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Daybreak:Volume 5 Chapter 3

2026-02-17T21:41:27Z

Aorii:

===Chapter 3 - An Eccentric Royal Duo===

''"The Gaetane dynasty was established by Charles the Bold, leader of the coalition that won the Lotharin Independence War and the first sovereign of the Empire. A man trapped in political union his entire life, he was unable to marry his lover and close ally, Queen Gwendolen of Ceredigion. As a result, he decreed to his descendants that the Imperial family should never again marry for shortsighted political gains. Instead, priority was given to create secure and loving families which fostered the best conditions for raising healthy and capable heirs.''

''"This became known as the 'Gaetane Legacy'."''

- Abbot Gregory Froissart de Saint-Hilaire, ''Geoffroi the Great: The Brilliance Who Ended in Tragedy''

"How was the feast and dance last night?"

Kaede asked as she followed Pascal through the halls of Oriflamme Castle while Cecylia and Laetitia trailed behind her. The soothing melody of a harpsichord and a viol continued to resound through the air, which bestowed an atmosphere of serenity upon the castle that reminded her of a museum.

The fortress was fairly simple for being the residence of an imperial family. Its walls and floors were marbled and partially carpeted. However, its furnishings and chandeliers were by no means extravagant. Its hallways were mostly divided by simple mahogany doors that were occasionally guarded by pairs of armigers. Kaede had certainly visited plenty of other estates in Rhin-Lotharingie which showed more wealth and pomposity.

"There was not much dancing," Pascal answered with a shrug. "Everyone was too anxious and mostly wanted to discuss wartime politics."

"Still, Her Highness was disappointed that you couldn't attend," Cecylia giggled. "She even prepared matching dresses for you and Vivienne."

''That's exactly why I didn't come back early,'' Kaede almost groaned.

''Well, one of the reasons,'' she admitted as she also simply didn't want to attend a social gathering full of people she didn't know -- especially when many of them were likely to look down upon her.

The four then strode across one of the massive landscape-style paintings distributed across the marbled walls. It was these artworks which truly distinguished the Oriflamme Castle from other estates in Rhin-Lotharingie. Each canvas had a frame as wide as a dining room and ran from hip-high to near the ceiling. Almost every artwork depicted a scene with its focus on an individual with a blue-feathered phoenix. And they served to both romanticize and memorialize the heroes of Rhin-Lotharingie since the Empire's founding.

''The aura of nationalism here is almost stifling...''

Kaede had always felt uneasy with the excessive glorification of the past. To her, history was meant to be studied with truthful and brutal honesty -- to uncover its lessons and grasp the consequences of long-forgotten choices. Only then could individuals, cultures, and nations alike learn from past mistakes, refine their triumphs into wisdom, and shape a better tomorrow for their people. For history offered nothing less than the collective record of people succeeding and failing, with world-altering implications, for the past thousands of years.

But here, in the 'grand cathedral' of Lotharin nationalism, there were few nuances to how their heroes were illustrated and viewed.

Kaede did understand why, for the Empire and its Lotharin peoples paid dearly in blood for their independence and freedom. Identity was usually built upon narratives, and there were few stories as powerful and as inspiring as those of gallant heroism. It was why every country, both in Hyperion and in her former life, had its 'national myth' -- a romanticized legacy that was often more idealization than fact.

The problem, however, was that when legends took this 'national myth' too far, it often created distortions in people's cultural values and ways of thinking -- such as a certain superpower's claims to its 'indisputable moral righteousness' to police the world.

"Hold up..."

Kaede slowed to a halt before another painting that she had looked upon many times before. Like most of the other artworks found in the Oriflamme Castle, its focus was another paladin -- this time a lean-shouldered, handsome, if somewhat effeminate young man. Clad in mail armor, the paladin sprouted flame-feathered phoenix wings and glowed in a halo of white-blue flames. He flew above the ground with his armigers, leading far ahead of a massive charge of mixed cavalry and heavy, wagon-like chariots.

Meanwhile, displayed on the far side was the 'enemy' painted in ominous grey. The flanks were predominantly light cavalry, with many drawing their recurve bows. However, the center was mostly infantry carrying wooden planks with small iron tubes affixed to them. Interspersed among them were wheeled, wooden platforms that each carried a black, metallic tube. One of them even belched forth flames as the ancient bombard unleashed its shot.

"Is that Leslie the Paladin?" Laetitia asked as the energetic girl rushed up to examine the painting's details with a look of childish wonder.

"Leslie Eachann Barclay of Tollaigh, Voivode of Dvina," Kaede read the label inscribed onto the bottom of the art frame. "You're familiar with Leslie's story, I'm guessing?"

"Who isn't?" Laetitia replied in an awestruck voice as her eyes remained glued to the artwork. "Leslie was a mercenary who journeyed to the Grand Republic of Samara and lent his services to them during the Great Northern War. The Grand Republic remembered his help three centuries later when they aided us during our Independence War. It's a story taught to every Lotharin child through the rhyme ''Leslie's Blessing'', which my grandfather first told me when I was six."

"That's the simplified version, as Leslie actually aided the Grand Republic's predecessor state, the Polisian Federation," Kaede explained. "Nevertheless, this painting is a romanticization of the Second Battle of Desna River, where Leslie led a Polisian cavalry charge against their enemies, the Great Khanate's 'Divine Engine Division'. It's also probably the first and last time a formation which relied on blast powder weapons was used to hold a battle line."

"Why the last?" Laetitia asked as she finally peered at Kaede.

"What do you think happens when a phoenix's aura, which burns the very air around them, makes contact with tightly packed infantry whose pockets are stuffed with blast powder ammunition?" Pascal responded in his typical aristocratic drawl, while the side of his mouth twisted into a lopsided smile.

Meanwhile, Kaede winced as she couldn't help imagining the devastation and carnage inflicted upon those poor soldiers. It didn't matter to her that they were clearly the villains in the painting.

''Thus the battle altered not only Hyperion history, but the very trajectory of military technology in this world,'' the scholar within her thought.

It made her wonder: if the Princess sent her on a journey as she suspected, could she truly secure aid from their allies in the manner Leslie did?

-- The bar seemed impossibly high from where she was standing.

"Speaking of, Laetitia, there's a painting here I think you'd love," Kaede put on another smile before she gestured for the others to follow.

She strolled down the hall and turned left. The four made their way through several more hallways before the petite girl stopped beside another landscape artwork.

"It's whom your grandfather named you after," Kaede beamed. "It's also one of my favorite paintings in the castle."

The artwork centered on a young woman whose long, mint-green hair streamed outward in the billowing breeze. A blue-feathered phoenix rested on her left shoulder, while a kingfisher perched delicately on the fingers of her outstretched right hand. The woman stood among crop fields that blanketed the rolling hills, their lots divided by rows of fruit trees. A clear stream and several ditches ran between the farmlands, feeding into a pond brimming with local wildlife. Meanwhile, several local farmers gathered around with baskets and carts full with harvest, all of them smiling towards her with their cornucopia.

"Laetitia Eulalia de Estrées, the Greenheart Paladin," Pascal read from the label before turning to ask. "I thought she was a hero of the Independence War?"

"She was," Laetitia and Kaede's voices overlapped before the shorter girl gestured for the armiger to take the lead.

"Laetitia was not only an archmage known as the 'River Witch', but also a master of the spear," the bodyguard explained with ecstatic pride. Yet her voice began to dull as she continued: "though her moniker comes from her actions after the war. She journeyed throughout Rhin-Lotharingie to spread the knowledge of Permaculture, which she had learned from the Druids of Ceredigion."

"I have heard of that term before," Pascal commented as his brows rose with curiosity. "Unfortunately, agriculture has never ranked high in my reading. What exactly does it mean?"

"It's short for 'permanent agriculture'," Kaede replied. "It's part of the reason I had invited Gerard to my new village, as he had studied the subject back when both of you were at Alisia Academy.

"The idea is that is that agricultural land shouldn't rely on expensive infrastructure, chemicals, or magic to stay productive," the familiar continued. "Instead, farming communities should be designed for synergy to allow nature to sustain itself through its biological cycles. That means studying the soil, the trees, the wildlife, the weather, the hydrology, ''everything'' to build a holistic understanding. That way we can manage the land without disrupting its nature in a manner that's harmful to our descendants."

"The Lotharins have benefitted significantly from such low-maintenance farming since their Independence War, when much of the Lotharin Heartlands lay depopulated," Cecylia commented. "Based on the data I've seen, even today their permaculture practices have an efficiency nearly matching Weichsel's intensive farming methods."

"That is impressive, when you consider that our homeland has always been blessed by its black soil," Pascal praised as he exchanged a look with his fellow officer from Weichsel.

"It's also an excellent example of nation-building that doesn't have to rely on wars and conflicts," Kaede beamed.

"There is definitely room for identity-building through creation alone," Pascal nodded. "Though I would argue that the process is much slower compared to the unifying power of ''ethnic conflict''. The Lotharins survived centuries of Imperial occupation through their inter-tribal unity against a common foe. Without it, I would not be surprised if their culture had gone extinct."

"That's true," Kaede scowled as she admitted.

"Regardless, I think we have delayed long enough," Pascal said to Kaede. "Sylv is waiting for us on the northeast roof."

"I need to meet with Ambassador Gerhard, so I'll see you all later," Cecylia gave a little wave before she walked off.

Meanwhile, as Pascal trotted ahead to lead the way, Kaede looked back at Laetitia who was still gazing upon her namesake. The Samaran girl didn't understand why Laetitia's earlier excitement had faded to a pensive, almost melancholic look.

"Is something wrong?"

"No, nothing," Laetitia replied, perhaps a tad too quickly, before she also put on a forced smile.

Kaede certainly wasn't convinced. But she also didn't press the matter as she beckoned:

"Let's be going then."

She then scurried after Pascal. And she had just turned around a corner when she heard Laetitia mutter.

"Grandpa, are you sure you gave me the right name?" The armiger spoke in barely more than a whisper. It was difficult to hear even for Kaede's familiar-enhanced senses.

"I've been a failure in almost every role, including as an older sibling. Is there truly any worth to me beyond fighting?"

...

"Give me... one moment..."

Kaede heard Pascal's rough, breathy voice as they neared the top of the spiraling staircase that climbed up to the roof. The girl had intentionally kept close behind him in case he needed support. His leg hadn't been the same ever since he almost died on the field of battle where he earned his notoriety as the ''Dusklord''. Nevertheless, the fact Pascal was able to climb almost four stories by himself was quite an achievement compared to even two months ago.

"Take your time," Kaede stroked his back beneath the illumination of the skylight atop the turret.

The girl briefly closed her eyes to enjoy the music. The serene strains of harpsichord and viol continued to flow through the air. Their harmony resonated with refined notes as the previous song drew to a close. Hardly a moment then passed before an energetic flute began the music anew, with the new instrument taking the lead in a more lively ballad.

Lotharin music was renowned for its rich variety, wide palette of instruments, and intricate layering of simultaneous melodies. Listening closely to the aria, Kaede could tell that the harpsichordist had willingly dropped to a supportive role. Their graceful notes weaved a calming backdrop to the musical duet between an assertive flute and a hesitant viol.

''It's so unlike Vivi to be nervous on her viol,'' Kaede thought.

The melody had never stopped long enough for players to change instruments. This meant it should still be Lady Vivienne who played the viol as Kaede recognized her earlier music. The Samaran girl wasn't sure who the keyboard player was, but it was most likely the Princess as she owned the castle's harpsichord. The question was who could make an accomplished bard like Vivienne nervous, and Kaede's only thought was that the flute player had to be a man.

"All right. I am good now," Pascal said with a calm breath once more.

Meanwhile, Laetitia bounded up the spiral staircase by taking the almost impossibly steep steps near the center column. She quickly arrived at the landing and pushed open the heavy oaken door and held it.

"Thanks," Pascal nodded appreciatively as he made his way out onto the castle's roof.

By the time Kaede emerged, several armigers on the roof were already examining the new arrivals with an alert gaze. Most of them recognized Pascal and Kaede. However, they stared suspiciously at Laetitia with hands over hilts as the latter was fully equipped.

"Laetitia," Kaede said as she pushed back her hair in the strong breeze. "Not to be rude, but please remain over here for now. We don't want any misunderstandings."

"Of course, Milady," Laetitia nodded before she moved to a nearby crenel and leaned against it.

Pascal had walked ahead to a cushioned chair in the middle of the available seating and sat down upon it like he owned the castle. He was the only audience member sitting beneath the hexagonal, greenhouse-like pavilion which hosted the harpsichord.

As Kaede had surmised, it was Sylviane who sat playing the keyboard instrument. The Princess was in her early twenties and of moderate height. Her voluminous, dark-purple hair draped across both of her narrow shoulders, stopping short of her modest chest in front and reaching just beyond her slender waist in the back. Her eyes were large and caring as they carried the color of wisteria flowers. Below them lay a slender nose, fair cheeks, and a pair of peach-pale lips.

Crowned by a silvery-cerulean tiara, the Princess wore what could best be described as a 'battledress'. The outfit hugged her torso and ran down to a wide, sectioned skirt that reached down past her knees. Its fabric was dyed in a gradient from sky-blue to violet, but also came with purple padding and darker leather reinforcing key locations, which included fitting spots and buckles for strapping down armor.

The snowy-haired girl caught the Princess' gaze and the two smiled at one another in greeting.

''She seems to be in a pleasant mood today, political events notwithstanding.''

Kaede considered the dozen sealed amphorae jugs of lithium spring water stored inside the extradimensional storage of her messenger bag. She had brought them from her village for the Princess, as consumed lithium was an effective mood stabilizer.

The petite familiar walked over to Pascal and looked at her master. The young general sat upright in his armchair with his good eye fixated upon his betrothed. His gaze followed her graceful movements on the keyboard with an enchanted look. And as Kaede focused on him, she could sense the faint echo of his adoration over their familiar bond.

It reminded Kaede of how Pascal had first described the Princess to her: ''"I do not believe a girl more beautiful than her could exist."'''

Kaede had always thought that to be an exaggeration. Sylviane was pretty, of course, but it would be a gross exaggeration to call her one of the great beauties of the realm. Nevertheless, the relationship between the imperial couple went back to their childhoods. And without Pascal's and his country of Weichsel's military support, it was doubtful that Sylviane could have won the civil war against her uncle.

The familiar then looked back to the other two musicians who were performing the duet. They stood divided by the grand harpsichord and neither looked at one another as they seemed to communicate through only their notes. Their ballad was surprisingly normal in volume considering how the music could be heard with perfect clarity even from the castle's far side entrance.

Kaede could only chalk this up to Vivienne's magic, which always had the ability to carry sound further than it normally would have gone. She would not be surprised if even most of the city's inhabitants could enjoy the melody.

To the right, King Alistair Aileas Mackay-Martel stood facing his country in the distant north as he led with a lively tune on his flute. The monarch from the Kingdom of Gleann Mòr wore a rich fur cloak draped over his dark-blue gambeson and padded chausses.

The King was youthful and tall, appearing in his late-twenties, but was sixty-four in reality. He had a towering height and broad, muscular shoulders. However, he wasn't exactly a handsome man. His head leaned on the squarish side, his eyes faded blue, and his hair a dull brown. With a rustic smile and a goatee-like fuzz, his face could easily blend in among the crowd.

Opposite him, Lady Vivienne Máiréad de Winter was almost an exact doppelganger of Kaede as she played a glowing viol of transparent crystal with her eyes held closed. The petite girl wore a long silver-white dress with black and lavender highlights and embroidered musical symbols. She had the same build, the same size, and would have had the same height as Kaede if she wasn't always perched on exceptionally high heels. Almost every feature of their bodies appeared identical, from their small noses, soft cheeks, and porcelain-pale cheeks, to thin shoulders, narrow chests, and even the circumference of their corsets -- as the Princess had ordered both of their clothes.

The only notable difference aside from their outfits was that whereas Kaede had snowy-white hair and rose-quartz eyes, Vivienne had a brilliant-blue gaze beneath her long, silver-white hair that, similar to Kaede's, reached past her hips.

Between the three figures was Sylviane's grand harpsichord with three phoenixes perched on top. Hauteclaire, Almace, and Olifant respectively belonged to the Princess, the King, and Lady Vivienne. The birds looked like lean falcons with blue feathers and magnificent, flowing tails decorated by tiny sapphire gems. The three phoenixes varied somewhat in size and their exact shade of blue, though their feathers always grew progressively lighter towards the wings and tail. Meanwhile, their bodies emitted white-blue flames that sent ripples of soothing heat through the surrounding air as though the pavilion was warmed by a bonfire.

''I wonder if phoenixes also enjoy music?'' Kaede thought as two of the birds greeted her with chirps and she waved back.

It felt as though they were expressing solidarity as familiars.

The petite girl stood beside Pascal's armchair, savoring the music as the ballad from the three performers drew to a gentle close.

"Thank you for accompanying me, Lady Vivienne," King Alistair finally turned around to face the girl. However, his eyes only briefly met hers before he glanced down with a dejected smile.

"It was a beautiful song, Your Majesty," the girl replied with a polite curtsy.

"Indeed. I did not know Your Majesty could play so well," Pascal genuinely praised.

Meanwhile, Vivienne turned towards her lookalike with a beaming smile and almost ran up to hug the Samaran girl.

"Kaede!"

"It's good seeing you again too, Vivi," Kaede smiled as she squeezed back.

"Well, it ''is'' customary for every Lotharin man to learn a musical instrument," Alistair answered Pascal with an odd smile. "It's part of our courting ritual -- a man offers serenades to his sweetheart, and is rewarded by her lovely voice in return should he succeed.

''Is that why he looked disheartened?'' Kaede thought as she and her older 'twin' embraced for a long moment before breaking their hug.

After all, it had been clear from their duet that Alistair was performing to Vivienne. And while the latter played her viol back in support, the girl known as the 'Winter Siren' never opened her lips to sing in her angelic voice.

"Has Your Grace never tried to pluck Her Highness' heartstrings?" The King teased.

"Of course I have," Pascal said with an annoyed scowl. "Just not very well."

"Pascal tried, and I do give him credit," Sylviane added agreeably as she stood up from her harpsichord seat. "But... let's just say he doesn't have a feel for music," she said with an amused smile while her fiancé looked ''almost'' sheepish.

"I cannot be a prodigy in everything," Pascal shrugged with a forced smile. "It only makes sense that there are some feats that even I am bad at."

''Humble as always,'' Kaede almost giggled at her sarcastic thought.

In the meantime, the Princess had walked over to a cushioned sofa and sat down in its middle. She then patted the seat on both sides as she beckoned to the two girls:

"Kaede, Vivi, come here."

Vivienne's smile remained sunny and infectious as she grabbed one of Kaede's small hands and led her over to Sylviane. The silver-haired bard all but delivered the snowy-haired Samaran to the Princess before she sat down on the other side.

''Guess it can't hurt to pamper Her Highness a little,'' Kaede thought as she sat down next to the Princess.

"Welcome back, Kaede."

Sylviane greeted as she wrapped one arm around each of the 'twins'. She then pulled Kaede close to her side and leaned her cheek against the silky, snowy-white hair before giving the petite girl a kiss on the head.

"Thank you, Your Highness," Kaede replied as warmly as she could.

It wasn't that she disliked the Princess or felt nervous around her -- at least not right now when Sylviane seemed to be in a good mood. However, it was a little hard to relax when the Princess held her tight and leaned against her side like she was a living hugging pillow.

"Dame Kaede, is it?" King Alistair said as he moved closer and leaned casually against one of the pavilion's stone columns. "I don't think this is the first time we've met."

"Your Majesty." Kaede bowed her head. "It's the first time we've spoken though."

"Yes, I believe so!" The King grinned playfully but without any pretense. "I first saw you in the previous war council several months ago, when you stood behind His Grace," he nodded towards Pascal.

The young general had propped his head on one arm as he gazed leisurely at his betrothed, who stroked his petite familiar's hair with gentle caresses.

"I almost mistook you for Lady Vivienne at first. But I never realized just how uncanny the resemblance was." Alistair's voice rang with astonishment as he stared between the two girls flanking the Princess. His eyes always fell upon her like she was a rare and exotic art piece.

''Please don't look at me like that,'' Kaede averted her eyes as she couldn't help fidgeting in Sylviane's embrace.

The fact she knew the King took a romantic interest in her 'twin' only made Kaede more uncomfortable.

"Alistair," the Princess interjected for her. "You're slobbering."

"Wait, what?" The King broke out of his trance immediately. He wiped his lips to find nothing there, only to look back and see the Princess giggling at him.

"Please don't make me sound like some lecher. Although I guess I was staring too much." The King frowned before bowing his head slightly. "I apologize, dear ladies. I was momentarily possessed by my admiration."

"It's alright," Kaede smiled back. ''He sure is humble for a King.''

"Dame Kaede, if you don't mind me just asking," Alistair tentatively spoke next. "Is it true what the rumors say -- that you're a familiar?"

"Yes, she is ''my'' familiar," Pascal interjected with a proud and possessive grin.

Meanwhile, Kaede simply smiled and nodded.

"Your Grace certainly loves breaking conventions. I didn't even know it was possible to have a person as a familiar," the King frowned as he struggled to accept the reality before him. "But Dame Kaede, you and Vivienne aren't ''actually'' twins as some rumors claim, are you?"

"No. We're not even the same human subspecies," Kaede replied. "Vivi is a Faekissed Winterborn. I'm a Samaran."

Her explanation left the King only more slack-jawed and dumbfounded. Though perhaps the expression looked a little too natural for him.

"I have heard that you Samarans reincarnate across lives," Alistair said after a long break. "So are you like... some version of Lady Vivienne from the past or something? Not an evil twin, I hope?" He added in a clear jest.

Both Vivienne and Sylviane giggled at his remark, while Kaede shook her head with a mirthful smile.

"We Samarans do reincarnate with memories from our past lives. But it's impossible for me to be the reincarnation of someone currently alive," she explained. "I do have memories of another life -- it's where my name Kaede comes from. But I do not share any memories with Vivienne. We're certainly not some sort of timeline-offset copies."

"Then... is the fact you two look alike just... complete coincidence?"

"Not exactly," Pascal answered the King. "I had made some changes to the familiar summoning ritual spell so that I could give it some... specifications."

"Is Your Grace saying... that you had altered the ritual to summon a person, and then cast it with her ''appearance'' in mind?" Alistair asked in disbelief as he didn't think it was even possible.

Every pair of eyes around the pavilion had turned towards Pascal as well. Yet the young general remained tone-deaf as he declared with a proud grin while staring at Kaede:

"Yes. She is sublimely lovely, is she not?"

The bewildered King couldn't even respond as he looked somewhere between being appalled and struggling to pick his jaw off the floor. Even all six of the armigers who stood guard around them looked at the future Prince Consort like he had grown two extra heads.

Meanwhile, Pascal's fiancée sighed even as she pulled a comb from her dress pockets and began brushing Kaede's long snowy-white hair.

"Pascal, you ''really'' lack even the most basic common sense sometimes," the Princess reprimanded as she gently stroked the silky hair with her brush. "Just because I've forgiven you for summoning her, it doesn't mean you should brag about your attraction to your familiar in front of your betrothed."

"But you find her adorable as well," he protested.

At the same time, Kaede kept her silence and closed her eyes as she basked in the soothing feeling of having her hair gently brushed.

''She's really good at this.''

"I'm a girl. I'm allowed to cuddle other girls even after I'm engaged," Sylviane answered with an entitled voice.

"I think your reputation for liking cute girls goes a ''little'' beyond cuddling," Pascal retorted as he sent her a knowing look. "I have seen your spare wardrobe, after all."

''Yeah she can go a little too far,'' Kaede frowned as she had historically been on the receiving end of that 'too far'.

Nevertheless, Pascal's comment made King Alistair snort before the latter hastily suppressed his laughter.

"Your Grace should be thankful that Her Highness, and the girls around her, bring such a pleasant atmosphere that's a sight for sore eyes," he said brightly. "Compared to the brawny clansmen who fight and argue around me all day, I must say that I'm a little envious."

"Yet, those 'brawny clansmen' of yours may be the salvation of our realm," Sylviane remarked as her expression turned serious, even as her hands continued to stroke the comb down Kaede's hair. "I won't lie to you, Alistair -- the situation is desperate, and your kingdom represents the Empire's greatest untapped reserve of strength."

''Since the Caliphate's invasion came too late last year for the Glens to mobilize,'' Kaede thought.

After all, the Kingdom of Gleann Mòr was mostly situated on the slopes and valleys of the North Lotharingie Mountains and the continent's northwestern coast beyond it. The early snow, which had sealed off the passes, made it impossible to move large numbers of people between the Kingdom and the Empire for months.

"I only hope it is enough, Your Highness," the King answered as he stood straight. "We have delayed mobilization due to our own need to plant crops. But the north relies more on pasturing and fishing than farming, which has given us a headstart. The armies of the Glens are marching down the North Lotharingie Mountains in three columns as we speak.

"Nevertheless, it is important that we decide on a strategy tomorrow for the war at large," the King expressed. "My forces have a long road ahead to the southern fronts. It's imperative that they take the right route from the start."

"I agree," Pascal nodded. "Time is of the essence, and their march will take weeks."

"However, before we can decide on a national war strategy tomorrow, I would like to decide on a course between us today," Sylviane proposed. "That way, regardless of who supports what during the war council tomorrow, the five of us here can push the agenda in one unified direction. And Pascal already has a war plan that he'd like to propose."

"''Sanctum Veil.''"

Pascal stood before his betrothed even finished and cast a spell over the nearby area. A wave of magic swept out to create an invisible barrier that would prevent any eavesdropping. Those outside its radius would hear nothing but innocuous conversations -- like those about food, clothing, and the weather.

"Sounds swell to me!" Alistair said before he chuckled. "And I'll be ready to bark and bite at our opponents as usual, so you can focus on settling a deal."

It reminded Kaede of the many meanings behind Alistair's nickname, the 'Hound King'.

<nowiki>----- * * * -----</nowiki>

"Sylviane, I really appreciate you setting up the opportunity today for me to perform to Vivienne."

The Princess listened to the King speak in the salon room that the two had retreated to for a private conversation. Nevertheless, Sylviane could hear the discouragement in Alistair's voice before he trailed off into a sigh.

"Don't feel bad, Alistair," she said as he sat down on an armchair facing her. "As I've told you before, Vivienne has androphobia due to what happened to her in the past. Her deeds in battle might make her seem a brave and outgoing girl, but she's actually more cautious and skittish than most people realize. The fact her music stopped being nervous towards the end of today's performance was a good sign that she's warming up to you.

"I'll arrange more chances for you two to spend time together in the future." The Princess' smile helped bring back a positive expression from the King.

"Thanks, I appreciate that. Though... are you sure you're fine with the prospect of me taking such a cute girl off your hands?" He joked.

It brought a giggle to Sylviane's lips before the Princess replied:

"I adore Vivienne. I don't deny it would sadden me if she moved away," she answered. "But I'm also her dearest friend. I want her to live a bountiful life despite what fate has saddled her with. And I trust you," she then looked intently at Alistair. "Not merely as a political ally, but also as a close friend and a sterling suitor for her."

"I'm honored that you think so highly of me, given my reputation for visiting brothels and bathhouses," the King responded with a chuckle as he picked up a cup of mint tea from the table between them.

"You might be a randy ex-mercenary captain. But I know you're also loyal to your men, and they in turn to you," the Princess remarked. "I have no doubt that would extend to a would-be wife as well."

"And of course, ''you'' get to place a close friend of yours, an asset so to speak, to tie me as an ally to the Imperial crown." The King raised his eyebrows before he playfully added: "Don't think that I haven't noticed that you've picked up your father's playbook. I may be good at ''looking'' stupid, but even this old dog can still learn a thing or two."

"Stop it, Alistair, you're not even that old!" Sylviane giggled.

Sure, the King might be thrice her age, and more than double that of Vivienne's. But most mages didn't marry until at least their forties, which meant Alistair was still in his 'late prime'.

"And I shan't deny that I'd like to place someone new in my old role," she then added.

The Princess thought back to how her late father had sent her twelve-year-old self to attend Alistair's coronation. He even gave her a gift that she was to give Alistair in private, alongside a lecture that she was to treat the 'bastard king' with ''genuine courtesy and respect''. It had opened the door for conversation between the newly declared Crown Princess of the Empire and the newly crowned King of the Glens, both of whom had felt constantly manipulated by the court and unsuited to their new roles.

"Though, speaking of Vivienne," Alistair said. "Does His Grace know about Vivienne's curse?"

"No," Sylviane shook her head. "You're the only one whom I've ever told about the curse she bears. It's not exactly information that should be openly shared. Though I think Vivi might have told Kaede about it."

"Wouldn't Kaede tell Pascal?" Alistair then asked. "She's his familiar after all."

"Kaede knows when to keep a secret," Sylviane confidently replied. "And their familiar bond -- Pascal told me he can feel her emotions just like a regular familiar. But he cannot actually read her thoughts. And while he can use her eyes and ears as a master could with normal familiars, he has to ask her for permission first."

''Though it's more like he promised to ask her for permission first,'' Sylviane thought.

Nevertheless, she didn't need to explain to Alistair that when it came to matters like these, she believed Pascal was as good as his word.

"Well, that's... comforting," the King exhaled a sigh before his voice only grew more sarcastic. "Because Holy Father knows I wasn't at all disturbed by the fact he practically ''copied'' Vivienne..."

Sylviane's smile turned wry as she thought back to her own initial reaction towards Pascal's actions. She didn't speak to him for a month after he first told her about Kaede.

"I do know what you mean," she nodded with a faint sigh. "Nevertheless, I trust Pascal. His actions often come from a lack of consideration, but not a lack of loyalty."

"No. And I certainly don't mean to speak ill of him," Alistair insisted. "Not when he has bet and paid so much to help you retake the throne from your traitorous uncle. Nevertheless, if he had known about the curse beforehand, it would have shifted his actions from... disturbingly creepy, to 'someone please lock this man in the confessional'."

Sylviane couldn't help but laugh in response.

"Are you saying that there ''aren't'' millions of men who would prefer an adorable girl like Vivi, who comes packaged with a curse that enforces her honesty and encourages her obedience?"

"Those men ''all'' need the confessional," Alistair remarked in an exaggerated voice before he drank from his tea.

"I don't even think it's limited to men," Sylviane then continued. "Kaede once told me a story from her world -- I guess it would be the world of her past life -- that when a certain famous empress gathered representatives from all social classes and ethnicities and asked them all what right they would most like to have. The answer she received was 'the right to own slaves'."

Alistair almost sprayed the tea that he was drinking out at that moment. It led to a series of choking coughs instead.

"Is that what they mean by... 'freedom for the pike is death for the minnows?'" He responded a moment later.

"Certainly a part of it," Sylviane said as she gracefully reached down to her own tea and brought it elegantly to her chest. "We humans are simply obsessed with a desire to maintain control of our lives by controlling others. And it's especially the case when we already find certain other people desirable -- be it for their beauty, their traits, or even just their labor -- whom we then wish to include in our lives, for reasons both benign and exploitative."

''Just as I had sought to control Kaede since Pascal summoned her,'' the Princess thought to herself. ''And I almost ruined our relationship.''

Regardless, her words left Alistair silent and brooding for a minute as the King reflected with a deep scowl and a rather uncomfortable look.

"I do hope I'm not that way with Lady Vivienne," he muttered in a quiet voice.

"I'll be sure to remind you when you toe the line," Sylviane smiled back.

"That's reassuring to hear," Alistair beamed before he changed the topic again. "And with that last story... Do Samarans really reincarnate then? And they remember everything from their past lives?" He asked with a still-incredulous gaze. "I had briefly conversed with a Samaran trade captain on the topic. But I wasn't sure how much to believe him."

"Well, I certainly believe Kaede," Sylviane answered. "According to what she has told me, a Samaran doesn't remember ''everything''. But she does remember her life growing up in two countries called 'Japan' and 'Russia' on a world called 'Earth'."

"As in, the ground?" Alistair raised an eyebrow before he scoffed in good humor. "How original."

Sylviane simply laughed.

"What would we call our world then, had Hyperion the Dragonlord not died for our sins?"

Her question made the King scratch his goatee-like fuzz for a long moment. He then looked at Sylviane in the eye as wagged his eyebrows as he declared:

"Primrose Path?"

It brought another round of soft laughter to the Princess' lips.

===Author's History Notes===

'Indispensable moral righteousness' to police the world - as the ending revelation about Kaede shows, this actually refers to 'America World Police' and the US national myths of the 'City upon a Hill' and the 'indispensable nation'. The first is the 17th century Puritan religious belief that American colonies were founded to serve as moral exemplars to the world, thus justifying anything America did to convert others. The second is the post-WW2 nationalistic rhetoric that the world can't manage itself without America doing it for them.

