Mcmolly

Scion: The Prophecy of Anani

_{@Obscene Symphony @Hero}

---

Renault breathed deeply. There’d been no time to, after his release; the Church’s goons had thrown him on the first transport to the Prince’s castle almost as soon as they’d gotten the shackles off. Now that he was back—properly back—he was reminded of just how much sweeter the air in his homeland was. Like sugar, or antifreeze. Enough of either would kill you, and that, he thought, fit Doumerc just as well.

The academy hadn’t changed drastically, but like all things in academia, it had changed minutely in many ways. New rugs, brighter bulbs, nigh-undetectably-different hues of the same color paints. People saw scholars and imagined meek, doddering bookworms, but few minds worked faster than those of mages. These fields of study required a keenness, a decisiveness, that most would expect to find in Rodion duelists or Lorenzian gunslingers.

Rhaveus’s room was suspiciously empty. It was indeed strange for someone to stand up not one but three Scions, one of them being royalty. Renault smirked, he suddenly found the professor quite respectable. It didn’t surprise him to hear some of their group was impatient, and he was glad the madam of gravity took a more sociable approach.

They followed her to a hallway where, unprompted, she did her best impression of a startled cat.

Renault craned his neck around the corner while Maya snapped quietly at her Templar. His initial assessment was proving more and more correct, it seemed. The line between paranoia and cowardice was thin, and blurry, and she appeared to have crossed it from one direction or another.

Those were undeniably Kaudians, but they were also undeniably set dressing. Fancy uniforms, military attention, and a cleared hallway. This wasn’t an invasion, it was babysitting.

More than that, it was interesting.

“Lets not embarrass ourselves, dear,” Renault said, throwing Maya an amused smile. He rounded the corner into the hall, clearing his throat and slipping into a more welcoming tone. “Dobar dan, gentlemen, hello!” he said to the guardsmen. “My friends and I were looking for a professor Rhaveus, would you happen to have seen him? We’re told he may be around here.”

Amygdala Circuit

Sybil listened closely, relieved she wasn’t about to get flattened by the resident hero. It was strange to her, almost unimaginable, that someone like Quinnlash was once ‘way worse’ than her at anything. If there was one thing Sybil had grown accustomed to in her short period of training, it was being mediocre. Mediocre test scores, mediocre phasing speed, mediocre output, and, of course, mediocre combat results. Had Quinnlash really dealt with that? Had she stepped out of a pod and seen broad disappointment among her superiors, and embarrassment among the ones who weren’t high enough rank to be disappointed?

Surely not. Not after the display she’d put on planet-side. Some things could be taught, but some things were just natural. Had to be. All day, every interview, she saw people laud the pilots that were “born with it”, while the ones who weren’t, didn’t stick around long enough to get interviewed much.

Still, Quinnlash made a good point. Learning through cruelty was pointless, and for all the grief they gave their captain, Camille had expressed similar sentiments. Sybil just hoped she would still be able to walk after training.

Briefly, she saw Quinnlash’s eye flick to Cyril. It wasn’t a particularly kind look, and he seemed a bit surprised by it. Sybil felt her fist clench reflexively. She popped her mouthguard back in, and when the invitation came to pick things up where they’d left off, she didn’t hesitate. She stepped in and swung. It wasn’t quite as wide, but still nothing like a practiced fighter. What she lacked in technique this time though, she made up for with intent.

Scion: The Prophecy of Anani

_{@Obscene Symphony @Hero}

---

It seemed the prince was eager to divide them, which left Renault with a sour taste in his mouth. If he didn’t know any better, he’d think Lucas was displeased with his current selection of Scions, and might have been making an effort to, say, spring clean a few of the less desirables. Rather church-like, and Renault had never taken the royal blemish to be overly devout; perhaps that was just what prophecies did to you.

