayoi? Had he read the dragoon's trajectory wrong?

A grimace crossed his face as he tried to marshal his thoughts, colliding with one such and grabbing hold, dimly aware of a dirge being sung somewhere beneath the din. Why Valon? Why now? Why the hell Valon?! Glory-hound he may have been when they'd last met, only in passing at that, but his loyalty to Edren had been proven twice enough for anyone in the War!

"The Fuck-GEDDOFf!" the jetpacked Valheimr squawked, trying in vain to course-correct for the sudden doubled weight crashing into and then hanging off him. Failing that, he attempted to bring the rifle-axe to bear—

Opening his axillary artery, through the armpit, sealing his fate. Rudolf ripped the rondel free quickly, bearing the torrent of blood that rained onto the deck as he brought his knife down again to follow up—

Only for his catch's death rattle to bring part of the flame-spewing back into the path, nicking the fuel line and letting out the noxious liquid that fed the flames—

"LEVIATHAN!!"

Oh, that doesn't sound right at all.

—but also letting in air. Rather than descend to the deck to join the fight, as one would expect of slaying one of these rocket-packers, Rudolf had only time to let out a tortured "oh just my fucking luck" before the unregulated pressure dumped the entire tank of fuelinto the thrust in one go, dead Valheimr and still very much alive, heavily disoriented Edreni spiralling through the void... right over the edge of the railing.

"Overboard!" he managed to bark out, letting go and forcing the world to stop spinning on him as he made his unplanned exit from the Scurvy Fishman. As he fell, the entrancing, nerve-dulling song grew only louder. Had Valheim tamed a goddamned water naga? Couldn't those slow you?

He sucked in a big lungful of air... and he and the bloodied corpse both hit the drink, the song now surrounding him, seeping into his bones along with the cold of the sea. What he was faced with... not the undulating, serpentine form of a Naga, but instead that of a young woman, slipping through the waves as though on the edge of a knife, eyes closed as she sang her somber, arcane notes towards the battle overhead.

A horned, visibly draconic young woman. Oh, I get it. I see what's happening. "Leviathan", if he had to bet on it.

Ah, he was alone in the water with an aquatic version of Eve, who was on his side and still wanted him dead a little bit. Cheeks puffed full of air as they were, the young warrior still found time to grimace as he brought his Rondel into his dominant hand, pawing through the water as he tried to match her speed. He could feel the effects up there already— if they wanted to have the best chance of beating Valon enough to get some questions answered up there, then he and his trusty knife would need to silence her down here, one way or another.

Ideally, before any sharks caught the scent of the massacre that had started spilling down to sea with him.

Times like these, Rudolf "Sagramore" really just wanted to go home.

Final Fantasy: Lightseekers

Robin Fey

&

Rudolf Sagramore

---

The Night of the Raid…

---

—She hadn’t been able to get the thought out of her mind.

Straightforward heroism. That was what she had been raised on. It was intrinsically what she thought of when she considered her ideal way to fight for others.

So, Ciradyl’s methods—

It was difficult. It was hard for Robin to wrap her head around. She felt as if the woman wanted nothing more then to help those who were weaker then her, but to throw away the lives of others and work under Valheim—

It was difficult for Robin to understand fully.

At the same time, she couldn’t agree with Arton either. She’d clearly been doing everything she could for the sake of people who were suffering.

But his anger wasn’t unjustified, either, was it? Robin herself didn’t like the ways Ciradyl had achieved her accomplishments.

So she didn’t really know. She didn’t know what to say or do, who was right or who was wrong. It’s not that she believed the world was entirely black and white, but rather the simple approach to the conflict was what she had viewed as the right one.

But this wasn’t simple at all.

Robin’s blade flicked through the still air.

Unlike her usual drills, she hadn’t been keeping count of how many times this was.

Draw. Thrust. Sheath.

Draw. Slash. Sheath.

Draw. Thrust. Sheath.

Draw. Slash. Sheath.

It had blended together by now.

She couldn’t sleep.

She wanted to clear her head.

Her mind was always clearest during training, so it only made sense.

Draw. Thrust. Sheath.

Draw. Slash. Sheath.

Draw—

“Well, this is a surprise.” a voice floated into the courtyard from the gloom, low and tight in spite of itself. Young, and unmistakably colored by an Northeast Edreni accent much like the heroine’s, there was little guesswork needed to pry out the matter of “who”, even if “where” wasn’t quite apparent yet. For all they hadn’t truly talked, the two had heard plenty enough of eachother over the weeks in Osprey.”Usually, I’ve got this place all to myself at this hour.”

It was likely that she’d felt his presence before she’d necessarily heard him— he’d fought alongside the young woman enough by now to know that she was sharp enough to feel when eyes were on her. Hell, half her bombastic schtick wouldn’t work so well if she couldn’t pick out when she did and didn’t have an audience.

Then again, their ninja associate might not have fully shared the opinion…

Either way. He’d seen her fight, he’d seen her spar. Her instincts belied her theatrics, that much he was confident in saying. What was more, losing herself in pure recital of form the way she was, after that shitshow of a debriefing…

“No shuteye, huh?” he asked, from wherever he’d been loitering. It sounded vaguely from above, even with how sound tended to bounce a bit in the interior of the courtyard.

—Ah?!

There was someone else there?!

Before her mind could register that she recognized the voice, before she could even think, Robin was drawing her blade once more. She turned on her heel towards the source of the voice, and—

Nearly fell flat on her face.

Even she had to admit it was a little embarrassing, getting spooked by one of her own allies.

Certainly, she hadn’t truly spoken to Rudolf very much. She hadn’t really gotten to know him. Her impression of him wasn’t really a bad one at all. Besides, there was a little sense of kinship there. They both came from the same part of the same land, and they were both fighting for the same cause.
—Did he have to show up that suddenly, though?

Her cheeks coloring, in an uncommon show of embarrassment from the swordswoman, Robin scratched the back of her head.

“O-oh, Rudolf, I didn’t know you’d come in,” she began, “I suppose it’s true, I couldn’t get to sleep.”

She wasn’t sure if she wanted to talk about the reasons why, given how difficult the meeting had already been.

Now that she was facing the direction of him, knowing he was there, in short order Robin would catch sight of her compatriot— seated on the tiles of a first-floor roof, and in the murky shadows cast by a westward second tier. He’d been there a little while, by the looks of things. Rising, he politely neglected to comment on the near-pratfall Robin had just taken, and instead stalked forward.

Maybe he’d misjudged her aptitude?

“Hm. Can’t say I blame you. We’re sleeping just a few doors away from somebody that woulda held us hostage just a few years ago.” he replied, bitter ash on his tongue. For a moment, he’d stepped into the moonlight, his mop of platinum blonde and drawn blades drinking the silver glow—

And then stepped off the edge of the rooftop, landing onto the dry grasses below with a soft, pantherlike tamp.

No, that wasn’t it. He knew he trusted his read on someone’s capability after seeing them cross swords, wasters or not, with a test as stern as Ranbu no Izayoi and give anything resembling a good account of herself.

In that case, he’d underestimated how truly disquieting the meeting, maybe dispatch too, must have been. For her to be so fully zoned out in the swordplay…

“Well, that one’s unfair of me. What’s got you cooking, then? We’re both here. Might as well chop it up.”

The glint of his shortsword shifting in his grip as he began to circle out, towards the center, suggested he wasn’t wholly metaphorical in his offer.

Izayoi had changed, after the war’s passing. He had borne witness to that enough that the reminder she had dropped on them all had knotted up his gut, rather than fill him with a dark vindication— the way her interrogation of the Valheimr had the day they’d all met.

To ignore that much would be the height of folly. It would condemn Ciradyl, for instance, to the idea that there were fundamentally unmalleable parts of the psyche that horrible deeds brought to the fore, and you could never put away. That having your dark secrets laid bare would truly be the end of you.

Deprive himself of a path towards redemption, even as he acknowledged they would all carry those actions until the day they croaked. Her search for penance would never truly end until then. As he saw it, that was part of the deal one made committing them—

He stopped, facing away.

But marching forward could be done through either an open road, or a dense bramble of thorns.

”Blood’s still running pretty hot for me too, if that’s your ail.”

Robin wasn’t sure she could really believe herself, that she’d been so caught up in her drills that she’d totally forgotten someone could just walk in on her and start talking. She had a feeling her fellow Edrenian had similar feelings that left him unable to sleep properly, at least.

Good. It meant that she probably wouldn’t have to explain anything and could simply focus on clearing her head up. He’d already guessed why she was here, so she wasn’t going to bring it out to the forefront of her mind again and throw herself off.

Besides, having witnessed him fight multiple times, Robin was curious.

Heroes sparring with their allies due to wanting to understand them better was a common aspect of heroic tales. And in all honesty, it was one that Robin understood completely.

There were some things that could be picked up from one another in combat. At least that’s what her old man had told her. That’s how it had felt when she sparred with Izayoi.

“I’ve been trying to clear my head,” she said, simply, “And there’s not many things that can do that better than training can.”

“Agreed,” he intoned, gesturing vaguely to the empty space before the both of them. “It’s something of a nightly ritual, really. Just letting the swordplay settle in.”

Ideally she’d also have liked to clean up afterwards. If her head did clear up enough for her to sleep, then Robin wasn’t exactly keen on sleeping coated in sweat.

But if not… well, she’d find another time to sleep.

Robin could see the way Rudolf’s grip had shifted.

It was obvious what he was interested in, even aside from conversation. So, that made both of them.

“Chop it up, hm?” she mused, “A good sparring match clears your head even more then training does.”

That was something she’d learned from her old man, too.

”Yeah,” he replied, stepping back in a half turn towards her. Be it by design or by happenstance, his meandering spiral had taken him to just about the opposite position on the field from Robin, the distance between them and either wall equivalent. ”Looks like we’re on the same page, then.”