Leslie Eachann Barclay of Tollaigh - Based on Alexander Leslie of Auchintoul, a Scottish nobleman and mercenary who fought for the Russians during the 17th century, eventually rising to Voivode (warlord) of Smolensk. His surname is a reference to Barclay de Tolly, a branch of the Scottish Barclay Clan of Tollaigh who became members of the Russian nobility thanks to their services to Imperial Russia -- most famously Prince Michael Andreas Barclay de Tolly, commander of Russian forces during the start of Napoleon's invasion of Russia.

Divine Engine Division - One of the three elite Imperial divisions of Ming dynasty China in the late 14th century. The formation was created to specialize in gunpowder warfare and to experiment with new weapons and tactics. It pioneered the famous rotating ranks volley fire at least a century prior to the Dutch and Japanese.

Permaculture - Based on the modern Permaculture movement, which promotes ecological and self-sustaining agricultural management based on traditional wisdom and environmental understanding.

'They all asked for the 'right to own slaves<nowiki>''</nowiki> - Sylviane is generalizing the story of when Catherine the Great of Russia wrote the Nakaz (lit: instruction), which expressed her beliefs on Enlightened Absolutism based on the principles of freedom of thought and speech and equality of all classes before the law. However, when she summoned delegates from various ethnicities and social classes (minus serfs/clergy) for her new legal reform based on it, the biggest item that they could all agree on wanting was the right to own serfs.

'Freedom for the pike is death for the minnows' - Quote by Isaiah Berlin in ''The Two Concepts of Liberty'', which is used to describe the concept of Negative Liberty.

Daybreak:Volume 5 Chapter 3

2026-02-17T20:49:04Z

Aorii:

===Chapter 3 - An Eccentric Royal Duo===

''"The Gaetane dynasty was established by Charles the Bold, leader of the coalition that won the Lotharin Independence War and the first sovereign of the Empire. A man trapped in political union his entire life, he was unable to marry his lover and close ally, Queen Gwendolen of Ceredigion. As a result, he decreed to his descendants that the Imperial family should never again marry for shortsighted political gains. Instead, priority was given to create secure and loving families which fostered the best conditions for raising healthy and capable heirs.''

''"This became known as the 'Gaetane Legacy'."''

- Abbot Gregory Froissart de Saint-Hilaire, ''Geoffroi the Great: The Brilliance Who Ended in Tragedy''

"How was the feast and dance last night?"

Kaede asked as she followed Pascal through the halls of Oriflamme Castle while Cecylia and Laetitia trailed behind her. The soothing melody of a harpsichord and a viol continued to resound through the air, which bestowed an atmosphere of serenity upon the castle that reminded her of a museum.

The fortress was fairly simple for being the residence of an imperial family. Its walls and floors were marbled and partially carpeted. However, its furnishings and chandeliers were by no means extravagant. Its hallways were mostly divided by simple mahogany doors that were occasionally guarded by pairs of armigers. Kaede had certainly visited plenty of other estates in Rhin-Lotharingie which showed more wealth and pomposity.

"There was not much dancing," Pascal answered with a shrug. "Everyone was too anxious and mostly wanted to discuss wartime politics."

"Still, Her Highness was disappointed that you couldn't attend," Cecylia giggled. "She even prepared matching dresses for you and Vivienne."

''That's exactly why I didn't come back early,'' Kaede almost groaned.

''Well, one of the reasons,'' she admitted as she also simply didn't want to attend a social gathering full of people she didn't know -- especially when many of them were likely to look down upon her.

The four then strode across one of the massive landscape-style paintings distributed across the marbled walls. It was these artworks which truly distinguished the Oriflamme Castle from other estates in Rhin-Lotharingie. Each canvas had a frame as wide as a dining room and ran from hip-high to near the ceiling. Almost every artwork depicted a scene with its focus on an individual with a blue-feathered phoenix. And they served to both romanticize and memorialize the heroes of Rhin-Lotharingie since the Empire's founding.

''The aura of nationalism here is almost stifling...''

Kaede had always felt uneasy with the excessive glorification of the past. To her, history was meant to be studied with truthful and brutal honesty -- to uncover its lessons and grasp the consequences of long-forgotten choices. Only then could individuals, cultures, and nations alike learn from past mistakes, refine their triumphs into wisdom, and shape a better tomorrow for their people. For history offered nothing less than the collective record of people succeeding and failing, with world-altering implications, for the past thousands of years.

But here, in the 'grand cathedral' of Lotharin nationalism, there were few nuances to how their heroes were illustrated and viewed.

Kaede did understand why, for the Empire and its Lotharin peoples paid dearly in blood for their independence and freedom. Identity was usually built upon narratives, and there were few stories as powerful and as inspiring as those of gallant heroism. It was why every country, both in Hyperion and in her former life, had its 'national myth' -- a romanticized legacy that was often more idealization than fact.

The problem, however, was that when legends took this 'national myth' too far, it often created distortions in people's cultural values and ways of thinking -- such as a certain superpower's claims to its 'indisputable moral righteousness' to police the world.

"Hold up..."

Kaede slowed to a halt before another painting that she had looked upon many times before. Like most of the other artworks found in the Oriflamme Castle, its focus was another paladin -- this time a lean-shouldered, handsome, if somewhat effeminate young man. Clad in mail armor, the paladin sprouted flame-feathered phoenix wings and glowed in a halo of white-blue flames. He flew above the ground with his armigers, leading far ahead of a massive charge of mixed cavalry and heavy, wagon-like chariots.

Meanwhile, displayed on the far side was the 'enemy' painted in ominous grey. The flanks were predominantly light cavalry, with many drawing their recurve bows. However, the center was mostly infantry carrying wooden planks with small iron tubes affixed to them. Interspersed among them were wheeled, wooden platforms that each carried a black, metallic tube. One of them even belched forth flames as the ancient bombard unleashed its shot.

"Is that Leslie the Paladin?" Laetitia asked as the energetic girl rushed up to examine the painting's details with a look of childish wonder.

"Leslie Eachann Barclay of Tollaigh, Voivode of Dvina," Kaede read the label inscribed onto the bottom of the art frame. "You're familiar with Leslie's story, I'm guessing?"

"Who isn't?" Laetitia replied in an awestruck voice as her eyes remained glued to the artwork. "Leslie was a mercenary who journeyed to the Grand Republic of Samara and lent his services to them during the Great Northern War. The Grand Republic remembered his help three centuries later when they aided us during our Independence War. It's a story taught to every Lotharin child through the rhyme ''Leslie's Blessing'', which my grandfather first told me when I was six."

"That's the simplified version, as Leslie actually aided the Grand Republic's predecessor state, the Polisian Federation," Kaede explained. "Nevertheless, this painting is a romanticization of the Second Battle of Desna River, where Leslie led a Polisian cavalry charge against their enemies, the Great Khanate's 'Divine Engine Division'. It's also probably the first and last time a formation which relied on blast powder weapons was used to hold a battle line."

"Why the last?" Laetitia asked as she finally peered at Kaede.

"What do you think happens when a phoenix's aura, which burns the very air around them, makes contact with tightly packed infantry whose pockets are stuffed with blast powder ammunition?" Pascal responded in his typical aristocratic drawl, while the side of his mouth twisted into a lopsided smile.

Meanwhile, Kaede winced as she couldn't help imagining the devastation and carnage inflicted upon those poor soldiers. It didn't matter to her that they were clearly the villains in the painting.

''Thus the battle altered not only Hyperion history, but the very trajectory of military technology in this world,'' the scholar within her thought.

It made her wonder: if the Princess sent her on a journey as she suspected, could she truly secure aid from their allies in the manner Leslie did?

-- The bar seemed impossibly high from where she was standing.

"Speaking of, Laetitia, there's a painting here I think you'd love," Kaede put on another smile before she gestured for the others to follow.

She strolled down the hall and turned left. The four made their way through several more hallways before the petite girl stopped beside another landscape artwork.

"It's whom your grandfather named you after," Kaede beamed. "It's also one of my favorite paintings in the castle."

The artwork centered on a young woman whose long, mint-green hair streamed outward in the billowing breeze. A blue-feathered phoenix rested on her left shoulder, while a kingfisher perched delicately on the fingers of her outstretched right hand. The woman stood among crop fields that blanketed the rolling hills, their lots divided by rows of fruit trees. A clear stream and several ditches ran between the farmlands, feeding into a pond brimming with local wildlife. Meanwhile, several local farmers gathered around with baskets and carts full with harvest, all of them smiling towards her with their cornucopia.

"Laetitia Eulalia de Estrées, the Greenheart Paladin," Pascal read from the label before turning to ask. "I thought she was a hero of the Independence War?"

"She was," Laetitia and Kaede's voices overlapped before the shorter girl gestured for the armiger to take the lead.

"Laetitia was not only an archmage known as the 'River Witch', but also a master of the spear," the bodyguard explained with ecstatic pride. Yet her voice began to dull as she continued: "though her moniker comes from her actions after the war. She journeyed throughout Rhin-Lotharingie to spread the knowledge of Permaculture, which she had learned from the Druids of Ceredigion."

"I have heard of that term before," Pascal commented as his brows rose with curiosity. "Unfortunately, agriculture has never ranked high in my reading. What exactly does it mean?"

"It's short for 'permanent agriculture'," Kaede replied. "It's part of the reason I had invited Gerard to my new village, as he had studied the subject back when both of you were at Alisia Academy.

"The idea is that is that agricultural land shouldn't rely on expensive infrastructure, chemicals, or magic to stay productive," the familiar continued. "Instead, farming communities should be designed for synergy to allow nature to sustain itself through its biological cycles. That means studying the soil, the trees, the wildlife, the weather, the hydrology, ''everything'' to build a holistic understanding. That way we can manage the land without disrupting its nature in a manner that's harmful to our descendants."

"The Lotharins have benefitted significantly from such low-maintenance farming since their Independence War, when much of the Lotharin Heartlands lay depopulated," Cecylia commented. "Based on the data I've seen, even today their permaculture practices have an efficiency nearly matching Weichsel's intensive farming methods."

"That is impressive, when you consider that our homeland has always been blessed by its black soil," Pascal praised as he exchanged a look with his fellow officer from Weichsel.

"It's also an excellent example of nation-building that doesn't have to rely on wars and conflicts," Kaede beamed.

"There is definitely room for identity-building through creation alone," Pascal nodded. "Though I would argue that the process is much slower compared to the unifying power of ''ethnic conflict''. The Lotharins survived centuries of Imperial occupation through their inter-tribal unity against a common foe. Without it, I would not be surprised if their culture had gone extinct."

"That's true," Kaede scowled as she admitted.

"Regardless, I think we have delayed long enough," Pascal said to Kaede. "Sylv is waiting for us on the northeast roof."

"I need to meet with Ambassador Gerhard, so I'll see you all later," Cecylia gave a little wave before she walked off.

Meanwhile, as Pascal trotted ahead to lead the way, Kaede looked back at Laetitia who was still gazing upon her namesake. The Samaran girl didn't understand why Laetitia's earlier excitement had faded to a pensive, almost melancholic look.

"Is something wrong?"

"No, nothing," Laetitia replied, perhaps a tad too quickly, before she also put on a forced smile.

Kaede certainly wasn't convinced. But she also didn't press the matter as she beckoned:

"Let's be going then."

She then scurried after Pascal. And she had just turned around a corner when she heard Laetitia mutter.

"Grandpa, are you sure you gave me the right name?" The armiger spoke in barely more than a whisper. It was difficult to hear even for Kaede's familiar-enhanced senses.

"I've been a failure in almost every role, including as an older sibling. Is there truly any worth to me beyond fighting?"

...

"Give me... one moment..."

Kaede heard Pascal's rough, breathy voice as they neared the top of the spiraling staircase that climbed up to the roof. The girl had intentionally kept close behind him in case he needed support. His leg hadn't been the same ever since he almost died on the field of battle where he earned his notoriety as the ''Dusklord''. Nevertheless, the fact Pascal was able to climb almost four stories by himself was quite an achievement compared to even two months ago.

"Take your time," Kaede stroked his back beneath the illumination of the skylight atop the turret.

The girl briefly closed her eyes to enjoy the music. The serene strains of harpsichord and viol continued to flow through the air. Their harmony resonated with refined notes as the previous song drew to a close. Hardly a moment then passed before an energetic flute began the music anew, with the new instrument taking the lead in a more lively ballad.

Lotharin music was renowned for its rich variety, wide palette of instruments, and intricate layering of simultaneous melodies. Listening closely to the aria, Kaede could tell that the harpsichordist had willingly dropped to a supportive role. Their graceful notes weaved a calming backdrop to the musical duet between an assertive flute and a hesitant viol.

''It's so unlike Vivi to be nervous on her viol,'' Kaede thought.

The melody had never stopped long enough for players to change instruments. This meant it should still be Lady Vivienne who played the viol as Kaede recognized her earlier music. The Samaran girl wasn't sure who the keyboard player was, but it was most likely the Princess as she owned the castle's harpsichord. The question was who could make an accomplished bard like Vivienne nervous, and Kaede's only thought was that the flute player had to be a man.

"All right. I am good now," Pascal said with a calm breath once more.

Meanwhile, Laetitia bounded up the spiral staircase by taking the almost impossibly steep steps near the center column. She quickly arrived at the landing and pushed open the heavy oaken door and held it.

"Thanks," Pascal nodded appreciatively as he made his way out onto the castle's roof.

By the time Kaede emerged, several armigers on the roof were already examining the new arrivals with an alert gaze. Most of them recognized Pascal and Kaede. However, they stared suspiciously at Laetitia with hands over hilts as the latter was fully equipped.

"Laetitia," Kaede said as she pushed back her hair in the strong breeze. "Not to be rude, but please remain over here for now. We don't want any misunderstandings."

"Of course, Milady," Laetitia nodded before she moved to a nearby crenel and leaned against it.

Pascal had walked ahead to a cushioned chair in the middle of the available seating and sat down upon it like he owned the castle. He was the only audience member sitting beneath the hexagonal, greenhouse-like pavilion which hosted the harpsichord.

As Kaede had surmised, it was Sylviane who sat playing the keyboard instrument. The Princess was in her early twenties and of moderate height. Her voluminous, dark-purple hair draped across both of her narrow shoulders, stopping short of her modest chest in front and reaching just beyond her slender waist in the back. Her eyes were large and caring as they carried the color of wisteria flowers. Below them lay a slender nose, fair cheeks, and a pair of peach-pale lips.

Crowned by a silvery-cerulean tiara, the Princess wore what could best be described as a 'battledress'. The outfit hugged her torso and ran down to a wide, sectioned skirt that reached down past her knees. Its fabric was dyed in a gradient from sky-blue to violet, but also came with purple padding and darker leather reinforcing key locations, which included fitting spots and buckles for strapping down armor.

The snowy-haired girl caught the Princess' gaze and the two smiled at one another in greeting.

''She seems to be in a pleasant mood today, political events notwithstanding.''

Kaede considered the dozen sealed amphorae jugs of lithium spring water stored inside the extradimensional storage of her messenger bag. She had brought them from her village for the Princess, as consumed lithium was an effective mood stabilizer.

The petite familiar walked over to Pascal and looked at her master. The young general sat upright in his armchair with his good eye fixated upon his betrothed. His gaze followed her graceful movements on the keyboard with an enchanted look. And as Kaede focused on him, she could sense the faint echo of his adoration over their familiar bond.

It reminded Kaede of how Pascal had first described the Princess to her: ''"I do not believe a girl more beautiful than her could exist."'''

Kaede had always thought that to be an exaggeration. Sylviane was pretty, of course, but it would be a gross exaggeration to call her one of the great beauties of the realm. Nevertheless, the relationship between the imperial couple went back to their childhoods. And without Pascal's and his country of Weichsel's military support, it was doubtful that Sylviane could have won the civil war against her uncle.

The familiar then looked back to the other two musicians who were performing the duet. They stood divided by the grand harpsichord and neither looked at one another as they seemed to communicate through only their notes. Their ballad was surprisingly normal in volume considering how the music could be heard with perfect clarity even from the castle's far side entrance.

Kaede could only chalk this up to Vivienne's magic, which always had the ability to carry sound further than it normally would have gone. She would not be surprised if even most of the city's inhabitants could enjoy the melody.

To the right, King Alistair Aileas Mackay-Martel stood facing his country in the distant north as he led with a lively tune on his flute. The monarch from the Kingdom of Gleann Mòr wore a rich fur cloak draped over his dark-blue gambeson and padded chausses.

The King was youthful and tall, appearing in his late-twenties, but was sixty-four in reality. He had a towering height and broad, muscular shoulders. However, he wasn't exactly a handsome man. His head leaned on the squarish side, his eyes faded blue, and his hair a dull brown. With a rustic smile and a goatee-like fuzz, his face could easily blend in among the crowd.

Opposite him, Lady Vivienne Máiréad de Winter was almost an exact doppelganger of Kaede as she played a glowing viol of transparent crystal with her eyes held closed. The petite girl wore a long silver-white dress with black and lavender highlights and embroidered musical symbols. She had the same build, the same size, and would have had the same height as Kaede if she wasn't always perched on exceptionally high heels. Almost every feature of their bodies appeared identical, from their small noses, soft cheeks, and porcelain-pale cheeks, to thin shoulders, narrow chests, and even the circumference of their corsets -- as the Princess had ordered both of their clothes.

The only notable difference aside from their outfits was that whereas Kaede had snowy-white hair and rose-quartz eyes, Vivienne had a brilliant-blue gaze beneath her long, silver-white hair that, similar to Kaede's, reached past her hips.

Between the three figures was Sylviane's grand harpsichord with three phoenixes perched on top. Hauteclaire, Almace, and Olifant respectively belonged to the Princess, the King, and Lady Vivienne. The birds looked like lean falcons with blue feathers and magnificent, flowing tails decorated by tiny sapphire gems. The three phoenixes varied somewhat in size and their exact shade of blue, though their feathers always grew progressively lighter towards the wings and tail. Meanwhile, their bodies emitted white-blue flames that sent ripples of soothing heat through the surrounding air as though the pavilion was warmed by a bonfire.

''I wonder if phoenixes also enjoy music?'' Kaede thought as two of the birds greeted her with chirps and she waved back.

It felt as though they were expressing solidarity as familiars.

The petite girl stood beside Pascal's armchair, savoring the music as the ballad from the three performers drew to a gentle close.

"Thank you for accompanying me, Lady Vivienne," King Alistair finally turned around to face the girl. However, his eyes only briefly met hers before he glanced down with a dejected smile.

"It was a beautiful song, Your Majesty," the girl replied with a polite curtsy.

"Indeed. I did not know Your Majesty could play so well," Pascal genuinely praised.

Meanwhile, Vivienne turned towards her lookalike with a beaming smile and almost ran up to hug the Samaran girl.

"Kaede!"

"It's good seeing you again too, Vivi," Kaede smiled as she squeezed back.

"Well, it ''is'' customary for every Lotharin man to learn a musical instrument," Alistair answered Pascal with an odd smile. "It's part of our courting ritual -- a man offers serenades to his sweetheart, and is rewarded by her lovely voice in return should he succeed.

''Is that why he looked disheartened?'' Kaede thought as she and her older 'twin' embraced for a long moment before breaking their hug.

After all, it had been clear from their duet that Alistair was performing to Vivienne. And while the latter played her viol back in support, the girl known as the 'Winter Siren' never opened her lips to sing in her angelic voice.

"Has Your Grace never tried to pluck Her Highness' heartstrings?" The King teased.

"Of course I have," Pascal said with an annoyed scowl. "Just not very well."

"Pascal tried, and I do give him credit," Sylviane added agreeably as she stood up from her harpsichord seat. "But... let's just say he doesn't have a feel for music," she said with an amused smile while her fiancé looked ''almost'' sheepish.

"I cannot be a prodigy in everything," Pascal shrugged with a forced smile. "It only makes sense that there are some feats that even I am bad at."

''Humble as always,'' Kaede almost giggled at her sarcastic thought.

In the meantime, the Princess had walked over to a cushioned sofa and sat down in its middle. She then patted the seat on both sides as she beckoned to the two girls:

"Kaede, Vivi, come here."

Vivienne's smile remained sunny and infectious as she grabbed one of Kaede's small hands and led her over to Sylviane. The silver-haired bard all but delivered the snowy-haired Samaran to the Princess before she sat down on the other side.

''Guess it can't hurt to pamper Her Highness a little,'' Kaede thought as she sat down next to the Princess.

"Welcome back, Kaede."

Sylviane greeted as she wrapped one arm around each of the 'twins'. She then pulled Kaede close to her side and leaned her cheek against the silky, snowy-white hair before giving the petite girl a kiss on the head.

"Thank you, Your Highness," Kaede replied as warmly as she could.

It wasn't that she disliked the Princess or felt nervous around her -- at least not right now when Sylviane seemed to be in a good mood. However, it was a little hard to relax when the Princess held her tight and leaned against her side like she was a living hugging pillow.

"Dame Kaede, is it?" King Alistair said as he moved closer and leaned casually against one of the pavilion's stone columns. "I don't think this is the first time we've met."

"Your Majesty." Kaede bowed her head. "It's the first time we've spoken though."

"Yes, I believe so!" The King grinned playfully but without any pretense. "I first saw you in the previous war council several months ago, when you stood behind His Grace," he nodded towards Pascal.

The young general had propped his head on one arm as he gazed leisurely at his betrothed, who stroked his petite familiar's hair with gentle caresses.

"I almost mistook you for Lady Vivienne at first. But I never realized just how uncanny the resemblance was." Alistair's voice rang with astonishment as he stared between the two girls flanking the Princess. His eyes always fell upon her like she was a rare and exotic art piece.

''Please don't look at me like that,'' Kaede averted her eyes as she couldn't help fidgeting in Sylviane's embrace.

The fact she knew the King took a romantic interest in her 'twin' only made Kaede more uncomfortable.

"Alistair," the Princess interjected for her. "You're slobbering."

"Wait, what?" The King broke out of his trance immediately. He wiped his lips to find nothing there, only to look back and see the Princess giggling at him.

"Please don't make me sound like some lecher. Although I guess I was staring too much." The King frowned before bowing his head slightly. "I apologize, dear ladies. I was momentarily possessed by my admiration."

"It's alright," Kaede smiled back. ''He sure is humble for a King.''

"Dame Kaede, if you don't mind me just asking," Alistair tentatively spoke next. "Is it true what the rumors say -- that you're a familiar?"

"Yes, she is ''my'' familiar," Pascal interjected with a proud and possessive grin.

Meanwhile, Kaede simply smiled and nodded.

"Your Grace certainly loves breaking conventions. I didn't even know it was possible to have a person as a familiar," the King frowned as he struggled to accept the reality before him. "But Dame Kaede, you and Vivienne aren't ''actually'' twins as some rumors claim, are you?"

"No. We're not even the same human subspecies," Kaede replied. "Vivi is a Faekissed Winterborn. I'm a Samaran."

Her explanation left the King only more slack-jawed and dumbfounded. Though perhaps the expression looked a little too natural for him.

"I have heard that you Samarans reincarnate across lives," Alistair said after a long break. "So are you like... some version of Lady Vivienne from the past or something? Not an evil twin, I hope?" He added in a clear jest.

Both Vivienne and Sylviane giggled at his remark, while Kaede shook her head with a mirthful smile.

"We Samarans do reincarnate with memories from our past lives. But it's impossible for me to be the reincarnation of someone currently alive," she explained. "I do have memories of another life -- it's where my name Kaede comes from. But I do not share any memories with Vivienne. We're certainly not some sort of timeline-offset copies."

"Then... is the fact you two look alike just... complete coincidence?"

"Not exactly," Pascal answered the King. "I had made some changes to the familiar summoning ritual spell so that I could give it some... specifications."

"Is Your Grace saying... that you had altered the ritual to summon a person, and then cast it with her ''appearance'' in mind?" Alistair asked in disbelief as he didn't think it was even possible.

Every pair of eyes around the pavilion had turned towards Pascal as well. Yet the young general remained tone-deaf as he declared with a proud grin while staring at Kaede:

"Yes. She is sublimely lovely, is she not?"

The bewildered King couldn't even respond as he looked somewhere between being appalled and struggling to pick his jaw off the floor. Even all six of the armigers who stood guard around them looked at the future Prince Consort like he had grown two extra heads.

Meanwhile, Pascal's fiancée sighed even as she pulled a comb from her dress pockets and began brushing Kaede's long snowy-white hair.

"Pascal, you ''really'' lack even the most basic common sense sometimes," the Princess reprimanded as she gently stroked the silky hair with her brush. "Just because I've forgiven you for summoning her, it doesn't mean you should brag about your attraction to your familiar in front of your betrothed."

"But you find her adorable as well," he protested.

At the same time, Kaede kept her silence and closed her eyes as she basked in the soothing feeling of having her hair gently brushed.

''She's really good at this.''

"I'm a girl. I'm allowed to cuddle other girls even after I'm engaged," Sylviane answered with an entitled voice.

"I think your reputation for liking cute girls goes a ''little'' beyond cuddling," Pascal retorted as he sent her a knowing look. "I have seen your spare wardrobe, after all."

''Yeah she can go a little overboard,'' Kaede frowned as she was often on the receiving end of that 'overboard'.

Nevertheless, Pascal's comment made King Alistair snort before the latter hastily suppressed his laughter.

"Your Grace should be thankful that Her Highness, and the girls around her, bring such a pleasant atmosphere that's a sight for sore eyes," he said brightly. "Compared to the brawny clansmen who fight and argue around me all day, I must say that I'm a little envious."

"Yet, those 'brawny clansmen' of yours may be the salvation of our realm," Sylviane remarked as her expression turned serious, even as her hands continued to stroke the comb down Kaede's hair. "I won't lie to you, Alistair -- the situation is desperate, and your kingdom represents the Empire's greatest untapped reserve of strength."

''Since the Caliphate's invasion came too late last year for the Glens to mobilize,'' Kaede thought.

After all, the Kingdom of Gleann Mòr was mostly situated on the slopes and valleys of the North Lotharingie Mountains and the continent's northwestern coast beyond it. The early snow, which had sealed off the passes, made it impossible to move large numbers of people between the Kingdom and the Empire for months.

"I only hope it is enough, Your Highness," the King answered as he stood straight. "We have delayed mobilization due to our own need to plant crops. But the north relies more on pasturing and fishing than farming, which has given us a headstart. The armies of the Glens are marching down the North Lotharingie Mountains in three columns as we speak.

"Nevertheless, it is important that we decide on a strategy tomorrow for the war at large," the King expressed. "My forces have a long road ahead to the southern fronts. It's imperative that they take the right route from the start."

"I agree," Pascal nodded. "Time is of the essence, and their march will take weeks."

"However, before we can decide on a national war strategy tomorrow, I would like to decide on a course between us today," Sylviane proposed. "That way, regardless of who supports what during the war council tomorrow, the five of us here can push the agenda in one unified direction. And Pascal already has a war plan that he'd like to propose."

"''Sanctum Veil.''"

Pascal stood before his betrothed even finished and cast a spell over the nearby area. A wave of magic swept out to create an invisible barrier that would prevent any eavesdropping. Those outside its radius would hear nothing but innocuous conversations -- like those about food, clothing, and the weather.

"Sounds swell to me!" Alistair said before he chuckled. "And I'll be ready to bark and bite at our opponents as usual, so you can focus on settling a deal."

It reminded Kaede of the many meanings behind Alistair's nickname, the 'Hound King'.

<nowiki>----- * * * -----</nowiki>

"Sylviane, I really appreciate you setting up the opportunity today for me to perform to Vivienne."

The Princess listened to the King speak in the salon room that the two had retreated to for a private conversation. Nevertheless, Sylviane could hear the discouragement in Alistair's voice before he trailed off into a sigh.

"Don't feel bad, Alistair," she said as he sat down on an armchair facing her. "As I've told you before, Vivienne has androphobia due to what happened to her in the past. Her deeds in battle might make her seem a brave and outgoing girl, but she's actually more cautious and skittish than most people realize. The fact her music stopped being nervous towards the end of today's performance was a good sign that she's warming up to you.

"I'll arrange more chances for you two to spend time together in the future." The Princess' smile helped bring back a positive expression from the King.

"Thanks, I appreciate that. Though... are you sure you're fine with the prospect of me taking such a cute girl off your hands?" He joked.

It brought a giggle to Sylviane's lips before the Princess replied:

"I adore Vivienne. I don't deny it would sadden me if she moved away," she answered. "But I'm also her dearest friend. I want her to live a bountiful life despite what fate has saddled her with. And I trust you," she then looked intently at Alistair. "Not merely as a political ally, but also as a close friend and a sterling suitor for her."

"I'm honored that you think so highly of me, given my reputation for visiting brothels and bathhouses," the King responded with a chuckle as he picked up a cup of mint tea from the table between them.

"You might be a randy ex-mercenary captain. But I know you're also loyal to your men, and they in turn to you," the Princess remarked. "I have no doubt that would extend to a would-be wife as well."

"And of course, ''you'' get to place a close friend of yours, an asset so to speak, to tie me as an ally to the Imperial crown." The King raised his eyebrows before he playfully added: "Don't think that I haven't noticed that you've picked up your father's playbook. I may be good at ''looking'' stupid, but even this old dog can still learn a thing or two."

"Stop it, Alistair, you're not even that old!" Sylviane giggled.

Sure, the King might be thrice her age, and more than double that of Vivienne's. But most mages didn't marry until at least their forties, which meant Alistair was still in his 'late prime'.

"And I shan't deny that I'd like to place someone new in my old role," she then added.

The Princess thought back to how her late father had sent her twelve-year-old self to attend Alistair's coronation. He even gave her a gift that she was to give Alistair in private, alongside a lecture that she was to treat the 'bastard king' with ''genuine courtesy and respect''. It had opened the door for conversation between the newly declared Crown Princess of the Empire and the newly crowned King of the Glens, both of whom had felt constantly manipulated by the court and unsuited to their new roles.

"Though, speaking of Vivienne," Alistair said. "Does His Grace know about Vivienne's curse?"

"No," Sylviane shook her head. "You're the only one whom I've ever told about the curse she bears. It's not exactly information that should be openly shared. Though I think Vivi might have told Kaede about it."

"Wouldn't Kaede tell Pascal?" Alistair then asked. "She's his familiar after all."

"Kaede knows when to keep a secret," Sylviane confidently replied. "And their familiar bond -- Pascal told me he can feel her emotions just like a regular familiar. But he cannot actually read her thoughts. And while he can use her eyes and ears as a master could with normal familiars, he has to ask her for permission first."

''Though it's more like he promised to ask her for permission first,'' Sylviane thought.

Nevertheless, she didn't need to explain to Alistair that when it came to matters like these, she believed Pascal was as good as his word.

"Well, that's... comforting," the King exhaled a sigh before his voice only grew more sarcastic. "Because Holy Father knows I wasn't at all disturbed by the fact he practically ''copied'' Vivienne..."

Sylviane's smile turned wry as she thought back to her own initial reaction towards Pascal's actions. She didn't speak to him for a month after he first told her about Kaede.

"I do know what you mean," she nodded with a faint sigh. "Nevertheless, I trust Pascal. His actions often come from a lack of consideration, but not a lack of loyalty."

"No. And I certainly don't mean to speak ill of him," Alistair insisted. "Not when he has bet and paid so much to help you retake the throne from your traitorous uncle. Nevertheless, if he had known about the curse beforehand, it would have shifted his actions from... disturbingly creepy, to 'someone please lock this man in the confessional'."

Sylviane couldn't help but laugh in response.

"Are you saying that there ''aren't'' millions of men who would prefer an adorable girl like Vivi, who comes packaged with a curse that enforces her honesty and encourages her obedience?"

"Those men ''all'' need the confessional," Alistair remarked in an exaggerated voice before he drank from his tea.

"I don't even think it's limited to men," Sylviane then continued. "Kaede once told me a story from her world -- I guess it would be the world of her past life -- that when a certain famous empress gathered representatives from all social classes and ethnicities and asked them all what right they would most like to have. The answer she received was 'the right to own slaves'."

Alistair almost sprayed the tea that he was drinking out at that moment. It led to a series of choking coughs instead.

"Is that what they mean by... 'freedom for the pike is death for the minnows?'" He responded a moment later.

"Certainly a part of it," Sylviane said as she gracefully reached down to her own tea and brought it elegantly to her chest. "We humans are simply obsessed with a desire to maintain control of our lives by controlling others. And it's especially the case when we already find certain other people desirable -- be it for their beauty, their traits, or even just their labor -- whom we then wish to include in our lives, for reasons both benign and exploitative."

''Just as I had sought to control Kaede since Pascal summoned her,'' the Princess thought to herself. ''Though she has turned out to be a good girl.''

Regardless, her words left Alistair silent and brooding for a minute as the King reflected with a deep scowl and a rather uncomfortable look.

"I do hope I'm not that way with Lady Vivienne," he muttered in a quiet voice.

"I'll be sure to remind you when you toe the line," Sylviane smiled back.