Either way, Renault wasn’t about to let himself be pruned so early or so easily. His aunt was last to be taken, and he assumed if given the chance, her assailants would gladly snatch up the new Scion of Lightning.

Hunting monsters on the Garda seemed like a complete waste of his time; setting aside it would make him look like the High Cardinal’s bloodhound, when it came to combat he was…rusty. Despite his skill with magic, a year and change in captivity would warrant a little warming up from anyone, to say nothing of the Scion abilities he’d yet to tap beyond meager testing. The trip to Croia was equally unappealing. Renault dealt with the mortal, and he was quite good at it too, but spirits? He could think of few things he wanted less than to doll himself up like a saint for the ethereal.

As little as the prospect of being in Lucas’ company excited him, he would be lying if he said he wouldn’t relish the opportunity to step back into politics. A high-class place like the academy? His mind bristled to think of all the familiar names and faces that might be in attendance. Much of his network had been dismantled during his incarceration, but the information remained, and that was plenty for now. Reconstructing a base of spies and useful idiots would take time, but if there was one thing he’d hammered into the minds of the Doumercene aristocracy, it was that he kept his word.

The Scion of Gravity offered herself up to go along with prince, and Renault hesitated. Instinct told him she would cause problems—too eager, too blood thirsty, too cowardly. She reasoned homesickness and practicality, but he wondered if there was something more. Perhaps, like him, she figured proximity to Lucas would make it more difficult to have her removed. Tricky, to an extent few celebrities were. If only he’d been there at that gala, to see for himself if the mask had slipped.

Well, in the worst case, having the whole of Doumerc swoon at her return would hopefully keep the paparazzi busy while he refamiliarized himself with his home.

“A trip to the academy sounds lovely, Your Highness,”” he said, making his intention to join clear. “I was never a student myself, but I’ve visited plenty of times. I’m well acquainted with several alumni and even a few of the professors. Unfortunately, even a place so devoted to the scholarly arts is still steeped in bureaucracy, and it can be rather stifling.”

His eyes flicked over to Maya, and lingered a moment longer on her guard dog, Silvaine. It hadn’t escaped Renault how a few of the Templars had tensed at his arrival. He doubted the man would be happy with this arrangement.

“In addition to our beloved Scion of Gravity, it may benefit you to bring someone along who’s used to navigating Doumerc’s deceptively turbulent political scene,” he said, looking to Maya once again. “Vous n'êtes pas d'accord, madame?”

Amygdala Circuit

Sybil’s swing met air and the momentum nearly took her onto the ground. Part of her was annoyed at how easily she’d been dipped, and that part whirled around to put her hands back up and prepare to swing again. Thankfully, the rest of her saw Quinn calling for time and was glad she’d missed. The idea of practically introducing herself with a sucker punch twisted her stomach into knots.

Still, it was weird. It was weird, right? She glanced over to Cyril, whose brow was cocked, and he gave her a small shrug with his lips. Yeah, weird. But that was the rumor about the RISC crew, that they were all off in little ways. Not like the Helburkans, but from the interviews and appearances over the years, it had become clear that Runa employed the unique. Cyril found it charming, but Sybil had always been wary. After all, looking at someone like St. Senn, it was obvious the little eccentricities belied terrible power. They’d all seen as much from Quinnlash recently, too.

She waited while Quinnlash drank, and when their younger senior asked a question, she waited again, and pondered what strange double-meaning it might have. Eventually she gave up and popped out her mouthguard before answering.

“Yeah. Mid to long, I think, is what they classified it as,” she said, once again looking to Cyril, but getting nothing helpful in return. “Why?”

Scion: The Prophecy of Anani

---

Prophecies. Renault was glad he’d had a light breakfast, otherwise he might have been ill.