When he met her gaze once more, the gold of his eyes seemed to have lost the little luster they carried… or, rather, replaced it with a small, desperate flame. As though it was piped in by the tight corners of his face. His stare was prying. Measuring. Searching, as though looking to this moment for the answer for some question he’d left unvoiced.

Regardless, as she’d readily agreed to a match one thing had become clear, in the shift of his bearing— once preparing to go to war peeled away those veneers one put upon the Self, before her was a young man every bit as disquieted as she.

His weight shifted. His longsword, on the far side, was brought to bear now, while his lead and the shortsword sank, planting weight, building a base to launch.

He exhaled slowly, then spoke.

”’Course, if you still have stuff to get off your chest after, I can hear you out. We probably don’t talk enough— even though steel sings the truth.”

He would owe her. Insisting like this.

A smile that didn’t reach his eyes flashed. These next words were selfish in a way that defied description, given the very fears he’d been nursing, ever since his true nature was revealed.

”Be a shame if I didn’t make at least one friend from home, after all we’ve been through.”

There were more similarities between them than just their heritage, at least in this moment. No matter what, they were unified by their unease, and their desire to focus their minds and push it aside.

The slight hints of a tensing body, an alteration in Rudolf’s composure, were mirrored by Robin’s own posture.

The grip on her blade had adjusted, just slightly. Her muscles tensed, and she took her spot opposite to her fellow swordsman.

“There’s plenty of legends of clashing blades leading to friendship, after all.”

Despite everything that had occurred not so long ago, a smile crossed Robin’s lips.

This.

This was how she would clear her mind.

It might be a sparring match, but she’d throw her whole self into it.

“Ha. You’da gotten on just fine in the Village with that attitude.” he barked, chancing a small moment of shared vigor as his blood began to heat again. She was more like him than he bargained for, clearly, with how she relished the prospect in spite of everything.

He couldn’t blame her at all.

How readily the sensation returned— that runaway spirit of war.

Here, even in faraway lands, even against an unfamiliar foe, that same desire boiled within him.

Something clear and true before him now. Not muddied by morality. Not murky and impenetrable, like the necessary evils their own allies needed to hope for survival. He didn’t need to look over his own shoulder— the tallest task barely crested five feet, and measured her own breathing in front of him as she too sank into her stance, longer than his, more linear, geared to maximize her speed, her reach, the sting of her thrusts behind the flourishes that disguised them.

There was no room for anything else. Whatever ailed their minds…

“For old time’s sake, and for yours, little brother. While Father processes this his way… let’s process this ours.”

“Just let the match take you. It’ll clear your head, at least a little. Let me do that much for you. Seva would want me to.”

”…You face Rudolf, a swordsman of Sagramore. I stand with blade aloft, blood afire.” he began, voice dripping with black tar even as it burned.

It was excited, tense, agonized, determined. Were it not the dead of night, he may have roared these proclamations right out of his belly. He was damn sure he wanted to.

”I offer this bout to the great god Himstus, the eternal blaze of war. May he smile upon your spirit as he shall mine.

They both were ready to accept this.

Live steel.

Full tilt.

Only way to play.

They were good enough, both of them, not to kill eachother. They needed this more than they needed the coddling of wood, and the false confidence in its safety that smashed fingers, cracked ribs, broke brains.

They had the mastery of their blades to believe them one with themselves, closer to friends than tools. They had control.

His longsword rose in his hand, leveling itself with Robin’s face, her burning garnet eyes, across the field. Even at his lowest, after learning the ugly truths of those he stood alongside and the world they were in, even after he rejected that self-serving notion of ‘honor’…

His own eyes locked onto hers. He had control. It wouldn’t happen again— he wouldn’t let it.

…He always presented arms.

Etro, she even had the uniform, huh?

Not again. Never again. He’d throw himself right onto her sword and keep it inside, if he had to.

… His opposite blade, the shortsword, crossed over the crook of his elbow, his whole body forging the great cruciform. Traditionally done with the dagger at his hip, but nonetheless the salute held, once he uttered the final words of the pledge, his full being behind them.

He would prove it, no matter what, that he would not fall to that same weakness. No matter the duress. When the swordplay took him, it was all there would be.

”May thy blade chip… and shatter.”

“You face Robin, the Songbird. My blade is ever-ready in the name of justice, but for now we’ll test one another’s mettle.”

It felt like a smile crossed her lips for the first time since that meeting.

Robin hadn’t a single clue what to say or do before. But in this moment, she was ready. The simplicity of a sparring match meant that she could home herself to a single edge and think only about overcoming her opponent.

She hadn’t a single issue about the use of live style, though she would have accepted the use of training blades as well.

There was no hesitation now.

“I offer this bout to the great god Himstus, the eternal blaze of war. May he smile upon your spirit as he shall smile upon mine.”

Her blade glinted as she slowly raised it in one hand, her point tipped towards her opponent. An honest duel.

That is what she sought.

That’s what she would have.

For a moment, paired swords of Edren stood, three lines of silver painted by moonlight upon the still desert air. A light-bearing heroine, gallant and true. Her blackened counterpart, wrapped in his cloak of fear and deceit. This moment stood to take that from them. To see it all fall away. For all they couldn’t be more different… They too couldn’t be more alike.

On this fateful eve, their tales inextricably intertwined.

A sudden wind passed between them, shaking hanging chimes—

Lightning struck behind both gazes, and as one, they launched forth.

---

Sparks flew, the brief spurt of orange light caught in yellow and red eyes, each unerring in their focus.

Several minutes had doubtlessly passed now, but the interplay had been fierce as reason allowed— at times, moreso. It spoke to the skill between them that they’d avoided— no, evaded serious injury even when they strayed closer to playing too rough. At the frenetic pace they’d set, moments felt like minutes. Minutes felt like months.

Cutting, thrusting, parrying, dodging, setting traps, setting rhythm, setting adjustments, jockeying for position, for space, for initiative, for dominance.

A million calculations in the mind’s eye, all in service to the flow of the bout through the body, offense and defense melding. There was no room for any other concern. All fell away as promised, before the sword, the wielding, the foe it was met by. The back and forth had taken them all over the place, but they had hardly left the center.

The range of their initial clash. This was by design.

Teeth openly bared in an exerted snarl, Rudolf challenged Robin’s guard from above, his overhead strike hurtling down as though to crush her more than slash. Behind it, he pressed in. She could catch it with hers, doubtless, and knock it off-line enough to threaten with a linear riposte— but stepping in to meet the arc and choke it would open her to the shortsword, a coiled viper’s fang in the opposite hand. That too was his line of defense if she elected to stab instead of parry, which he could use to further exaggerate a dominant angle.

She liked flashy. Was flashy.

Maybe she dodged here. And suddenly his outside angle would be overextended, while she pivoted with that spada still in line with his torso.

He’d already seen ample evidence from the outside looking in— this bout, an invigorating repast as it was, had proven twice over that if he didn’t believe her style to be backed by plenty of substance, he’d look a fool forever, the nail to her gleefully brandished hammer. Robin was tricky, playful, a showwoman to the bone. The perfect disguise for the rock-solid fundamentals beneath, the true result of that tireless work he’d met her in the midst of.

You couldn’t let those types breathe, nor give them and their playful tricks time to catch your eye and lead it away from their true intent. Nothing on their terms.

While to the untrained eye, their exchanges likely looked very back-and-forth, tit-for-tat… Rudolf, even using a stance and armaments with a mere five years of seasoning, had still been steeped in the art of combat for fifteen, working his ass off for each minute. He’d already seen Izayoi’s success using a general methodology similar to this that morning before they’d received the desert assignment, how she had crushed the space between her and Robin that left her dictating each time they crossed, forcing pressure onto her foe and forcing out reactions, option selects, and unfavorable footing.

He would need the same here. Stick to her like glue, don’t let her win the race or get comfortable enough to start playing. Pressure, pressure, pressure. Tempo, tempo, tempo. No room to breathe, he had to drown her. Too close for her speed and reach to matter. Too consistent for her to find her base. Too considered to give her a way out.

As it happened, that aligned rather beautifully with the core tenets he had been taught since being able to walk. Find the structure of the opponent’s game, pull it apart at the threads, and then grind them beneath the heel. It was far from instantaneous, each inch he gained was hard fought, it demanded all his attention, but…

He was winning.

So long as he could maintain this relentless threat, leverage his strength, pair of blades to her single, and lateral movement, he was winning.

It was amazing. Aside from Izayoi, Rudolf was undeniably one of her most skilled opponents so far.

It was just what she needed.

Each impact of their blades honed her mind even more sharply. Each flashing sword, each dodge, each parry, it gave her the focus and clarity that she had so richly desired from the very start.

Sparks flew, reflected in the gaze of each duelist. The sound of metal on metal sang throughout the training area. Each and every moment was spent mentally gauging every tiny reaction, every minute motion, and calculating millions of potential futures from that alone.

Selecting the one that was truth—

And then countering that future, shattering into into a million possibilities once again.

Robin took a step back, and then pushed forwards once more, her glinting spada cutting through the air.

Rudolf had a strength advantage. And, undeniably, an experience advantage as well.

But that didn’t matter.

Certainly, it mattered to the sparring session itself. But not to Robin’s true goal.

To find clarity.

To reach to her fellow Edrenian through steel and talk in the manner of combat.

And, despite the edge her opponent held—

To claim victory.

She was being forced to step back, to give ground. Only by small margins, but they were there.

For every agile flash of her blade, every elegant deflection, she was still unable to completely withstand Rudolf’s assault.

But that was alright.

That was something she’d expected, at least after a few clashes. It was something she had begun to formulate her entire strategy around.

There were other routes then directly overpowering her opponent. Her old man had told her that much on many occasions, especially early on. As she’d developed some semblance of skill, she’d started attempting stronger and stronger strikes—

“Foolish. There will be many opponents you can never overtake like that. Relying on raw power doesn’t suit you, and even the strongest of swordsmen can never allow themselves to think that’s all they need.”