"That's reassuring to hear," Alistair beamed before he changed the topic again. "And with that last story... Do Samarans really reincarnate then? And they remember everything from their past lives?" He asked with a still-incredulous gaze. "I had briefly conversed with a Samaran trade captain on the topic. But I wasn't sure how much to believe him."

"Well, I certainly believe Kaede," Sylviane answered. "According to what she has told me, a Samaran doesn't remember ''everything''. But she does remember her life growing up in two countries called 'Japan' and 'Russia' on a world called 'Earth'."

"As in, the ground?" Alistair raised an eyebrow before he scoffed in good humor. "How original."

Sylviane simply laughed.

"What would we call our world then, had Hyperion the Dragonlord not died for our sins?"

Her question made the King scratch his goatee-like fuzz for a long moment. He then looked at Sylviane in the eye as wagged his eyebrows as he declared:

"Primrose Path?"

It brought another round of soft laughter to the Princess' lips.

===Author's History Notes===

'Indispensable moral righteousness' to police the world - as the ending revelation about Kaede shows, this actually refers to 'America World Police' and the US national myths of the 'City upon a Hill' and the 'indispensable nation'. The first is the 17th century Puritan religious belief that American colonies were founded to serve as moral exemplars to the world, thus justifying anything America did to convert others. The second is the post-WW2 nationalistic rhetoric that the world can't manage itself without America doing it for them.

Leslie Eachann Barclay of Tollaigh - Based on Alexander Leslie of Auchintoul, a Scottish nobleman and mercenary who fought for the Russians during the 17th century, eventually rising to Voivode (warlord) of Smolensk. His surname is a reference to Barclay de Tolly, a branch of the Scottish Barclay Clan of Tollaigh who became members of the Russian nobility thanks to their services to Imperial Russia -- most famously Prince Michael Andreas Barclay de Tolly, commander of Russian forces during the start of Napoleon's invasion of Russia.

Divine Engine Division - One of the three elite Imperial divisions of Ming dynasty China in the late 14th century. The formation was created to specialize in gunpowder warfare and to experiment with new weapons and tactics. It pioneered the famous rotating ranks volley fire at least a century prior to the Dutch and Japanese.

Permaculture - Based on the modern Permaculture movement, which promotes ecological and self-sustaining agricultural management based on traditional wisdom and environmental understanding.

'They all asked for the 'right to own slaves<nowiki>''</nowiki> - Sylviane is generalizing the story of when Catherine the Great of Russia wrote the Nakaz (lit: instruction), which expressed her beliefs on Enlightened Absolutism based on the principles of freedom of thought and speech and equality of all classes before the law. However, when she summoned delegates from various ethnicities and social classes (minus serfs/clergy) for her new legal reform based on it, the biggest item that they could all agree on wanting was the right to own serfs.

'Freedom for the pike is death for the minnows' - Quote by Isaiah Berlin in ''The Two Concepts of Liberty'', which is used to describe the concept of Negative Liberty.

Daybreak:Volume 5 Chapter 5

2026-02-15T21:21:28Z

Aorii:

===Chapter 5 - Root of All Conflict===

''"Many people could not condone the killing of innocents, but would shed no tears for the Imperium whose own actions led to this moment. In the end, are the perpetrators martyrs, or murderers? Most seemed to answer with one or the other. Yet the truth resists such black and white simplicity -- for these men are simultaneously heroes and villains, freedom fighters and terrorists. And only those blinded by agenda or propaganda will cite one but not the other."''

- Kaede, diary entry on April 23rd, Year 567:Faith

"Uhnnnnng..."

Kaede groaned as she shifted under the comforter. The girl laid on her side with a shoulder exposed to the cool air. She wished it was still winter so she could stay completely cocooned beneath layers of heavy covers.

''It's not even light,'' she thought as she blinked her eyes. ''Why did I wake up so early?''

The petite girl moved her arms before she noticed her slim fingers grasping a large hand. She felt the weight of a limb slung over her side and a second hand hanging over her bare back. The tall figure held her close as she stretched her curled up legs and brushed against a knee. Her arms barely moved before her gloved fingers came into contact with a firm chest.

''Huh-?''

Alertness entered her mind as Kaede felt the touch of a protruding tent pressed against her bare thighs. The petite girl instantly froze in place as burning heat rushed into her face.

''Why is he in my bed? What kind of rushed development is this!?''

Kaede's thoughts ran through her memories of the previous night. She had asked Pascal to stay until she fell asleep as she had been expecting nightmares again. The Samaran girl often had dreams where she found herself on a horrific field of slaughter covered by blood, flames, and charred corpses. And on nights like the previous when she couldn't stop thinking about the battles she went through, she often requested company -- which back at Lithia village meant she often shared a bed with her maid Marina.

However, she had expected Pascal to return to his own room ''after'' she fell asleep. Though it wasn't hard to answer why he hadn’t left, when she awoke grasping his hand.

It wasn't the first time Kaede had slept in the same bed as Pascal. In fact, they had done so every night around two months ago, when he was still recovering from his grievous injuries and needed help just to relieve himself at night. Nevertheless, the girl was at a loss on how to react after touching ''that'' part of him. Though she did understand from the experiences of her previous life that this was hardly something that he could control.

''But this is dangerous! Keep this up and he's going to give me an 'accidental pregnancy'!''

Blushing furiously from every pore on her face, Kaede released Pascal's hand and wiggled out from beneath his arm. The girl extracted herself from the comforters and shivered slightly as she climbed out of her four-poster bed. The night temperature of her room was a good coolant for the heat of her embarrassment.

''Cold...''

The gentle warmth that radiated from her silky charmeuse garment began to increase. The snowy-white one-piece that clung to her torso was almost reminiscent of a leotard with silver inlays tracing its seams. More heat flowed from the matching long gloves and thigh-high stockings which completed the ensemble. The entire set was enchanted to warm or cool her body at a mere thought.

Her lingerie even boasted indulgent conveniences such as self-cleaning and skin care. It really was rather excessive in Kaede's view. But the expense that Pascal had spent customizing it made her feel that it would be a waste to not enjoy its comforts. And this was a pattern that repeated many times with her few but often expensive belongings.

''My mana seems recharged at least,'' she thought as she sensed an overflow of magical energy which her enchanted garments drew upon.

Being a mage's familiar meant she absorbed mana from her master and distance was always a factor. Kaede had been cut off during her weeks at Lithia and the effects grew noticeable over time. Fatigue accumulated faster each day as time wore on and her available mana slowly depleted. The familiar had never felt like she was near empty, but it was clear that she needed to manage her mana reserves when she was away from him for long periods of time.

Gazing back into her bed, Kaede saw that Pascal was still soundly asleep. She pulled the comforter up slightly so that it fully covered his shoulders. His eyes remained closed while his black eyepatch laid on the bedside table.

''Thank you for staying with me.'' The familiar smiled as she looked upon his peaceful expression in the dim light.

Kaede knew that she was one of those people whom, once they woke up, wouldn't be able to go back to sleep. She moved to the windows to peek out from between the curtains, where she saw the reddish glow of pre-dawn light outside. The scene always reminded her of her first morning in this world -- when she stepped out onto a roof to gaze upon the beautiful yet alien sky of Hyperion. Though back then, her memories from a past life had left her in denial of her new self in this marvellous world.

''A Samaran's memories truly are a double-edged sword,'' the familiar thought before she forced her mind onto a more pleasant topic.

''I haven't seen a sunrise from the tip of this island yet...''

With that thought, Kaede found her messenger bag and dug out one of her other outfits from its extradimensional storage. It was a white pseudo-uniform with straight black lines -- the same one she wore when Reynaud came to meet her two days back. She also had another set with the exact opposite colors, both of which she wore back when she was on military campaign. After all, when the war first began, she wasn't an enrolled member of the military or had any rank, and was recognized only as 'Pascal's familiar' by those whom she met.

''Not that the feudalistic Lotharin military had any official uniforms,'' Kaede thought as she knelt down to lace up her knee-high white boots with their cushy wedge heels.

The outfit Gerard wore yesterday came as a part of the new military reforms. However, they were quite a rare sight, as Pascal's push to centralize and standardize Rhin-Lotharingie's armies was slow and often met strong opposition. The elites always preferred decentralized rule where they would hold power in the 'local fiefdoms' they carved out as their own. This was as true for feudal lords as it was for the multinational corporations back on Earth.

''If only we had another year or two before the war escalated...''

The girl sighed as she stood up and checked every part of her outfit in the dim light before departing from the room.

<nowiki>----- * * * -----</nowiki>

"It's gorgeous..."

Kaede whispered to herself as she walked toward the edge of the gargantuan rock upon which the Oriflamme Castle stood. The light of daybreak in the east had painted the heavens in a reddish glow, mirrored in the choppy waters of Lake Alis below. Overhead, the colossal gas giant moon still dominated the northern sky with its deep indigo hue. Meanwhile the clouds, though bathed in the amber light of dawn, retained a faint tinge of blue.

Apart from the soothing sound of lapping waves, Kaede could also hear the faint strains of a harpsichord. Its gentle melody ebbed and flowed like the morning tide, rising and falling with calm grace which relaxed and eased the mind.

''Such beautiful music as well... though who could be out playing at this hour?'' Kaede wondered as the sounds came from the shores below the fortress' rock.

The slight girl was uncomfortable with the thought of moving closer to the slippery ledge to peek down. The colossal boulder was surrounded on three sides by sharp inclines and cliffs that had at least a ten story drop. She moved back towards the castle before spotting a footpath that allowed her to descend the rocky outcrop. The route led her down a series of steep stairs carved into the stone, which were wide enough for only one man to traverse.

''Don't look down... don't look down... I can do this...''

Kaede hugged the rocky wall closely as she slowly made her way down. The path's other side had little more than shrubs before a steep drop. The descent was nerve-wracking and the girl could feel her emotions fraying from the internalized stress. And by the time Kaede reached the bottom, her legs almost collapsed beneath her as she closed her eyes and stopped to take several deep breaths.

Even in her former life, Kaede had come to realize that her senses were more keen than the average person's. This wasn't entirely a good thing, as the acute sensory perception meant she was easily overwhelmed by external stimuli and left in a state of emotional stress. So while most of her friends craved excitement, she wanted more peace and time to process her own thoughts. Becoming Pascal's familiar only intensified all of these traits and left her often needing a break to practice 'mental hygiene'.

The Samaran girl followed with several rounds of 'box breathing' meditation as she relieved her built-up stress. The sound of lapping waves and the faint melody of the harpsichord in the distance both helped.

''Still cold...''

Kaede cranked up the heat from her undergarments as she shivered amidst a cold breeze from the lake. She began to slowly walk across the narrow beach while listening to the sound of crunching pebbles beneath her feet. The girl had never realized that the shores to the north of the city were so isolated. It would be an ideal spot to take long walks, were it not for the anxiety-inducing trail down from the top.

Regardless, Kaede clearly wasn't the only one drawn to the place. The petite girl still couldn't see who was playing, as small mangrove-like trees lining the beach obscured her view. Yet, as she drew closer to the harpsichord's gentle melody, she found herself slowed by a mesmerizing scene -- as the already beautiful sunrise in the east was further adorned by a breathtaking view.

A drifting cloud of sky lanterns hovered above the lake's mirrored surface. Dozens of the simple hot-air balloons floated lazily, never rising too high nor straying far ashore. Around them danced hundreds of shimmering water globules, each bead tracing its own slow orbits through the air. The water droplets dispersed the light of the lanterns and dawn alike, creating a scattering of prismatic hues across the air in a magical light show.

''Amazing...''

Not wanting to disturb whomever it was, the familiar slowed further until her footsteps almost stopped making noise on the pebbled ground. She could see now that a small audience had gathered by the beach for the sunrise recital. Meanwhile, a column of light seemed to descend from the skies upon the swaying, feathered hat worn by the harpsichord's player.

A large and blobby white mat was spread across the rocky beach and even into the water. On top of it lounged two middle-aged women in white cloaks. One of them had a flaming-blue phoenix perched atop her shoulder, which suggested that she was a Paladin. Meanwhile a third, younger woman stood to the side like an attendant, though her attention was no less entranced by the beautiful view.

''Wait, is that... living tofu?''

Kaede stared wide-eyed at the blobby mat that formed a bed so huge it could easily fit ten people. It was made entirely from a pure white substance with a smooth, silky surface. Over half of the mat floated atop the water offshore as it bobbed up and down. Nevertheless, she could see the sides and corners wiggle independently which proved the huge blob was alive.

There was a time when her jaw would have dropped to the floor upon seeing such a sight. However, that was before she met Perceval, who also had a white pudding familiar that he christened 'Putty'. The ooze, or slime as some might call them, was a decomposer that turned any organic matter it gobbled up into more of itself. However, those that were tamed as familiars made for great companions as its blobby body was nutritious and could form any furniture one needed.

''I want one...'' The girl looked dreamily upon the huge blob.

Kaede was still entranced by the sight of the huge 'living tofu' mattress when she suddenly sensed someone behind her. However, she was far too slow to react as a kick by her assailant knocked her off her feet.

"Wai-Owmmph!"

The Samaran girl yelped as her hair was yanked backwards before she even hit the ground. Her assailant took the opportunity to shove a small apple between her lips. And a stalk-like thread pulled into a gap between two teeth.

"Spit that out and it'll go ''boom!''" Kaede heard the whisper of a sweet yet ominous girlish voice.

"Nnnggh!"

The petite girl froze in fear as she found herself lying flat on the ground with her head pulled achingly back. A knee pressed painfully down against her back and she felt a cold edge held against her throat. Her attacker could slit her neck within an instant and she couldn't even cry out or plead for mercy. There was nothing she could do except stay as she was and hope for the other side to realize that this was all a mistake.

"Milord!" The girl holding Kaede down called out. "I've caught a spy."

The melody came to an abrupt stop while its audience turned around. Kaede could see the three women all wearing white uniforms with red borders and trim. Their skirts reached past the knees in the back but were short in front where they exposed military-style white leggings. A cloak with arm slits on both sides wrapped around each woman. And adorned upon the fabric was a large 'L' in silver and red trim.

''They're... the Lazarus Order?''

Kaede wasn't sure as she had only read about them in passing. They were supposedly a secular paramilitary hospitaller order from the southern Kingdom of Garona -- one of the four vassal kingdoms of the Empire of Rhin-Lotharingie.

"That's the Crown Prince Consort's familiar," the oldest-looking of the three women said in a calm, almost flat voice.

She was the one with a phoenix and was somewhat recognizable to Kaede. However, the pinned girl was too terrified to remember where they had previously met.

The woman seemed to be in her 'thirties' and revealed a thin figure as she stood with elegant poise. However, she was neither a great beauty like her companions nor had aristocratic bearing. In fact, her appearance seemed almost plain aside from a pair of inquisitive gray eyes, as well as a flower-like bun of her premature graying-silver hair wrapped behind her head.

''Yes please tell them I'm no enemy!''

"Nnnggh!"

The Samaran girl's cries were muffled by the 'apple' gagging her lips. Kaede dared not even nod as she felt the bladed edge pressed against her throat.

"She's... a ''familiar?''" A bewildered voice came from one of the others.

"Yes," the first speaker replied. "I saw her standing behind Landgrave Pascal during the previous war council. Considering what we know about the future crown prince consort, I cannot imagine it to be anyone else.

"She's no threat," the woman then added.

"Yvette, let her go," the other woman, a beautiful blonde who looked just barely in her middle age, ordered with a soft yet commanding voice.

"Yes, Mistress Ariette."

Kaede heard her assailant reply. The girl finally got off her back and pulled away the knife placed against her throat.

"Don't spit. Don't swallow either." The girl then giggled.

''My life is not a game for you to make jokes with!''

"Yvette." The authoritative Ariette sent her a stern look.

"Sorry!"

Kaede felt the other's fingers press against her teeth where they pushed down the thin stalk that was caught in a gap. Only after that did the woman pull out the small apple before tossing it into the lake. The fruit sank into the water before a small eruption rose from the surface.

''That really was a bomb!''

The petite girl felt her entire body tremble as she realized she had almost been killed multiple times. She coughed several times and curled up her legs before raising her chest to a sitting pose.

"<Kaede, are you all right?>" Pascal's voice suddenly spoke in her mind via their familiar bond's telepathy. "<nowiki><I</nowiki> felt a sharp sense of danger from you. Almost woke up in cold sweat.>"

"<Yes... I'm okay... just... misunderstanding with soldiers... sorry for waking you,>" Kaede replied as she closed her eyes and took several deep breaths.

Now that the initial mix up had been resolved and her life was no longer flashing before her eyes, she was confident she could manage the rest. There was no reason to involve Pascal in this.

By the time Kaede reopened her gaze, a tall and handsome middle-aged man had walked in front of the others. He stood in an unblemished white outfit with silver trim, in a similar style as the women around him.

The man raised his gloved hand to tilt a plumed chevalier hat. He had a lanky build with narrow shoulders, long limbs, and almost disproportionately lengthy fingers. His face sported a high nose and striking deep-violet eyes, all of it framed by wavy chocolate-brown hair and an immaculately curled mustache.

"Milady, please have my sincerest apology for the misunderstanding," he spoke in a suave voice as though he was asking her to a dance. "Are you Dame Kaede?"

A second flaming-blue phoenix flew over to land on his padded right shoulder. The bird chirped at Kaede as though recognizing that she was not an enemy. After all, phoenixes were renowned as empaths who could identify friend versus foe by reading emotions. This was necessary as their magical blue-white flames roasted only their enemies alive, while to allies they merely felt like a soothing fireplace that kept the air warm.

"Professor Gaston," Kaede whispered in awe as she recognized the famous Duke of Dandies himself.

"I do apologize, my dear. Were you one of my students at Alisia Academy?" The man asked in a deep yet velvety-smooth voice as he leaned down to offer an open hand in a pristine white glove.

"No, Your Grace. I apologize." Kaede reached out and allowed him to help pull her up.

The girl then bowed her head and dipped a shaky curtsy. She might not be well-versed in the manners of the nobility, but even she knew that Duke Gaston Lazare de La Conde was technically head of one of the most powerful Lotharin aristocratic houses.

"I'm Kaede, the familiar of Landgrave Pascal of Nordkreuz, who had been one of your students."

"Ah yes, the 'Runelord'. How could I have forgotten?" Gaston chuckled at Pascal's nickname back at the academy.

Nevertheless, the Duke leaned in and placed a soft kiss on the back of her gloved hand. He then stepped back and bowed deeply with the grace of a perfectionist butler.

"It is a pleasure to meet you, Milady," he declared with a beaming smile as he stood back up. "I am enchanted to find myself in your exquisite company."

His teeth were a perfect white which was rare even among the nobility. Kaede could see them almost sparkling despite the fact he faced away from the sun's gaze. A warm breeze carrying flower petals blew against her which brought the calming smell of lavenders. The pebbled beach around them seemed to bloom like a flower garden, as though Kaede found herself in a Japanese TV drama with its exaggerated special effects.

The snowy-haired familiar had enough magic sensitivity to tell that it was an illusion that the Duke had effortlessly conjured. Nevertheless, the girl couldn't help staring in slack-jawed amazement as a faint blush came to her cheeks.

"L-likewise, Your Grace," Kaede barely collected herself enough to respond after a long pause.

''What kind of romance comedy is this?'' She looked away with embarrassment. Kaede had to remind herself that despite appearances, the Duke being a mage was likely old enough to be her grandfather.

"How is your master doing?" Gaston asked before a hint of disapproval entered his tone. The light around him seemed to dim as though reflective of his mood. "I've heard he has since graduated to summoning a blighted dusk instead."

"It's not what the rumors claim, Sir," Kaede looked down as she felt a stab of guilt at her chest. "Pascal lost control of a spell. The friendly fire at Glywysing was not intentional."

"Then he should learn to control his magic better before using it," the professor sent a reproachful look towards the castle before he turned back to her with a softening smile. "Regardless, it is not your fault, my dear. Though, I am curious about what brings your lovely presence here?"

''It was partially my fault though,'' Kaede couldn't help thinking as she ignored Gaston's flirtatious tone.

"I was out watching the sunrise when I heard your beautiful melody, so I came down to take a look," Kaede responded before bowing slightly. "I apologize that I seem like a spy. I didn't want to alarm anyone or interrupt the sublime performance."

"An unfortunate misunderstanding, as I had expected," the handsome nobleman smiled.

Kaede turned to the ladies next and met the serene gaze of the woman she recognized earlier. She was about to thank them before her eyes widened in astonishment.

"Your ladyship... Marshal Cosette?"

"Yes." The rather taciturn Marshal nodded as she offered Kaede a smile so faint that the familiar could barely see.

Kaede had seen the Marshal only once before and they never spoke. However, she knew Cosette by reputation as the 'Tide Breaker' and one of the best defensive tacticians in Rhin-Lotharingie. People claimed that Cosette hadn't held a single rank or title and was only known as 'Gaston's mistress' when the late Emperor met her. Yet, after only a single meeting, Geoffroi promoted her straight to the rank of Marshal of the Empire, one of the Six Great Officers of the Crown.

It was an act that has since baffled nobles and commoners alike, for many asked: 'just what quality did the Emperor see in her to be so impressed?'

"Where are my manners, I should have made introductions already," Gaston interjected before he presented the women one by one. "Dame Cosette, you already know. The one besides her is Dame Ariette, Knight Matriarch of the Lazarus Order. The younger two are my aides -- Lady Mariette," he gestured to the attendant who was frantically scribbling notes upon a booklet, "and the one who grabbed you earlier, Lady Yvette."

''Is there a naming scheme going on here?'' The lightly bruised girl thought as she noticed the similarities.

"Lady is a bit much, Milord," Kaede heard Yvette's saccharine voice from behind her which sent another shiver up her spine. The girl thankfully moved away before she continued. "Mistress Ariette and Marshal Cosette may have since earned royal recognition. But there isn't a drop of noble blood between Mariette and myself."

The Samaran girl tried not to let her anxiety show as she dipped down in a proper curtsy this time. "I'm honored to meet you all."

One thing was for certain: she needed to do some research on the Lazarus Order. Kaede felt aghast by her own ignorance as she did not even realize that Marshal Cosette was a member of the organization or that Duke Gaston was at least affiliated.

"Are you all here to attend the war council today?" She asked.

"No, only Cosette and myself will be attending," Ariette responded.

The beautiful older woman gazed upon the familiar with a kind, motherly smile that naturally made Kaede feel at ease. She appeared to be just entering middle age, though it was a bit difficult to judge due to how well she took care of herself.

The Knight Matriarch stood tall and slim with an amazing figure. Her gorgeous blonde hair ran down her back in a waterfall that reached her wide hips. Her eyes were a soft aqua-blue and she had fair skin that shone like she was a cosmetics model. Yet, when one looked closely, the woman had quite a few wrinkles at the corner of her eyes that hinted at a greater age.

"Not you, Your Grace?" Kaede then turned towards the Duke.

"No," Gaston answered with distaste. "I've little interest in a political council on waging identitarian bloodshed."

''That's not a synonym of 'war' that I hear often,'' Kaede raised her eyebrows.

"But aren't you one of the commanders of the Garona war front?" She asked.

"Only on paper," Gaston replied as though even this nominal assignment annoyed him. "The late Emperor Geoffroi may have written my name onto some documents. But Cosette is the one in command. I merely help her out from time to time."

"He's also a co-regent for the Kingdom of Garona's child-queen, but 'only on paper'," Ariette added in jest before giggling behind her white glove.

"People do seem to make a habit of adding titles to my name without first attaining my consent," the Duke sighed with a faint scowl. "The late Emperor most of all, as he seemed to believe that by burdening me with unwanted responsibilities, he could pressure me to be more active in participating in his conflicts."

"It only goes to show how much people trust you, Milord," the pretty attendant who stood quietly behind them said in an awestruck voice. The admiration in Mariette's crystal-blue eyes as she stared at the Duke reminded Kaede of how pop music fans gazed upon their idols.

"Milord is an honorable man who has always tried to do the right thing, even if your course is often a bit... ''unconventional''," the beautiful Ariette then added with a playful grin.

A forced smile came to Gaston's expression but it did not entirely hide his faint scowl. It hinted to Kaede that while Gaston didn't agree with the two girls, he also didn't want to openly disagree with them.

''It does speak volumes that he would rather refuse positions that other nobles would fight over,'' the familiar thought.

"I take it that Your Grace does not approve of the war?" She then asked.

"There are few endeavors that I would disdain more than organized violence. Yet somehow I find myself embroiled in them time and again," the Duke scowled inwardly. "Perhaps it is, in the words of you Samarans, a result of 'karma' from my misspent youth."

"Your Grace may be surprised to hear that I'm in complete agreement with your sentiment," Kaede responded wryly before her voice grew more sarcastic. "However, the current war was not started by the Empire, but rather the actions of the so-called 'Liberation Army' -- which has unfortunately ''liberated'' us from all other options."

"I don't entirely agree." Gaston frowned. "History is never so simple that there is a single cause and effect to such cataclysmic events. Had it not been for the 1st and 2nd Garona Independence Wars, we would not be here today. And both of those bloody conflicts saw Rhin-Lotharingie intervening on the side of local uprisings inside the Imperium -- revolts organized by the Garona Liberation Army with our Empire's support."

''That almost sounds like something an Imperial would say.'' Kaede's brows furrowed.

As a scholar of history, the Samaran girl certainly had to agree that the reasons for the current conflict traces back far more than the events of 'Unholy Friday'. Nevertheless, it felt odd to hear that Gaston, a Lotharin duke, was against the independence wars that lifted the yoke of Imperial oppression from his own fellow brethren in the south.

''But... isn't that because I'm used to hearing the Lotharin view?''

Kaede felt glad that she left her initial thoughts unspoken as she realized they were rather 'kneejerk' as a response. The Imperium might not win any ethical debates with its often brutal treatment of the Lotharins. But it was undoubtedly the Lotharins who repeatedly agitated for violence to reunite their peoples in the more recent centuries.

"Milord, you know I cannot agree with that view," Ariette's playful tone vanished as she vehemently objected. "If we are to trace the cycle of violence, then we must also go back to the Imperium's conquest of Garona and most of Rhin-Lotharingie. Even during their self-proclaimed 'Pax Arcadia', the oppression and discrimination against us Lotharins forced the Garonans to launch repeated uprisings. And that doesn't even mention the Imps' role in provoking war between us and the Caliphate."

The Duke kept his frown but otherwise nodded along as he clearly didn't want to argue. Ariette had tried to maintain neutrality in her words, but her voice when mentioning the Imperium revealed nothing less than pure loathing. It also spoke volumes that the Caliphate was brought up as almost an afterthought, despite the ongoing invasion that began months ago.

''Even knights from the front see the Imperials as the real enemy,'' Kaede thought.

Behind Ariette, Marshal Cosette kept her silence without taking a stance, while the younger Mariette looked conflicted like a child torn between two arguing parents. However, the youngest of the four women, Yvette, showed no such indecision as she openly declared:

"There shall be no peace with the Imperium until there is peace for all Lotharins!"

The words sounded more like a nationalistic slogan than a well-thought stance. Its effect on Kaede was the exact opposite as the Samaran girl couldn't help thinking back to Gaston's reasoning.

"But even if we're to trace back every cause and effect," she asked Ariette. "Is there even a single starting point where we can determine everything to have begun?"

The Knight Matriarch furrowed her brows and paused for a moment. The fact she stopped to think instead of reactively responding brought optimism to Kaede for a proper discussion. Nevertheless, Ariette exhaled a long sigh moments later before admitting:

"I doubt it. Though it doesn't really matter."

"It doesn't?" Kaede looked surprised. ''Isn't the whole blame game about who attacked first?''

"No," Ariette replied. "We fight for the side that protects our loved ones from the violence of the enemy. Therefore, it matters not who began the cycle and only that it exists."

''Unfortunately that doesn't help us bring an end to it,'' Kaede sighed.

"And in that regard, I feel it is my duty to remind Your Excellency," Ariette then added as she addressed Kaede in formal speech. "The Garona Liberation Army has done ''exactly'' what can be expected of them."

"But..." Kaede was almost in shock as she objected on instinct this time.

"Please do not misunderstand," the Knight Matriarch raised an open hand to interrupt. "I do not approve of the GLA's recent actions. But I do ''understand'' them when considering their history, as we're of a similar background."

Kaede closed her lips as Ariette's frown grew while her eyes looked down. Within her aqua gaze swelled not only sadness and sympathy, but also a pain that seemed deeply personal which left her pupils glazed.

"The Lazarus Order and the Garona Liberation Army both recruit primarily from those whose lives were destroyed by conflict," the older woman began in a dry voice. "The main difference is that the Lazarus Order seeks rebirth, to give girls who have been ruined by strife a second chance at life. Meanwhile, the Liberation Army weaponizes that desperation and trauma in a self-feeding cycle of revenge.

"Had the events of my life taken a different course, I could easily see myself among the perpetrators of the 'Unholy Friday' attacks," Ariette added in a hollow tone before she offered a bitter yet appreciative smile at Duke Gaston. "That is why I say that while I don't agree with their actions, it is not difficult for me to understand them."

Silence fell upon the group for a long moment after as nobody had any words to add. Even Kaede wasn't even sure how to react as she pondered the weight of Ariette's past.

It made the Samaran girl wonder just what atrocities had the older women experienced, and whether 'Lazarus' held the same meaning here as it did on Earth. The word was widely associated with resurrection due to the story of Lazarus of Bethany in the bible -- which might explain the girls' names as a form of 'born-again' symbolism.

It might also be a coincidence of the translation spell that Pascal had incorporated into their familiar bond. After all, Kaede had never actually learned to speak Lotharin. It was Pascal's magic that transformed her thoughts into the right words, often by drawing upon her existing knowledge from her past life on Earth.

"Dame Kaede, you should know that Dame Ariette is also the founder of the Lazarus Order." Gaston tried to lighten the atmosphere as he looked upon the Knight Matriarch with glowing admiration. "There is none who could fault the absolute marvellous job she has done in providing her girls with a new home and life."

In response, Ariette blushed and looked down bashfully as she took her long hair in her fingers and began to twirl its golden strands. Her voice was shy and humble as the Knight Matriarch even stuttered in her reply:

"I-it would not have been possible without your support and guidance, Milord."

It was as though the Duke had reduced the mature, middle-aged woman to a lovestruck maiden with a single statement.

''Are they also lovers?'' Kaede couldn't help wondering.

"It is as Milord says, we owe you and him our lives, Mistress Ariette," said the attendant Mariette. Though she did that only after mouthing the Duke's words to herself as she copied it down in her little white book.

"Including those of some of us who are from the Liberation Army, or at least former," Kaede heard from Yvette as she turned towards the person who had attacked her.

The girl seemed to be in her late teens and had a captivating beauty that was completely at odds with how they met. She had gorgeous peridot-green eyes and her dainty features formed a perfect balance between alluring beauty and innocent cuteness. Her peachy-pink long hair ran down to a slim waist to frame a curvaceous body that could rival a supermodel. And she wasn't shy in showing any of it as she sat cross-legged atop a nearby rock and juggled a trio of apples.

"Former?" Kaede whispered nervously.

''Please tell me those aren't more bombs.'' She swallowed as she could easily imagine the girl being a child terrorist.

"In a manner of speaking," Yvette grinned sweetly. "The GLA trains people to become efficient tools of war, just like my apples -- ready to use, and easily disposable."

The girl giggled at her own grim joke before continuing. The callous words which followed felt entirely misplaced with her charming smile and seemingly-innocent gaze.

"One could say that I was 'disposed of', after I gutted an Imperial Praetor just as he climaxed... Or I would have been, had it not been for Milord who whisked me from the gallows."

...

The conversation had continued for some time before the girls began to 'clean up'. The sun was completely above the horizon now and it was clear that their impromptu recital by the lake was over. The cloud of floating sky lanterns had drifted to the shore as their candle flames were snuffed out. The paper lanterns lined up in neat rows as an unseen force folded them up. They then deposited themselves into a large storage pouch held open by Cosette and Mariette.

For a moment, Kaede wondered who was controlling the mass levitation magic before she remembered Duke Gaston's sobriquets -- the ''Pristine Lord'' and the ''Mundane Archmage''.

''He's a master of simple spells with a particular liking to telekinesis,'' she thought back to the hundreds of individually moving water droplets during the light show.

It amazed Kaede that Gaston didn't even seem distracted, as the two had continued to chat even as he maneuvered dozens of lanterns at once.

The snowy-haired girl then strolled over to the grand harpsichord that lay on the pebbled beach which Gaston had been playing earlier. The familiar noticed that the organ appeared to be the same one that Princess Sylviane had played yesterday on the roof. A ring of flowers also bloomed around the instrument which Kaede was certain didn't grow naturally.

"Your Grace, did you take this harpsichord from the castle?"

"Yes. I'm borrowing it," Gaston answered with a charming smile. "Its owner just doesn't know that I'm doing it."

''Seriously?'' Kaede stared blankly at him. The Duke had taken it from the castle's roof, brought it down more than ten stories of cliffs, all so he could host a private recital at sunrise to entertain four women?