Surely Incepta hadn’t freed him from his imprisonment for the sole purpose of protecting a child. A royal child at that, who had at her disposal every ounce of strength Estora could muster, and then some. His eyes wandered to the girl, preoccupied with Lucas’ phone while the lot of them discussed the future of, he supposed, the world at large. The edge of his smile curled slightly, and briefly. It wasn’t like he could be disappointed with her; she would probably find the burden of heroism as unappealing as the rest of them. That didn’t make her any less hopeless.

Well, it was this or the cell, wasn’t it?

He took a quick stock of the rest of the room. Princess aside, the assembled royalty left much to be desired. Lucas was an outcast, and a loser by every metric his surname didn’t pass for him. Princess Isabella had, to his knowledge, been a vapid if harmless figurehead, until the attack at Giles’ manor had evidently turned her into a vapid, bloodthirsty figurehead. The warhawk lived up to every Rodion stereotype Renault had ever heard in any bar, which, while he respected the predictability, surely hindered them here and now. The Scions of Gravity and Wind, if the reported drastic reduction in their public appearances was anything to go by, had been reduced to cowardice; the latter at least had the good sense not to demand war as retribution for the attack. The Scion of Earth was an impetuous idiot, and the Scion of Metal wilted like a wallflower, but at least their interests aligned. Honestly, there’d been more reason shown by the church’s armored dogs than the Mother’s favorites, pained as he was to admit it.

Where did that leave them?

“A united front is most wise, my prince,” he said, obsequious. “But much easier said than done. I’m sure you of all people are aware of how fickle the court of public opinion can be. It will take quite some work to convince even our supporters—to say nothing of our detractors and even less our enemies—that the Scions of Incepta stand resolute against the coming storm.

“To hear it said, following the attack, everyone fled to weather all matter of PR disasters. Though, the less generous were more biting with their criticism. Some, through misunderstanding surely, might have mistaken these actions for fear. All of this hearsay, of course, but all the same, sometimes hearsay is all it takes.”

He rounded up by the head of the table, glancing between Lucas and the rest of the Scions. “In my humble opinion, scattering again so soon would only set the rumor mill churning. And besides, with some manner of threat still present within Estora, it seems like a quick way to put targets on our backs.”

Amygdala Circuit

Cyril’s whole world spun, and for a moment it felt like he’d been flipped rather than simply dropped. Camille had taught him early on that if you’re gonna fall, fall correct, or you could do more damage to yourself than whatever had hit you. So he crumpled, and then when he came close to the mat he rolled onto his back and slapped himself down. It sounded much worse than it was, but he still took a second to lay there while his vision refocused.

“Mon dieu,” he wheezed, spitting his mouthguard out onto his hand. Look at that, a little trauma knocked the Casobani back into him, their parents would be proud. He propped himself up on his elbows and held up his palms in surrender, in case she came in for a finisher. “Felt like you had a metal bat strapped to your leg.”

“Camille warned you,” Sybil said, though she seemed a bit shaken herself. “She trains with Dragon, what’d you think was gonna happen?”

Cyril got back up to his feet and shook himself off. Truthfully, he hadn’t known what to expect. Obviously Quinnlash was an experienced combatant, in her Savior, but he’d found that to be a poor benchmark. Being in a Savior felt powerful, immensely so, but it was different face-to-face. He supposed he’d expected it to be the same for her; not weaker, per se, but different. Evidently that was not the case—Quinnlash was exactly as fierce out of the cockpit.

“Well, that’s me for the moment,” he said, peeling off his helmet and tossing it at Sybil. “Your turn!”

“Uh…” Sybil looked between, to Cyril, to the helmet, then to Quinn. “Pass.”

“No. No pass. Do you know what happens if Camille hears we called out just to ditch? I'd rather spend all day getting kicked in the head, thank you. Besides, this is a fantastic opportunity! She’s our teammate, we get to learn from Ablaze!”