Robin had been lying on the ground when she heard those words. Knocked down in a single stroke, after she thought she’d found her path forward.

And if she didn’t give everything she had, if she didn’t do all she could to overcome her fellow swordsman—

How could Robin claim to have given him the duel he wanted, too?

And how could she claim to hold a hero’s spirit within her?

So it was only natural, then.

The clash of their swords grew more and more furious. Despite the fact she was certainly losing ground more swiftly, now, Robin couldn’t help but feel energized.

That’s right.

It was time to give it her all—!

He caught the glimmer in her eye, and snarled, even as he excised another option and ate up another step’s worth of ground. The pressure from his dictation of the exchange mounted, redoubled, a runaway snowball halfway down the slope to an avalanche. By all rights, his smothering, suffocating front-foot methodology was paying broader and broader dividends.

He could keep ratcheting up the pace, paring down her defenses. Where at first Robin was forced to barely concede an inch, he was drawing out big backsteps and committed pivots— tiring things, borne of necessity more than method. And he was melting through more and more.

But that glimmer hadn’t left her eyes, the way someone being thoroughly pulped always did. Even when they didn’t give up, usually they couldn’t avoid reading the tide.

I want to understand the enemy, boy. Always.

Something wasn’t right. There was a gambit here, one he wasn’t seeing.

Back off, then? No, he was close. Closer than he could afford to let up on, given the opponent. She was slippery, and running hot by now as a result of dealing with this tactic. Quality connections had been rare enough that he was definitely right in trying to catch her cold. With this style, such was his best choice— especially given that he could emulate the Limbtaker in how he extended each clash.

Or indeed her master. Two blades Robin had learned lessons from, and then utilized those lessons on. That and the gulf between even a diminished Izayoi’s quality and his own explained the difficulty.

Her in-fight adjustments had improved as a result of the trials they’d faced since he last saw her spar— if he allowed a branch for the Songbird to settle, she would slip away before he jumped to it. That he wouldn’t allow. He’d shut her out of the proceedings completely. Keep an eye on her movement, don’t overcommit, but keep letting the small victories pile. Initiative. He had to maintain initiative. That was how he won duels. Control the pace, control the pressure, control his enemy by keeping them pinned down.

Were it not wholly untoward, he had half a mind to just catch her blade in a bind and then outright tackle her to the earth and place a blade to the neck. But with his luck, that’d be when one of those flourishes disguised a thrust. Unsporting and dangerous. No. No big changes, just refine and finish this.

He could do this without resorting to anything else. He had it in him to win the right way. He wouldn’t stoop to any level lower. He would control it. He needed to.

Whatever mistake you’re banking on, Robin, it’s not on it’s way.

The song of the metal between them had shifted in it’s tone. He felt a shift a while ago, in the reverberations through his arms. He had taken advantage of the fact that her sword was lighter and faster than those of past opponents to open up more than he could at the manse, but he still had to mind cracked fangs— definitely needed to finish this quickly. If he’d been so careful, only to break them now—

Their duel had been a real joy, invigorating in a way he’d forgotten for a long time now. He hoped that clear-eyed gaze didn’t just belong to some plot in her pretty little head, but also to the state of mind they’d both come into the bout seeking. She deserved that.

Playing with her had been a great outlet for him, too, something to put those high-minded concerns aside for. Fun as hell. But he’d be finding his moment and closing things off.

He was pressuring her more and more. That was Rudolf’s goal, to push her back and crush his way through her defenses, and claim victory that way.

And indeed, if all she was doing was trying to pierce his defenses with the tip of her sword, that was becoming an increasingly likely outcome.

It was a reasonable strategy, and one she couldn’t answer merely with a swing of her blade and a flourish.

A stronger opponent could simply overpower her. The old man had taught her that plenty. And a strong opponent who was backed up by skill was dangerous indeed.

So she couldn’t simply rely on standing up to that power.

“Your opponent’s momentum can become your power. Rather than attempting to stand up to someone who eclipses you in strength, you can instead take that strength and make it your own.”

Each strike sang out.

Each strike told her that he was gaining ground.

Each strike told her that if she continued this way, she would lose.

By this point, Rudolf had locked down most of her offensive options. Attempting directly like this would be risky at best.

To some, it would look like she had no choice but to make a gamble or simply defend until she couldn’t any more.

But that’s not what he taught her. That’s not how a hero would conduct themselves.

They’d reach for victory in the most audacious and daring way. They’d aim for the moon and then fly even higher than that.

“Once you have achieved this, Robin, and taken that strength, even steel can bend—”

Robin’s next parry came low. It would look like an ordinary defensive maneuver, certainly, one delivered with skill, but no different from any of the others she had used to ward off her opponent’s blade so far.

But then she adjusted her grip, her blade twisting sharply as it caught Rudolf’s along its edge, jerking it sharply upwards.

“---and break.”

A horrible crash, as the same shocks through his grip that worried him before now sounded in the air. Deafening.

His descending blades meeting the wrong resistance, their arc terminated at the wrong angle.

Hers, caught in or near those same damned notches where Kurogane’s masterwork had marred them, that day he’d crossed swords a mere two moments with the indomitable titan that wielded it. The same ones that had given him fits to try and at least minimize. That was her aim.

Sparks. So much more than before, and caught on slivers of moonlight suspended in the air.

Flashes of metal where none should have been.

Not flecks.

Shards.

Her spada, rising still.

Wrenching up—

Through their spines—

He let go, throwing his arms high, a last ditch-effort even as his mind caught up with what his eyes, wide and horrified, saw before they spun out of view. A half-breath more trying to check her parry, and he’d have snapped them clean himself at best—

His face was white, his lungs breathless. In that moment, slowing to a crawl, he could not mistake what he saw before him.

—at worst he’d have outright shattered them both. His paired fangs, upon which he had first built this farce of a second life among the Sagramori. Surviving the terrors of monster hunting, of being hired for wayward archaeologists’ armed escort, of keeping his dismal choices under lock and key for five furtive years.

”Well, you’ll never make an honest pursuit of things with that, squire boy.” he’d been told, before the gruff, heavyset redmane before him had dismissively waved away the greatsword that had flummoxed them both all morning. ”Here. I won’t give my best work away for free, definitely not to outlander auxilia, but these will treat you plenty well if you do the same for them. You’ll need something reliable to hunt down the sabertooth for your dagger, at least.”

Keystones to “Rudolf of Sagramore”. Representing every earnest tradition he’d taken up in learning to live among them. Guiding him through every step, every spar, every lesson. Monuments to his little refuge.

If this really was a new life, the one he’d pushed forward with when joining Kirin, the two of them were the first, most trusted friends he’d made, since pulling together the tatters that were left of “Rudolf Shilage”.

And now, he had failed that simple instruction. He had failed them. He knew. He knew right away, what his single-minded haste, his failure to truly control, had done to them.

They would never taste combat again.

…Slicing air. The moment resumed.

Distance. He needed distance—

In keeping with the momentum shift, the younger Edreni threw himself backward. The Songbird, dutifully, followed his exit, her bombastic cut-and-thrust style producing a moonlit flash as she brought her blade to bear, ready to declare her victory with a gallant, showy nick of the throat or wherever else she might have liked to find first blood.

He saw his swords falling, their arcs through the night air almost complete. He saw his worst fears painted upon their humble bearing.

He saw an explosion of black and red.

Teeth clenched in a cornered hound’s snarl, his left hand flew to the beltline, and closed around the sabretooth hilt of his dagger in a white-knuckled grip. The sturdy blade roared forth as it intercepted her final blow, knocking it off course.

His other arm, of course, had reached high without thinking, cloaked in blackened heft, to the handle that was always there, beckoning with the weight he knew well that he couldn’t utilize—

And so fast it smeared a heavy arc of moonlight some six feet in front of him, drew the greatsword in a one-handed swipe, checking her further advance.

The sword fragments scattered in the air, collecting slivers of moonlight in the scant moments they spend in flight.

Robin hadn’t fully intended to break them. The technique she’d used was meant to disarm an opponent, though destroying their weapon was hardly out of the question.

The state Rudolf’s swords were in meant that their destruction had simply become the more likely outcome.

Regardless, it meant that she won. She’d have to apologize afterwards, but for now. She’d press her advantage.

Step inwards, bring her blade up, and deliver a swift nick to draw first blood—

He’d managed to deflect it, but that was fine. She’d deliver a swifter strike.

And then the greatsword tore the air.

Without much thought, without even considering what had just occurred, Robin was already moving, throwing herself backwards as it sliced through the spot she had just occupied.

Something had changed. It wasn’t just drawing a new weapon, it was a shift in the way her fellow swordsman was handling himself entirely, even if only for a fraction of a second.

—And yet, for some reason, it almost felt as if that sword wouldn’t have hurt her in the first place.

Her instincts were quickly vindicated, as there was no plume of dust or scar in the dry grasses even as the mighty blade crashed to the earth— indeed, were it not for the rushing air that tousled her brown locks as she pulled herself away from the sudden strike, it would have seemed that the massive blade hadn’t budged at all.

As for the wielder…

His breath had grown short, and haggard. Even with the mass of the blade he’d just swung, it was closer to a wild beast than an exhausted man. With the moon behind him, his face was framed in shadow, yet clearly a wide-eyed rictus that swirled with emotion. He stared at her, panting, stricken, hardly himself—

”Fuck.” he then bit out, and the tension in the air deflated between them, in time with his slackening shoulders and posture. He sagged to the earth, his knife and sword falling with him. ”I lost my cool. Sorry. This is your win. Aaaagh, dammit.”

That last curse was set against the image of his head lolling over to fully consider his longsword, struck down onto the field, its edge now a ragged, snaggletoothed mess. Not far away, his shorter blade was in similarly hard shape.