It was a level of effort that she couldn't decide was astonishingly impressive, or crossed the line into ridiculous. Either way, the girl couldn't help her curiosity as she asked:

"Was that really wise, Your Grace?"

"What is life if there is no art to appreciate and to make wonderful memories with?" Gaston answered in a poetic voice as he gestured to the distant rising sun. "One does not often witness the beauty of sunrise with a sublime backdrop like this. Thus I wished to share and dedicate the moment to the dearest ladies of my life."

''Ladies...''

It was the first time Kaede ever heard of a romantic openly and simultaneously flirting with multiple women. It hadn't escaped Kaede's attention either that the Lazarus girls all paid him such respect when they were a ''sorority''.

"But tensions are high given the Imperium's declaration of war," she steered the conversation more towards rationality. "And nobody has forgotten that during the recent civil war, the pretender Gabriel had snuck an entire Knights Templar strike force into the palace to kill the late Emperor. Had you been discovered, it would have caused a major incident."

"Exactly what I had told him," said Ariette with a jesting smile.

"Life requires more flavor than mere pragmatism, my dear," Gaston beamed unapologetically. "One should seek beauty all the more in an age shrouded by violence -- so the time we share with our loved ones may be properly cherished."

"I don't disagree on principle," Ariette's smile grew. "After all, Milord, it was you who encouraged me and every member of the Lazarus Order to adopt an artistic hobby to add meaning to our lives, even if it's something as simple as my knitting. But there is a time and place to pursue such."

"I fail to see how this is a wrong time, considering the weight resting on your and Cosette's shoulders," the Duke added before turning to Kaede with a sparkle in eyes. "Besides, I simply needed to not be noticed, and I ''wasn't.''"

The Samaran girl returned an exasperated smile as she sighed and raised her hands in defeat.

"I won't say anything, as long as you promise me that you'll return the harpsichord to where you found it. Her Highness would be distressed to find it missing."

"Don't worry, I shall -- that was my plan all along." Gaston grinned. "If an item was taken and then replaced before the owner noticed, was it ever really missing?"

''How very... philosophical for a legal interpretation,'' Kaede thought before chuckling to herself.

''I guess he doesn't mean any harm at least.''

She was about to ask what other hobbies he had encouraged for adoption in a ''knightly order''. But she was interrupted when she heard Pascal's voice calling over their telepathic bond.

"<Kaede, where are you?>"

"<Down by the northern shores.>"

"<Beneath the cliffs?>" He voiced his amazement. "<Did I not tell you to avoid leaving the castle alone?>"

"<Ah... sorry,>" Kaede replied sheepishly.

"<Bring Laetitia with you next time. Poor girl was worried when she could not find you. Consider what it means for her, as the one responsible for your safety.>"

''She could have called me via Farspeak...''

Kaede touched her ears and realized she had forgotten her earrings. Pascal had enchanted them to let her accept ''Farspeak'' spells since she wasn't a mage.

"<I'm really sorry.>" She felt like a child being scolded.

<nowiki>----- * * * -----</nowiki>

Kaede was breathing hard as she returned through the door at the back of the castle. The climb up had felt like walking up a twelve story building. The familiar was quite glad that she was at least ''not'' wearing her corset dress.

"No, Ambassador Gerhard will not be attending the council today," she heard Cecylia's girlish soprano from the courtyard. "His Excellency has received expressed orders from King Leopold that Weichsel will not be entering this conflict."

"His Majesty is abandoning the alliance... with Rhin-Lotharingie?" Pascal huffed in a winded tone.

"As the ruler of Weichsel, the 'Northern March of the Trinitian Realm', King Leopold is caught in a dilemma," another man spoke whom Kaede recognized as Lieutenant-Colonel Hans Ostergalen, the military intelligence officer who served as Pascal's personal chief-of-staff.

"It was our nation's founder, King Ferdinand von Drachenlanzen, who petitioned the Pope to launch the First Crusade to redirect the Imperium's attention south," Hans continued. "For centuries, our leaders have relied upon 'Papal Appeasement' to influence the Imperator Augustus, to prevent the Imperium from attempting to turn us back into a vassal state. The King's defensive alliance with Rhin-Lotharingie may tiptoe the line. But it would be an unacceptable risk to abandon the policy entirely."

"Weichsel has joined every crusade before now," Cecylia added. "''Not directly partaking'' in this one is the best that His Majesty can offer. And besides, in the eyes of the world, it was the Garonans who struck first."

"Which means he won't even stop individual Weichsen lords or soldiers from becoming crusaders." Sylviane exhaled a deep sigh of disappointment.

''It's all politics in the end.''

The Samaran girl thought of how geopolitical interests almost always superseded religious dogma when it came to wars. The famous alliance between Catholic France and Islamic Ottomans while they supported the Protestant League during the messiness of Europe's religious wars were clear examples of such.

Kaede peeked around a corner where she saw Princess Sylviane, Hans, and Cecylia all gathered around a stone table just outside the keep. A few paces away from them stood Pascal, who was practicing sweeping swings with his swordstaff. The young lord was almost naked above the waist despite the chilly air outside. He set his heavy polearm down with a clang before taking the towel he wore around his neck to wipe his sweat.

"Kaede!" Pascal called out to her in between his heavy breathing.

''Should've known I can't hide from him.'' Kaede sheepishly stepped out and approached her master.

"I'm sorry." She bowed her head before him.

"Apologize to Laetitia later," Pascal ordered as he wiped his brows. "I gave her the day off, so you are to stay in the castle. Understood?"

"Yes." The girl nodded, feeling almost like she'd been 'grounded' for the day.

The Princess' bodyguard Elspeth stood nearby as the petite armiger also frowned disapprovingly at Kaede. Meanwhile, the bleary-eyed Sylviane unfolded a handkerchief and blew her nose in it. The Princess nevertheless gave the familiar a sharp sideways glance which clearly expressed her own displeasure, though for an entirely different reason.

''She knows I slept with Pascal last night.'' Kaede swallowed. ''I'd better tread carefully today lest I invite any more of her jealousy...''

It didn't help that Sylviane was suffering from severe allergies today. Kaede had been a bit surprised yesterday when the Princess seemed fine on the roof. However, as the wind had died down since, Her Highness' condition worsened as she struggled with the late April pollen -- a trait that was universal among her kind as a Faekissed Autumnborn.

The Samaran girl knew the Faekissed were the descendants of the ancient fae who mingled with humans. The Faerie Lords supposedly ruled much of Western Hyperion in ancient times as described in the ''Book of Invasions''. However, for reasons unknown, they retreated through the portals back to their world before the arrival of the Dragonlords. All that remains of them today are the stone rings, the faekissed, and the various artifacts that could be found throughout the land.

Yet, unlike Samarans with their unblemished white hair or the Dhampirs with their cross-infused pupils and fangs, the Faekissed didn't have a distinctive physical trait. Even the Princess' purple hair and wisteria eyes didn't mean anything, as many mages had pupils or tresses dyed by the color of their mana.

"Pascal -- I swear, when this war is over, I'm going to put you to research on anti-pollen spells," Sylviane said in a thick and congested voice. "Now put your shirt back on before you catch a cold," she added with a faint blush while trying not to look at him.

"Yes, yes."

Pascal walked back to the table and grabbed his shirt from a stone stool. However, Cecylia had no qualms about staring at a man's naked torso as her 'hungry' gaze followed him.

"Good job rebuilding your muscles after your injuries. I'm impressed at your progress, hehe," the dhampir remarked.

"Cecylia," Sylviane gave her childhood friend a knowing glare as they met eye-to-eye. "''My'' fiancé."

The dhampir girl merely giggled. Meanwhile, Pascal wisely said nothing for once. Instead, he cast a ''Sanctum Veil'' spell after Kaede came close to make sure the group's conversation wouldn't be overheard.

"Does that mean I can no longer receive intelligence from Weichsel's Black Eagles through you?" The Princess asked next.

"His Majesty said ''nothing'' about that, hehe," the dhampir whose uniform marked her as a member of said Black Eagles grinned.

"That's good news at least." Sylviane wiped her runny nose again -- an action she repeated almost every ten seconds. "Lord Henri and his new Bureau of Bookkeeping and Statistics has been providing me with intelligence. But I need a second source as I just don't trust that man."

"It is a bit hard to take them seriously, when they call themselves the 'BS Bureau' and make it sound full of accountants." Pascal straightened his uniform until his appearance was parade-worthy.

"That's intentional," Sylviane voiced. "Henri wants our enemies to belittle and underestimate them. It's why they ''intentionally'' spread that derisive nickname. I may not trust the man, but I recognize... his... talents..."

The Princess then gave a loud sneeze into her handkerchief.

"Cecylia, tell me the latest on the Imperium's commanders before I go back in," she muttered after blowing her nose again. "I've had enough outdoor time for today."

"Magister Marcus Avilius Belisarius is in overall command -- that seems settled," Cecylia began. "You already know him: calculated, efficient, tactically daring but strategically cautious. Our sources claim that he is also directly leading the Imperium's 'Army of the 4th Crusade', which is due to march against the Kingdom of Garona's capital of Narbona.

"A second army being assembled further east will strike at the fortress-city of Outremont," Cecylia explained further. "They're led by the Imperial General Gaius Cassius Aetius, the ''Portal Archmage''."

"I've heard of the name, but..." The balding intelligence officer Hans frowned.

"I doubt you've studied him," Cecylia finished for him. "Aetius is from the southern continent. Made his career fighting the Caliphate and is known for his elastic defense and vertical envelopment tactics. The Imperium transferred him here despite his personal reservations. Sources claim that he doesn't like fighting Lotharins because he befriended Duke Gaston in his youthful adventuring days. There're unsubstantiated rumors that the two may have a bond even closer than that."

"What, are they secret lovers or something?" Pascal scoffed.

"It's not for intelligence to speculate on such," Cecylia shook her head. "That leads to self-deceptive behaviors such as 'motivated reasoning'. Just know that there is likely a bond there and it ''may'' run deep."

"Information is not intelligence. Data does not necessarily permit a conclusion," Kaede quoted before smiling towards Hans. "Isn't that right? Lieutenant-Colonel?"

"You're a good student," the middle-aged man chuckled.

"Still, quite rare to hear about two young nobles travelling and bonding together despite the deep ethnic hatred between Lotharins and Imperials," Hans mused aloud. "His Arcadian name is traditional too."

"Aetius is born-and-bred Arcadian," Cecylia referred to the origin culture of the Imperium -- the cross-shaped island in the Inner Sea which hosts the Imperial capital of Arcadia, the 'City of World's Desire'. "He's more of a true-blooded Imperial than even their Imperator."

"Which makes it all the more astonishing," Pascal frowned as though merely befriending an Imperial national was inappropriate.

''Probably also why the Duke expressed disdain for 'identitarian bloodshed','' Kaede thought before she told the others: "I met Duke Gaston earlier during my walk, actually."

The Princess instantly spun to face her with a handkerchief over her nose.

"He's here? In Alis Avern?"

"Yes, with Marshal Cosette, Dame Ariette, and a few others from the Lazarus Order."

"Is he coming to the war council?"

"No. I asked."

The Princess exhaled a deep sigh before she fumed:

"Again! He keeps doing that! My authority as the next Empress might well be scrap paper in his eyes."

"Even your late father couldn't summon him," Cecylia pointed out.

Sylviane sighed again.

"Father once told me that Duke Gaston, despite being a paladin and archmage, was exceptionally hard to depend upon in a conflict," she began. "He's Lotharin, but lacks any sense of cultural or national identity. He's a lord, but only seems to remember his titles and fief when he runs out of money. His religion varies by location. His disdain for marriage extends to most of his family...

"The only thing he consistently cares about is looking stylish and saving women," the Princess concluded with a scowl. "And he only serves the Empire today because my father was able to take advantage of the latter."

''That does sound like him,'' Kaede thought based on her limited impression.

It made her wonder if Gaston only fought for Rhin-Lotharingie because the women he helped were more nationalistic than him.

"In Weichsel, his behavior would be considered treasonous," Pascal scowled.

"Father was not stupid, and neither am I," Sylviane rebutted. "To turn an Oriflamme Paladin and archmage into an enemy of the crown would be a catastrophic mistake. Gaston might be our vassal on paper. But in reality, the status of his position a... allow... a-Achoo!"

"--Allows him to do whatever he wants," Kaede quietly finished for the sneezing Princess.

The Samaran girl understood all too well from her own Russian father in her previous life that power structures were never as simple as they looked on paper. Though in this case, she somewhat admired the Duke. Clearly, Gaston was someone who had grown past the tribalistic yet virally infectious mindset of 'us-vs-them' and embraced a purer form of humanism -- those whose lives were destroyed by war deserve a savior, regardless of their nationality, religion, ethnicity, or any other identity.

===Author's History Notes===

Lazarus of Bethany - According to the Gospel of John, Lazarus had already been dead from an illness for four days already when Jesus prayed to God to call Lazarus out from his tomb. When Lazarus emerged alive, the miracle became the most powerful sign of Jesus' divine authority.

Book of Invasions - The 'Lebor Gabála Érenn' chronicles the mythological history of Ireland, which describes the taking of the island by multiple mythological races. This includes the Sidhe, who are generalized today as a race of powerful faeries from the Otherworld.

Franco-Ottoman Alliance - Established in 1536 between Francis I of France and Suleiman the Magnificent of the Ottoman Empire after the disastrous French defeat at the Battle of Pavia. The alliance lasted intermittently until the 18th century. Because the main foe of the alliance was the Catholic Habsburg Empire, they would come to directly and indirectly support many anti-Catholic forces (despite France also being Catholic), such as the French intervention during the Thirty Years War in favor of the Protestant League.

Daybreak:Volume 5 Chapter 4

2026-02-09T22:13:47Z

Aorii:

===Chapter 4 - Weight of the Past===

''"Give me blood, and I shall give you freedom!"''

- Battlecry of Charles the Bold, Oriflamme Paladin and later, founding Emperor of the Empire of Rhin-Lotharingie, during the 5th Lotharin Uprising.

"Thank you so much for helping me negotiate with the supplier, Gerard." Kaede smiled towards him from across the dining table. "You've been such a help in the new village's founding. I honestly don't know what I would have done without you."

"You're going to make me blush." The tall and brawny engineer scratched his cheek, which did in fact redden. "I've had some experience negotiating with suppliers before, growing up as the eldest son of a large bakery. So it was no big deal."

He then raised his tankard of ale. "To the success of Lithia village."

"To Lithia!" Both Kaede and Laetitia joined in.

The three sat around an isolated table by the tavern's windows. The sun had slipped beneath the western horizon, yet the clouds still burned with a brilliant wash of orange and crimson. A vast indigo sphere in the north -- the gas giant around which their world revolved -- dominated a third of their view of the sky. And from beyond its shadowed edge, a smaller companion moon in pale silver drifted into view for the first time in weeks.

After meeting with Princess Sylviane and King Alistair, Kaede had left the castle with Gerard to meet with a supplier that Pascal had helped to arrange. The Aria trading company had come recommended by Cecylia as being fair in its dealings. It also operated in both Alis Avern and Nordkreuz, the northern trading hub that was part of Pascal's fiefdom in Weichsel. This meant the company not only had an interest to stay on good terms with Kaede, she also had plenty of political leverage to apply if they behaved dishonestly.

''I really am privileged,'' the familiar thought as she downed the last of her tankard with a grimace. She had never liked the taste of alcohol and was only drinking to keep Gerard company.

The thought made Kaede reflect on her status as a familiar to a high-ranking noble. The girl had never been asked nor given her approval to Pascal before the ritual. Yet, the sacred familiar bond that linked them was unbreakable. Common wisdom also claimed that familiars rarely survived the death of their master -- this essentially meant that Kaede was tethered to Pascal for life whether she liked it or not.

There were a few people who had compared this to slavery. However, Kaede's situation fell into a void where the law had no coverage. Regardless, the familiar was at peace with her circumstances for a myriad of reasons.

The young Baroness thought back to her new settlement where the Princess had graciously provided not only volunteers to help, but also tools, construction materials, seed stock, and even two dozen farm animals. Nevertheless, Lithia still needed other supplies for everyday use such as food, salt, oil, soap, and even the all-important booze to maintain morale. And Kaede had just spent half her savings on a deal to supply every amenity that her village would need during its first year.

"Are you going to finish that, Milady?" Laetitia asked from beside her.

"No, I'm full." Kaede looked down at her small bowl of beef bourguignon. The house special had been excellent, but she could still only finish two-thirds.

"Do you want it?"

"Yes, please!" Laetitia snatched the bowl from Kaede's hands the moment she lifted it.

The snowy-haired girl looked down and noticed that their complimentary side of bread and cheeses had also been devoured by her bodyguard. The other three sides had been finished earlier, and there wasn't even a crumb remaining on each plate.

"Should we order some more?" Kaede asked sheepishly as she felt like a bad host. ''This was supposed to be a dinner to thank Gerard.''

"No need for me. I've had enough," Gerard answered as he looked down at his extra large bowl of beef stew, which now laid empty.

"I'm good also," Laetitia added. "I'll just raid the castle kitchens later if I get hungry."

"That reminds me of Reynaud and I back at the Academy," Gerard chuckled.

"Laetitia, you sure eat a lot," Kaede said with a hint of envy.

The Samaran girl rather missed being able to chow down without worrying about her weight in her former life. Though her current limitation was due to the constriction of her tight corset.

"My mother tells me that a lot," Laetitia responded in between mouthfuls. "I've learned to always clean up the leftovers so I could be a bit less of a burden."

"Why would you ever be a burden to your own family?" Gerard was puzzled.

"Because I'm adopted," the girl answered with a bittersweet smile. "Grandpa plucked me from some half-burnt village when he served in the rangers. But he passed away from a stroke when I was only fifteen since he was a commoner."

"I thought you were from a yeoman's family?" Gerard asked.

"I am. Grandpa married up," Laetitia replied. "Of his three children, only one inherited grandma's magic, so she became my adoptive mother," the girl commented with a faint scowl.

"Grandpa did always feel bad that he'd be leaving my grandmother behind," she then added.

''Unfortunate, since commoners have only half the lifespan of mages,'' Kaede thought.

"I'm sorry to hear that," Kaede voiced her sympathy. "Your grandmother must have loved your grandpa a great deal."

Laetitia made an odd-looking scowl for a moment before it vanished as she chewed.

"Intermarriages between commoners and yeomen are somewhat rare due to that exact reason," Gerard shrugged. "It doesn't help that there's also often a culture gap."

"What do you mean?" Kaede's eyebrows shot up.

"Different lifestyle expectations," Gerard explained. "Yeomen women sometimes follow the traditions of the nobility in pursuing a career first, as they can wait as late as eighty to have healthy children. Meanwhile, commoner women are expected to bear children in their teens and twenties since their reproductive years are so much shorter, which forces them to stay at home.

"For those of us raised in mixed communities, expectations... often fail to meet reality," the tall captain looked down and sighed as though he had personal experiences with this.

''The tyranny of biology,'' Kaede thought. Many women in her old world also struggled to come to terms with this.

It was probably why the nobility, of all social classes, had the most progressive views about women in Hyperion society. Though perhaps that wasn't much different from back on Earth, as the elites always had more resources to pursue their dreams than the average person did.

"But do women ''have to have'' children?" Laetitia asked in a somber voice.

It hadn't escaped Kaede's notice that her bodyguard had been growing more disenchanted and morose as the conversation continued. She rather doubted it was merely because the girl's bowl was almost empty.

However, Gerard never noticed this as his expression remained pensive.

"In Lotharin society? Yes," Gerard answered as he absentmindedly played with his spoon. "Our independence was born from and sustained by the blood of our men and the tears of our mothers. Unless you join a nunnery, everyone would call a girl selfish for refusing this duty."

His words made even Kaede feel uncomfortable, as the reincarnated Samaran had never seriously thought about whether ''she'' wanted to carry children.

"I'll go pay since we've all finished." She stood up from her corner seat, as she didn't really want to think about it right now either.

The girl felt at least a dozen eyes follow her as she crossed the floor to the main counter. A few gazes felt indecent enough that it made Kaede shiver and wish she wore a cloak. The girl knew that coming to a tavern in noble garments would make her stick out like a sore thumb. Nevertheless, she had chosen this locale because it was more comfortable for Gerard to dine at a casual place.

The tavern and its wooden furnishings were simple but clean and held a rustic charm. There were even several animal trophies mounted on its bare stone walls which gave the atmosphere of a hunting lodge. A large board on the wall near the entrance held numerous requests and ads from the local community. One of these advertisements was for the tavern itself, as its aging proprietress was clearly looking for a buyer.

Kaede reached into her messenger bag and pulled out a gold livre. The proprietress' eyes swelled as she swiftly left to find change. The sumptuous food had been reasonable in cost at only one silver écu and forty copper sous. Nevertheless, Kaede figured that the busy tavern could break down a large gold coin, which could pay a month of wages for even a skilled professional like Laetitia.

The woman in her fifties soon returned with ninety-eight small silver coins and sixty tiny coppers in neat stacks. Kaede pulled out a small bag and pushed the entire pile inside. The rest of her gold would stay out of sight in the extradimensional storage of her messenger bag, which came with anti-theft protection among its magical enhancements.

"Thanks for the excellent food," Gerard beamed to the owner. He then moved over to the door and held it open. "Ladies first."

Kaede smiled awkwardly as she didn't exactly like being treated as a lady. Nevertheless, it would be rude to say anything now so she simply accepted.

The petite girl emerged under a starry sky as the sun's glow had completely vanished. A combination of oil lamps and ley-line fuelled crystal lanterns illuminated the streets outside. Many residents still walked about while the town watch patrolled the main roads which gave Kaede a sense of security.

"Gerard, is it true you're leaving for the front tomorrow?"

Kaede had just turned around to ask him when a weight slammed into her back. The slight girl would have fallen face-first into the pebbled ground had Gerard not caught her in his buff arm.

"Thanks... wait, my purse!"

"HEY! STOP HIM!" Gerard shouted as Kaede spun around. She barely caught sight of a boy of around eight, who disappeared into a small crowd of drunks loitering about outside.

Laetitia pointed her casting glove towards the ground once more before Gerard stopped her with a hand on her shoulders.

"I'll go after him. You keep an eye on Kaede," he remarked before bolting off.

Kaede and Laetitia made haste to follow Gerard. The huge man had quite a heavy step, and the familiar could track him through her keen hearing even as he turned around sharp bends in the main road. Though this became harder as they fell behind.

Alis Avern was a city that followed the typical Lotharin 'hillside settlement' design. It was built on only the south-facing slope with homes arranged to maximize exposure to sunlight. Its main avenue zigzagged up and down the hill with most streets extending out horizontally. This made the city easy to defend as every house could turn into a strongpoint to shoot down from. But the downside was that it was far more time-consuming to travel up and down the settlement.

The petite girl had run out of breath by the time she reached the lowest part of the city inside the gates. She slowly came to stop and held onto a crystal lantern post as she panted.

''This stupid corset!'' She blamed the garment even as a voice reminded her that she also hadn't kept up with aerobics.

"Kaede?"

The gasping girl looked up and saw a young nobleman barely over twenty. He stood above average in height and had a lean build that emphasized his long legs. His face was mildly handsome with short brown hair, pretty aquamarine eyes, a wide nose, and a strong jaw. The young man was wearing a velvet doublet in seafoam-green and a rich fur cloak slung over one shoulder.

"Perceval?" She stared at the healer whom she had known since becoming a familiar. The man also had two armigers following behind him as an entourage. "What are you... doing here...?"

"I'm here to attend the war council tomorrow," he answered. "I came in place of my grandfather, Duke Mathias of Baguette."

The moment he spoke those words, Laetitia, who stood two steps behind Kaede, let out a muffled snort.

The young noble sighed with a faint scowl.

"What are you doing outside at this hour? And who's this?" He fished for an introduction.

"I'm Laetitia Leclerc, Milord -- Dame Kaede's new bodyguard," the armiger introduced herself with a courteous bow. "A kid stole Milady's purse earlier and Sir Fournier gave chase. And I apologize for laughing," she said before covering her lips to stifle another snort.

"It's fine. I'm used to it," Perceval sighed again.

"I lost track of Gerard somewhere over there," Kaede finally caught her breath enough to say as she pointed to a neighborhood off the main road and near the slums.

Lotharin towns and cities were mostly built on hills with the main gate at the bottom and the lord's keep or castle on top. This meant the lower in altitude a home was, the less affluent one could generally expect its owners to be.

Perceval nodded before he turned to the two armigers following him:

"Have you both met Sir Gerard Fournier before?"

"Yes, Milord."

"Then let's go."

...

Kaede and Laetitia took a minute longer to follow. But between the quieter night-time and the clinking of armor from Perceval's armigers, the familiar had little trouble keeping track. And by the time she arrived, the two old friends had already joined up.

"I saw him enter this building," Kaede heard Gerard call out as he pointed to a ramshackled house. "I've placed an ''Alarm'' ward around the perimeter."

"And my men are watching around the corners," Perceval added before tapping his head to note that they were in communication via ''Telepathy''.

"Then, let's do this the polite way," Kaede said as she could hear two women berating someone inside.

"What the hell were you thinking, stealing from a noble?"

"But she looked like the meek daughter of some rich merchant from outside the city. I didn't think nobles even ate at taverns!"

A young boy protested loudly as Kaede walked up to the front door and knocked. Everything fell quiet for a minute before it opened to reveal a nervous woman in her late forties.

"Y-yes?"

"Hello, goodwife. My name is Kaede," the petite Baroness began with a meek smile as she tried to calm the other side. "I'm looking for a boy of around eight. He ran off with my purse earlier."

"N-n-nobody has come here for h-hours," the woman replied with an apparent lie.

"We saw him entering this home earlier," Kaede added. "I promise no harm will befall the boy. I simply want my money back."

The woman remained nervous as she looked up and down at Kaede.

"P-please, come in."

"Gerard, Perceval, could you two please wait outside?" Kaede asked. "Laetitia should be enough."

"Of course. We'll wait right here," Perceval replied.

The two girls then went inside and emerged into a common room with a large dining table lit by an oil lamp. Over a dozen chairs and stools were crammed around it. Meanwhile, unfinished bowls of lentil soup and pieces of broken off stale bread laid all around the table.

Kaede could see four other women, ages twenty to forty, standing guard by the stairs or the doorway to other rooms. The sickly coughing of an elderly woman could also be heard from another room, while the sounds and faint mutterings from no less than ten children could be heard from upstairs.

''Just how many people live in this building?'' She thought in amazement.

"Jean?" The woman who opened the door called out. "Jean? Come out this instant."

A boy around eight, whom Kaede immediately recognized, walked out from a back room.

"Jean, is it?" Kaede walked closer before kneeling down with a smile to look up at the boy. "I can see that your family is struggling. But that does not give you the right to steal from others."

"I'm sorry," the boy said begrudgingly as he looked away.

A young woman who stood behind him had to nudge him twice before he offered the bag of coins he took from Kaede.

"Thank you," Kaede patted the boy on the head as she stood back up. "Do you ''all'' live here?" She looked at the women in bewilderment.

"Yes," an older woman by the stairs replied. "Dahlia had to sell her home so we could have enough money to stay fed until the next harvest." She nodded towards another woman. "Zéphine owns a tailor across the street, but she's had to rent out the living space to another family."

"What happened to all your menfolk?" Kaede asked next.

"Dead," a young woman answered bluntly. "They marched off to the Avorica front and never came back."

The Samaran girl felt her chest constrict as it was a far too common tale. The war with the Caliphate had been the bloodiest on the Kingdom of Avorica's front thus far. And although Sylviane's intervention and Pascal's stratagems had shattered an entire invading army, it was done only with the expenditure of tens of thousands of lives.

''And I had taken part in it,'' Kaede thought.

"A few women followed the army as well as seamstresses and fletchers. But they died during the Siege of Roazhon when their camp was struck," said another. "We're taking care of their orphans as well."

"Our husbands were all members of the 3rd Alisia Rangers banner," a third added.

''3rd... Alisia...''

Kaede heard those words as if she had just been punched in the gut.

The petite girl exhaled but forgot how to draw breath. Her chest constricted in pain as she heard faint explosions and the muffled screams of men from all around. And although her jaw was clenched and her lips were quivering, she could hear her own voice cry out:

''"Rangers! Those with the courage to drive back hell! Follow me!"''

The familiar could almost see the bloody banks of the Gwilen River as she gazed blankly at the women in the dim room. She thought back to the men that she ran past on that day. Kaede hadn't met a single one of those soldiers before the battle, nor knew even one of them by their names. Yet, they had answered her call-to-arms during that bloodbath with little regard for their own lives.

Tears fell down from her eyes as Kaede realized she couldn't remember even a single face from the men who followed her to death that day. The slight Baroness sank to her knees as she felt two streams roll down her cheeks as she wept and cried.

"I'm sorry... I'm sorry..."

Meanwhile, the women could only look at each other in confusion as if they had no idea how to react.

<nowiki>----- * * * -----</nowiki>

"Kaede, I know you want to help those women, but please think this through!" Kaede heard Gerard plead as she sat in the back room of the tavern they had dined in earlier.

After departing from the widows' home, Kaede marched back uptown and returned to the tavern to negotiate a sale. She found out that the proprietress was also selling because her husband and two sons had also died at the front. Now, with only three daughters remaining, the old widow wanted to leave behind the painful memories of a life spent building this place and return to her old hometown.

"I've heard that you Samarans don't care much about material wealth," Gerard commented as the door opened and Perceval walked through. "But it's insane to spend the remainder of your savings like this!"

"Savings... What do I do with savings?" Kaede muttered in a hollow voice without looking up. "I sleep, dine, and travel at the crown's expense. Everything I need, Pascal or Her Highness buys for me."

"<Kaede, are you alright?>" She then heard Pascal's worried voice over the telepathy of their familiar bond. "<Your emotions have been all over the place for the past hour.>"

"<Not really,>" she replied.

"Aren't you founding a village?" Perceval asked.

"I've already paid for a deal to keep the village supplied with everything they need over the next year," Kaede answered. "And after that...? I'll figure something out with my earnings from this year."

The two men looked at each other before Gerard huffed. "Please, you talk some sense into her."

"<Are you still with Gerard?>" Pascal asked next. "<Can I use your senses?>"

"<Go ahead.>"

Kaede felt too emotionally exhausted to explain to him. It was much easier for him to just use her eyes and ears to follow directly.

"Kaede..." Perceval began in a sympathetic voice as he sat down on the chair facing the petite girl. "I understand your desire to help. But the Empire is in a state of war, and there are countless widows and orphans like them all over the country. If you spend your hard-earned money on them now, you may regret it later when you need those resources to save the lives of others -- just like the expense I must pay to fill this back up."

The young noble reached into an extradimensional storage pocket and pulled out a baton made of translucent-red stone before placing it on the table. Kaede stared for a moment, confused, before she recognized it as an empty bloodquartz stasis rod. The item was used by healers to carry Samaran blood -- a bright-pink fluid known as the 'fluid of life'.

It was used as a focus for curative and calming spells, as Samaran blood had the rare ability to allow such magic to bypass the resistance created by Mana Repulsion. Without it, most healers would find themselves struggling to heal other mages.

''The hospital ethical dilemma,'' Kaede pursed her lips as she thought.

The Samaran girl had done her share of reading about ethics in her former life. The dilemma was about whether a hospital should save a patient's life by spending a hundred million yen -- money which could no longer be used to keep the hospital running by purchasing equipment and supplies?

"It's not the same," Kaede whispered as she shook her head.

"Do you know... what I did at the Battle of Gwilen River?" The slight girl looked up with swollen, haunted eyes. "The deed that Her Highness cited most when she gave me my chevalier's sword and baroness title?"

The two men looked at one another again. Yes, all three of them had participated in that bloodbath of a battle. But they fought in different roles on separate sectors of that twelve-kilopace long battlefield.

"Didn't you stop the Caliphate's main cavalry charge?" Perceval asked.

"Yes... when the Caliphate froze the river crossing and tried to break through our center..."

Kaede nodded as she felt the din of combat envelop her once more. She heard the low-bass sonic detonation of a trebuchet shot which resulted in a half-dozen soldiers' screams. More cries of battle resounded from all around her as the swish of flying arrows filled the air. And before her, the familiar could hear the sharp cracks and pops of rapidly expanding ice as the main crossing was frozen by a spell barrage.

She could almost see the opposite bank where a tidal wave of heavy cavalry surged down the hill crest. Rows upon rows of beasts and men covered in mail and lamellar bore the green and yellow crescent moon of the Tauheed faith. Eight thousand hooves hammered the ground in sync as they rushed towards the river's frozen crossing. Two thousand riders raised their lances into the air and shouted their bone-chilling battle cry in foreign speech.

"Pascal sent me into the breach so he could take advantage of my familiar ability to cast through me by proxy..." She added.