Cyril hopped over to her, taking her by the hands and pulling up. Sybil groaned reluctantly, but eventually resigned and put on the helmet, along with the rest of the pads from the basket. When she was finished, she made her way onto the mat, popping the mouthguard in, and raising her hands. She seemed to be trying to mimic Cyril’s stance, but there was something off about it. Was she shifting her weight strangely? Holding her hands too low? Too high? Perhaps she was facing flat forward for a reason.

“Watch her legs!”

Sybil did, eyes darting down to Quinn’s feet briefly before they shot back up to her face. Rather than wait at the start as Cyril had, she elected for a different strategy and rushed Quinn right away. There was a nervous, inaccurate energy to her movements, and she came out with a wildly wide haymaker aimed to take Quinn somewhere between her head and her shoulder.

Amygdala Circuit

At Quinn’s approach, the twins perked up. Cyril grinned wide and bounced away from his sister, who remained seated against the wall. Like Cyril she was dressed for exercise, but she didn’t seem to share his enthusiasm, and in fact if it weren’t for the almost fixed look of detachment on her face, she might have appeared anxious.

“Hey!” Cyril greeted, stretching on the mat while Quinn geared up. “Hope you don’t mind, but I invited Sybil to join us. We could both use the practice, and if it means a day off training with Camille…”

They shared a frightful look, and Cyril shook out his shoulders like he’d gotten a chill.

“Hoo…Anyway! Are you alright to give us both a round or two? We can swap out, or take some breaks—whatever you want. We’re both just excited to see what you got!”

“Yeah…” Sybil muttered.

Cyril refastened his pads and got into place across from Quinn. Even with a mouth guard in, he managed to keep his smile on. He stopped bouncing, but that energy coiled within him like a spring. His stance was good, he seemed focused, but there wasn’t a trace of genuine aggression in his eyes. He probably looked out of place doing something like this, but then again, Quinn didn’t look much different to him. He wondered, briefly, how many pilots were naturals to violence. Surely some had to be, just watching them tear through the Modir, or even each other. But outside of the Saviors, how many looked like outliers?

He put up his hands, winked. “Ready when you are!”

Scion: The Prophecy of Anani

_{Collab with @Hero}

---

A year spent in cold silence, and still Renault felt pressed for time. As the train sped on towards Castle Lucania—terrible luck, being named after a castle—he found himself praying for a delay. An obstruction, a technical problem, hell, he would have settled for a minor derailment if it meant he could finish reading first. Who would have imagined so much could happen in one, itty bitty year? It was like missing the penultimate episode of a gripping drama; so much context, so little time.

But fate seemed determined to keep him punctual, so, he chose to focus. Nothing was truly inconsequential, but he eschewed the minor details lost in the broader strokes. Hikes on some of Lorenzia’s imports, Doumercene copyright battles, Rodion lieutenants maiming each other over parking spaces. Entertaining to be sure, and useful circumstantially, just not this circumstance.

He'd spent the week since his release catching up on the Kaudian conflict, starting in Rodion and following the branches outward. National attentions shifted harshly after the incident at Giles’ Manor, and it brought him no small amount of satisfaction to know the truth of the matter. Giles was a moron, but pinning it on his tax policies? It was almost too bold.

That led him to finally reading up on his fellow Scions, as well as their Holy Hounds. Few of the names had changed since his incarceration; most notably, the Scion of Time had been murdered. Renault was surprised to see they’d rewarded the old Templar by sticking him to Theodore’s successor, although considering who it was, there was a chance the Church was hoping Sir Morris would fail a second time. Who knew, perhaps if Prince Lucas lived long enough, the High Cardinal’s shriveled old heart would give out. A win either way.

The rest was mostly refresher. Following his aunt’s career so closely had made him fairly aware of the other Scions. He had never met any of them of course, but there were plenty of people who worked for them, either directly or downstream, with whom he had grown quite…familiar. But insight into routines and traveling patterns was no substitute for conversation. In his career he’d come to prefer one-on-one meetings to impersonal dossiers—though he learned to make use of both.