After a moment, he crawled forward, leaving the greatsword behind and sheathing the rondel as he pulled the blades over to where he sat. In addition to the ruined edges, those initial wounds from the desert fight had deepened, threatening the spine past the point of no return. Swinging through anything tougher than parchment would start being a gamble, especially with his arm behind it—

And he hadn’t the luck to even consider that.

Soft upon his lips, a solemn apology and a plea to Himstus accompanied him bringing each blade to his brow, honoring fallen companions. For a time, he was silent, then…

”Sorry. I pushed them too hard, and… honestly, didn’t expect you to see their condition. That was your aim the whole time— knew you had something up your sleeve. Didn’t know what.”

For all he’d clearly been rattled by the loss, it did seem like he was genuine in placing no blame on her. If anything, he respected the opportunism.

”Well struck. That was a good fight. Certainly enough to pull me away from all that stuff earlier. Same for you?”

Robin’s body tensed—

And then, as Rudolf brought himself to a halt, relaxed.

“I’m glad you enjoyed it, because I certainly did,” Robin said with a small smile. Though, when her eyes found the edge of those damaged blades…

“I’d mostly thought to exploit the damage to disarm you, and maybe damage the blade enough to end the duel,” she added, “I’m sorry, I didn’t intend to so thoroughly ruin them.”

Despite the move having ended the duel in her favor, she still felt some level of guilt for going so far in a friendly sparring match. Had her spada been destroyed in such a manner, there was no doubt she would have fallen apart, at least for a few moments.

Still, it had helped clear her mind, and allowed her to put the draining nature of that meeting behind her. For now, at least.

“If I’d tried to match you head on, I surely would have lost,” she added, “It was everything I’d hoped for.”
Indeed, after seeing Rudolf’s performance in battle, she’d honestly hoped for an opportunity like this. A hero often sparred their allies to better both themselves and the ones they fought alongside. It was only natural, to increase their experience and grow their skills.

She’d never faced such opponents in battle before. Certainly not like Izayoi, nor like Rudolf. And yet, by sparring against them, her experience grew.

She’d have to keep growing, in order to reach her lofty goals.

”Nah, it was my fault for trying to parry that monster in the desert with them more than once in the first place. That sword of his had to be the masterwork Valheim stole from Kurogane.” he grumbled, frustrated enough to lean back onto the grass and let the moonlight hit his face again, a ragged sigh escaping him. After a moment… he remembered the importance of context, with proper names not already familiar for both parties.”Oh, yeah, he’s the man who forged Izayoi’s swords as well. I met him to try and get a different perspective on what’s wrong with this stupid thing.”

One hand pulled itself free from behind his head and held the greatsword aloft, against the sky, as his eyes narrowed. Even for his strength and its clear quality make combined, the motion still seemed preternaturally easy, given the size.

”I’ll be honest, I knew you had commendable fundamentals backing that style of yours, but I didn’t expect you to have the wherewithal left to pick up on how bad a shape they were in once I pressed in. Even after forcing you into that head-on fight, I underestimated you, and I deserve what came to me for it.” He grinned, painful, straining. “Even if it sucks.”

He glanced over to her, curiosity sparked. They’d talked so little, he’d never really gotten her background past what he could glean from the outside, with the accent, the styling, the speech.

”...Where’d you pick that up from, anyway? It’s a bit of an esoteric movement pattern for anything you could have pulled out of stage fighting— a lot of what you were doing is more subtle than you could ask an audience to keep track of from down in the seats. Let alone in a booth. Where’d the meat and potatoes come from?”

She’d noticed something off about the greatsword when it swung past her. Even though it looked like it would easily be capable of cutting her in two, somehow she didn’t feel any danger from it whatsoever. And it didn’t leave even a little damage when it slammed into the floor of the training area, either.

She didn’t have to guess that was the reason.

“Well, now if you come across an opponent like me again, you won’t underestimate them,” declared Robin, brightly, crossing her arms over her chest with a firm nod.
On the topic of her swordplay, Robin couldn’t deny where her taste in style had come from. All the flash was derived from the sort of swordplay she witnesses on stage, in the recreation of legendary tales like the Sword of the Lake, or the Song of Keradden.

“You’re right about the style. I love all those old stories, so I caught as many stage plays as I could when I was younger. I think if you asked me about my favorites, I’d give a different answer every time. But the rest—”

She’s a hundred percent a Kerraden girl. You don’t get those flourishes in Loveless. It’s too moody.

Robin laid the blade of her spada on her open hand, eyes traveling over the length of the blade as it once again captured the moonlight.

“---That’s all from my old man. I convinced him to teach me everything he knew, and how to turn an opponent’s strength against them to disarm them or break their weapon was something I learned from him.”

The thoughts of her training cycled through Robin’s head. From laying in bed and hearing the tales of heroes from her adoptive father, to doing drills in the yard or practicing her techniques directly against them.

The memories sent warmth from deep in her core, spreading through her whole body.

“He still hasn’t told me where he learned them from, but someday I hope he will.”

He had to have done something amazing, after all.

…

“Old man, huh?” Something indescribable colored his tone, as his gaze followed hers.

A beat, and then her gloomier counterpart shrugged, eyes returning to the length of his own. There were a million things he wanted to say about his father, even beneath the filter of not revealing his identity—

”If we make it back from this to Edren, I’m sure you’ll have plenty of stories for him to trade with. Hell, he’d owe you.”

He couldn’t exactly bring himself to throw a bucket of ice water on that warmth she felt. It was a far gentler thing than the bombastic shine she cultivated in the day to day. This was… nice to see. He felt like he’d finally peeled back a layer of that presentation.

And at the mere cost of the last of his own, came the dark humor, albeit she had no way of knowing.

”He know you’re all the way out here? Pretty far from our neck of the woods.” he asked, the tip of his dagger flickering between the two of them. He didn’t see the point in pretending he was lifelong Sagramori when they had damn near the same dialect.

Ah—

She hadn’t thought about that until this very moment. Certainly, her old man knew that she’d been planning to go out and make a name for herself, but until recently she’d been doing so not so far from home.

He really would have no idea just how far she’d gone.

“I told him I’d go out and make a name for myself, but I never said I’ve go so far,” she replied, with a small, awkward laugh, “I guess I really will have a lot to tell him.”

Her thoughts shifted to contain not just the image of her old man, but the villagers who knew her throughout most of her childhood. They’d be pretty surprised too, wouldn’t they?

But that wasn’t uncommon in the stories of heroes, was it?

“The villagers would probably be pretty stunned too. I’ll have to tell them all.”

”One of the smaller townships by the Forest?” he ventured. ”Yeah, provided we live to tell the tale, Osprey alone would probably rock their world.”

Something about what she’d said wasn’t clicking, though. He lent what consideration he could, but in the end… if it was her goal, he didn’t see where it was headed. Not like this.

”Though, considering how clandestine we’ve needed to keep regarding the occupation… I can’t imagine you’ve had much chance to make that name here.”

Gold searched through Red. Dark asked the truth of Light.

”We did a lot for the big picture with Lord Hien, sure, but our names are probably never gonna be tied to it. Especially given the Ciradyl thing. Is that enough?” he explained bluntly. He had plenty of reason to be, but every part of her seemed to crave a spotlight, right down to that first blunder with Chisaki, seeming forever ago now. His tone had firmed somewhere. ”You satisfied with just us knowing? Or is there something you’ve still left to try before we go, that people will remember you for?”

As someone who had hid away so much of himself, he wanted to know where the dice fell on the other end.

“I…”

Robin trailed off. It was true. There was no way that any of their deeds would reach the ears of Osprey’s people.

But it was fine, given that they had still done heroic acts for the sake of freeing them from oppression and criminals. It was fine, wasn’t it?

Wasn’t it?

Robin would have liked to be content with that alone. Truthfully, she was glad to have helped the people of Osprey without any other preconditions.

But if there was something to leave behind to them, that wouldn’t be bad, would it?

Besides, there was something else that she wanted to do.

“... It’s not just for the sake of my name,” Robin began, after a pause, “I can’t help but notice how many people here are struggling. They’re not getting enough food. They don’t have the money to make ends meet. Their children are—”

A flash of a distant memory entered Robin’s mind.

Rail thin. Skin stretched over bone. Lying on the side of the street and waiting for darkness to take her away.

At least she wouldn’t hurt anymore.

At least it’d all be over.

At least—

“---They’re suffering.”

Robin’s hands tightened unconsciously.

“There was so much treasure in that room. More than any one person could ever possibly need. Couldn’t some of it be spared to these people, who need it more than anyone else?”

He watched the shadow of a painful time pass over her face, a dark cloud that swallowed her bearing. Her eyes had gone somewhere else. Somewhere he hadn’t yet seen.

Looks like that’s a sore thread to pull on… But it makes sense. She was adopted. Never said from where, or what state. I’ll have to remember that. But, that said…

His gaze softened as he sat up once more, the crooks of his arms resting on his knees.

”...Yeah. You’re right. I saw it earlier, walking the streets with Miina while we looked for her brother. But first, let me put something forward— we’re funding a war effort here. Maybe ten people versus all of Valheim, for the fate of the whole world. That gun Eliane’s hauled back alone is gonna eat into its share of the capital we’ve just pilfered, no two ways about it. Then there’s equipment, travel, lodging, upkeep, essentials, collateral, discretionary— A lot of expenses in our future, if we want to win this thing.”

One by one, his fingers rose to the air in time with the list he rattled off, before clasping together in front of him. His eyes never left her.

”I know you already said ‘some’ instead of ‘all’, but you’re aware of the need to consider opportunity cost at this scale, right? What’s more, those’ll be missing treasures of a known Valheimr collaborator, not just cash, and the poor parts of town are also the rough parts. I’ve been to ‘em. What’s your plan for getting the right stuff to the right people?”