Kaede felt the desperation of that moment surge back into her. She heard Pascal's voice echo in her mind once more -- the same urgent orders that had once come to her through their familiar link, relayed from his post at army headquarters as he coordinated the outnumbered Lotharin defense...

...

"<Kaede! Run closer to the ice! We need to plug that gap!>"

"<Are you trying to get me killed?>" She lashed back.

"<Trust me! And take out those three arrows I gave you this morning! We are going to need them!>"

The Lotharins didn't have enough artillery. Their heavy infantry was still out of position as they rushed up through the trenches. If this charge crashed through the half-ruined fortifications in the center and plowed into the archers, their losses would be disastrous.

Kaede closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Pascal's words 'trust me' echoed across her mind.

''This is insane...''

The Samaran girl activated an ''Air Glide'' rune and leapt down from the damaged redoubt that she had stood on. She dashed across a collapsed earthen rampart which partially filled the trench in front. Her hand swiped across her right forearm to activate a full set of her defensive runes. Then she reached back and pulled out the three new arrows from Pascal -- each tipped by a sleek gemstone instead of the usual bodkin penetrator.

"<Hold the stones between your fingers and raise them towards the frozen crossing!>" His voice came as though he ran right besides her.

Kaede balled her right hand into a fist with the three gem arrows pointed forward from between her fingers. Mana poured over the familiar conduit as magical power amassed into her fist. Energy pulsed from the three gemstones as their magic linked to her hand. The jewels lit up and radiated a turquoise shimmer across her pale skin.

"Rangers!" She called several nearby squads to attention as she ran. Her free hand pointed at the massive wave of charging cavalry downriver. "Those with the courage to drive back hell! Follow me!"

Boosted by a ''Shift Impulse'' movement spell, her legs quickly carried her to within thirty paces of the frozen crossing. She felt the ground shake and the water tremble as several thousand hooves thundered over earth and onto the thick ice at the far side of the river.

"<''Beam Field,''>" Pascal began to recite the mnemonic spellwords. The mana buildup in Kaede's arm flowed forward into a turquoise halo, which began to spin in place just in front of her fist.

"<''Sonic Penetrator Blast!''>"

A column of harmonic shockwaves poured out from the turquoise ring of mana. They streamed through the air before crashing into the thick ice. Magic from both her body and the gemstones fed into the halo, which was guzzled up as fuel to feed the emitter's glow.

Kaede used her arm to aim as she recognized her cue. She pivoted the shockwave stream as she drew lines across the frozen water. Layered ice cracked and fissured under the sonic assault. Their breaking was hastened by the crowded, stomping hooves. The Cataliyan mages tried to refreeze the water or conjure ramps over cracks. However, few would manage to achieve results as more spellfire from the Lotharins poured in.

The cavalry charge was stopped cold as Kaede cut multiple lines across both shores. The fractures trapped over two thousand assault troops on drifting plates of ice. The familiar then slashed across the ice with more dissecting cuts, and the frigid surface began to crumble.

Frozen plates overturned and added to the chaos. Entire squads and platoons of horses and riders toppled over and fell through the ice. Burdened by their heavy armor, the men and beasts alike began to sink and drown.

Meanwhile, arrows flew all around Kaede as Lotharin bowmen fell left and right to the Caliphate's covering fire. The Samaran girl hardly noticed that a unit of cavalry archers began focusing their shots on her. Their first arrows bounced off her wards. However, the infused ''Dispels'' that followed cut through her ''Repulsion Field'' and shattered her rotating spellshields.

Kaede was still breaking the ice into smaller pieces when her body shook. The taste of blood filled her mouth as she looked down, finding two arrows buried into her chest. One of them was lodged in the gap for her right arm, while the other was a bodkin penetrator that pierced a weak spot between two brigandine plates.

"<Spellshield Fortress!>"

Pascal tried to rebuild her defenses, but a third impact struck her waist and disrupted the forming mana. The sonic emitter from her clenched fist vanished as Kaede dropped her arrows and fell to her knees.

"<Kaede--!>" Her numbed brain heard Pascal's seemingly-distant cry.

"<Good luck, Pas-->"

Neither had finished before the air burst, as a Cataliyan mortar round fell just twenty paces away and exploded into shrapnel.

...

"The late Sir Robert was able to save my life," Kaede said after summarizing the events as her senses slowly returned to the present. "And since I'm a Samaran, even the arm I lost during that battle was fully healed by ''Regenerate'' spells within days. But the same can't be said for everyone else...

"It wasn't until after we relieved the Siege of Roazhon, when I finally learned that it was the 3rd Alisia Rangers that I had called upon to fight with me that day," she continued in her hollow voice. "But by that time, only three out of ninety-eight men remained alive. The banner had suffered eighty casualties during the Battle of Gwilen River alone."

It was a sign of how disciplined and professional the unit had been, as most formations fell apart once they exceeded fifty percent casualties.

"Kaede..." Perceval's soft gaze was filled with sympathy. "People die in war. It's not your fault."

''It's Survivor's Guilt, I know,'' Kaede thought to herself. But knowing something logically and being able to absolve oneself of the pain that she felt simply wasn't the same.

"It's not fair," she mumbled as another tear slipped from her eyes. "I led them all to their death, so why am I the only one recognized as a 'hero' and rewarded!? While those men's families have to live in squalor?"

"Pascal ''is'' trying to change it," Gerard replied as he stood against the door. "The new 'Military Adoption Act' will apply retroactively to the beginning of the Caliphate's invasion last year. It's still not much, but it should at least help them put food on the table."

"I know..." Kaede whispered as she wiped her eyes. "I helped him draft it after all. The Empire's administrative records are incomplete, so Pascal also has to maintain a delicate balance. The Act needs to offer enough to make a difference to poor families, but not so much that it invites widespread 'ghost applicant' fraud, which will happen if the financial gains are too appealing compared to the punishment of being discovered."

The girl then looked at Perceval before she raised her voice:

"Look, I know I'm being selfish. I know I'm being illogical and there are better ways to help more people. But I can't stand knowing and ''not doing'' something for them! I have to do this or my conscience won't let me rest!"

"In that case, I won't stop you then." Perceval wore a wry smile as he stood up. "Were you able to negotiate a good deal at least?" He then looked at Gerard.

"It's not a bad one," Gerard shrugged. "The proprietress knew that Kaede was offering everything she had."

"It might not be bad to use this place as an orphanage in the city either," Perceval considered.

"That's my thought exactly," Kaede responded. "With all the children, they'll have plenty of hands to help run the place. The business would be able to cover the cost of feeding and providing for the kids."

"Teach a man to fish and all," Gerard smiled a little at last.

"And Perceval," Kaede looked at the healer. "How was the grandma?"

"Pneumonia. Not hard to heal, but..." Perceval replied as he looked to his empty bloodquartz stasis rod. "She's a yeoman."

The Samaran girl didn't hesitate for an instant before she raised her right arm and began rolling up her sleeves.

"Take as much as your rod can hold."

<nowiki>----- * * * -----</nowiki>

By the time Kaede signed a contract with the tavern's proprietress and brought it back to the widows' home, most of the kids had gone to sleep. The older women had tried to refuse her at first. But Kaede was insistent, and the residents eventually accepted.

However, they did so under the condition that Kaede remained the legal owner of the tavern, and they would merely sign another contract to run the place in her stead. Gerard also suggested an informal promise where they would take in any other war orphans or homeless widows in the city by offering them a place to stay and work. Since the women also owned a tailor, it wouldn't be too hard for them to keep any additional children clothed and fed.

It was almost midnight by the time Kaede returned to the castle.

"Thank you both so much for helping me through all this," the snowy-haired girl bowed to the two men as they stood inside the closed gates.

"Don't be such an outsider. Helping out is what comrades are for," Gerard smiled before his mouth stretched open in a yawn. "That being said, I do have to leave early tomorrow so, have a good night!"

"Good night!" The remaining three waved as the tall captain left for the castle's barracks. The young nobleman's armigers had gone even earlier to secure guest beds.

"And I actually owe you more." Perceval shook the bloodquartz stasis rod in his hands. It was full of cotton-candy-colored blood once more, as Kaede had insisted that he filled it back up.

"This would have easily cost me three gold," the healer added. "Samaran blood is expensive during a time of war. The Grand Republic's Blood Bank offers only a limited quantity to each country as a 'diplomatic trade good'. Rhin-Lotharingie does receive more as we historically have good relations. But our people are poorer than our neighbors, so we also struggle to curb black market reselling."

Kaede did feel a little faint in the head as a result. Her gentle swaying did not escape Perceval's notice as the young noble insisted:

"Let me take you back to your room. You look like you're about to collapse."

"It's okay. Laetitia can..." Kaede hadn't even finished before she lost her balance and her bodyguard had to catch her.

"I told you it was a little too much to draw at once," Perceval said as he looked more annoyed at himself than her. "It's all about body size and you're quite small for an adult."

"It's fine. I'm just exhausted," Kaede muttered in her quiet voice. "Been a long day."

Meanwhile, Laetitia strapped her spear to her back, before she picked Kaede up in a cradle carry.

"Hey... I'm not an invalid!" The petite girl protested.

"No, but you are a patient now," Perceval declared. "Laetitia, if I remember correctly?" He asked again before the armiger nodded. "Please take Dame Kaede all the way back to her room. Ignore her complaints -- Healer's orders."

"Tyrant," Kaede whined.

"The best custodian is a benevolent autocrat," Perceval chuckled. "Have a good night to the both of you. I must inquire about a guest room to stay at."

"Good night!"

...

As the healer ordered, Laetitia carried her slight mistress through the castle. Kaede was thankful that the servants had already gone to sleep and there were only a handful of guards on watch and patrol. The security in the Castle had been undermanned ever since Princess Sylviane retook it from her traitorous uncle at the end of the Civil War. Nevertheless, the familiar felt her face growing red every time they passed by a guard.

"Milady?" Kaede eventually heard Marina's voice as they entered the royal residence hall.

Her maid wasn't alone either, as Pascal emerged from the door opposite Kaede's room -- where the Princess had arranged for her to stay whenever she was in the capital.

"Thank you, Laetitia. I'll take her from here."

"Wait..." Kaede was about to object when Pascal received her body from Laetitia's arms. He swayed a little but to her surprise, managed to hold steady.

"Have a good night, both of you," Pascal then insisted as he carried Kaede into her room.

"Good night, Your Grace, Milady."

Marina gently closed the door behind him while Pascal carried Kaede straight to a fancy-looking four-poster bed.

"I thought you were going to drop me," Kaede muttered as he set her down atop the soft comforter.

"Give me some credit. I have been practicing daily to rebuild my muscle mass, and you are not exactly heavy," Pascal answered as he unlaced her knee-high wedge boots before pulling them off. "Roll over so I can unlace your corset."

"How long have you been waiting?" Kaede stretched out her arms and did as she was told.

"A few hours. It gave me time to work on that star-sapphire."

Pascal gestured towards the room's desk, where Kaede saw the brooch that Sylviane gave her to go with her formal dress. Her master had borrowed it earlier so he could enhance it with more magic.

"I finished adding ''Earthen Body'' -- the spell that boosts your strength and constitution -- so you can activate the magic without having to use one of my runes," he said. "I have noticed that you use that spell far more than the others."

Unlike most Lotharin mages who use only Aura Magic, Pascal also made use of Runic Magic as another method for spellcraft. Both forms used mnemonic spellwords to shape mana within a caster's body. However, whereas Aura Magic projected that mana directly from the body to create phenomenons, Runic Magic infused objects with an incomplete spell in the form of a rune that dissipated its mana over time, but could be activated by anyone through a preset contact trigger.

Both Runic Magic and enchanting also imparted magic upon a physical object, though for different purposes. Regardless, once mana was removed from a caster's body, it always began to revert back into ether. This Mana Dissipation could be slowed by using certain materials. Gemstones with their non-conductive crystal lattice structures were ideal for this -- which in turn made gems ideal for enhancing into magical items... or really expensive runestones.

"Yeahhh... I can't exactly shoot without it," Kaede considered her archery practice every morning. Though to her, it was more of a 'meditation' exercise. "That spring-steel bow form of the morphic blade you gave me feels like it has at least a 100-kilogram draw weight."

"Gram?" Pascal asked as he slowly pulled apart the back of her corset before he started to unbutton the upper back of her dress.

"Sorry, make that... 15 stones?" Kaede thought as she converted to Hyperion's mass units.

The familiar then rolled onto her back and sat up to give her master a knowing look.

"Pascal, are you trying to get me naked?"

"No. I just want you to rest." The young lord looked melancholic as he sat down beside her. "I saw and heard what happened earlier."

"Oh... right." Kaede had completely forgotten about how she gave Pascal permission to listen in.

"Kaede, I want you to remember that it is not your fault," Pascal insisted as he wrapped his left arm around her half-exposed back. "I was the one who gave you the orders. I was the one who told you to run into hell to hold the line that day... and not for the first time."

The familiar could see her master's right hand trembling before he clenched it into a fist.

"The burden is on ''me'' to see that those men's families are provided for, not you," he declared with a heavy voice and steely resolve in his remaining good eye. "Just as I must make amends for those men that I killed with my botched spell at the Battle of Glywysing."

"Pascal," Kaede voiced gently as she reached over and took the right hand that had cast the spell into her palm. "Please don't try to bear everything by yourself. You may have given me those orders. But it was ''my choice'' how and if I wanted to carry them out.

"Don't ever think for a moment that I was 'just following orders'," Kaede then added with a bittersweet smile. "I may be your familiar, but I've never surrendered my free will. I admire your sense of accountability and wish more leaders had it. But I will always answer for ''my own actions.''"

An appreciative smile slowly formed on Pascal's lips as he reached his left hand up to her head and stroked her hair.

"And that is exactly why I am proud to call you ''my'' familiar."

===Author's History Notes===

'Give me blood, and I shall give you freedom' - Inspired by the slogan of Subhas Chandra Bose, Indian independence leader who led the Axis-supported Indian National Army (INA) during WW2. The INA's military campaign failed, but its legacy led to the Red Fort Trials and the Bombay Mutiny -- these events made British leaders fear a large-scale revolt by the 2.5 million Indian soldiers who served during WW2, and realized they had no choice but to withdraw from India (contrary to the myth that the British left 'willingly').

Livre, écu, sou - Named after currency used by West Francia and later France between the 8th to 18th centuries. The 100:1 exchange ratio is due to Hyperion using the decimal system for all of its units.

'Ghost applicant' fraud - A form of fraud most common in (but not limited to) underdeveloped countries, where perpetrators file for either aid or wages with people who don't actually exist to receive payouts from the government. For instance, during the Afghanistan War (2001-2021), warlords allied to the US often claimed their armies were several times their actual size, so they could receive more monetary subsidies which they pocketed as their own.

'Just following orders' - Known as the infamous 'Nuremberg Defense', when German army officers (not merely Nazis) claimed that they were 'just following orders' to excuse themselves from the war crimes they committed. Although this excuse was rejected during the trials, it perpetuates to this day through the widely-believed 'Clean Wehrmacht Myth', which falsely claimed that only Nazis, not regular German troops, were responsible for the numerous atrocities committed.

For older readers - Yes, the flashback scene is from Daybreak on Hyperion, Volume 3 Chapter 13 - ''Ten Thousand A Day''

Daybreak:Volume 5 Chapter 3

2026-02-09T22:10:53Z

Aorii:

===Chapter 3 - An Eccentric Royal Duo===

''"The Gaetane dynasty was established by Charles the Bold, leader of the coalition that won the Lotharin Independence War and the first sovereign of the Empire. A man trapped in political union his entire life, he was unable to marry his lover and close ally, Queen Gwendolen of Ceredigion. As a result, he decreed to his descendants that the Imperial family should never again marry for shortsighted political gains. Instead, priority was given to create secure and loving families which fostered the best conditions for raising healthy and capable heirs.''

''"This became known as the 'Gaetane Legacy'."''

- Abbot Gregory Froissart de Saint-Hilaire, ''Geoffroi the Great: The Brilliance Who Ended in Tragedy''

"How was the feast and dance last night?"

Kaede asked as she followed Pascal through the halls of Oriflamme Castle while Cecylia and Laetitia trailed behind her. The soothing melody of a harpsichord and a viol continued to resound through the air, which bestowed an atmosphere of serenity upon the castle that reminded her of a museum.

The fortress was fairly simple for being the residence of an imperial family. Its walls and floors were marbled and partially carpeted. However, its furnishings and chandeliers were by no means extravagant. Its hallways were mostly divided by simple mahogany doors that were occasionally guarded by pairs of armigers. Kaede had certainly visited plenty of other estates in Rhin-Lotharingie which showed more wealth and pomposity.

"There was not much dancing," Pascal answered with a shrug. "Everyone was too anxious and mostly wanted to discuss wartime politics."

"Still, Her Highness was disappointed that you couldn't attend," Cecylia giggled. "She even prepared matching dresses for you and Vivienne."

''That's exactly why I didn't come back early,'' Kaede almost groaned.

''Well, one of the reasons,'' she admitted as she also simply didn't want to attend a social gathering full of people she didn't know -- especially when many of them were likely to look down upon her.

The four then strode across one of the massive landscape-style paintings distributed across the marbled walls. It was these artworks which truly distinguished the Oriflamme Castle from other estates in Rhin-Lotharingie. Each canvas had a frame as wide as a dining room and ran from hip-high to near the ceiling. Almost every artwork depicted a scene with its focus on an individual with a blue-feathered phoenix. And they served to both romanticize and memorialize the heroes of Rhin-Lotharingie since the Empire's founding.

''The aura of nationalism here is almost stifling...''

Kaede had always felt uneasy with the excessive glorification of the past. To her, history was meant to be studied with truthful and brutal honesty -- to uncover its lessons and grasp the consequences of long-forgotten choices. Only then could individuals, cultures, and nations alike learn from past mistakes, refine their triumphs into wisdom, and shape a better tomorrow for their people. For history offered nothing less than the collective record of people succeeding and failing, with world-altering implications, for the past thousands of years.

But here, in the 'grand cathedral' of Lotharin nationalism, there were few nuances to how their heroes were illustrated and viewed.

Kaede did understand why, for the Empire and its Lotharin peoples paid dearly in blood for their independence and freedom. Identity was usually built upon narratives, and there were few stories as powerful and as inspiring as those of gallant and grandiose heroism. It was why every country had its 'national myth' -- a romanticized legacy that was often more idealization than fact.

The problem, however, was that when legends took this 'national myth' too far, it often created distortions in people's cultural values and ways of thinking -- such as a certain superpower's claims to its 'indisputable moral righteousness' to police the world.

"Hold up..."

Kaede slowed to a halt before another painting that she had looked upon many times before. Like most of the other artworks found in the Oriflamme Castle, its focus was another paladin -- this time a lean-shouldered, handsome, if somewhat effeminate young man. Clad in mail armor, the paladin sprouted flame-feathered phoenix wings and glowed in a halo of white-blue flames. He flew above the ground with his armigers, leading far ahead of a massive charge of mixed cavalry and heavy, wagon-like chariots.

Meanwhile, displayed on the far side was the 'enemy' painted in ominous grey. The flanks were predominantly light cavalry, with many drawing their recurve bows. However, the center was mostly infantry carrying wooden planks with small iron tubes affixed to them. Interspersed among them were wheeled, wooden platforms that each carried a black, metallic tube. One of them even belched forth flames as the ancient bombard unleashed its shot.

"Is that Leslie the Paladin?" Laetitia asked as the energetic girl rushed up to examine the painting's details with a look of childish wonder.

"Leslie Eachann Barclay of Tollaigh, Voivode of Dvina," Kaede read the label inscribed onto the bottom of the art frame. "You're familiar with Leslie's story, I'm guessing?"

"Who isn't?" Laetitia replied in an awestruck voice as her eyes remained glued to the artwork. "Leslie was a mercenary who journeyed to the Grand Republic of Samara and lent his services to them during the Great Northern War. The Grand Republic remembered his help three centuries later when they aided us during our Independence War. It's a story taught to every Lotharin child through the rhyme ''Leslie's Blessing'', which my grandfather first told me when I was six."

"That's the simplified version, as Leslie actually aided the Grand Republic's predecessor state, the Polisian Federation," Kaede explained. "Nevertheless, this painting is a romanticization of the Second Battle of Desna River, where Leslie led a Polisian cavalry charge against their enemies, the Great Khanate's 'Divine Engine Division'. It's also probably the first and last time a formation which relied on blast powder weapons was used to hold a battle line."

"Why the last?" Laetitia asked as she finally peered at Kaede.

"What do you think happens when a phoenix's aura, which burns the very air around them, makes contact with tightly packed infantry whose pockets are stuffed with blast powder ammunition?" Pascal responded in his typical aristocratic drawl, while the side of his mouth twisted into a lopsided smile.

Meanwhile, Kaede winced as she couldn't help imagining the devastation and carnage inflicted upon those poor soldiers. It didn't matter to her that they were clearly the villains in the painting.

''Thus the battle altered not only Hyperion history, but the very trajectory of military technology in this world,'' the scholar within her thought.

It made her wonder: if the Princess sent her on a journey as she suspected, could she truly secure aid from their allies in the manner Leslie did?

-- The bar seemed impossibly high from where she was standing.

"Speaking of, Laetitia, there's a painting here I think you'd love," Kaede put on another smile before she gestured for the others to follow.

She strolled down the hall and turned left. The four made their way through several more hallways before the petite girl stopped beside another landscape artwork.

"It's whom your grandfather named you after," Kaede beamed. "It's also one of my favorite paintings in the castle."

The artwork centered on a young woman whose long, mint-green hair streamed outward in the billowing breeze. A blue-feathered phoenix rested on her left shoulder, while a kingfisher perched delicately on the fingers of her outstretched right hand. The woman stood among crop fields that blanketed the rolling hills, their lots divided by rows of fruit trees. A clear stream and several ditches ran between the farmlands, feeding into a pond brimming with local wildlife. Meanwhile, several local farmers gathered around with baskets and carts full with harvest, all of them smiling towards her with their cornucopia.

"Laetitia Eulalia de Estrées, the Greenheart Paladin," Pascal read from the label before turning to ask. "I thought she was a hero of the Independence War?"

"She was," Laetitia and Kaede's voices overlapped before the shorter girl gestured for the armiger to lead.

"Laetitia was not only an archmage known as the 'River Witch', but also a master of the spear," the bodyguard began with ecstatic pride. Yet her voice started to dull as she continued: "though her moniker comes from her actions after the war. She journeyed throughout Rhin-Lotharingie to spread the knowledge of Permaculture, which she had learned from the Druids of Ceredigion."

"I have heard of that term before," Pascal commented as his brows rose with curiosity. "Unfortunately, agriculture has never ranked high in my reading. What exactly does it mean?"

"It's short for 'permanent agriculture'," Kaede responded. "Gerard is much better at explaining it as he had studied the subject back when you were both at Alisia Academy. But the gist is that agricultural land shouldn't rely on laborious infrastructure, expensive magic, or chemical fertilizers to stay productive.

"Instead, farming communities should be designed in a synergistic manner that allows nature to sustain itself through its biological cycles. This includes the soil, the trees, the animals, the weather, the hydrology -- ''everything'' must work together. And only through generational knowledge of the land can we manipulate the biome without disrupting it in a manner that's harmful to our descendants," Kaede finished as she stared admiringly at the painting.

"As you can imagine, the Lotharins benefitted significantly from such low-maintenance farming after the Rhin-Lotharingie Independence War, when much of the Lotharin Heartlands lay depopulated," Cecylia added from the back. "Though based on the data I've seen, even today the Lotharins' permaculture practices have an efficiency almost matching Weichsel's intensive farming."

"That is impressive, when you consider that our homeland has always been blessed by its black soil," Pascal praised.

"It's also an excellent example of nation-building that doesn't have to rely on wars and conflicts," Kaede beamed.

"There is definitely room for identity-building through creation alone," Pascal nodded. "Though I would argue that the process is much slower compared to the unifying power of ''ethnic conflict''. The Lotharins survived centuries of Imperial occupation through their inter-tribal unity against a common foe. Without it, I would not be surprised if their culture had gone extinct."

"That's true," Kaede admitted as she thought about the fate of the Lotharins' equivalent in her former life. They had been divided and conquered and left with only a few cultural holdouts.

''Though the Lotharins have also adopted more Imperial practices than they'd like to admit, such as Trinitian religion,'' she considered.

"Regardless, I think we have delayed long enough," Pascal said to Kaede. "Sylv is waiting for us on the northeast roof."

"I need to meet with Ambassador Gerhard, so I'll see you all later," Cecylia gave a little wave before she walked off.

Meanwhile, as Pascal trotted ahead to lead the way, Kaede looked back at Laetitia who was still gazing upon her namesake. The Samaran girl didn't understand why Laetitia's earlier excitement had faded to a pensive, almost melancholic look.

"Is something wrong?"

"No, nothing," Laetitia replied, perhaps a tad too quickly, before she also put on a forced smile.

Kaede certainly wasn't convinced. But she also didn't press the matter as she beckoned:

"Let's be going then."

She then scurried after Pascal. And she had just turned around a corner when she heard Laetitia mutter.

"Grandpa, are you sure you gave me the right name?" The armiger spoke in barely more than a whisper. It was difficult to hear even for Kaede's familiar-enhanced senses.

"I've been a failure in almost every role, including as an older sibling. Is there truly any worth to me beyond fighting?"

...

"Give me... one moment..."

Kaede heard Pascal's rough, breathy voice as they neared the top of the spiraling staircase that climbed up to the roof. The girl had intentionally kept close behind him in case he needed support. His leg hadn't been the same ever since he almost died on the field of battle where he earned his notoriety as the ''Dusklord''. Nevertheless, the fact Pascal was able to climb almost four stories by himself was quite an achievement compared to even two months ago.

"Take your time," Kaede stroked his back beneath the illumination of the skylight atop the turret.

The girl briefly closed her eyes to enjoy the music. The serene strains of harpsichord and viol continued to flow through the air. Their harmony resonated with refined notes as the previous song drew to a close. Hardly a moment then passed before an energetic flute began the music anew, with the new instrument taking the lead in a more lively ballad.

Lotharin music was renowned for its rich variety, wide palette of instruments, and intricate layering of simultaneous melodies. Listening closely to the aria, Kaede could tell that the harpsichordist had willingly dropped to a supportive role. Their graceful notes weaved a calming backdrop to the musical duet between an assertive flute and a hesitant viol.

''It's so unlike Vivi to be nervous on her viol,'' Kaede thought.

The melody had never stopped long enough for players to change instruments. This meant it should still be Lady Vivienne who played the viol as Kaede recognized her earlier music. The Samaran girl wasn't sure who the keyboard player was, but it was most likely the Princess as she owned the castle's harpsichord. The question was who could make an accomplished bard like Vivienne nervous, and Kaede's only thought was that the flute player had to be a man.

"All right. I am good now," Pascal said with a calm breath once more.

Meanwhile, Laetitia bounded up the spiral staircase by taking the almost impossibly steep steps near the center column. She quickly arrived at the landing and pushed open the heavy oaken door and held it.

"Thanks," Pascal nodded appreciatively as he made his way out onto the castle's roof.

By the time Kaede emerged, several armigers on the roof were already examining the new arrivals with an alert gaze. Most of them recognized Pascal and Kaede. However, they stared suspiciously at Laetitia with hands over hilts as the latter was fully equipped.

"Laetitia," Kaede said as she pushed back her hair in the strong breeze. "Not to be rude, but please remain over here for now. We don't want any misunderstandings."

"Of course, Milady," Laetitia nodded before she moved to a nearby crenel and leaned against it.

Pascal had walked ahead to a cushioned chair in the middle of the available seating and sat down upon it like he owned the castle. He was the only audience member sitting beneath the hexagonal, greenhouse-like pavilion which hosted the harpsichord.

As Kaede had surmised, it was Sylviane who sat playing the keyboard instrument. The Princess was in her early twenties and of moderate height. Her voluminous, dark-purple hair draped across both of her narrow shoulders, stopping short of her modest chest in front and reaching just beyond her slender waist in the back. Her eyes were large and caring as they carried the color of wisteria flowers. Below them lay a slender nose, fair cheeks, and a pair of peach-pale lips.

Crowned by a silvery-cerulean tiara, the Princess wore what could best be described as a 'battledress'. The outfit hugged her torso and ran down to a wide, sectioned skirt that reached down past her knees. Its fabric was dyed in a gradient from sky-blue to violet, but also came with purple padding and darker leather reinforcing key locations, which included fitting spots and buckles for strapping down armor.

The snowy-haired girl caught the Princess' gaze and the two smiled at one another in greeting.

''She seems to be in a pleasant mood today, political events notwithstanding.''

Kaede considered the dozen sealed amphorae jugs of lithium spring water stored inside the extradimensional storage of her messenger bag. She had brought them from her village for the Princess, as consumed lithium was an effective mood stabilizer.

The petite familiar walked over to Pascal and looked at her master. The young general sat upright in his armchair with his good eye fixated upon his betrothed. His gaze followed her graceful movements on the keyboard with an enchanted look. And as Kaede focused on him, she could sense the faint echo of his adoration over their familiar bond.

It reminded Kaede of how Pascal had first described the Princess to her: ''"I do not believe a girl more beautiful than her could exist."'''

Kaede had always thought that to be an exaggeration. Sylviane was pretty, of course, but it would be a gross exaggeration to call her one of the great beauties of the realm. Nevertheless, the relationship between the imperial couple went back to their childhoods. And without Pascal's and his country of Weichsel's military support, it was doubtful that Sylviane could have won the civil war against her uncle.

The familiar then looked back to the other two musicians who were performing the duet. They stood divided by the grand harpsichord and neither looked at one another as they seemed to communicate through only their notes. Their ballad was surprisingly normal in volume considering how the music could be heard with perfect clarity even from the castle's far side entrance.

Kaede could only chalk this up to Vivienne's magic, which had the ability to carry sound far further than normal. She would not be surprised if even most of the city's inhabitants could enjoy the melody.

To the right, King Alistair Aileas Mackay-Martel led with a lively tune on his flute as he stood facing his country in the distant north. The monarch from the Kingdom of Gleann Mòr wore a rich fur cloak draped over his dark-blue gambeson and padded chausses.

The King was youthful and tall, appearing in his late-twenties, but was sixty-four in reality. He had a towering height and broad, muscular shoulders. However, he wasn't exactly a handsome man. His head leaned on the squarish side, his eyes faded blue, and his hair a dull brown. With a rustic smile and a goatee-like fuzz, his face could easily blend in among the crowd.

Opposite him, Lady Vivienne Máiréad de Winter was almost an exact doppelganger of Kaede as she played a glowing viol of transparent crystal with her eyes closed. The petite girl wore a long silver-white dress with black and lavender highlights and embroidered musical symbols. She had the same build, the same size, and would have had the same height as Kaede if she wasn't always perched on exceptionally high heels. Almost every feature of their bodies appeared identical, from their small noses and soft cheeks, to thin shoulders, narrow chests, and even the circumference of their corsets -- as the Princess had ordered both of their clothes.

The only notable difference aside from their outfits was that whereas Kaede had snowy-white hair and rose-quartz eyes, Vivienne had a brilliant-blue gaze beneath her long, silver-white hair that, similar to Kaede's, reached past her hips.

Between the three figures was Sylviane's grand harpsichord with three phoenixes perched on top. Hauteclaire, Almace, and Olifant respectively belonged to the Princess, the King, and Lady Vivienne. The birds looked like lean falcons with blue feathers and magnificent, flowing tails decorated by tiny sapphire gems. The three phoenixes varied somewhat in size and their exact shade of blue, though their feathers always grew progressively lighter towards the wings and tail. Meanwhile, their bodies emitted white-blue flames that sent ripples of soothing heat through the surrounding air as though the pavilion was warmed by a bonfire.

''I wonder if phoenixes also enjoy music?'' Kaede thought as two of the birds greeted her with chirps and she waved back.

It felt as though they were expressing solidarity as familiars.

The slight girl stood beside Pascal's armchair. She savored the music as the ballad from the three performers drew to a gentle close.

"Thank you for accompanying me, Lady Vivienne," King Alistair finally turned around to face his co-performer. However, his eyes only briefly met hers before he glanced down with a dejected smile.

"It was a beautiful song, Your Majesty," the girl replied with a polite curtsy.

"Indeed. I did not know Your Majesty could play so well," Pascal genuinely praised.

Meanwhile, Vivienne turned towards her lookalike with a beaming smile and almost ran up to hug the Samaran girl.

"Kaede!"

"It's good seeing you again too, Vivi," Kaede smiled as she squeezed back.

"Well, it ''is'' customary for every Lotharin man to learn a musical instrument," Alistair answered Pascal with an odd smile. "It's part of our courting ritual -- a man offers serenades to his sweetheart, and is rewarded by her lovely voice in return should he succeed.

''Is that why he looked disheartened?'' Kaede thought as she and her older 'twin' embraced for a long moment before breaking their hug.