The security check left only him and his Templar to proceed. Zacharie Chaudoir, a fellow countryman. Effectively blind, which Renault figured made him about as useful as Sir Morris had been to Duke Theodore. But, he was a mage, and evidently a good enough one to make up for his sight. He was also used goods. Not a bad thing, some of Renault’s favorite clothes were hand-me-downs. The Scion of Shadow had passed away of an illness, and though he was the last person to dismiss such a death so casually, he found himself wondering how Zacharie had taken it. Blaming himself would have been foolish, but preferable. Guilt was easy to work with.

He missed Duchess Bachmeier’s introduction, which was a shame. How did she feel, being the latest host to Incepta’s darlings? Surely she’d doubled the efforts of Duke Giles, but if something did happen, she must have known her head would be next on the block. Well, that was a worry for later. For now, he made his way into the meeting room to join the rest of his peers.

It was like he’d shown up late to a birthday party. There Prince Lucas sat, crowded by the heads of people who might have been acquaintances at best, looking as happy to host as he was to attend. In fact, the only people who seemed at all happy to be here were the templar with a mouthful of food, the effete Scion of Earth, and the toddler.

Well, it couldn’t hurt to throw another smile into the mix.

The conversation was palpably tense and covered in a thin coat of noble pretension. Nice to see things hadn’t changed. The topic, unsurprisingly, was war. He had wondered what Prince Lucas’ plan was, if he’d meant to lead the Scions on some holy, vengeful crusade and burn Kaudus to ash. However, it seemed quite the opposite. Good. Surprising, but good.

“The Prince has a point,” he chimed in. “Straining international relations when we’re on the verge of war seems unwise. Besides, it’s not as though the Kaudians are going to topple our borders. We were attacked from within. The knife is already here—we shouldn’t turn our backs to it.”

At Renault’s words, Lucas felt pertinent to give him his attention, outright ignoring Belle’s look of disbelief. He was, however, glad to see he wasn’t alone in holding things off. Why the princess and apparently the Instagram star were suddenly so bloodhungry was beyond him. Rationale would win this fight, and he wasn’t interested in having to ward off sharp nails aimed towards him if he outright said he thought they were both stupid.

That said, Justinian’s paltry attempt at steering the conversation irked him. “Bold of you to dismiss politics when that is how the world is run,” He didn’t let Justinian’s asinine comment slide. “If you truly think it isn’t prudent to at least discuss where everyone’s head lies, you’re more foolish than I thought you were. And don’t think I didn’t notice you completely sidestepping your own opinion on the topic. If you’re going to sit on the fence, butt out and let the adults speak.”

The high prince then stood from his seat, eyes leveled with the new Scion in mild disinterest, contrary to his current action. “Since High Cardinal Margaret didn’t see your holy sigil as a blessing on Gaia, I thought it prudent to introduce everyone to our newest holy associate,” He spoke, gesturing towards Renault. “For those unawares or unfamiliar, this is the Scion of Lightning, Renault Allard.”

Renault smiled and bowed politely to the table. “Thank you, Your Holiness. Charmed to meet you all. I hope I can be of service in these troubling times.”

Scion: The Prophecy of Anani

---

The last few weeks had been quite a whirlwind for Ionna. Following the assault on the manor, things had at once moved incredibly fast, and also very, very slowly. It seemed like the whole of Estora waited with baited breath for the next tragedy; the king’s death, the vanishing of Nadine Lucienne, the gut punch that was Kasper’s passing.

Then, of course, there was Theobald.

Ionna’s heart had sunk to hear she was being reassigned, at first believing she was to be removed from Scion Duty altogether, and might be spending the rest of her career guarding hallways, or sweeping latrines, or whatever soldiers did after they made the wrong people grumpy. The reality was more…complicated than that.