“I…”

Robin trailed off.

Out of everything she’d thought about, how to actually ensure the treasure reached those most in need of it was something she hadn’t thought about enough. It was only something she had imagined in a vague outline. She imagined how much better their lives could become, how much they might be able to improve on their living situations, the fact that they might be able to guarantee meals for themselves every day.

But she hadn’t thought of how to achieve her goal.

Internally somewhat frustrated, Robin placed her hand to her head and ran her fingers through her hair as if in a bid to get her thoughts moving once more. She had to do this. She couldn’t allow this opportunity to slip away. Even if it was only a slight improvement to those peoples’ lives, she couldn’t allow it to become something she could have done instead of something she did.

“I… I think, maybe, if I talk to Hien, maybe, then…”

She trailed off again. It was at least the beginnings of an idea in her mind, but from there she had no idea where to start.

Oh, brother.

”Gotta make those considerations, Robin. I get wishing life was like an old legend, where it all just sort of works out and the narrator says ‘the Songbird gave every alm to the needy, faultless and generous’, but the world’s not so pretty. Not the way we have it, even if it’s how we wanna leave it. It’s nice to dream big, a noble desire even, but if you expect the impossible… it’ll be you suffering alongside all of them, when the world reasserts itself. Can’t half-ass it, can’t run yourself aground either.”

There were some things that just didn’t work out the right way. Others that you needed to properly prepare for. Others still… you just couldn’t do at all. Even if you died trying. Even if you spent your all on it. What was cruel honesty here would be a gentle warning for later.

While he had her ear, he could see her avoid the agony of exceeding her own means. She had risen from nothing, but he’d fallen to it. It needed to be said, before they would all need to save her from flying right into the sun.

There too were tragedies, among the canon of Edren’s legends and plays. The Waxwing, Ballads One and Two of The Gilded Fool, the aforementioned Loveless.

He closed his eyes and stood once more, bringing the large blade to bear onto his shoulder and scooping his two smaller, ruined ones into his free hand, then the pit of his arm. Walking forward, he stopped just ahead of his compatriot, frustration on her face clear as day.

…Alright, point made. Start from the top.

”Well, we’ve got a day still. And we’ll need to itemize and fence some of the jewels, the ingots, all those things to begin with, so that’ll take a bit to sort out into a lump sum. Given where we are, it’s the only smart move— gold is solid, but gil changes hands like ale at a tourney. Won’t come back to us… or anyone we give it to, if they’re smart.”

He cocked his head to the side, guiding her eyes down to the pommels

”I’m down a hat, a coat, and now my two partners here. Even if we’ll be putting some aside for the war chest, and the others don’t already just agree to do it to begin with, I’ve got plenty of cause to ask for a decimatory split. Something I can go handle while the rest are busy stocking up on what we’ll need, getting their own affairs in order, all the usual hands-off stuff. If somebody happened to rope me into asking Lord Hien which districts his sources tell him are struggling the most before I get on that, that’d be another pair of hands to carry things, keep watch during handoffs, run off unsavory types, know which way we should be going, bring the total share up to twenty percent…”

He shrugged, perfomatively coy, a smirk on his face in spite of everything. Lighten things up a little— the moody look really didn’t suit someone like her.

Just leave that shit to me, alright?

”Well, you get the picture.”

Robin’s shoulders sagged lower and lower as she listened to Rudolf’s explanations. He was right, even if it wasn’t something she’d really thought about until now. She didn’t understand the first thing about finances beyond what was necessary to pay for food and board at a reasonably comfortable inn.

Most of her pay, across her life, from childhood to adulthood, was made by doing odd jobs or assisting villagers. And, while she tried to refuse rewards for doing what she felt was a hero’s duty, sometimes it was difficult not to accept.

Thus, her familiarity with holding up a genuine war effort was nonexistent.

Still, there had to be a way. Even just a small fraction of that treasure could improve the lives of so many of those people suffering under the weight of poverty.

“Then what can I—”

Robin paused.

Slowly but surely, what Rudolf had really been saying sunk into her mind.

She couldn’t help it.

Robin’s lips parted into a wide grin as her heart nearly burst from her chest.

“Y-yes, thank you!”

A few seconds ago, her wish to give something to the poor and weak had seemed to slip away.

But that was no longer the case.

Wasn’t that just like an old hero’s tale, after all?

”Ah, one thing, though.”

As he walked past, he lightly bumped her shoulder with his own, causing the slightly-thick cords of the epaulettes to sway.

”Not to beat a dead horse, but the dress blacks might be a bit much.”

Blades of Iron Roses: An Anime-Inspired Knight RP

Gerard Segremors

@The Otter@Psyker Landshark@Octo

If he were still the country hick he'd entered the wider world as in first joining the Black Regiment, he likely would have bought this wholesale. A grown man, a Duke no less— donning a maid's dress, waving about a baguette on a crusade against pudding? Oh, the horror! His mind! Truly addled, m'lord! As though it'd been destroyed in his grasp!

You got more than your yearly share of crazies, though, after about a month of sellswording, even in a competently-run free company. Thus, he eyed the proceedings with the same suspicion as everyone else, mouth a thin line as Fionn joined in, "yes and"ing the act as though testing where the Duke would go with it... until his ears picked up what Gertrude was saying. Fey magic was on the table?

Then the situation had just gotten a lot hairier.

"We're at the feet of a great old wood." he muttered, turning to their maid-witch companion and his blueblooded peers."If he ever had cause to enter the bush, there's reasonable chance there's a fairy ring or some other territorial marker nearby. I can think of few things I'd rather do less than take a wrong step and suddenly be an uninvited guest in one of their Realms."

Final Fantasy: Lightseekers

&

Rudolf Sagramore

---

The sea.

As a young man squired under the ruling lord of the Lunaris fiefdom and associated holdings, he’d seen it from well ashore, once or twice. Never much closer than port. Never for particularly long. His heritage, almost as a rule, had always placed him very well inland— first in the lowland holdings of the Shilage household, picturesque plains and valleys nestled between the Midgari mountains and the dense Chocobo Forest. Later, Sagramore village, down by the interior badlands just a stone’s throw from the center of the country, where mighty rivers had carved their share of canyons, like scars through the earth. Streams and lakes were familiar enough. Contained, comprehensible, approachable, even those more than large enough to comfortably house an island in their center.

This…

The rhythmic swell filled his ears, as did the breeze, as did the seabirds resting on high, just a bit beyond reach. The creaking of the Scurvy Fishman had at first given him pause, but they’d been aboard and at sea for a little over a day. He’d let it fade into the background orchestra by now, setting a time to follow for the waltz that was earning one’s sea legs. His gilded eyes drank the waves below, cast out over the distance in patterns of crest and trough.

The skies overhead were clear, and the breeze that tousled his white locks was carrying their ship at an easy pace westward, towards Costa del Sol. The blue he seemed lost within, truly, stretched for miles on end. Perhaps its depths were, in reality…

Endless.

He had perched up here on the mizzen mast, after a brief negotiation with the good Captain Bikke that ended up something to the tune of “Off the main, off the rigging, don’t get in the way of me crew”. Each demand fair enough, and fine by Rudolf’s measure. Things were cramped as it was below, especially in their “bunks” near the hold. Loud, too. The White Mage aboard, Neve, was evidently a former member of Kirin— and her reunion with the original core of the team had all involved abuzz with activity, to say the least.

It wasn’t as though he begrudged them for their excitement to talk to a formerly-missing friend, just…

He had plenty of things to sort through in his own right. Liked having his space, liked having his thoughts. Didn’t want to bring the party down, either. The crew had already well confirmed his suspicions regarding the dreadful cloak that had enveloped him in the past week.

So here he’d stayed, surviving swords close at hand, and mind adrift in the expanse. The events that had transpired in Osprey had given him a lot to ponder… least of all that his days in this party were sure to be numbered. The cracks in his facade were beginning to make themselves apparent—

And none of what lied beneath, knowing what he now knew, showed any promise. Much like this ship, he was soon to be unmoored, carried by naught but the wind.

This quest was all he had. Even if that were to come to pass, he honestly doubted he’d stop being pushed forward, by the desperate need for it, burning in his gut against the enormity of the war the ten of them were fighting—

But time and again, taking matters into his own hands had burned him.

If the worst fears he held were manifest, he knew he wouldn’t stave off the inevitable.

There was a laugh. A sweet, genuine laugh that had come from below and had gotten closer. A strong gust of wind blew from the same direction carrying its source.

“The Captain said I would be able to find you here.” Ciradyl said cheerfully as she adjusted the wind to move her close enough to climb onto the mast to join him. Her dress was a rugged but elegant design with travel on the high seas in mind. Its color was a rich blue with leather accents. The fact she had been able to bounce back from her despair was thanks in no small part to the members of Team Kirin. Rudolf had been the first to reach out to her just when she hit that rock bottom. The cold beauty had gone quite warm since they boarded the ship, leaving her troubles behind in Osprey. No doubt her actions would continue to haunt her but with so many supporting her it was irresponsible to sulk longer than needed.

He’d heard her approach, something unreadable flashing across his youthful features before settling behind a wry smirk. She’d seemed in higher spirits, ever since getting folded in with the rest of them properly.

”I did not take you as a lover of the sea.” She flashed him a warm yet knowing smile, briefly closing her eyes before staring out at the wide blue waters that surrounded them. What dark thoughts troubled him at this moment that led him to distance himself? A lightness had returned to her step after she had laid her secrets to bare and she felt able to face the future. Was it naive to hope that the same freedom could be granted to her friend?

There was no way she would let him continue like this alone when she understood some of those feelings he kept from others. She wouldn’t pretend the dark entity within him didn't frighten her, but it was the essence of bravery to face that fear.