After all, it had been clear from their duet that Alistair was performing to Vivienne. And while the latter played her viol back in support, the girl known as the 'Winter Siren' never opened her lips to sing in her angelic voice.

"Has Your Grace never tried to pluck Her Highness' heartstrings?" The King teased.

"Of course I have," Pascal said with an annoyed scowl. "Just not very well."

"Pascal tried, and I do give him credit," Sylviane added agreeably as she stood up from her harpsichord seat. "But... let's just say he doesn't have a feel for music," she said with an amused smile while her fiancé looked ''almost'' sheepish.

"I cannot be a prodigy in everything," Pascal shrugged with a forced smile. "It only makes sense that there are some feats that even I am bad at."

''Humble as always,'' Kaede almost giggled at her sarcastic thought.

In the meantime, the Princess had walked over to a cushioned sofa and sat down in its middle. She then patted the seat on both sides as she beckoned to the two girls:

"Kaede, Vivi, come here."

Vivienne's smile remained sunny and infectious as she grabbed one of Kaede's small hands and led her over to Sylviane. The silver-haired bard all but delivered the snowy-haired Samaran into the Princess' hands before she sat down on the other side.

Kaede felt an assertive hand reach around her waist before she bowed to the inevitable and sat down.

"Welcome back, Kaede."

Sylviane greeted as she wrapped one arm around each of the 'twins'. She then pulled Kaede close to her side and leaned her cheek against the silky, snowy-white hair before giving the petite girl a kiss on the head.

"Thank you, Your Highness," Kaede replied as warmly as she could.

It wasn't that she disliked the Princess or felt nervous around her -- at least not right now when Sylviane seemed to be in a good mood. However, it was a little hard to relax when the Princess held her tight and rubbed against her side, her cheeks, and her hair like she was a living hugging pillow.

''It's the price I pay for getting along with Pascal's fiancée,'' Kaede thought. ''Though it's not all bad. Sylviane does give really nice headpats.''

"Dame Kaede, is it?" King Alistair said as he moved closer and leaned casually against one of the pavilion's stone columns. "I don't think this is the first time we've met."

"Your Majesty." Kaede bowed her head. "It's the first time we've spoken though."

"Yes, I believe so!" The King grinned playfully but without any pretense. "I first saw you in the previous war council several months ago, when you stood behind His Grace," he nodded towards Pascal.

The young general had propped his head on one arm as he gazed leisurely at his betrothed, who stroked his familiar's hair with gentle caresses.

"I almost mistook you for Lady Vivienne at first. I never realized just how uncanny the resemblance was." Alistair's voice rang with astonishment as he stared between the two girls flanking the Princess. His eyes always fell upon her like she was a rare and exotic art piece.

''Please don't look at me like that,'' Kaede averted her eyes as she couldn't help fidgeting in Sylviane's embrace.

The fact she knew the King took a romantic interest in her 'twin' only made Kaede more uncomfortable.

"Alistair," the Princess interjected for her. "You're slobbering."

"Wait, what?" The King broke out of his trance immediately. He wiped his lips to find nothing there, only to look back and see the Princess giggling at him.

"Please don't make me sound like some lecher. Although I guess I was behaving a bit like one." The King frowned before bowing his head slightly. "I apologize, dear ladies. I was momentarily possessed by my curiosity and admiration."

"It's alright," Kaede smiled back. ''He sure is humble for a King.''

"Dame Kaede, if you don't mind me just asking," Alistair tentatively spoke next. "Is it true what the rumors say -- that you're a familiar?"

"Yes, she is ''my'' familiar," Pascal interjected with a proud and possessive grin.

Meanwhile, Kaede simply smiled and nodded.

"Your Grace certainly loves breaking conventions. I didn't even know it was possible to have a person as a familiar," the King frowned as he struggled to accept the reality before him. "But Dame Kaede, you and Vivienne aren't ''actually'' twins as some rumors claim, are you?"

"No. We're not even the same human subspecies," Kaede replied. "Vivi is a Faekissed Winterborn. I'm a Samaran."

Her explanation left the King only more slack-jawed and dumbfounded. Though perhaps the expression looked a little too natural for him.

"I have heard that you Samarans reincarnate across lives," Alistair said after a long break. "So are you like... some version of Lady Vivienne from the past or something? Not an evil twin, I hope?" He added in a clear jest.

Both Vivienne and Sylviane giggled at his remark, while Kaede shook her head with a mirthful smile.

"We Samarans do reincarnate with memories from our past lives. But it's impossible for me to be the reincarnation of someone currently alive," she explained. "I do have memories of another life -- it's where my name Kaede comes from. But I do not share any memories with Vivienne. We're certainly not some sort of timeline-offset copies."

"Then... is the fact you two look alike just... complete coincidence?"

"Not exactly," Pascal answered. "I had made some changes to the familiar summoning ritual spell so that I could give it some... specifications."

"Is Your Grace saying... that you had altered the ritual to summon a person, and then cast it with her ''appearance'' in mind?" Alistair asked in disbelief as he didn't think it was even possible.

Every pair of eyes around the pavilion had turned towards Pascal as well. Yet the young general remained tone-deaf as he declared with a proud grin while staring at Kaede:

"Yes. She is sublimely lovely, is she not?"

The bewildered King couldn't even respond as he looked somewhere between being appalled and struggling to pick his jaw off the floor. Even all six of the armigers who stood guard around them looked at the future Prince Consort like he had grown two extra heads.

Meanwhile, Pascal's fiancée sighed even as she pulled a comb from her dress pockets and began brushing Kaede's snowy-white long hair.

"Pascal, you ''really'' lack even the most basic common sense sometimes," the Princess reprimanded as she gently stroked the silky hair with her brush. "Just because I've forgiven you for summoning her, it doesn't mean you should brag about your attraction to your familiar in front of your betrothed."

"But you find her adorable as well," he protested.

At the same time, Kaede kept her silence and closed her eyes as she basked in the soothing feeling of having her hair gently brushed.

''She's really good at this.''

"I'm a girl. I'm allowed to cuddle other girls even after I'm engaged," Sylviane answered with an entitled voice.

"I think your reputation for liking cute girls goes a ''little'' beyond cuddling," Pascal retorted as he sent her a knowing look. "I have seen your spare wardrobe, after all."

It made the King of the Glens snort before he hastily suppressed his laughter.

"Your Grace should be thankful that Her Highness, and the girls around her, bring such a pleasant atmosphere that's a sight for sore eyes," he said brightly. "Compared to the brawny clansmen who fight and argue around me all day, I must say that I'm a little envious."

"Yet, those 'brawny clansmen' of yours may be the salvation of our realm," Sylviane remarked as her expression turned serious, even as her hands continued to stroke the comb down Kaede's hair. "I won't lie to you, Alistair -- the situation is desperate, and your kingdom represents the Empire's greatest untapped reserve of strength."

''Since the Caliphate's invasion came too late last year for the Glens to mobilize,'' Kaede thought.

After all, the Kingdom of Gleann Mòr was mostly situated on the slopes and valleys of the North Lotharingie Mountains and the continent's northwestern coast beyond it. The early snow, which had sealed off the passes, had made it impossible to move large numbers of people between the Kingdom and the Empire for months.

"I only hope it is enough, Your Highness," the King answered as he stood straight. "We have delayed mobilization due to our own need to plant crops. But the north relies more on pasturing and fishing than farming, which has given us a headstart. The armies of the Glens are marching down the North Lotharingie Mountains in three columns as we speak.

"Nevertheless, it is important that we decide on a strategy tomorrow for the war at large," the King expressed. "My forces have a long road ahead to the southern fronts. It's imperative that they take the right route from the start."

"I agree," Pascal nodded. "Time is of the essence, and their march will take weeks."

"However, before we can decide on a national war strategy tomorrow, I would like to decide on a course between us today," Sylviane proposed. "That way, regardless of who supports what during the war council tomorrow, the five of us here can push the agenda in one unified direction. And Pascal already has a war plan that he'd like to propose."

"''Sanctum Veil.''"

Pascal stood before his betrothed even finished and cast a spell over the nearby area. A wave of magic swept out to create an invisible barrier that would prevent any eavesdropping. Those outside its radius would hear nothing but innocuous conversations -- like those about food, clothing, and the weather.

"Sounds swell to me!" Alistair said before he chuckled. "And I'll be ready to bark and bite at our opponents as usual, so you can focus on settling a deal."

It reminded Kaede of the many meanings behind Alistair's nickname, the 'Hound King'.

<nowiki>----- * * * -----</nowiki>

"Sylviane, I really appreciate you setting up the opportunity today for me to perform to Vivienne."

The Princess listened to the King speak in the salon room that the two had retreated to for a private conversation. Nevertheless, Sylviane could hear the discouragement in Alistair's voice before he trailed off into a sigh.

"Don't feel bad, Alistair," she said as he sat down on an armchair facing her. "As I've told you before, Vivienne has androphobia due to what happened to her in the past. Her deeds in battle might make her seem a brave and outgoing girl. But she's actually more cautious and skittish than most people realize. The fact her music stopped being nervous towards the end of today's performance was a good sign that she's warming up to you.

"I'll arrange more chances for you two to spend time together in the future." The Princess' smile helped bring back a positive expression from the King.

"Thanks, I appreciate that. Though... are you sure you're fine with the prospect of me taking such a cute girl off your hands?" He joked.

It brought a giggle to Sylviane's lips before the Princess replied:

"I adore Vivienne. I don't deny it would sadden me if she moved away," she answered. "But I'm also her dearest friend. I want her to live a bountiful life despite what fate has saddled her with. And I trust you," she then looked intently at Alistair. "Not merely as a political ally, but also a close friend and a sterling suitor for her."

"I'm honored that you think so highly of me, given my reputation for visiting brothels and bathhouses," the King responded with a chuckle as he picked up a cup of mint tea from the table between them.

"You might be a randy ex-mercenary captain. But I know you're also loyal to your men, and they in turn to you," the Princess remarked. "I have no doubt that would extend to a would-be wife as well."

"And of course, ''you'' get to place a close friend of yours, an asset so to speak, to tie me as an ally to the Imperial crown." The King raised his eyebrows before he playfully added: "Don't think that I haven't noticed that you've picked up your father's playbook. I may be good at ''looking'' stupid, but even this old dog can still learn a thing or two."

"Stop it, Alistair, you're not even that old!" Sylviane giggled.

Sure, the King might be thrice her age, and more than double that of Vivienne's. But most mages didn't marry until at least their forties, which meant Alistair was still in his 'late prime'.

"And I shan't deny that I'd like to place someone new in my old role," she then added.

The Princess thought back to how her late father had sent her twelve-year-old self to attend Alistair's coronation. He even gave her a gift that she was to give Alistair in private, alongside a lecture that she was to treat the 'bastard king' with ''genuine courtesy and respect''. It had opened the door for conversation between the newly declared Crown Princess of the Empire and the newly crowned King of the Glens, both of whom had felt constantly manipulated by the court and unsuited to their new roles.

"Though, speaking of Vivienne," Alistair said. "Does His Grace know about Vivienne's curse?"

"No," Sylviane shook her head. "You're the only one whom I've ever told about the curse she bears. It's not exactly information that should be openly shared. Though I think Vivi might have told Kaede about it."

"Wouldn't Kaede tell Pascal?" Alistair then asked. "She's his familiar after all."

"Kaede knows when to keep a secret," Sylviane confidently replied. "And their familiar bond -- Pascal told me he can feel her emotions just like a regular familiar. But he cannot actually read her thoughts. And while he can use her eyes and ears as a master could with normal familiars, he has to ask her for permission first."

''Though it's more like he promised to ask her for permission first,'' Sylviane thought.

Nevertheless, she didn't need to explain to Alistair that when it came to matters like these, she believed Pascal was as good as his word.

"Well, that's... comforting," the King exhaled a sigh before his voice only grew more sarcastic. "Because Holy Father knows I wasn't at all disturbed by the fact he practically ''copied'' Vivienne..."

Sylviane's smile turned wry as she thought back to her own initial reaction towards Pascal's actions. She didn't speak to him for a month after he first told her about Kaede.

"I do know what you mean," she nodded with a faint sigh. "Nevertheless, I trust Pascal. His actions often come from a lack of consideration, but not a lack of loyalty."

"No. And I certainly don't mean to speak ill of him," Alistair insisted. "Not when he has bet and paid so much to help you retake the throne from your traitorous uncle. Nevertheless, if he had known about the curse beforehand, it would have shifted his actions from... disturbingly creepy, to 'someone please lock this man in the confessional'."

Sylviane couldn't help but laugh in response.

"Are you saying that there ''aren't'' millions of men who would prefer an adorable girl like Vivi, who comes packaged with a curse that enforces her honesty and encourages her obedience?"

"Those men ''all'' need the confessional," Alistair remarked in an exaggerated voice before he drank from his tea.

"I don't even think it's limited to men," Sylviane then continued. "Kaede once told me a story from her world -- I guess it would be the world of her past life -- that when a certain famous empress gathered representatives from all social classes and ethnicities and asked them all what right they would most like to have. The answer she received was 'the right to own slaves'."

Alistair almost sprayed the tea that he was drinking out at that moment. It led to a series of choking coughs instead.

"Is that what they mean by... 'freedom for the pike is death for the minnows?'" He responded a moment later.

"Certainly a part of it," Sylviane said as she gracefully reached down to her own tea and brought it elegantly to her chest. "We humans are simply obsessed with a desire to maintain control of our lives by controlling others. And it's especially the case when we already find certain other people desirable -- be it for their beauty, their traits, or even just their labor -- whom we then wish to include in our lives, for reasons both benign and exploitative."

''Just as I had sought to control Kaede since Pascal summoned her,'' the Princess thought to herself. ''Though she has turned out to be a good girl.''

Regardless, her words left Alistair silent and brooding for a minute as the King reflected with a deep scowl and a rather uncomfortable look.

"I do hope I'm not that way with Lady Vivienne," he muttered in a quiet voice.

"I'll be sure to remind you when you toe the line," Sylviane smiled back.

"That's reassuring to hear," Alistair beamed before he changed the topic again. "And with that last story... Do Samarans really reincarnate then? And they remember everything from their past lives?" He asked with a still-incredulous gaze. "I had briefly conversed with a Samaran trade captain on the topic. But I wasn't sure how much to believe him."

"Well, I certainly believe Kaede," Sylviane answered. "According to what she has told me, a Samaran doesn't remember ''everything''. But she does remember her life growing up in two countries called 'Japan' and 'Russia' on a world called 'Earth'."

"As in, the ground?" Alistair raised an eyebrow before he scoffed in good humor. "How original."

Sylviane simply laughed.

"What would we call our world then, had Hyperion the Dragonlord not died for our sins?"

Her question made the King scratch his goatee-like fuzz for a long moment. He then looked at Sylviane in the eye as wagged his eyebrows as he declared:

"Primrose Path?"

It brought another round of soft laughter to the Princess' lips.

===Author's History Notes===

'Indispensable moral righteousness' to police the world - as the ending revelation about Kaede shows, this actually refers to 'America World Police' and the US national myths of the 'City upon a Hill' and the 'indispensable nation'. The first is the 17th century Puritan religious belief that American colonies were founded to serve as moral exemplars to the world, thus justifying anything America did to convert others. The second is the post-WW2 nationalistic rhetoric that the world can't manage itself without America doing it for them.

Leslie Eachann Barclay of Tollaigh - Based on Alexander Leslie of Auchintoul, a Scottish nobleman and mercenary who fought for the Russians during the 17th century, eventually rising to Voivode (warlord) of Smolensk. His surname is a reference to Barclay de Tolly, a branch of the Scottish Barclay Clan of Tollaigh who became members of the Russian nobility thanks to their services to Imperial Russia -- most famously Prince Michael Andreas Barclay de Tolly, commander of Russian forces during the start of Napoleon's invasion of Russia.

Divine Engine Division - One of the three elite Imperial divisions of Ming dynasty China in the late 14th century. The formation was created to specialize in gunpowder warfare and to experiment with new weapons and tactics. It pioneered the famous rotating ranks volley fire at least a century prior to the Dutch and Japanese.

Permaculture - Based on the modern Permaculture movement, which promotes ecological and self-sustaining agricultural management based on traditional wisdom and environmental understanding.

'Lotharins' equivalent in her world' - Kaede is referring to the Celts here, who once dominated most of Western Europe but are today limited to only Brittany and half the British Isles. The lack of unity among ancient Celtic tribes allowed the Romans (esp. Caesar) to pursue an effective divide-and-conquer strategy. Subsequent genocides such as the Celtic Holocaust would depopulate many Celtic population centers and pave the way for Latinization.

'They all asked for the 'right to own slaves<nowiki>''</nowiki> - Sylviane is generalizing the story of when Catherine the Great of Russia wrote the Nakaz (lit: instruction), which expressed her beliefs on Enlightened Absolutism based on the principles of freedom of thought and speech and equality of all classes before the law. However, when she summoned delegates from various ethnicities and social classes (minus serfs/clergy) for her new legal reform based on it, the biggest item that they could all agree on wanting was the right to own serfs.

'Freedom for the pike is death for the minnows' - Quote by Isaiah Berlin in ''The Two Concepts of Liberty'', which is used to describe the concept of Negative Liberty.

Daybreak:Volume 5 Chapter 2

2026-02-09T22:07:38Z

Aorii:

===Chapter 2 - A Familiar Squire===

''"Historians remain at loss as to the origin of Dame Kaede Nikita Konstantinovna Suvorskaya. Though it is common for Samarans to live an unassuming life, not a trace of the girl could be found before Year 566 of the Faith Age. The earliest record shows that she appeared in Alisia Academy in the autumn of that year. And despite the girl's quiet demeanor which could easily pass for a wallflower, her actions have carried consequences that have since reverberated through the history of the West."''

- Yue Yuling, ''Journey to the West, Part II: Thunder of the Great War'', written after her embassy to Western Hyperion from the Dawn Imperium in the Far East.

''They're late...''

Laetitia turned towards the busy docks as she played with her braid in the strong headwind from the lake. The skies were clear and the sun was at its highest point at half past noon. But the person she waited on had yet to arrive.

The girl absentmindedly twirled the spear in her hands as she stood near a stone gatehouse built like a keep. The guards there kept a watchful eye on both sides as they watched both the docks district and the small bailey that housed the teleportation beacon obelisk.

Several of the soldiers eyed her cautiously as she wasn't part of the city's garrison or militia. Nevertheless, she wore a gambeson in Lotharin blue beneath her steel cuirass and spaulders, while the shield on her back bore the phoenix crest.

"Hey girl," the gruff sergeant in command of the checkpoint called out. "Who are you waiting..."

His cry trailed off as a clear ringing chimed from the magical wards linked to the teleportation beacon outside. A small group of four suddenly materialized from thin air around the stone obelisk. The soldiers on watch immediately grew alert as they spotted the four figures who unlinked their hands. One of them wore the feathered blue cape of an Oriflamme Armiger which helped to put them at ease.

The new arrivals included two young men, one tall and one short, plus two petite girls. The young woman who wore a noble-looking dress then bent over with a sickly pale face. She covered her mouth as she ran to the nearest parapet facing the lake before leaning over the wooden battlements.

Laetitia could only see the girl's long snowy-white hair as she heard retching sounds from the girl throwing up.

''A Samaran?'' She pondered.

Laetitia had met a Samaran only once before -- a travelling merchant from the Grand Republic of Samara who stopped at her hometown. They were known by their distinctive unblemished white hair, which was quite rare among other human sub-species.

"I think you need to slow down with the teleports."

A deep voice which Laetitia recognized as Gerard's suggested from among the remaining three. The tall young man looked quite dashing today in his blue gambeson and a one-sided shoulder cape. It was the uniform of the new model army that Laetitita had recently heard about. And it made quite a difference from Gerard's usual well-worn clothes.

Perched atop his shoulder cape was a black raven with white feathers above its neck. It was Gerard's familiar, though Laetitia rarely saw the bird with its master.

"We already took two extra breaks," another familiar voice came from a short man in the group. He frowned with a mix of concern and exasperation before he shrugged: "you'd think she'd be used to it by now. It's like she's pregnant or something."

The redhead who spoke was a lean young man who clearly stood shorter than the average Lotharin male. Nevertheless, he seemed exuberant with energy as he stretched from side to side even as he stood in place. Beneath his short red hair were a pair of vivid-green eyes, lightly freckled cheeks, and a narrow, delicate nose above his open lips. His features combined for an innocent, boyish look better suited to an apprentice than an Oriflamme Armiger -- decorated men-at-arms who directly served one of the twelve Oriflamme Paladins of Rhin-Lotharingie.

Meanwhile, the other girl, who wore a maid's dress beneath a green cape, scurried to the bent-over young lady before giving the still-vomiting girl several sweeping strokes down her back.

"There, there, Milady," she spoke in a soothing tone.

It took a minute before the white-haired girl straightened her back. She wiped her lips with a handkerchief offered from the maid. She then took several deep breaths and drew out the time between each inhale and exhale as if doing breathing exercises. Only after that did she turn back around. Her face still held a sickly pallor as she retorted in a soft and airy voice:

"Who are you calling pregnant!"

"That's rude. Her Ladyship is a proper virgin," her slightly taller maid declared as though she had personally verified it.

"AHHHhhh don't announce that either!"

The petite lady cried aloud -- though 'loud' was relative given her wispy voice -- as she covered the maid's lips with her small hands. Her pale cheeks had gone from ghostly white to burning scarlet in the span of seconds. Her entire face grew flustered and burned as though she was about to start giving off steam.

Meanwhile, both of the men had unsuccessfully tried to stifle their mirth before bursting out laughing. Even the maid had a merry look in her eyes as though she was about to start giggling, which her lady did not fail to notice.

"You've only met for a day and you're ganging up on me already!?"

"Ah, sorry, Kaede. You're just too fun to tease, and I wasn't even trying this time," the short armiger wiped a tear from his eyes. "But look on the bright side, at least you're not feeling sick anymore."

"My mouth still tastes rancid."

The snowy-haired girl reached into a messenger bag slung over her shoulder and pulled out a furry waterskin. The large, utilitarian leather bag looked completely out of place with her fancy dress, but she didn't seem to care.

The girl's outfit was a combination of white, bright blue, and soft pink. The garment was centered on a built-in corset that wrapped tightly around her narrow waist. A long and wide skirt that came in multiple layers descended down to ankle-level and almost hid her wedge boots. The skirt's sectioned outer panels displayed the Empire's phoenix heraldry. Meanwhile, her thin shoulders were wrapped in a tight bolero jacket and a 'blouse' attached to the corset, both with straight trim and stiff lines to give the air of a military uniform.

"I didn't get any on my dress, did I?" She then asked before rinsing with several mouthfuls.

"A little here, Milady," the maid pointed out.

"Ehhhh!?" The petite lady grew concerned. "This is the only formal dress that I have!"

"Here," Gerard walked over to her before kneeling down and placing his right hand over her lower dress. His casting glove glowed briefly as he enunciated in ancient Draconic: "''Cleanse''"

The simple spell easily expunged the small vomit stain from her dress.

"Thank you so much, Gerard," the lady said. "Her Highness will get mad at me if I meet nobles in a soiled dress."

"Think nothing of it," the tall officer stood back up with a gallant smile as he replied.

''Can't she cast it herself?'' Laetitia wondered as she watched them.

After all, ''Cleanse'' was a simple cantrip taught to every mage. Sure, not everyone could learn magic -- affinity for it had to be inherited -- but noble families all traced their bloodlines back to magical stock. A noble without magic was unthinkable, as magical talent was one of the chief markers of status. It was why commoners who did possess the gift, like her own family, were referred to as 'yeomen' to distinguish them above the rest.

"You know both Her Highness and Pascal would be ''happy'' to buy you more outfits," the shorter redhead grinned.

"Don't you say anything," the white-haired girl almost pouted. "I don't want to give either of them any encouragement, nor waste money on more clothing than I need."

"Your 'need' is like four outfits, Milady," the maid protested. "Might I suggest that we at least do better than that?"

''Did she grow up impoverished or something?'' Laetitia's imagination leapt to a young girl who lived off scraps of food scavenged in back alleys. It certainly explained the girl's short height and small stature in her mind's view.

''Poor thing.''

Nevertheless, the destitute girl's life had clearly changed, as the quality of her clothes alone made apparent. Her outfit was custom-tailored to her exact size and used only the finest fabrics and trim. The girl also wore several jewels -- rose-quartz floral earrings, a turquoise ring on her right hand, a brilliant star-sapphire brooch beneath her collar -- all of them in the highest quality.

Furthermore, Laetitia could tell from the light radiating from each gemstone that they were all ''enchanted''. Magic items were invariably expensive, as they could only be made by a mage with an affinity for object enhancement -- many of whom were nobles.

''But how could she sustain her magic items with mana if she's not a mage?'' Laetitia pondered.

Regardless, before she could speculate how the girl achieved such a huge leap in social status, Gerard walked over towards her and greeted:

"Morning, Laetitia, I'm glad to see you've been doing well since we last met."

"Afternoon, Sir Fournier," Laetitia smiled as she corrected him. "Glad to see you again as well!"

The tall engineer then moved past her and towards the gatehouse where he began talking to the sergeant on watch:

"I'm Captain Gerard Fournier, commanding officer of the new model army engineers, 1st company. With me are Sir Reynaud and..."

He was still talking when the armiger named Reynaud called out to Laetitia.

"Afternoon, Laetitia, meet your new charge," he announced as they walked up. "This is Dame Kaede Nikita Konstanstov, Konstantinov, novna--? Surkorska..." His eyes crossed as he struggled with the names before pivoting to the girl he was introducing. "Your name's too long!"

''And foreign,'' Laetitia thought as she had never heard of a name like that.

Kaede merely giggled before she reached out with a gloved hand.

"Just Kaede is fine. Reynaud has already told me about you."

Laetitia's eyebrows rose slightly as shaking hands with someone you've just met was a male custom among equals. However, it wasn't a female one, and certainly not between a noblewoman and the adopted daughter of a yeoman.

Nevertheless, she accepted the invite with both hands and vigorously shook Kaede's.

"Pleasure to meet you, Milady!"

''I didn't know fabric this smooth existed.'' Laetitia marveled as her fingers felt Kaede's silky white gloves.

"This is Laetitia Leclerc. I met her on my last mission," Reynaud then introduced. "Never seen a girl who's so eager to become an armiger in service. But she's good, very good. So I'm assigning her to you as your bodyguard."

Slightly taller than the average Lotharin woman, Laetitia had a lean and sinewy physique common to martial arts practitioners. Her light-blonde hair had some tousled curls and would have reached halfway down her back had it not been pulled over her right shoulder in a loose braid. She had large peridot-green eyes with a delicate nose that people often complimented as pretty. Though her mother always complained that she'd be a true beauty if she just applied a little more daily care.

Laetitia carried a spear half again her height and bore a diamond-shaped bouche shield on her back. Her armor was almost form-fitting as she wore a shortened cuirass that went down to only her waist, emphasizing a greater need for agility than coverage. She had more steel covering her limbs and tassets over her layered and sectioned over-knee skirt. Her dress, however, was homesewn as it featured a combination of brightly layered cloth and gambeson-like padding.

"Why do I need..."

Kaede objected almost in reflex before trailing off into a scowl as she seemed to recognize the answer herself. However, that didn't stop Reynaud from lecturing her:

"Because you're useless when ambushed in close combat, to quote Her Highness," he said. "Becoming the Grand Squire means you now have a responsibility to keep yourself safe, as it would trouble others if something happened to you. And even if you weren't, there's still an incentive to kidnap you for your blood during such conflict-laden times."

''She really is Samaran then.''

Laetitia had heard that Samaran blood was a panacea that could cure any disease and even reverse aging. Though it was mostly used as a spell focus by healers as it improved the effectiveness of curative spells.

Meanwhile, Kaede looked a little down as she clearly didn't like being called 'useless'. Nevertheless, the petite girl kept a smile on her lips as she presented the maid beside her.

"This is Marina, my lady's maid."

"Delighted to make your acquaintance," Marina dipped down in a slight curtsy.

"Mine also," Laetita returned a friendly wave as she had never curtsied in her life.

The late-teen maid was a hint taller than Kaede and wore a classic frilled black-and-white dress. She had spring-green eyes and brunette hair loosely tied in two tails that slung before her shoulders. Her face was pretty and cute in a plain, village girl sort of way, which looked still innocent to the world at large. Regardless, with her unassuming appearance she could easily melt into a group of servants without being noticed.

"You and your companions are clear to enter, Sir," Laetitia then heard the sergeant declare from behind her as he handed a scrollcase back to the tall engineer.

"Come on, everyone," Gerard gestured for them. "Let's not loiter outside the gates."

"Let's go then," Kaede said as she led Marina towards the city's entrance.

Meanwhile, Reynaud moved closer to Laetitia until his brigandine pressed into her shoulders and he could whisper into her ear:

"Remember, you asked for this, so don't complain to me later when the hours suck."

The young man then pulled back slightly with a playful grin. "Kaede could be a bit handful at times, as she doesn't know her limits and doesn't follow common sense."

"I heard that!" Kaede's soft cry came from beyond the gate.

''How?'' Laetitia's eyes swelled as the girl should be well beyond earshot of Reynaud's hushed voice.

However, the redhead merely chuckled as he added:

"But she's a good person."

Laetitia's expression lit up in a sunny smile that beamed with appreciation. The twenty-four-years old girl from the boondocks thought back to the conversation they had a month ago, when Reynaud asked why she wanted to join his mission group. She had brought her grandfather's spear and shield. But almost every piece of armor she wore had been paid for by the young man standing before her.

"Thank you. I appreciate this so much," she lauded. "It's like a wish come true for me."

"Don't say that until you've lived the life, because it's not that easy," Reynaud smirked with a wink. "But welcome aboard, Laetitia. We'll be working together often from now on."

...

"I'm sorry, but that's all I can sell you with the new rationing in place," Laetitia heard a merchant cry outside a grain warehouse. A crowd had already gathered around him as others protested which forced her group to detour around.

"How are things here at the capital?" Reynaud then asked as they trekked through the open area in front of the docks.

The city of Alis Avern might not be a bustling center of commerce or an overpopulated metropolis, but it was nevertheless the capital of the Empire of Rhin-Lotharingie. Situated on the northeastern tip of an island in the middle of Lake Alise, the largest lake in Western Hyperion, the city was built on a south-facing slope and enveloped by water and cliffs on three sides. It was on this excellent defensive position that the Averni tribe built the settlement many centuries ago, after they fled from Imperial forces in the aftermath of a catastrophic uprising.

However, aside from the famous Oriflamme Citadel which dominated the city from atop its rocky crag, the capital had no other impressive structures that truly stood out. Most buildings were wooden with thatched roofs raised two stories high. Most alleys were narrow and meandered between buildings with no pre-planning. Homes were crammed onto the hillside like stepping stones. And even the single main avenue that zigzagged uphill could barely manage two wagons passing side-by-side.

''It's honestly disappointing,'' Laetitia thought, as she had left her hometown in hopes of seeing the world and experiencing its wonders.

"Nervous, to say the least," the girl replied to Reynaud as she glanced around.

Most of the residents of the city were either rushing about, or murmuring quietly to each other as they looked upon the small group of officers, armigers, and one young noble with her maid.

"News about the Imperium's declaration of war has spread among the civilians this morning," she continued. "Many seemed pessimistic if not frightened by what this means for our battered country. However, Her Highness the Princess opened the castle's great chapel to residents this morning for the Resurrection Day service. And at its conclusion, she addressed the residents with quite an inspiring speech."

Laetitia thought back to the church service that she attended along with thousands of others. It was the first time she had seen the elegant 'Cerulean Princess' in person.

"The mood seems to have calmed a little after seeing the Princess' composure. Many people are working hard today despite the holiday to support the war effort," she said before looking towards the city's docks.

The harbor infrastructure had been expanded over the past month under Gerard's command. Hundreds of laborers, many of them women and older children, were busy transferring supplies between boats and loading equipment onto barges even as they spoke.

"Nevertheless, there are many rumors flying around on what's happening, such as how the Imperium and the Caliphate are preparing a joint offensive." Laetitia frowned as even she couldn't help feeling worried about that claim. It would easily doom any possibility that the Empire could emerge victorious from this conflict.

"There's no way that's true," Kaede replied before diving into an impromptu historical lecture.

"The Imperium and the Caliphate are mortal enemies who have hated each other since the rise of the Tauheed Prophet. The Caliphate could even trace its origins to a revolt against the Imperium on the southern continent of Euryphaessa. Between the Southern Suppression Campaign, the Wasteland War, three Trinitian Crusades, two Tauheed Holy Wars, and numerous other conflicts, the Imperium has far more Tauheed blood and genocidal atrocities on its hands than they could ever accuse our Empire of. It would take an outright miracle for those two to work together."

Laetitia zoned out a little as the speech dragged on. Though it didn't escape her notice that the more Kaede talked about history, the more lively and animated the petite girl became.