Losing Dom was deflating. Not that she didn’t trust Sara—in fact, she believed there were few people in the world Dom would be safer with—but all the same, it troubled her. Their time together had been so short, and it felt like they were only just starting to bond. She hoped their brief dueling lessons would stick, and the practice would continue under Sara’s tutelage. After what happened it did feel a little silly to think the Scions shouldn’t at least be capable of defending themselves.

But, that left her with Theobald. The Scion of Fire. Ionna had relayed the news of her transfer to her father, and found her own worries echoed. Theobald had proven himself, both over his long military career and his shorter, yet engaged Scionhood, to be a dangerous man. To some—no doubt to most of her homeland—this would be seen as a great boon, but to the Ranis, he was proof their vigilance was required.

Ionna didn’t love it when her views on people aligned with her father’s, She liked to think she was more generous, more forgiving, and when she chose to see the potential good in people, she liked to think she was correct more than she wasn’t. But with Theobald, she worried. Navigating this partnership without getting scorched would be difficult enough, to say nothing of trying to sway him towards a gentler attitude.

Not that she wasn’t going to try.

Arriving at Lucania Castle—had he named it after himself?—Ionna was pleased to see it was a more modest abode. At least, modest insofar as royalty could manage. She carried with her another small box of cookies, which had once again required a slight delay at their security screening. She’d whipped up more or less the same medley; chocolate chip for Dom, sugar for Rosemary, with the addition of a few triple-chocolate-chunk’s for Hollyhock. Naturally, there was already plenty of food spread out, so, rather than make another announcement, she instead slid her box of sweets in alongside the rest.

They weren’t free, of course. A little note attached to the box read: “Help yourself! 1 cookie = 1 compliment to your Scion / Templar :)”

That done, she wasted no time in grabbing herself a plate. With such a busy day, she hadn’t had time to eat after her morning exercise, and she worried if she waited much longer, the rumbling of her stomach might shatter whatever deafening spell surrounded the meeting room. She’d just have to be careful not to get any crumbs or stains on her uniform. As nice as it was to see friendly, familiar faces, now that they were all together again she knew Dame Irina could be lurking around any corner.

Amygdala Circuit

For a moment, Tillie worried her hearing had gone. Surely, she thought, Quinnlash Loughvein wasn’t asking her for lessons. Why would anyone want to learn from her? Moreover, what did she have to teach anyone? Teaching was…well, she’d been told often and firmly how inane her ramblings were, and judging by her own experiences as a student, that was unideal for a teacher. She didn’t know if she could explain how to make a sandwich simply, how on earth could she possibly convey the field of modiology in a way that was at once palatable and, importantly, not annoying. Impossible, surely.

Then again, if there was ever a reason to find a way…

Tillie beamed, releasing a squeal high-pitched enough to alert the dogs down on Illun. “Ohmigosh yes! Uhm! I mean! Absolutely I can, totally, yes—ma’am. I’d love to, that’d be awesome. I could, well, no I don’t have a real lunch break for the next few days. Actually I’ll probably be stuck here ‘til after dinner—but! Uhm! After that, if you want, we could meet up, I could explain some of the things we’re looking at.”

Maybe that was better. Rather than just vomit modiology at her, she could focus on Ablaze, and work backwards from there. It wouldn’t be the most comprehensive syllabus, but Quinn was right; it couldn’t hurt if pilots understood the actual mechanics behind their profession a little better.

“We couldn’t really have it in the labs, the sorta bolt everything shut after dark, and I think if we tried to meet on the shop levels you might get swarmed,” she giggled. She’d already heard stories about how excited everyone was to have Ablaze’s pilot here. “My room’s too small, and I’m not really unpacked yet anyway. Oh! I know there’s a curfew for you guys, but maybe we could meet in the dorms, and I could just slip on out before then!

“Uhm! Oh gosh, I mean—I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to assume. We don’t have to do it tonight if you don’t want to. I was just sorta, y’know, ugh, new environment and all that. Has me a bit frazzled. Seeing a friendly face is just kinda calming.”