”You’re a brave one. You should hear the rest of the crew liken me to an ill omen. They say being around me feels like tasting copper on the air, winds stilling on a warm day, or watching the tide pull out past the sandbar.”

Honestly, he wasn’t terribly sure what to expect from her. Not only was the breezy, melodic laughter and airiness in her step a far cry from all the previous times he’d been sought out by anyone from Kirin, each severe enough to damn near give him a heart attack, but he also…

He studied her for a moment, as she turned her spearmint gaze to the azure he’d lost himself within. Having balked under the microscope himself, he nonetheless found himself trying to pry behind what she was showing. Satisfy a curiosity that her whole bearing now couldn’t help but raise—

He had only known her as the woman she’d made herself into, to return her nation’s lord to its seat. She had, as they both knew, cast off every part of herself that couldn’t work for that goal.

Once people achieve grand purposes their whole life wheels around… what’s left? What am I looking at, growing out of the remainder?

Is she still a drawn sword, already finding her next fight? Or… something else entirely?

The moment passed, and he turned his head back outward, leaning forward as his elbows rested upon his knees.

”Honestly, I don’t really know much about maritime stuff. I’m from pretty well inland, far as Edren’s concerned— this is my first time on a ship like this— but I know two of those sound like an oncoming storm.”

He shrugged, a puff of air escaping his nostrils. Time to get down to it, then— even playing this as cavalier as he was was a rare privilege these days. One he knew he wasn’t getting away with forever.

”So I bargained my way up here. Keeps me out of the crew’s business, and I get a good view of how damned big the ocean really is. And now you’re here too, chancing the thunderhead— To what do I owe the honor?”

Ciradyl leaned back supporting her balance with her hands behind her supporting her weight. There was a slight tilt of her head as she looked up into the sky. ”I suppose my reason is similar, but different.” There was a faint sigh ”The only time I have been on a ship was when I was younger so I do not recall the experience. As for the crew, well, I did not realize I still had such ardent fans.”

A raised eyebrow.

”Batting them away with a stick, huh? Must be a pain.”

While true, it had been nothing more than an excuse to make her way up here. It had felt like after the meeting Rudolf had been avoiding her. The images of what happened in the desert filtered through her mind.

”You are not an ill omen, Rudolf. I do not consider you one, at least. Whatever is going with this dark force that has gripped you, I thought that this mere bard could be of assistance.” She looked over at him ”I did not have the chance before but I wanted to thank you.”

He couldn’t meet her gaze.

”…Maybe. I’m not so sure.”

Perhaps it had been a coincidence, that night in the manse. Perhaps he was reading too much into the timing of things, knowing that it was supposed to be his luck tapped in exchange for power— ostensibly, nobody else’s. It was the driving force behind his best defenses against Eve, against Galahad, when they came with their concerns. That was how it was supposed to work.

But he couldn’t shake the feeling. Couldn’t shake the fear, logically founded or not, that Mizutani opening her wretched mouth and his passenger waking back up happened at the same time for a reason. That he’d felt something break.

All he could count on was the Devil’s own word that he shouldn’t have been the cause…

But even then, who was to say his luck existed in a vacuum?

He scratched the back of his head, pale hair tossed over his eyes by the wind.

”And I appreciate it, but you don’t need to put yourself out for me. No obligation to. I… was just caught up in the moment back then. I let the blood rush to my head and spoke without thinking. It was more selfish than it sounded. If we wanna talk thanks, I still haven’t properly thanked you for piggybacking off the mailing channels, so…”

A gesture with an upturned palm in her direction, as if handing something over. Usually concealed behind gloves or gauntlets, today his hands were bare, revealing a web of faint scarring from the years gone by.

”We could call it even there. Else I’d wager I still owe you one.”

There had been a black-scaled dragon that loomed over her, looking down with neither pity or guilt as it opened its wide maw. All she could do was watch as the dark embers in the back of its throat danced their way forward. It had been waiting precisely for this moment when she could offer no resistance and she had doubted any could save her in time. A dark figure, gripped by shadows, had stood in front of her as the dark breath rushed towards her. The heat from these black flames marred the edges of her clothing but did not burn her. This was how she viewed his actions that night in Mizutani’s chamber. A cursed hero for the forsaken maiden.

She nearly snapped as he tried to cast her intentions casually aside under the guise of humility. While not the same, it was thanks to years of dealing with Valheim officials that she kept this anger in check. Ciradly was not about to chastise him for something he didn’t know or understand. It nearly caught her off-guard when he switched their positions and tried to thank her instead. The letters he had been sending out hadn’t really crossed her mind all that much but it seemed to be quite important to him.

”I would not mind having you in my debt a little but I suppose there is nothing to be done.” A faint grin crossed her lips as she took the scarred hand with hers, though her grip would be no match for his she squeezed hard as she could muster. ”Rudolf. If you are selfish it does not mean you cannot be kind as well. I do not wish to see you swallowed up in darkness and left alone. That is a selfish wish of mine. Now. Would you be so kind as to grant it?”

“!?”

Woah woah woah woah woah—

Aww. Ain’t that sweet.

Close! Super close!

Instinctively, his hand tensed and jerked back, the impulse to shy away from sudden contact and proximity undeniable— but her grip held firm, trapping him in place to weather the assault. He could feel the fire behind her minty eyes, burning through his defense mechanisms— he was surely more than strong enough to break free though, right? It’d just be a simple matter of wrenching his arm towards the line of her thumb, the weakest of the five digits on the hand, and slipping away—

”…Fine, at your own peril. I did just say I owe you. I’ll hear you out, but…”

”Yes?” A hint of danger coated the word.

Even as the fight slipped through his grasp, like so many things in life, he found himself poised to run. He shrank away, even though the Faye had him locked in place. An odd circumstance, befitting this odd, unlikely pair. Seriously, what do you even do with this?

It was suddenly little wonder how a mere songstress had amassed such an expansive web of contacts, and charmed a hostile, invasive nation. That was who he was dealing with. He couldn’t forget it again.

”Look, at least hear me when I’m warning you— I’m not a safe person to be throwing in with at the minute, alright? You gotta look out for yourself, too.” he said, bitter edge coloring his voice. There was no part of this conversation he was particularly enjoying having, clearly, be each word revelatory or cloistering. ”This all stems from a choice I made, so I gotta carry that. It’s already affecting things past just me.”

She deserved to know, didn’t she?

What he feared might happen again. What was a good reason to keep clear. It’d certainly reinforce his argument against this thing she seemed set upon so fiercely.

But.

In equal measure, she would have every right, every obligation to inform the Kirins in turn. They deserved to know too. She had every reason to want to do right by them, just as much as she professed she did him. It’d be safer, then, to keep her in the dark. Keep her away, for her safety and his own.

Ciradyl waited until he finished his spiel before loosening the hold she had on his hand, pulling hers back to his side. ”How has that worked out for you so far?” She whipped the words like a blade. ”It must truly be horrible for you to push back like this. There was no sign she would relent any time soon. ”I have come close to death on more occasions than I can count where one wrong step, one misspoken word would mean the end of it. I know when to make a move and when to step back.”

A gust of wind picked up and carried her long, lustrous white hair in its air stream. ”I am not offering to help carry your burden. What I am merely suggesting is letting me hand you the pieces you drop along the way.” If He wanted to leave at this moment, she wouldn’t stop him. Should he tell her to give him a moment alone, she would give it.

That same breeze carried his own pale shaggy mess in front of his face, obscuring the beautiful and terrifying Faye from view. For a moment, he was alone, and not staring down the eyes of the storm.

He sat with that for a good while. She was right. They both knew it, too— wasn’t like he had any moves left that could counter something he himself said, it being ‘hell to fight alone’.

And it was as obvious as it had ever been that his fight was one that he couldn’t keep up. Everything since the desert had seen him struggle the moment he was on the back foot, scraping past these talks by the skin of his teeth at best.

Really, this wasn’t fair at all.

As much as it had thrown him off, he much preferred the breezy laughter they’d started this with.

But she’d skewered him already. He had just made a promise… one he hadn’t yet granted.

”…How?”

One syllable. Faint against the wind enough that it could well have been lost. The easiest thing in the world to take back, reconsider, to recontexualize with only a little verbal sleight of hand.

Oh. I honestly thought you’d tell her, boy. Now we have a new fun question:

Shut up. Stop. Stop talking right now. Now isn’t the time! There’s never gonna be “the time”, so just do me a favor, and can it!

”How do you even go about that? Why, knowing the risk? I don’t just mean us both being in hot water with Sir Galahad, I… How?”

Even as his speech faltered, struggling with accepting the meaning, there was another uncertainty that assailed him. Unlike a leaf in a whirlwind like this, it was closer to a red-hot blade, immersed in cold, heavy pitch near the soul. He wanted to dive into those waves, from all the way up here, and let the water sort him out whether he came up or not.

Is this you committing to one thing, or running from another?

Ciradyl’s intense stare softened at the one-word question he managed to cast into the wind as he seemed to struggle with something rooted so deep it felt like she had only touched the outer shell.

”It starts with talking like we are now. Whatever you do not understand I can help work through. I remind you of the value you bring, and not just on the battlefield. It helps to consider what I would have liked to hear as I made my choices.”

Her eyes closed briefly as the wind picked up once more so she could collect her thoughts. ”I have seen what happens when a warrior is forced to handle everything on their own, thinking they could handle whatever was thrown their way. I nearly lost someone that way already and I will not let it happen again.” Ciradyl peered down at the deck below, feeling as though she was starting to outgrow her welcome. She had played every move carefully for the past six years. A bit of risk was within her rights.

Value.

A dangerous proposition to assign in general, really.

But his own was… constantly in question. With all he had closed off from the team, it was hard to find fault in the bard for wanting to lionize him. Just as he would have, if he thought it was simply wavering confidence before him. Was that what he seemed? Maybe. It wasn’t necessarily wrong that his self-image had been shattered, burned, and run through a grinder. Five years on from that fateful night, that much he could recognize for certain.