"The only problem is that they just happen to have a mutual enemy in us at the current moment," the snowy-haired Samaran added with a frown as her voice grew thoughtful. "Which we ''really'' need to resolve as quickly as possible."

"Much easier said than done," Reynaud countered. "The Caliphate is occupying more than six duchies' of our land in the south, which we must first retake."

"''If'' we can retake them," Kaede murmured quietly.

"How can you doubt our soldiers at a moment like this?" Reynaud rebutted.

"I'm being realistic," Kaede replied in a faint but serious voice. "We must examine only facts when considering strategy. And if trading land would give us the peace that we desperately need to develop our nation's strength..."

"That's traitor talk--" Reynaud's voice was fast rising when Gerard interrupted him:

"Not again, you two. You were at it for two whole hours yesterday. Give it a rest!" Gerard insisted as he led the group. He then changed the subject: "by the way, Reynaud, why didn't we use the upper teleportation beacon? The one just outside the castle? You'd easily get permission."

"Because it's inactive today," the redhead replied. "The wards there are being adjusted."

Laetitia thought about the teleportation beacon that Reynaud arrived at earlier. They were used by mages, especially Wayfarers, to lock onto their destination, even those they had never visited. With a beacon, the risk of mishaps vanished; no chance of arriving with one's feet embedded in stone. But inside a fortified settlement like this, the small area around a beacon was also the only place where teleportation was permitted. The rest of the urban sprawl within the walls would be warded by a ''Lockdown'' spell, which bounced off inbound teleportation magic.

As the group turned around a corner and made their way towards the city's main gates, a haunting yet melodic sound resonated across the air. A series of loud clicking noises followed which drew everybody's attention skyward. A humongous flying creature in the distance then emerged into view from behind the gargantuan rock that the Oriflamme Citadel sat on top of.

The colossal beast looked more like a creature of the sea than a bird. Its long gray body was sleek and hydrodynamic and had a tail that looked appropriate for a giant fish. It had two short fins which reached down to the sides just behind a bulky, squarish head. Tentacle-like appendages ran around the front of the head like long mustaches, while below them was a thin jaw that opened to emit another beautifully haunting melody.

A steel-framed wooden structure was also strapped beneath the belly of the beast. Its size rivalled that of a wealthy family's home and could easily accommodate a dozen or more rooms. Support beams wrapped around the sides and back the monster which held the gondola in place. It was clear the animal was being used as a tamed beast of burden.

"Is that... a skywhale?"

Laetitia whispered in awe as she stared up at the gargantuan animal that she had only heard about in her grandfather's war stories. Meanwhile, her legs suddenly halted as though she forgot how to walk.

"That looks like Marianna," Reynaud smiled as the others stopped to look as well.

"Your father's skywhale?" Kaede asked.

"Yep!" The short armiger nodded. "Which means King Alistair is likely onboard."

"Why doesn't he ever arrive by Wayfarer like a normal person?" Gerard pondered aloud.

"Because he has to travel in ''style''." An excited Reynaud swung one arm across his chest with approval. "Besides, it's good for the city's morale."

"Can I ride on it later?" Laetitia asked with a starry-eyed gaze.

"Of course," Reynaud answered. "I'll even give you a tour."

"Yes!"

Laetitia pumped both hands as she returned to admiring the gigantic beast. The skywhale flapped its tail as it descended towards the city from several hundred paces up. The girl could just make out the weapon ports that opened to the side of the skywhale's gondola. There were also two ballistae mounted towards the front of the structure, just behind an observation deck lined by glass windows.

"Is that a baby flying beside it?" Kaede pointed.

"A baby!?"

It took a moment before the ecstatic Laetitia noticed the much smaller skywhale which flew alongside the parent. Their dark-gray bodies blended together in the distance as the calf laid in close contact against the mother's side.

"That's Priscilla, my familiar," Reynaud beamed like a proud father. "She's almost nine months old now."

"I thought mages usually kept their familiars with them?" Kaede asked as she looked towards Gerard's raven.

"Pascal doesn't with you," Reynaud jokingly replied.

Laetitia's eyebrows rose slightly as she wasn't sure what he had meant. Regardless, the girl was too entranced by the adorable baby skywhale to even ask. Familiars were widely considered a nobles' tradition, as maintaining a large or exotic familiar could be quite expensive. But at this moment, she couldn't help wondering what she might summon if she tried.

"Besides, I realized I couldn't substitute for a skywhale's nutritious milk," Reynaud added. "Best she stays with her mother until she grows up more."

"Breast-envy, huh?" Gerard commented flatly. "It's no wonder you prefer girls with big boobs."

"I like big breasts and I cannot lie." Reynaud smiled with his palms raised in a shrug.

"Does that apply when you dress as a girl too?" Gerard asked next. "Like when you almost did during our last mission?"

The mere thought of the short young man with stuffed breasts the size of cantaloupes made Laetitia chortle. She wasn't the only one either as both of the other girls started laughing.

"That was only so we could infiltrate an enemy camp!" Reynaud retorted. "Don't give the girls the wrong impression of me!"

"Bit late for that." Kaede beamed a mirthful smile.

Nevertheless, the young lady refrained from picking on him further. Then, as another melodic song rang out from the skywhale, the maid Marina asked:

"I'm surprised you can summon a baby for a familiar. I'd feel bad for its mother."

"Not normally. But I knew Priscilla before I summoned her for my familiar ceremony. Though it still spooked Marianna," Reynaud gave an apologetic shrug. "The only way to tame a skywhale is by binding it as a familiar while it's still very young, before they develop their own ability to channel magic during puberty, which is what allows them to fly -- though Priscilla is floating on Marianna's magic right now. Once they start using magic, the mutual repulsion from different mana sources makes it impossible to bind them as a familiar."

Laetitia furrowed her brows as she tried to follow. As a yeomen, she knew that the ability to gather ether, which could be found throughout nature, and refine it into mana was what defined mages. And in turn, mana could be shaped to create miraculous phenomenons through the process known as 'spellcraft'.

The young armiger never fully understood this process. However, she knew mana always dissipated back into ether over time when not stored within a special receptacle. Mages like her and magical creatures use their own bodies as such a receptacle, to ensure they'd always have a reserve on hand for spellcraft. However, with few exceptions, mana that came from different sources also repelled one another like same-pole magnets. This meant spellcasters like her had resistance to direct physical-altering or mind-affecting magic, which included the binding of a familiar ritual spell.

"There are even people who say the skywhales' singing and clicking is actually a spoken language, and not merely animal noises," Reynaud continued excitedly. "Unfortunately, I don't think anyone has been able to decipher it yet."

''That's still amazing!''

Laetitia was still staring at the skywhales alongside the others, when she felt a faint breeze as the petite lady walked away behind her.

"Cecylia?"

The armiger spun around just in time to glimpse Kaede ask a girl in a nun's habit. The sister had a quill and parchment in hand as she stared at a wooden price board in front of a nearby warehouse. The name from Kaede's wispy voice immediately drew the attention of the nun, who spun around to look at the white-haired girl.

-- And within a split second, the sister's eyes, which had been a tranquil blue, flashed a crimson-red glow that accentuated a pair of tiny crosses in her irises.

''A dhampir?''

Laetitia thought back to the sermons from her Church pastor on how the dhampirs were the descendants of demon-tainted vampires. They had crosses in their eyes from the Church's seal which allegedly quenched their thirst for blood. Nevertheless, they bore the guilt of their ancestors who whored themselves to evil during the Demonic Invasion. And even today, it's said that few of them would ever live a clean life as the corruption in their blood pulled them towards sin.

Alarm bells began to sound in the armiger's head as she clenched her spear. But the sister had already grabbed Kaede by the wrist and began to sprint. The short Samaran seemed to offer no resistance as the nun yanked her towards an alley between two warehouses.

"Milady!?"

Laetitia thought of how she had only become an armiger for a few minutes yet her lady was ''already'' being abducted! She gripped her spear shaft and ripped it off the cords that held it on her back. The young woman immediately gave chase just as Kaede and her assailant vanished around a pile of large wooden crates.

It wasn't hard to grasp why a blood-drinker would want to kidnap a Samaran. Laetitia's mind imagined Kaede being suspended and tied up like a hog, while her blood slowly drained into an ornate wine glass.

''She's going to become literal 'health food'!''

The bodyguard had to get her charge back and quickly at that.

"''Cyclone Lift Burst!''"

Laetitia pointed her casting glove down at the ground as she spoke the mnemonic phrase in Draconic. Her nerves tingled and she felt mana coursing through her body. She had rehearsed each spellword a thousand times until the process became ingrained. A cool, rushing sensation began from her lower ribs before spiraling up to her neck and then coming down the center of her chest.

The drawing of mana shaped the three-word spell before she forced the magic to pass through the casting focus of her right glove. This helped to concentrate the spell's mana so it didn't quickly dissipate back into ether.

A blast of wind battered the stone-paved ground as the expelling force launched Laetitia into the air. Within seconds, the girl found herself fifty paces above ground as she looked down upon the rooftops of the harbor district. She spotted Kaede's brightly-colored dress with ease as the young lady was still being pulled by the sister. Laetitia shifted the lingering vestiges of her wind spell to adjust her parabolic trajectory before she fell towards the ground.

"''Smiting Dispel. Air Cushion.''"

The armiger cast a second spell to infuse her spear with antimagic to break through any wards that her opponent might have. Her third spell followed after to slow her landing before she could crash into the ground. The timing was perfect as the magic slowed her just enough for a soft landing without delaying her much. Laetitia came down right in front of the escaping dhampir and slashed her spear straight at the kidnapper's throat.

The sister raised her left arm and a blade ejected from her sleeve to block with a steel clang. However, the dhampir's guard was weak and came late. And Laetitia's speartip almost reached the nun's neck before she stopped.

"What kind of a sister carries a wristblade?" Laetitia challenged. "Surrender, villain."

Yet, the girl in nun's habit showed no sign of acquiescence as she stared back calmly despite her winded breathing. Her blue eyes fell away to a crimson-red as the ''Dispel'' spell ripped away the illusory glamor that disguised the girl's true visage. Gone were her brown bangs and the freckles on her cheeks. Even her lips seemed to change slightly, as she smiled in just the right manner to reveal a small fang that was too sharp to be a regular human's canine.

And most telling of all -- there were two tiny scarlet-red crosses in her dark-ruby eyes which lit up once more.

Laetitita broke eye contact just in time as she noticed the dhampir's pupils glow. She still caught an inkling of the evil eye magic and felt disoriented for a moment. Nevertheless, the armiger pulled back her spear and prepared to thrust again. And this time, there would be no warning strike.

"Stooop!"

A soft voice cried out as Kaede stumbled forward. The young lady placed herself just in front of the fake nun which immediately stopped Laetitia's attack.

"Milady, step aside. She's a dhampir!"

"Y-yes, I-I know," Kaede replied as she doubled over panting with her lungs completely out of breath. "Ju-just wait.... and l-let me... explain."

It took a half minute before Kaede could recover enough to where she could properly speak. She stood back straight as she turned to the fake nun in the empty back alley.

"Sheesh, Cecylia... couldn't you at least... let me get a word in...?" Kaede gasped breathlessly in between phrases. "You know I can't... run when I'm wearing a corset!"

Meanwhile, the dhampir named Cecylia retracted her wristblade back into her tight sleeve. She pulled a ruby pendant from her neck and tapped it. The nun's habit she wore began to glow before it vanished into a glowing cloud of crimson-red mana. The magic was then drawn into the gemstone even as another wave of red mana poured out. They solidified around her thin figure into a black military uniform with an ankle-length wide skirt.

A hint taller than Kaede and looking about twenty years in age, Cecylia had glossy black hair that reached her shoulders in front and sported a large red ribbon in the back. She was below average in height and had a fragile-looking figure as well. Her skin was fair to the point of bearing a translucent silky sheen, which laid in sharp contrast to her black uniform. Her dainty nose and lips might have looked cute, but her vibrant, dark-ruby eyes held two crossed pupils which gave off a dangerous yet alluring gaze.

"How did you notice it was me?"

"Your footsteps plus... the way you twirled the quill... drew my attention," Kaede said. "And I noticed... the faint traces of the cross... seal in your pupils."

"Your senses are way too sharp, Kaede," the dhampir sighed with a wistful smile as she whined with the lighthearted soprano of a teenage girl. "And who's the spear-carrier?"

"Laetitia. Reynaud had assigned her to me as bodyguard... like literally ten minutes ago."

Kaede then turned around to face the armiger, just as Reynaud rushed into sight behind them before he calmly slowed to a walk.

"Laetitia, this is Captain Cecylia Renata von Falkenhausen, military attaché to the ambassador from the Kingdom of Weichsel, our allies to the east."

"Major now, actually," Cecylia added with a bright smile.

"Congratulations," Kaede beamed.

"What's an embassy staff doing spying?" Laetitia finally raised her speartip skyward and took a more neutral pose.

"All embassy staff are technically spies," Cecylia wagged a finger as her smile turned quirky. "Don't they teach you anything in this country?"

Laetitia could only look confused as she didn't understand what the girl was saying.

"Embassies, by their nature, are used by the sending nation to collect information on the host country," Cecylia began to explain. "It's why embassies are always a quid-pro-quo exchange, as they're used to establish networks of both legal and illegal residents.

"I'm what you'd call a 'legal resident'," she proudly placed a gloved hand on her chest. "The Empire knows who I am and what I'm doing here -- collecting information to facilitate decision-making back home. However, the fact that I'm here openly doesn't stop me from doing some clandestine information gathering from time to time."

Legal spy or not, the girl seemed remarkably frank with Laetitia about her status. Nevertheless, the bodyguard tightened her grip on her upright spear as she thought:

''You're still a dhampir, and not to be trusted.''

"Hello, Cecylia," Reynaud finally greeted as he drew near, while Gerard and Marina followed some distance behind them. "Why are you always around when there's commotion in the city?"

"Hiyo, Reynaud, Gerard," Cecylia greeted like old acquaintances. "It's my job."

"Laetitia, you don't have to be so on-guard with this one." Reynaud noticed the girl's grip. "She's actually a friend of our Princess and Prince Consort."

''Why would Her Highness associate with such sinners?'' Laetitia frowned.

"What ''were'' you doing earlier anyway?" Kaede then asked.

"I was collecting data on commodity prices, to track inflation and identify those who shamelessly profiteer from the war," Cecylia replied. "It's easier when nobody pays attention to me. I dragged you off as I was hoping to keep my cover. Though I doubt that after what you've all done."

Then, in that moment, the dhampir girl seemed to recognize Marina walking in behind Gerard and narrowed her gaze. Laetitia had barely caught it, but Cecylia's dark-ruby eyes shot a warning glare at the innocuous maid. The latter virtually froze midstep in fright and turned pale as though she'd seen a ghost.

There was clearly a history between those two girls as well. Perhaps the maid also wasn't as innocent as she appeared to be. Though regardless of what the story was, Laetitia felt certain it was the dhampir's fault.

<nowiki>----- * * * -----</nowiki>

"Welcome to Oriflamme Citadel, Your Excellency."

The officer at the gates saluted as Laetitia followed Kaede into the castle.

"Thank you," the petite lady nodded with courtesy.

The Oriflamme Citadel was built atop a single, gargantuan rock that formed the northernmost tip of the island. Built entirely from blue granite, the stone fortress was almost boring in its utilitarian design which looked nothing like an imperial palace. It had a curtain wall with twelve towers, each devoted to one of the twelve sacred phoenixes of the Empire of Rhin-Lotharingie. And within its center was a huge, hexagonal keep about four stories tall.

Their trip to the citadel had taken longer than expected. In addition to the incident with Cecylia, they also thrice ran into crowds that argued about the new food rationing policies outside local shops -- two of which had blocked off the narrow road. It showed that despite the relative calm on the surface, there were deep-seated anxieties from the city's residents about the war.

Even Laetitia felt rather nervous as she stepped into the castle, though her reasons were entirely different. Sure, she had been inside during this morning's service. But that was alongside thousands of others who overflowed into the courtyard from the great chapel. Meanwhile, she had little doubt that her new liege, Dame Kaede, would be meeting the Empire's dignitaries in person.

Regardless, as the group emerged from the gatehouse, Laetitia heard a calming aria beginning to reverberate through the air. It started with a viol and was quickly joined by a harpsichord. Both sounds came from some distance away, yet they rang with perfect clarity as though their notes were carried by the wind.

-- And the more she listened to the soothing melody, the more Laetitia felt her nerves mellowing away as though she stood in a gentle breeze.

"There's mana laced into the music," the armiger muttered in astonishment as she finally realized. "I didn't even know there's a spell that could do that..."

Thanks to the repulsion property of mana, all mages had a natural resistance towards spells of the enchantment school which affected the mind. Yet, somehow the magical melody seemed to calm her nerves without being diminished.

"That must be Vivienne." Kaede turned to her bodyguard with a reassuring smile. "She's the youngest of the Oriflamme Paladins, and known as the ''Winter Siren'' for good reason."

"Also your twin," Gerard chuckled.

Kaede looked at him like he should know better.

"She only ''looks'' like me... Well, almost exactly like me," the young lady responded sheepishly before a low, whistling chirp drew their attention skyward.

Laetitia looked up and saw two birds with burning-blue feathers flying towards the music. Like every child born within the Empire of Rhin-Lotharingie, she had learned about the phoenixes who were considered the guardians of the realm. They chose the twelve Oriflamme Paladins of the Empire by becoming their familiars, with one phoenix always selecting a successor to the crown.

"They're so pretty..." the young woman admired.

She had always wished that she could summon a phoenix and become a paladin just like her namesake. But... What were the chances of someone like her passing the test of a phoenix?

"That's Hauteclaire and Almace," Kaede observed before turning towards Reynaud. "King Alistair must have arrived with Marianna."

"I'll go meet my father once you're off then," he replied.

Laetitia recognized the smaller of the two birds as the Princess' own phoenix. She had seen them this morning from a distance during the church service. The familiar was the reason Sylviane was called the 'Cerulean Princess', as a phoenix merged with its master during battle and enshrouded them in a flaming aura of its color.

The group took one of the stone paths heading east after walking across the paved plaza just inside the gates. The cobblestones wound through a sparse grove of apple trees in spring bloom as it headed towards the keep's south entrance. And as they drew closer, Laetitia began to hear two male voices in conversation:

"--Her Highness has already approved your proposal then?"

"Yes," a younger voice replied. "Sylv has already pushed it through the council with 7:2 approval and signed it into law under the name 'Military Adoption Act'. It will be announced throughout the Empire starting tomorrow."

But rather than sounding pleased, the speaker seemed wistful about the news.

"Rhin-Lotharingie will never be able to afford military orphanages in the same way Weichsel does," the first man counseled as his figure came into view. He was in his late forties with a large and balding forehead. Though his body was still quite fit as he wore a tightly buckled black uniform with crimson highlights and black leather jackboots.

"The Empire's finances are stretched thin as is," he added. "To subsidize the adoption of orphans left behind by soldiers who died in service is the best option that you had. And it was a good call to add a bonus when the adoption is done by a war widow, considering how little they receive right now."

"It is not enough," replied the other in a mournful voice that mixed oddly with his aristocratic drawl. "The Empire is losing ten thousand men a month in this war. Entire banners recruited from villages are being thrown into the grinder and wiped out. Those soldiers fought bravely yet do not even have assurances that the families they leave behind are properly taken care of. It is a travesty that I cannot and will not tolerate!" He finished as he clenched his hand into a fist.

The speaker was a young noble around twenty years of age, who looked like he had stepped out of a painting of military romanticism. He sat regally atop the granite steps leading into the castle like it was his throne. His build was lean and fit with broad shoulders clad in an immaculate crimson-on-black military uniform. His graceful features were framed by golden wavy hair which ran just long enough to obscure his ears. A black cross with white edges hung between his folded collars as a medal of valor, while a single gold star decorated his crimson shoulder insignias.

Yet, despite his apparent youth, the young man already looked scarred by conflict. Laetitia noticed his right hand trembling faintly as he unravelled his fist. His left eye was a stormy turquoise filled with turbulence as he scowled. Meanwhile, his right eye was covered by a black eyepatch which gave him a rather dangerous look.

''They're Weichsens.''

Laetitia realized as she noticed the similarities between the two men's black uniforms and Cecylia's. Though the dhampir's outfit did not have crimson highlights like the two male officers. All three were clearly visitors from the Empire's eastern ally, the Kingdom of Weichsel.

''Didn't he sit next to the Princess during church service?'' She remembered seeing the young noble with the black eyepatch from this morning.

"The Lotharins are tough people. And speaking of, Your Grace has visitors." The older officer smiled as he raised a friendly gesture towards Laetitia's group. "I'll leave you be then. Say hello to Kaede for me."

He then walked away into the castle as though he didn't want to intrude.

At the mention of Kaede's name, the young nobleman immediately turned to face Laetitia's group. His good eye widened as he saw the snowy-haired girl. A faint shine of yearning entered his turquoise gaze as he cried out:

"You are late!"

"I'm sorry."

Kaede scurried forward as the young nobleman picked up a walking cane from beside him. He pressed his weight into it as he slowly stood up. Meanwhile, the girl ran up to his side to give him a hand.

"I felt you enter the city over an hour ago!" The noble added with an impatient frown. "What were you doing taking your sweet time?"

"Some of that's my fault, sorry." Cecylia smiled as she didn't sound apologetic at all. "I kind of kidnapped her."

"Were you waiting outside for me this whole time?" Kaede asked.

"Yes!" The young nobleman scowled. "I had not expected to be kept waiting for so long. It was good of Lieutenant-Colonel Ostergalen to keep me company, so we could at least discuss policy and strategy."

''He must have been recovering from wounds.'' Laetitia considered the young man's stiff movement, which looked more like those of an elderly man than someone in their twenties. It was sadly all too common a sight these days.

Kaede also held supportively onto the noble's arm which looked more than a little awkward. The short girl was trying to lift the arm of a man who was noticeably taller than the male average. There was enough height difference between them that he could easily use her shoulders as an armrest.

"Hans was restored to his old rank again?" She beamed genuine joy as she helped him find a steady footing. "I'll have to congratulate him later. But in the meantime, how's it feel to become the youngest general in Weichsel's history? You've made brigadier at only age twenty!"

"As it should be," the self-assured nobleman responded with a haughty smirk. "Any later and I would have been disappointed."

"I'm informing the King you said that." Cecylia giggled.

"His Majesty is the one who wrote that he 'expected great things from me' in his personal letter," the young nobleman proudly announced. "And you need not support me, Kaede. My recovery has gone well for the past month and I can walk without a cane again. A return to my daily regime worked surprising wonders."

Laetitia briefly closed her eyes to concentrate. She pointed towards Reynaud, who was already gesturing to Gerard towards leaving, as she silently spoke to herself.

''Telepathy.''

Her spell formed a connection which was immediately accepted by the receiver. And she took advantage to ask him over their private channel:

"<Who is he anyway?>"

"<Pascal Kay Lennart von Moltewitz,>" the redhead's voice spoke directly inside her mind. "<He's the Landgrave of Nordkreuz in Weichsel -- treat him as you would a duke. He's also the Crown Prince Consort, or will be, as he's betrothed to our Princess.>"

''The Dusklord?''

Laetitia blinked in surprise as she stared at the noble with the eyepatch. The handsome young man was a far cry from the cruel and villainous tyrant that she had imagined. She had heard stories of how he had slaughtered over 10,000 men, enemies and allies alike, with a ''single spell'' of such destructive power that it blocked out the midday sun.

Yet, the Pascal before her was all smiles as he rubbed Kaede's snowy hair with a gentle hand. Then, perhaps even more surprising, he leaned down and gave the slight girl an all-encompassing hug around the waist that almost picked her off the ground.

"Welcome back, Kaede." His voice was so tender and affectionate that it sounded like they were lovers.

"I'm back, Pascal." The girl stood on her tiptoes as she accepted his embrace and leaned her cheek against his chest.

''Are they...?''

Laetitia had heard that royalty and the nobility often kept mistresses. But surely the future ''Prince Consort'' wouldn't flaunt such a relationship before he was even married? It made her raise an eyebrow as she looked towards Reynaud once more.

However, the royal armiger who directly served the Princess was also smiling as he watched the two embrace, and so were Cecylia and the departing Gerard and even the maid Marina.

''Am I misunderstanding something?'' Laetitia thought before asking: "<Just what is their relationship anyway?>"

Reynaud looked back at her and almost chuckled before he explained it over telepathy. Though the words themselves made no sense at all and left even her imagination unable to fill the gap.

"<Kaede is Pascal's familiar.>"

===Author's History Notes===

Tauheed - Based on the Arabic word Tawhid, or 'oneness [of God]'. It is Islam's most important concept, that there is a single universal God and a single absolute truth. The Tauheed Prophet is of course analogous to Islam's final prophet Muhammad.

Hyperion and Euryphaessa - The two major continents of this world are named after the Titans Hyperion ('he who goes before') and his spouse Euryphaessa ('wide-shining'). Many of the Dragonlords in the setting's history are also named after the titans. This is due to the fundamental question asked in the Daybreak setting - ''How would humanity develop if the titans won the Titanomachy and bestowed humanity with the gift of magic?''

Whale Language - Biologists in recent years have noticed that whales use sequences of clicks, or Codas, similar to that of how humans use vowels and diphthongs. And they occur in similar statistical distributions as in human languages, leading to the theory that whales have an actual complex language.

Embassies and Residents - Residents are leaders of intelligence units stationed in foreign nations, usually at an embassy. They manage individual networks of agents and assets. They're divided into legal residents (who have official diplomatic cover and immunity) vs illegal residents (deep cover).

Landgrave - A title from the Holy Roman Empire that roughly means 'territorial Count', except answering directly to the Emperor.

Daybreak:Volume 5 Chapter 5

2026-02-07T17:50:38Z

Aorii: Created page with "===Chapter 5 - Root of All Conflict=== ''"Many people could not condone the killing of innocents, but would shed no tears for the Imperium whose own actions led to this moment. In the end, are the perpetrators martyrs, or murderers? Most seemed to answer with one or the other. Yet the truth resists such black and white simplicity -- for these men are simultaneously heroes and villains, freedom fighters and terrorists. And only those blinded by agenda or propaganda will..."

===Chapter 5 - Root of All Conflict===

''"Many people could not condone the killing of innocents, but would shed no tears for the Imperium whose own actions led to this moment. In the end, are the perpetrators martyrs, or murderers? Most seemed to answer with one or the other. Yet the truth resists such black and white simplicity -- for these men are simultaneously heroes and villains, freedom fighters and terrorists. And only those blinded by agenda or propaganda will cite one but not the other."''

- Kaede, diary entry on April 23rd, Year 567:Faith

"Uhnnnnng..."

Kaede groaned as she shifted under the comforter. The girl laid on her side with a shoulder exposed to the cool air. She wished it was still winter so she could stay completely cocooned beneath layers of heavy covers.

''It's not even light,'' she thought as she blinked her eyes. ''Why did I wake up so early?''

The petite girl moved her arms before she noticed her slim fingers grasping a large hand. She felt the weight of a limb slung over her side and a second hand hanging over her bare back. The tall figure held her close as she stretched her curled up legs and brushed against a knee. Her arms barely moved before her gloved fingers came into contact with a firm chest.

''Huh-?''

Alertness entered her mind as Kaede felt the touch of a protruding tent pressed against her bare thighs. The petite girl instantly froze in place as burning heat rushed into her face.

''Why is he in my bed? What kind of rushed development is this!?''

Kaede's thoughts ran through her memories of the previous night. She had asked Pascal to stay until she fell asleep as she had been expecting nightmares again. The Samaran girl often had dreams where she found herself on a horrific field of slaughter covered by blood, flames, and charred corpses. And on nights like the previous when she couldn't stop thinking about the battles she went through, she often requested company -- which back at Lithia village meant she often shared a bed with her maid Marina.

However, she had expected Pascal to return to his own room ''after'' she fell asleep. Though it wasn't hard to answer why he hadn’t left, when she awoke grasping his hand.

It wasn't the first time Kaede had slept in the same bed as Pascal. In fact, they had done so every night around two months ago, when he was still recovering from his grievous injuries and needed help just to relieve himself at night. Nevertheless, the girl was at a loss on how to react after touching ''that'' part of him. Though she did understand from the experiences of her previous life that this was hardly something that he could control.

''But this is dangerous! Keep this up and he's going to give me an 'accidental pregnancy'!''

Blushing furiously from every pore on her face, Kaede released Pascal's hand and wiggled out from beneath his arm. The girl extracted herself from the comforters and shivered slightly as she climbed out of her four-poster bed. The night temperature of her room was a good coolant for the heat of her embarrassment.

''Cold...''

The gentle warmth that radiated from her silky charmeuse garment began to increase. The snowy-white one-piece that clung to her torso was almost reminiscent of a leotard with silver inlays tracing its seams. More heat flowed from the matching long gloves and thigh-high stockings which completed the ensemble. The entire set was enchanted to warm or cool her body at a mere thought.

Her lingerie even boasted indulgent conveniences such as self-cleaning and skin care. It really was rather excessive in Kaede's view. But the expenses that Pascal had spent customizing it made her feel that it would be a waste to not enjoy its comforts. And this was a pattern that repeated many times with her few but often expensive belongings.

''My mana seems recharged at least,'' she thought as she sensed an overflow of magical energy which her enchanted garments drew upon.

Being a mage's familiar meant she absorbed mana from her master and distance was always a factor. Kaede had been cut off during her weeks at Lithia and the effects grew noticeable over time. Fatigue accumulated faster each day as time wore on and her available mana slowly depleted. The familiar had never felt like she was near empty, but it was clear that she needed to manage her mana reserves when she was away from him for long periods of time.

Gazing back into her bed, Kaede saw that Pascal was still soundly asleep. She pulled the comforter up slightly so that it fully covered his shoulders. His eyes remained closed while his black eyepatch laid on the bedside table.

''Thank you for staying with me.'' The familiar smiled as she looked upon his peaceful expression in the dim light.

Kaede knew that she was one of those people whom, once they woke up, wouldn't be able to go back to sleep. She moved to the windows to peek out from between the curtains, where she saw the reddish glow of pre-dawn light outside. The scene always reminded her of her first morning in this world -- when she stepped out onto a roof to gaze upon the beautiful yet alien sky of Hyperion. Though back then, her memories from a past life had left her in denial of her new self in this marvellous world.

''A Samaran's memories truly are a double-edged sword,'' the familiar thought before she forced her mind onto a more pleasant topic.

''I haven't seen a sunrise from the tip of this island yet...''

With that thought, Kaede found her messenger bag and dug out one of her other outfits from its extradimensional storage. It was a white pseudo-uniform with straight black lines -- the same one she wore when Reynaud came to meet her two days back. She also had another set with the exact opposite colors, both of which she wore back when she was on military campaign. After all, when the war first began, she wasn't an enrolled member of the military or had any rank, and was recognized only as 'Pascal's familiar' by those whom she met.

''Not that the feudalistic Lotharin military had any official uniforms,'' Kaede thought as she knelt down to lace up her knee-high white boots with their cushy wedge heels.

The outfit Gerard wore yesterday came as a part of the new military reforms. However, they were quite a rare sight, as Pascal's push to centralize and standardize Rhin-Lotharingie's armies was slow and often met strong opposition. The elites always preferred decentralized rule where they would hold power in the 'local fiefdoms' they carved out as their own. This was as true for feudal lords as it was for the multinational corporations back on Earth.

''If only we had another year or two before the war escalated...''

The girl sighed as she stood up and checked every part of her outfit in the dim light before departing from the room.

<nowiki>----- * * * -----</nowiki>

"It's gorgeous..."

Kaede whispered to herself as she walked toward the edge of the gargantuan rock upon which the Oriflamme Castle stood. The light of daybreak in the east had painted the heavens in a reddish glow, mirrored in the choppy waters of Lake Alis below. Overhead, the colossal gas giant moon still dominated the northern sky with its deep indigo hue. Meanwhile the clouds, though bathed in the amber light of dawn, retained a faint tinge of blue.

Apart from the soothing sound of lapping waves, Kaede could also hear the faint strains of a harpsichord. Its gentle melody ebbed and flowed like the morning tide, rising and falling with calm grace which relaxed and eased the mind.

''Such beautiful music as well... though who could be out playing at this hour?'' Kaede wondered as the sounds came from the shores below the fortress' rock.

The slight girl was uncomfortable with the thought of moving closer to the slippery ledge to peek down. The colossal boulder was surrounded on three sides by sharp inclines and cliffs that had at least a ten story drop. She moved back towards the castle before spotting a footpath that allowed her to descend the rocky outcrop. The route led her down a series of steep stairs carved into the stone, which were wide enough for only one man to traverse.

''Don't look down... don't look down... I can do this...''