That night…

He’d done this song and dance.

He’d let people believe in him. Asked for their faith. Accepted a standard to be held to… and dashed it against the stone when the world asked him to hold onto it. When he stumbled, he took offered hands down into the mud with him.

Names and faces flashed behind the eyes.

A handsome young knight, returned from the war, clutching his left eye.

Their rugged old man, stoic countenance giving away to fury and horror.

…A once gentle, calm, and razor-keen woman, robbed of the mind that he’d turned to, time and again, for perspective. A face he couldn’t bear to witness, once she no longer recognized those that loved her.

His own, twisted and blurred by the heavy storm pummeling him, his sword, and the puddle. The only light he could gleam chased the hammer of thunder overhead, casting him in shadow save beady, wavering eyes. Barely beginning the road to manhood, but with no place left to go.

…She’d nearly lost someone to sequestering themselves from support, she said.

”Izayoi?” he ventured, gazing down onto the deck for the off chance of spotting the veteran Mystrel in one of her usual haunts, rod in hand.

”Yes.” She confirmed with a nod, looking at the one in question. ”I can only know what you tell me, Rudolf, but I will not force you to reveal everything all at once. That would not be fair.” The path that had led to Izayoi’s last stand was not one she would, or wanted to, discuss right now. Her dear friend was haunted by two very real reminders of her troubled past. Ciradyl admitted that after hearing Izayoi speak of her family, she felt the sparks of hatred burn at this Reisa.

There was no grand scheme to plan her actions around. No Chisaki to take care of anything she couldn’t handle herself. However, she found herself in the company of those she could truly call her peers.

”I feel I have bothered you enough. I apologize.” A light bow accompanied the apology. Had she pried too far that he would simply shut himself off the next time they talked? All she could see was the inevitable self-destruction that laid at the end of his path. She was not so petty as to weaponize his own words directly against him outright, but all bets were off should he hunker down further.

”Hey.”

The Faye looked at him with a slight tilt of her head.

An arm snaked out from his slouched form, even as his eyes remained locked onto the deck. It reached across the forming gulf, carved by hastily chosen and short-sighted words— those of people with wounds scarred over, terrified to reopen them.

He couldn’t let her leave yet. Not without… at least, recognizing her efforts.

His arm crossed her dainty shoulders, so used to carrying the weight of a nation’s future on them, until he caught her far arm and squeezed as he pulled her into him, shoulder to shoulder— an awkward sort of half-hug, as far as they went, but… something.

The moment she had recognized the movement it was too late to intercept. All the willpower she could muster forced what would have been a jerking reaction into a look of curious surprise. It would have been impossible without letting her guard down that night she spoke with Esben.

”I do appreciate it. You’ve been incredibly kind, I…I just…”

His voice faltered, searching for the right words. It was probably safer for his specific purposes if he shoved her out entirely, gave no reason to indicate the conversation had done any good.

But he didn’t want to.

”You’ve got a whole life you’re rebuilding here. I don’t wanna burn up any of your second chance, those are precious things.”

Hollow. And he knew it.

But even the void of a struck bell rang sincerely.

”I dunno. I guess all I know how to do is run away.”

He had made the effort to show that her intentions had been felt and the joy it brought displaced some of her discomfort. ”Thank you for letting me hear this, but I think I will have to disagree. I seem to recall a certain someone standing in the way of a powerful monster. The same someone who helped rescue members of Team Kirin during an ambush, fought off waves of Valheim soldiers to rescue a foreign lord, and fought their way through a crime lord's manor.” She rattled off casually with a hint of pride.

No matter how she tried to distract herself, the feeling of his arm around her buzzing like a vicious insect in her mind. Nothing she could do could stop it. The gesture had been sweet, innocent but nevertheless her mind refused to accept it fully.

”You could have left the moment we started to talk, but you stayed. I feel as though I have seen something few have gotten to see and I am grateful. It might so happen that the next time we talk you decide to run. That will not change the fact that in this moment you did not.” Her hands gripped the opposing forearms as she sat there. ”You can try all you want to stop me, but you will find out how stubborn I can be.”

”Believe me, I’m plenty aware.” he chuckled ruefully. ”There were plenty of points in the past couple years you coulda run, too. Always are, if you’re sticking up for a country under the boot. I hold no delusions that you’re not a special kind of stubborn.”

His hand fell away after a moment, but not before patting the Faye on the back. Whether it was acknowledging, reassuring, or expressing kinship… not even he really knew. Her words before had pulled his mind elsewhere.

Her fingers lightly dug into her arms for the brief moment after he patted her on the back. She breathed out a silent sigh of relief as his arm returned to its natural place.

”And all that was just… This is all I’ve really got going for me. This is my second chance. This whole quest. I didn’t have any other choice. Not one I could accept.”

His eyes drifted up, to the clear skies overhead. Vast. Immutable. In a way… savage, how it encompassed all. Consumed all. Everything in their world existed under this sky. That fate was painted upon it in starlight only furthered the enormity. It was little wonder, beneath this sky, that it was where those that had passed were believed to rise.

”I’ve gotta do all I can. If one of the Kirins is staring down death, and if there’s something I can do about it… I have to. Even if it means getting stubborn people like you on my ass in the aftermath.”

He hadn’t thought any of it through. He hadn’t reached any grand conviction or cause to give himself to, to make the choice to endure. Courage was in choices. He was just at the end of the line, flailing against oblivion. Pushed forward into it by something… besides volition.

”You guys already mourned her one time too many.”

The boy offered her a tired smile, the smallness of his frame never more apparent.

”If this is truly your second, last chance then I’ll gladly lecture you everytime you go off on your own…as long as it means I have the chance.” Gentle eyes fell upon him, capturing this moment into memory. It pained her that she could not offer the same physical comfort he had given her. A proper hug would have surely been appropriate. The mere idea was enough to send shivers through her nerves and tighten the muscles around her chest.

”Let us do our best to ensure that the ballad of the legendary Team Kirin ends with a happy conclusion.” Ciradyl leaned forward a little, teetering on the very edge of her balance. A soft giggle escaped her just like when they had started their conversation and was soon followed by a wide smile. It had just occurred to her how long it had been since she had such a genuine conversation with someone other than Izayoi. Her conversation with Esben had come close but too much doubt clouded her mind then.

The gears of her muse began to turn. There were a number of half-started songs and scores she had brought along, hoping for the right inspiration. Now she could say confidently one such piece would be completed.

He watched the smile paint itself across her face, a gigawatt grin that told him everything about where they stood. That his efforts were in vain. That he’d, one day, let her down too. The going would get rough, even moreso than now. He’d run, then stumble, then… she’d try to be there.

Pulling him back, lecturing him.

Writing another line in that ballad, about a friend she shared this second shot at it all with.

”Just make sure you take care of yourself, too.”

He returned the grin with a small chuckle.

For a while, they shared the mizzen, in companionable silence, taking in the waves. He regarded her, as he saw her mind begin to whirr anew on Mothercrystal-knew-what.

...He couldn’t allow hers to end. Not because of him. He wanted to hear that song. Whatever it took, she would see the day her masterwork was forged. Regardless of how little right he had to his part within it.

That was her fight. She had chosen what she made of the ashes of her old life. What came next.

Even if they shared this war…

Sorry. Really. But it’s for your good as much as mine.

He couldn’t pull her into his own.

Everyone he had… he burned, or buried. He could never forget that.

For as much as it pained him, he wouldn't let himself.

He wouldn’t face that grief again.

... But he wouldn't be able to hide himself away forever, either. Especially not with her watching for it.

And so, he let his gaze return to the waves, depths within still opaque.

Blades of Iron Roses: An Anime-Inspired Knight RP

Gerard Segremors

@Eisenhorn@The Otter

"I'm not a fan either, horse. Easy."

From below, there was the shake of a dark mane, a snort, and a discouraged nicker, prompting the rider above to respond in kind, his own tone low even as the Knight-Captain at the fore called back to her formation in a barebones briefing. Looking at the dark overhang their path took them through was already enough to set off certain alarm bells in his head, after Jeremiah's goons had literally gotten the drop on them what seemed like ages ago now—

But just as much, he knew the beast was smart enough to remember they'd ridden right into a maelstrom here not a week prior. The fucking Brennan Woods again. Cae Mayl itself was barely more than a stone's throw away. He had half a mind to believe this downwind of the Shard being brought here by the Boars to begin with, their business never having truly felt finished. All they'd ever had to show for it was the image of a white mask— not even the Shard they were originally hunting down in that dispatch.

Still, though, it's likely not in terribly close proximity, even if it is revealed to be the root cause— he's mad, not murderous.

"We should hope." the erstwhile merc agreed with Rolan, before glancing down the cut to a man from far further North, his own displeasure evident. "Fionn may need us to get some pointers."

Final Fantasy: Lightseekers

Rudolf Sagramore

And yet... as one found her light, another fearfully snuffed it.

Rudolf remained quiet, mouth shut and ears open even as he forced the barking dog at the base of his skull down, below thought once more. It was all he could have done not to turn and swing his massive blade into the phantom sensation that was leaning over his shoulder as its words dripped through his head— and of course, still cut nothing in the process. By the time Esben spoke up, its piece was said.

Now knowing the realigned state of affairs, with the terms of the contract enforced as they were... he got the sickening feeling the silence was in part by his passenger's choice. After all, his own mind did plenty of talking. And where all eyes had turned to put Ciradyl under the microscope... his gaze in turn was flickering between the rest. Judging. Reading. Extrapolating. Worrying, worrying, worrying, as the monster named "Fear" began to sink in its claws.

"Explain yourself. Now."

He flinched.

He knew that tone. That expression. Five years ago, he had seen the same face as his life fell apart. It really was no coincidence that he'd gleaned some inkling of kinship with the Faye. This... was about to be the same moment. They were the same fool, purging everything until they accomplished their single, overriding goal...

Save for a key difference. Something the spirit had missed. Maybe neglected to say... or maybe, it had meant to lead him here, keeping him in check with reality.

He followed the SEED's rundown of her actions as they came to light, noting the repartee between him and Izayoi as the details regarding the "who" and "how" and "why" were discussed. A pretty thorough report, all things considered. Poisonings, deals cut that moved rivals out of the way, even planting information against fellow conspirators... each step had a cold, cruel logic justifying it, one that panged with all too much familiarity in retrospect. Calculated moves made on a chessboard the scale of a wartorn nation, each piece sacrificed opening up more material.

The zero-sum game of politics, in its own way, was far more brutal than the field... to think he had once trained for this. To think he could imagine and hear the same notes of approval from his own mentors that Esben and Izayoi, even Hien, were now showing... Would it not be the case that, had Edren and Osprey's situations been reversed, he might have needed to do the same?

"...for nothing more than their own egos, not for any worthwhile reason."

... No.

"Any others in these pages that might have attempted a rescue were likely too incompetent to meet with any success in the effort or to try and use the death to their advantage when they inevitably failed."

That was right.

The others were stepping forward to speak in her defense... because her victims were all, as detailed, shortsighted fools. Incompetents to a man, chasing immediate pride instead of looking at the bigger picture. Slaves to their desperation to carve out a new standing for themselves... only unable to do so without barreling directly into ruin, the others attached to them be damned. She was, even with all of it said and done, working towards the ends of her people, not herself. That was the difference. The framing had been all wrong until now.

She had dealt with millions of devils to save millions more of Osprey's people.

He had forged a contract with one, just to save his own pride.

He was of their ilk, not hers.

He felt something cold in his palm. He glanced down. A tiny point of black... the same that he had once allowed to blossom into a billowing fireball, moments before he hurled it into—

With grit teeth, he clenched his fist and snuffed it.

"We carry the results of what we do regardless." he finally spoke up, tonelessly meeting her eyes with a tense, possibly pained expression. "Corporal punishment would only belabor the point, given you've already shriven clean so much for your broader cause. It's the nature of sacrifice that none of it returns."

In warfare, you never come out unmarred. Even if you were never struck by anything beyond the wind, battle and war exact their toll.

These were the first things he had been taught, when he could finally hold a blade in his hands.

Metal rubbing against leather sounded, as he slowly drew the bone-hilted knife on his belt into his palm, staring into the steel.

Barely caught an eye in the reflection, along with the red stains of blood on his white hair. It warped as he shifted it in his grip.

Never the same, once steel and blood fly.

"In your case, you count the lives of the people detailed here among those sacrifices, people you didn't make aware you were an enemy. It's not for nothing that you feel guilt. However noble the cause, death is likely one of the more tender mercies Valheim has to offer to the people who were in your way or theirs. And there's certainly no 'honor' to take refuge in with your methodology. That's for strong folk, who can settle it all face-to-face, man-to-man. When we sacrifice it, it's just knowing what bargains you've made. What result our price is."

At what point would it be judged that incompetence merited death? While he conflated war and politics like this, what difference was there to make of being outmaneuvered in either theatre? Were he in their shoes, he certainly couldn't forsee any move he made working out before being picked off. Even now, the lot of them, these Kirins, were wary that he might poise a danger to their cause in much the same vein.

Had he moved too soon? Been too blind? Maybe so.

These people were willing to accept her, given those factors. Even Miina was stroking her head, like offering comfort to a beaten dog.

He had to admit that an unvoiced part of him, most of him really, even agreed. Given the hand she was dealt, Ciradyl had played it about as well as she could have— and those that had fallen victim certainly did seem to be, with the backing opinions of the two Ospreyan veterans present, those that would have been lost quickly without the knives in their back along the way. Could you not call that much a wash? Sure.

But much like Arton... there was a less ruthlessly logical part of him in there as well. One that looked upon an ostensible ally, and was being told that the totality of her war extended even to volatile assets on her side.

"It's something we'll always know, no matter what. That much is plenty of punishment, for people like you and me."

And was being told by everyone else that their hearts lied in accordance with that calculus. That if this happened again, even if Ciradyl no longer had the heart to step on another's back (and he believed this was true), the ones that were going to drag the team down were going to be excised. Dealt with. Maybe not handed over, but by no means offered any quarter.

If he was like those men and women she betrayed to save the nation, then...

He returned the dagger to its place at his side.

"It's just a matter of what comes next. One way or another, we keep waking up, life keeps going, day after day, second by second. If you do nothing with the blood on your hands, it'll seep into your soul and turn to rust. We have to see our battles through."

Final Fantasy: Lightseekers

Rudolf Sagramore

@Psyker Landshark@Ithradine@Click This

He had quietly listened in after making his plea, logging what details the interrogators had managed to pull from Mizutani while he maintained his restraint of the other bloodstained Faye. Izayoi was quick to reestablish herself, her smirk like the blade of a knife in open air— a reminder that no matter how much he was tearing down the demon of battlefield mythology, she was still someone whose ire he never wanted to earn.

Still, it seemed the promise of an undue mercy in swift departure was enough for the crime lord to acquiesce, feeding Miina the bulk of what she had to say regarding her brother. Little of it was concrete, beyond what they already knew. A debtor. A mage. Skipping town for cleaner waters and green land.

But... at least it was one chapter closing. They could, with confidence, say they hadn't left any stone they'd gathered unturned. That wasn't nothing.

And soon, Ciradyl's would close too, before she'd stepped beyond the pale. He'd made the difference. He'd done, by whatever stroke of—

Mizutani's mouth opened again. The boy caught one final, withering glare, aimed just ahead of him. Even as he held Ciradyl back, he felt something suddenly looming over him. Leering. Like a well-fed tiger.

A dark, heavy gaze, inside looking out.

The wheel of fate, which had spun so merrily... jammed.

My, my. Isn't it fitting, kid? You truly know your own.

"Rudolf. Release her."

He gazed into the middle distance, complying numbly, mechanically at the stimulus of Ciradyl's stiletto burying into the wooden floor.

He said nothing.

He rose, backing away.

There was no logical reason to buy into this, spiteful words from a dying saboteur, criminal, and evident all-terrain underworld fiend in search of petty revenge after double-cross. Hell, with how possessive she'd been, maybe even "jilted suitor" was on the table. Her words were as wind, in the face of even her actions he'd witnessed, let alone those he'd been informed of. There was all likelihood she was making her last act a wedge between the one she had loved, and the one she had surely hated.

And yet.

Stop. Not now. Not you now. He had done so much work to pull this from the brink. He couldn't let shock beat good sense.

Good sense? Rudolf, you know that isn't the game you want to play. Your attempts at rationalizing it won't get you anywhere you're looking to go. Rationality left the picture when she flung herself at Tane, and when you flung your half-baked 'advice' at her. Empathy tells all between people, not logic. Do you think all those conclusions you were jumping to, just now, were "rational"? Was believing that you had a shared struggle "logical"?

He turned, away from the scene, with nothing more to say. With his upbringing, he was far from squeamish at executions, whether he'd ever wanted to be or not. He didn't flinch at the sound of steel slicing trachea.

The "logic" you seek says this. There's no way that woman could so fully believe Ciradyl so wrapped around the palm of her finger without ages of positive reinforcement. There's no way to fake the betrayal in her eyes. The confusion. The terror, as one thing she was certain she could trust tried to tear her apart.

Even so, his voice was tight as he wiped the mob boss's blood from his brow with a sleeve, shuffling away to meet the salmon-haired Skaellar in the entranceway. He seemed to wish he was anywhere else, barely even taking pause at the Dame Commander's nonsensical sihlouette.

"Looks heavy. Lemme help you offload some stuff, Miss Eliane. I promised."

... He had to get his mind off this.

---

He had spent much of the egress from the burning manse in a tense, pensive silence. There wasn't much in the way of idle chatter to distract, after the revelations of the night raid, and internally he had tried to busy himself between managing the heft of Eliane's plunder and taking and retaking inventory of his casualties from the dispatch. A knife. The swords he had plundered, save one. Hat. Cloak.

By the time they returned to the meeting room and he had taken his seat, his hands were steepled in front of him, elbows on the knees as he flickered between studying the floor, and looking up his brow at the woman in the spotlight.

Much like Izayoi, he didn't want to believe what he'd heard, saw no reason to...

But the cold voice below his inner world wouldn't shut its damn mouth.

You shouldn't kid yourself. You're perfectly willing to be blinded by illogical shocks— when they serve you. Or is it because they serve a pretty lady? A pretty lady that has amassed an entire covert network of her own saboteurs, informants, ninja, and resistance fighters in the span of this occupation? Easily squaring off your entrance to Kugane, obtaining troop movements, the location of the dignitary held deepest within the oppressor's clutches? How do you think that happens, without Valheim beginning to sniff out the threads? How does a cabaret minstrel really obtain that much pull, without drawing healthy suspicion?

"..."

Why do you think you felt like she had thrown everything she needed to away? You were practically moving before she was. When the plan you wanted to fight for was turned tits-up, why were you reaching out? You bore a weak part of your soul to someone who had just potentially shat all over your "friend"'s reason to even be part of this mess. Why not rip her apart for it? What was it that made you choose mercy?

... She and I...

You're the same fuck-up. Willing to betray any faith, any creed, any loyalty to get what you want. That was your feeling. It overpowered everything, and compromised your prized good sense. She needs a helping hand, she needs to be set off the path, something about her is like you. You knew what you believed.

And look at what that means, if you think you're right. Look at the SEED, leafing through all the evidence your illogical empathy didn't even need. Listen to him, advising honesty. You made a deal with one devil. She made a deal with a million. The empty know their own, time after time.

You've thrown in with a conspirator.