Kaede hugged the rocky wall closely as she slowly made her way down. The path's other side had little more than shrubs before a steep drop. The descent was nerve-wracking and the girl could feel her emotions fraying from the internalized stress. And by the time Kaede reached the bottom, her legs almost collapsed beneath her as she closed her eyes and stopped to take several deep breaths.

Even in her former life, Kaede had come to realize that her senses were more keen than the average person's. This wasn't entirely a good thing, as the acute sensory perception meant she was easily overwhelmed by external stimuli and left in a state of emotional stress. So while most of her friends craved excitement, she wanted more peace and time to process her own thoughts. Becoming Pascal's familiar only intensified all of these traits and left her often needing a break to practice 'mental hygiene'.

The Samaran girl followed with several rounds of 'box breathing' meditation as she relieved her built-up stress. The sound of lapping waves and the faint melody of the harpsichord in the distance both helped.

''Still cold...''

Kaede cranked up the heat from her undergarments as she shivered amidst a cold breeze from the lake. She began to slowly walk across the narrow beach while listening to the sound of crunching pebbles beneath her feet. The girl had never realized that the shores to the north of the city were so isolated. It would be an ideal spot to take long walks, were it not for the anxiety-inducing trail down from the top.

Regardless, Kaede clearly wasn't the only one drawn to the place. The petite girl still couldn't see who was playing, as small mangrove-like trees lining the beach obscured her view. Yet, as she drew closer to the harpsichord's gentle melody, she found herself slowed by a mesmerizing scene -- as the already beautiful sunrise in the east was further adorned by a breathtaking view.

A drifting cloud of sky lanterns hovered above the lake's mirrored surface. Dozens of the simple hot-air balloons floated lazily, never rising too high nor straying far ashore. Around them danced hundreds of shimmering water globules, each bead tracing its own slow orbits through the air. The water droplets dispersed the light of the lanterns and dawn alike, creating a scattering of prismatic hues across the air in a magical light show.

''Amazing...''

Not wanting to disturb whomever it was, the familiar slowed further until her footsteps almost stopped making noise on the pebbled ground. She could see now that a small audience had gathered by the beach for the sunrise recital. Meanwhile, a column of light seemed to descend from the skies upon the swaying, feathered hat worn by the harpsichord's player.

A large and blobby white mat was spread across the rocky beach and even into the water. On top of it lounged two middle-aged women in white cloaks. One of them had a flaming-blue phoenix perched atop her shoulder, which suggested that she was a Paladin. Meanwhile a third, younger woman stood to the side like an attendant, though her attention was no less entranced by the beautiful view.

''Wait, is that... living tofu?''

Kaede stared wide-eyed at the blobby mat that formed a bed so huge it could easily fit ten people. It was made entirely from a pure white substance with a smooth, silky surface. Over half of the mat floated atop the water offshore as it bobbed up and down. Nevertheless, she could see the sides and corners wiggle independently which proved the huge blob was alive.

There was a time when her jaw would have dropped to the floor upon seeing such a sight. However, that was before she met Perceval, who also had a white pudding familiar that he christened 'Putty'. The ooze, or slime as some might call them, was a decomposer that turned any organic matter it gobbled up into more of itself. However, those that were tamed as familiars made for great companions as its blobby body was nutritious and could form any furniture one needed.

''I want one...'' The girl looked dreamily upon the huge blob.

Kaede was still entranced by the sight of the huge 'living tofu' mattress when she suddenly sensed someone behind her. However, she was far too slow to react as the assailant kneed her behind the waist.

"Wai-Mmmph!"

The Samaran girl yelped in pain as her spine arced backwards. Her assailant took the opportunity to shove a small apple between her lips. A stalk-like thread pulled into a gap between two teeth. A second hand also grabbed her left wrist with a vice-like grip and twisted her arm behind her until pain shot through her limb.

"Spit that out and it'll go ''boom!''" Kaede heard a sweet yet ominous girlish voice whisper into her ear.

"Nnnggh!" She gagged with her achingly stretched jaw. ''She's going to murder me!''

The petite girl froze in fear as she felt a cold edge press against her throat. Her attacker could slit her neck within an instant and she couldn't even cry out or plead for mercy. There was nothing she could do except stay bent backwards and hope for the other side to realize that she wasn't a threat.

"Milord!" The girl holding Kaede called out. "I've caught a spy."

The melody came to an abrupt stop while its audience turned around. Kaede could see the three women all wearing white uniforms with red borders and trim. Their skirts reached past the knees in the back but were short in front where they exposed military-style white leggings. A cloak with arm slits on both sides wrapped around each woman. And adorned upon the fabric was a large 'L' in silver and red trim.

''They're... the Lazarus Order?''

Kaede wasn't sure as she had only read about them in passing. They were supposedly a secular paramilitary hospitaller order from the southern Kingdom of Garona -- one of the four vassal kingdoms of the Empire of Rhin-Lotharingie.

"That's the Crown Prince Consort's familiar," the oldest-looking of the three women said in a calm, almost flat voice.

She was the one with a phoenix and was somewhat recognizable to Kaede. However, the pinned girl was too terrified to remember where they had previously met.

The woman seemed to be in her 'thirties' and revealed a thin figure as she stood with elegant poise. However, she was neither a great beauty like her companions nor had aristocratic bearing. In fact, her appearance seemed almost plain aside from a pair of inquisitive gray eyes, as well as a flower-like bun of her premature graying-silver hair wrapped behind her head.

''Yes please tell them I'm no enemy before this girl slits my throat!''

"Nnnggh!"

The Samaran girl's cries were muffled by the 'apple' gagging her lips. Kaede dared not even nod as she felt the bladed edge pressed against her neck.

"She's... a ''familiar?''" A bewildered voice came from one of the others.

"Yes," the first speaker replied. "I saw her standing behind Landgrave Pascal during the previous war council. Considering what we know about the future crown prince, I cannot imagine it to be anyone else.

"She's no threat," the woman then added.

"Yvette, let her go," the other woman, a beautiful blonde who looked just barely in her middle age, ordered with a soft yet commanding voice.

"Yes, Mistress Ariette."

Kaede heard her assailant reply. The girl finally let go of her arm and pulled away the knife placed against her throat.

"Don't spit. Don't swallow either." The girl then giggled.

''My life is not a game for you to make jokes with!''

"Yvette." The authoritative Ariette sent her a stern look.

"Sorry!"

Kaede felt the other's fingers press against her teeth where they pushed down the thin stalk that was caught in a gap. Only after that did the woman pull out the small apple before tossing it into the lake. The fruit sank into the water before a small eruption rose from the surface.

''That really was a bomb!''

The petite girl felt her entire body tremble as she realized she had almost been killed in multiple ways. Her legs suddenly gave out and she coughed several times as she collapsed to sit on the cold ground.

"<Kaede, are you all right?>" Pascal's voice suddenly spoke in her mind via their familiar bond's telepathy. "<nowiki><I</nowiki> felt a sudden sense of danger from you. Almost woke up in cold sweat.>"

"<Yes... I'm okay... just... misunderstanding with a few soldiers... sorry for waking you,>" Kaede replied as she closed her eyes and took several deep breaths.

Now that the initial misunderstanding had been cleared and her life was no longer flashing before her eyes, she could manage the rest. There was no reason to involve Pascal in this.

By the time she reopened her gaze, a tall and handsome middle-aged man had walked in front of the others. He stood in an unblemished white outfit with silver trim, in a similar style as the women around him.

The man raised his gloved hand to tilt a plumed chevalier hat. He had a lanky build with narrow shoulders, long limbs, and almost disproportionately lengthy fingers. His face sported a high nose and striking deep-violet eyes, all of it framed by wavy chocolate-brown hair and an immaculately curled mustache.

"Milady, please have my sincerest apology for the misunderstanding," he spoke in a suave voice as though he was asking her to a dance. "Are you Dame Kaede?"

A second flaming-blue phoenix flew over to land on his padded right shoulder. The bird chirped at Kaede as though recognizing that she was not an enemy. After all, phoenixes were renowned as empaths who could identify friend versus foe by reading emotions -- which was necessary as their magical blue-white flames roasted only their enemies alive, while to allies they merely felt like a soothing fireplace that kept the air warm.

"Professor Gaston," Kaede whispered in awe as she recognized the famous Duke of Dandies himself.

"I do apologize, my dear. Were you one of my students at Alisia Academy?" The man asked in a deep yet velvety-smooth voice as he leaned down to offer an open hand in a pristine white glove.

"No, Your Grace. I apologize." Kaede reached out and allowed him to help pull her up.

The girl then bowed her head and dipped a shaky curtsy. She might not be well-versed in the manners of the nobility, but even she knew that Duke Gaston Lazare de La Conde was technically head of one of the most powerful Lotharin aristocratic houses.

"I'm Kaede, the familiar of Landgrave Pascal of Nordkreuz, who had been one of your students."

"Ah yes, the 'Runelord'. How could I have forgotten?" Gaston chuckled at Pascal's nickname back at the academy.

Nevertheless, the Duke leaned in and placed a soft kiss on the back of her gloved hand. He then stepped back and bowed deeply with the grace of a perfectionist butler.

"It is a pleasure to meet you, Milady," he declared with a beaming smile as he stood back up. "I am enchanted to find myself in your exquisite company."

His teeth were a perfect white which was rare even among the nobility. Kaede could see them almost sparkling despite the fact he faced away from the sun's gaze. A warm breeze carrying flower petals blew against her which brought the calming smell of lavenders. The pebbled beach around them seemed to bloom like a flower garden, as though Kaede found herself in a Japanese TV drama with its exaggerated special effects.

The snowy-haired familiar had enough magic sensitivity to tell that it was an illusion that the Duke had effortlessly conjured. Nevertheless, the girl couldn't help staring in slack-jawed amazement as a faint blush came to her cheeks.

"L-likewise, Your Grace," Kaede barely collected herself enough to respond after a long pause.

''What kind of romance comedy is this?'' She looked away with embarrassment. Kaede had to remind herself that despite appearances, the Duke being a mage was likely old enough to be her grandfather.

"How is your master doing?" Gaston asked before a hint of disapproval entered his tone. The light around him seemed to dim as though reflective of his mood. "I've heard he has since graduated to summoning a blighted dusk instead."

"It's not what the rumors claim, Sir," Kaede looked down as she felt a stab of guilt at her chest. "Pascal lost control of a spell. The friendly fire at Glywysing was not intentional."

"Then he should learn to control his magic better before using it," the professor sent a reproachful look towards the castle before he turned back to her with a softening smile. "Regardless, it is not your fault, my dear. Though, I am curious about what brings your lovely presence here?"

''It was partially my fault though,'' Kaede couldn't help thinking as she ignored Gaston's flirtatious tone.

"I was out watching the sunrise when I heard your beautiful melody, so I came down to take a look," Kaede responded before bowing slightly. "I apologize that I seem like a spy. I didn't want to alarm anyone or interrupt the sublime performance."

"An unfortunate misunderstanding, as I had expected," the handsome nobleman smiled.

Kaede turned to the ladies next and met the serene gaze of the woman she recognized earlier. She was about to thank them before her eyes widened in astonishment.

"Your ladyship... Marshal Cosette?"

"Yes." The rather taciturn Marshal nodded simply as she offered Kaede a smile so faint that the familiar could barely see.

Kaede had seen the Marshal only once before and they never spoke. However, she knew Cosette by reputation as the 'Tide Breaker' and one of the best defensive tacticians in Rhin-Lotharingie. People claimed that Cosette hadn't held a single rank or title and was only known as 'Gaston's mistress' when the late Emperor met her. Yet, after only a single meeting, Geoffroi promoted her straight to the rank of Marshal of the Empire, one of the Six Great Officers of the Crown.

It was an act that has since baffled nobles and commoners alike, for many asked: 'just what quality did the Emperor see in her to be so impressed?'

"Where are my manners, I should have made introductions already," Gaston interjected before he presented the women one by one. "Dame Cosette, you already know. The one besides her is Dame Ariette, Knight Matriarch of the Lazarus Order. The younger two are my aides -- Lady Mariette," he gestured to the attendant who was frantically scribbling notes upon a booklet, "and the one who grabbed you earlier, Lady Yvette."

''Is there a naming scheme going on here?'' The lightly bruised girl thought as she noticed the similarities.

"Lady is a bit much, Milord," Kaede heard Yvette's saccharine voice from behind her which sent another shiver up her spine. The girl thankfully moved away before she continued. "Mistress Ariette and Marshal Cosette may have since earned royal recognition. But there isn't a drop of noble blood between Mariette and myself."

The Samaran girl tried not to let her anxiety show as she dipped down in a proper curtsy this time. "I'm honored to meet you all."

One thing was for certain: she needed to do some research on the Lazarus Order. Kaede felt aghast by her own ignorance as she did not even realize that Marshal Cosette was a member of the organization or that Duke Gaston was at least affiliated.

"Are you all here to attend the war council today?" She asked.

"No, only Cosette and myself will be attending," Ariette responded.

The beautiful older woman gazed upon the familiar with a kind, motherly smile that naturally made Kaede feel at ease. She appeared to be just entering middle age, though it was a bit difficult to judge due to how well she took care of herself.

The Knight Matriarch stood tall and slim with an amazing figure. Her gorgeous blonde hair ran down her back in a waterfall that reached her wide hips. Her eyes were a soft aqua-blue and she had fair skin that shone like she was a cosmetics model. Yet, when one looked closely, the woman had quite a few wrinkles at the corner of her eyes that hinted at a greater age.

"Not you, Your Grace?" Kaede then turned towards the Duke.

"No," Gaston answered with distaste. "I've little interest in a political council on waging identitarian bloodshed."

''That's not a synonym of 'war' that I hear often,'' Kaede raised her eyebrows.

"But aren't you one of the commanders of the Garona war front?" She asked.

"Only on paper," Gaston replied as though even this nominal assignment annoyed him. "The late Emperor Geoffroi may have written my name onto some documents. But Cosette is the one in command. I merely help her out from time to time."

"He's also a co-regent for the Kingdom of Garona's child-queen, but 'only on paper'," Ariette added in jest before giggling behind her white glove.

"People do seem to make a habit of adding titles to my name without first attaining my consent," the Duke sighed with a faint scowl. "The late Emperor most of all, as he seemed to believe that by burdening me with unwanted responsibilities, he could pressure me to be more active in participating in his conflicts."

"It only goes to show how much people trust you, Milord," the pretty attendant who stood quietly behind them said in an awestruck voice. The admiration in Mariette's crystal-blue eyes as she stared at the Duke reminded Kaede of how pop music fans gazed upon their idols.

"Milord is an honorable man who has always tried to do the right thing, even if your course is often a bit... ''unconventional''," the beautiful Ariette then added with a playful grin.

A forced smile came to Gaston's expression but it did not entirely hide his faint scowl. It hinted to Kaede that while Gaston didn't agree with the two girls, he also didn't want to openly disagree with them.

''It does speak volumes that he would rather refuse positions that other nobles would fight over,'' the familiar thought.

"I take it that Your Grace does not approve of the war?" She then asked.

"There are few endeavors that I would disdain more than organized violence. Yet somehow I find myself embroiled in them time and again," the Duke scowled inwardly. "Perhaps it is, in the words of you Samarans, a result of 'karma' from my misspent youth."

"Your Grace may be surprised to hear that I'm in complete agreement with your sentiment," Kaede responded wryly before her voice grew more sarcastic. "However, the current war was not started by the Empire, but rather the actions of the so-called 'Liberation Army' -- which has unfortunately ''liberated'' us from all other options."

"I don't entirely agree." Gaston frowned. "History is never so simple that there is a single cause and effect to such cataclysmic events. Had it not been for the 1st and 2nd Garona Independence Wars, we would not be here today. And both of those bloody conflicts saw Rhin-Lotharingie intervening on the side of local uprisings inside the Imperium -- revolts organized by the Garona Liberation Army with our Empire's support."

''That almost sounds like something an Imperial would say.'' Kaede's brows furrowed.

As a scholar of history, the Samaran girl certainly had to agree that the reasons for the current conflict traces back far more than the events of 'Unholy Friday'. There was also the Caliphate's invasion, which the Imperium helped provoke and now took advantage of. Nevertheless, it felt odd to hear that Gaston, a Lotharin duke, was against the independence wars that lifted the yoke of Imperial oppression from his own fellow brethren in the south.

''But... isn't that because I'm used to hearing the Lotharin view?''

Kaede felt glad that she left her initial thoughts unspoken as she realized they were rather 'kneejerk' as a response. The Imperium might not win any ethical debates with its often brutal treatment of the Lotharins. But it was undoubtedly the Lotharins who repeatedly agitated for violence to reunite their peoples in the more recent centuries.

"Milord, you know I cannot agree with that view," Ariette's previously playful tone vanished as she vehemently objected. "If we are to trace the cycle of violence, then we must also go back to the Imperium's conquest of Garona and most of Rhin-Lotharingie. Even during the Imps' self-proclaimed 'Pax Arcadia', the oppression and discrimination against us Lotharins forced the Garonans to launch repeated uprisings. The fact they failed does not imply that we had reached some status quo for peace."

The Duke kept his frown but otherwise simply nodded along as he clearly didn't want to argue. Ariette had tried to maintain neutrality in her words, but her tone when mentioning the Imperium revealed nothing less than pure loathing. Behind her, Marshal Cosette kept her silence without taking a stance, while the younger Mariette looked conflicted like a child torn between two arguing parents. However, the youngest of the four women, Yvette, showed no such indecision as she openly declared:

"There shall be no peace with the Imperium until there is peace for all Lotharins!"

The words sounded more like a nationalistic slogan than a well-thought stance. However, its effect on Kaede was the exact opposite as the Samaran girl couldn't help thinking back to Gaston's reasoning.

"But even if we're to trace back every cause and effect," she asked Ariette. "Is there even a single starting point where we can determine everything to have begun?"

The Knight Matriarch furrowed her brows and paused for a moment. The fact she stopped to think instead of reactively responding brought optimism to Kaede for a proper discussion. Nevertheless, Ariette exhaled a long sigh moments later before admitting:

"I doubt it. Though it doesn't really matter."

"It doesn't?" Kaede looked surprised. ''Isn't the whole blame game about who attacked first?''

"No," Ariette replied. "We fight for the side that protects our loved ones from the violence of the enemy. Therefore, it matters not who began the cycle and only that it exists."

''Unfortunately that doesn't help us bring an end to it,'' Kaede sighed.

"And in that regard, I feel it is my duty to remind Your Excellency," Ariette then added as she addressed Kaede in formal speech. "The Garona Liberation Army has done ''exactly'' what can be expected of them."

"But..." Kaede was almost in shock as she objected on instinct this time.

"Please do not misunderstand," the Knight Matriarch raised an open hand to interrupt. "I do not approve of the GLA's recent actions. But I do ''understand'' them when considering their history, as we're of a similar background."

Kaede closed her lips as Ariette's frown grew while her eyes looked down. Within her aqua gaze swelled not only sadness and sympathy, but also a pain that seemed deeply personal which left her pupils glazed.

"The Lazarus Order and the Garona Liberation Army both recruit primarily from those whose lives were destroyed by conflict," the older woman began in a dry voice. "The main difference is that the Lazarus Order seeks rebirth, to give girls who have been ruined by strife a second chance at life. Meanwhile, the Liberation Army weaponizes that desperation and trauma in a self-feeding cycle of revenge.

"Had the events of my life taken a different course, I could easily see myself among the perpetrators of the 'Unholy Friday' attacks," Ariette added in a hollow tone before she offered a bitter yet appreciative smile at Duke Gaston. "That is why I say that while I don't agree with their actions, it is not difficult for me to understand them."

Silence fell upon the group for a long moment after as nobody had any words to add. Even Kaede wasn't even sure how to react as she pondered the weight of Ariette's past.

It made the Samaran girl wonder just what atrocities had the older women experienced, and whether 'Lazarus' held the same meaning here as it did on Earth. The word was widely associated with resurrection due to the story of Lazarus of Bethany in the bible -- which might explain the girls' names as a form of 'born-again' symbolism.

It might also be a coincidence of the translation spell that Pascal had incorporated into their familiar bond. After all, Kaede had never actually learned to speak Lotharin. It was Pascal's magic that transformed her thoughts into the right words, often by drawing upon her existing knowledge from her past life on Earth.

"Dame Kaede, you should know that Dame Ariette is also the founder of the Lazarus Order." Gaston tried to lighten the atmosphere as he looked upon the Knight Matriarch with glowing admiration. "There is none who could fault the absolute marvellous job she has done in providing her girls with a new home and life."

In response, Ariette blushed and looked down bashfully as she took her long hair in her fingers and began to twirl its golden strands. Her voice was shy and humble as the Knight Matriarch even stuttered in her reply:

"I-it would not have been possible without your support and guidance, Milord."

It was as though the Duke had reduced the mature, middle-aged woman to a lovestruck maiden with a single statement.

''Are they also lovers?'' Kaede couldn't help wondering.

"It is as Milord says, we owe you and him our lives, Mistress Ariette," said the attendant Mariette. Though she did that only after mouthing the Duke's words to herself as she copied it down in her little white book.

"Including those of some of us who ''are'' from the Liberation Army, or at least former," added Yvette.

The Samaran girl turned towards the person who attacked her earlier. Yvette had an appearance that was completely at odds with how the two met. The young woman seemed no older than twenty and had looks that could rival Aphrodite herself. Her beautiful, peridot-green eyes and dainty nose and lips formed a perfect balance between innocent cuteness and alluring beauty beneath her peachy-pink long hair. Complimenting them was a slim body that could rival a supermodel –- which she wasn't shy in showing as she sat cross-legged atop a nearby rock and juggled a trio of apples.

"Former?" Kaede whispered nervously.

''Please tell me those aren't more bombs.'' She swallowed as she could easily imagine the girl being a child terrorist.

"In a manner of speaking," Yvette grinned sweetly. "The GLA trains people to become efficient tools of war, just like my apples -- ready to use, and easily disposable."

The girl giggled at her own grim joke before continuing. The callous words which followed felt entirely misplaced with her charming smile and seemingly-innocent gaze.

"One could say that I was 'disposed of', after I gutted an Imperial Praetor just as he climaxed... Or I would have been, had it not been for Milord who whisked me from the gallows."

...

The conversation had continued for some time before the girls began to 'clean up'. The sun was completely above the horizon now and it was clear that their impromptu recital by the lake was over. The cloud of floating sky lanterns had drifted to the shore as their candle flames were snuffed out. The paper lanterns lined up in neat rows as an unseen force folded them up. They then deposited themselves into a large storage pouch held open by Cosette and Mariette.

For a moment, Kaede wondered who was controlling the mass levitation magic before she remembered Duke Gaston's sobriquets -- the ''Pristine Lord'' and the ''Mundane Archmage''.

''He's a master of simple spells with a particular liking to telekinesis,'' she thought back to the hundreds of individually moving water droplets during the light show.

It amazed Kaede that Gaston didn't even seem distracted, as the two had continued to chat even as he maneuvered dozens of lanterns at once.

The snowy-haired girl then strolled over to the grand harpsichord that lay on the pebbled beach which Gaston had been playing earlier. The familiar noticed that the organ appeared to be the same one that Princess Sylviane had played yesterday on the roof. A ring of flowers also bloomed around the instrument which Kaede was certain didn't grow naturally.

"Your Grace, did you take this harpsichord from the castle?"

"Yes. I'm borrowing it," Gaston answered with a charming smile. "Its owner just doesn't know that I'm doing it."

''Seriously?'' Kaede stared blankly at him. The Duke had taken it from the castle's roof, brought it down more than ten stories of cliffs, all so he could host a private recital at sunrise to entertain four women?

It was a level of effort that she couldn't decide was astonishingly impressive, or crossed the line into ridiculous. Either way, the girl couldn't help her curiosity as she asked:

"Was that really wise, Your Grace?"

"What is life if there is no art to appreciate and to make wonderful memories with?" Gaston answered in a poetic voice as he gestured to the distant rising sun. "One does not often witness the beauty of sunrise with a sublime backdrop like this. Thus I wished to share and dedicate the moment to the dearest ladies of my life."

''Ladies...''

It was the first time Kaede ever heard of a romantic openly and simultaneously flirting with multiple women. It hadn't escaped Kaede's attention either that the Lazarus girls all paid him such respect when they were a ''sorority''.

"But tensions are high given the Imperium's declaration of war," she steered the conversation more towards rationality. "And nobody has forgotten that during the recent civil war, the pretender Gabriel had snuck an entire Knights Templar strike force into the palace to kill the late Emperor. Had you been discovered, it would have caused a major incident."

"Exactly what I had told him," said Ariette with a jesting smile.

"Life requires more flavor than mere pragmatism, my dear," Gaston beamed unapologetically. "One should seek beauty all the more in an age shrouded by violence -- so the time we share with our loved ones may be properly cherished."

"I don't disagree on principle," Ariette's smile grew. "After all, Milord, it was you who encouraged me and every member of the Lazarus Order to adopt an artistic hobby to add meaning to our lives, even if it's something as simple as my knitting. But there is a time and place to pursue such."

"I fail to see how this is a wrong time, considering the weight resting on your and Cosette's shoulders," the Duke added before turning to Kaede with a sparkle in eyes. "Besides, I simply needed to not be noticed, and I ''wasn't.''"

The Samaran girl returned an exasperated smile as she sighed and raised her hands in defeat.

"I won't say anything, as long as you promise me that you'll return the harpsichord to where you found it. Her Highness would be distressed to find it missing."

"Don't worry, I shall -- that was my plan all along." Gaston grinned. "If an item was taken and then replaced before the owner noticed, was it ever really missing?"

''How very... philosophical for a legal interpretation,'' Kaede thought before chuckling to herself.

''I guess he doesn't mean any harm at least.''

She was about to ask what other hobbies he had encouraged for adoption in a ''knightly order''. But she was interrupted when she heard Pascal's voice calling over their telepathic bond.

"<Kaede, where are you?>"

"<Down by the northern shores.>"

"<Beneath the cliffs?>" He voiced his amazement. "<Did I not tell you to avoid leaving the castle alone?>"

"<Ah... sorry,>" Kaede replied sheepishly.

"<Bring Laetitia with you next time. Poor girl was worried when she could not find you. Consider what it means for her, as the one responsible for your safety.>"

''She could have called me via Farspeak...''

Kaede touched her ears and realized she had forgotten her earrings. Pascal had enchanted them to let her accept ''Farspeak'' spells since she wasn't a mage.

"<I'm really sorry.>" She felt like a child being scolded.

<nowiki>----- * * * -----</nowiki>

Kaede was breathing hard as she returned through the door at the back of the castle. The climb up had felt like walking up a twelve story building. The familiar was quite glad that she was at least ''not'' wearing her corset dress.

"No, Ambassador Gerhard will not be attending the council today," she heard Cecylia's girlish soprano from the courtyard. "His Excellency has received expressed orders from King Leopold that Weichsel will not be entering this conflict."

"His Majesty is abandoning the alliance... with Rhin-Lotharingie?" Pascal huffed in a winded tone.

"As the ruler of Weichsel, the 'Northern March of the Trinitian Realm', King Leopold is caught in a dilemma," another man spoke whom Kaede recognized as Lieutenant-Colonel Hans Ostergalen, the military intelligence officer who served as Pascal's personal chief-of-staff.

"It was our nation's founder, King Ferdinand von Drachenlanzen, who petitioned the Pope to launch the First Crusade to redirect the Imperium's attention south," Hans continued. "For centuries, our leaders have relied upon 'Papal Appeasement' to influence the Imperator Augustus, to prevent the Imperium from attempting to turn us back into a vassal state. The King's defensive alliance with Rhin-Lotharingie may tiptoe the line. But it would be an unacceptable risk to abandon the policy entirely."

"Weichsel has joined every crusade before now," Cecylia added. "''Not directly partaking'' in this one is the best that His Majesty can offer. And besides, in the eyes of the world, it was the Garonans who struck first."

"Which means he won't even stop individual Weichsen lords or soldiers from becoming crusaders." Sylviane exhaled a deep sigh of disappointment.

''It's all politics in the end.''

The Samaran girl thought of how geopolitical interests almost always superseded religious dogma when it came to wars. The famous alliance between Catholic France and Islamic Ottomans while they supported the Protestant League during the messiness of Europe's religious wars were clear examples of such.

Kaede peeked around a corner where she saw Princess Sylviane, Hans, and Cecylia all gathered around a stone table just outside the keep. A few paces away from them stood Pascal, who was practicing sweeping swings with his swordstaff. The young lord was almost naked above the waist despite the chilly air outside. He set his heavy polearm down with a clang before taking the towel he wore around his neck to wipe his sweat.

"Kaede!" Pascal called out to her in between his heavy breathing.

''Should've known I can't hide from him.'' Kaede sheepishly stepped out and approached her master.

"I'm sorry." She bowed her head before him.

"Apologize to Laetitia later," Pascal ordered as he wiped his brows. "I gave her the day off, so you are to stay in the castle. Understood?"

"Yes." The girl nodded, feeling almost like she'd been 'grounded' for the day.

The Princess' bodyguard Elspeth stood nearby as the petite armiger also frowned disapprovingly at Kaede. Meanwhile, the bleary-eyed Sylviane unfolded a handkerchief and blew her nose in it. The Princess nevertheless gave the familiar a sharp sideways glance which clearly expressed her own displeasure, though for an entirely different reason.

''She knows I slept with Pascal last night.'' Kaede swallowed. ''I'd better tread carefully today lest I invite any more of her jealousy...''

It didn't help that Sylviane was suffering from severe allergies today. Kaede had been a bit surprised yesterday when the Princess seemed fine on the roof. However, as the wind had died down since, Her Highness' condition worsened as she struggled with the late April pollen -- a trait that was universal among her kind as a Faekissed Autumnborn.

The Samaran girl knew the Faekissed were the descendants of the ancient fae who mingled with humans. The Faerie Lords supposedly ruled much of Western Hyperion in ancient times as described in the ''Book of Invasions''. However, for reasons unknown, they retreated through the portals back to their world before the arrival of the Dragonlords. All that remains of them today are the stone rings, the faekissed, and the various artifacts that could be found throughout the land.

Yet, unlike Samarans with their unblemished white hair or the Dhampirs with their cross-infused pupils and fangs, the Faekissed didn't have a distinctive physical trait. Even the Princess' purple hair and wisteria eyes didn't mean anything, as many mages had pupils or tresses dyed by the color of their mana.

"Pascal -- I swear, when this war is over, I'm going to put you to research on anti-pollen spells," Sylviane said in a thick and congested voice. "Now put your shirt back on before you catch a cold," she added with a faint blush while trying not to look at him.

"Yes, yes."

Pascal walked back to the table and grabbed his shirt from a stone stool. However, Cecylia had no qualms about staring at a man's naked torso as her 'hungry' gaze followed him.

"Good job rebuilding your muscles after your injuries. I'm impressed at your progress, hehe," the dhampir remarked.

"Cecylia," Sylviane gave her childhood friend a knowing glare as they met eye-to-eye. "''My'' fiancé."

The dhampir girl merely giggled. Meanwhile, Pascal wisely said nothing for once. Instead, he cast a ''Sanctum Veil'' spell after Kaede came close to make sure the group's conversation wouldn't be overheard.

"Does that mean I can no longer receive intelligence from Weichsel's Black Eagles through you?" The Princess asked next.

"His Majesty said ''nothing'' about that, hehe," the dhampir whose uniform marked her as a member of said Black Eagles grinned.

"That's good news at least." Sylviane wiped her runny nose again -- an action she repeated almost every ten seconds. "Lord Henri and his new Bureau of Bookkeeping and Statistics has been providing me with intelligence. But I need a second source as I just don't trust that man."

"It is a bit hard to take them seriously, when they call themselves the 'BS Bureau' and make it sound full of accountants." Pascal straightened his uniform until his appearance was parade-worthy.

"That's intentional," Sylviane voiced. "Henri wants our enemies to belittle and underestimate them. It's why they ''intentionally'' spread that derisive nickname. I may not trust the man, but I recognize... his... talents..."

The Princess then gave a loud sneeze into her handkerchief.

"Cecylia, tell me the latest on the Imperium's commanders before I go back in," she muttered after blowing her nose again. "I've had enough outdoor time for today."

"Magister Marcus Avilius Belisarius is in overall command -- that seems settled," Cecylia began. "You already know him: calculated, efficient, tactically daring but strategically cautious. Our sources claim that he is also directly leading the Imperium's 'Army of the 4th Crusade', which is due to march against the Kingdom of Garona's capital of Narbona.

"A second army being assembled further east will strike at the fortress-city of Outremont," Cecylia explained further. "They're led by the Imperial General Gaius Cassius Aetius, the ''Portal Archmage''."

"I've heard of the name, but..." The balding intelligence officer Hans frowned.

"I doubt you've studied him," Cecylia finished for him. "Aetius is from the southern continent. Made his career fighting the Caliphate and is known for his elastic defense and vertical envelopment tactics. The Imperium transferred him here despite his personal reservations. Sources claim that he doesn't like fighting Lotharins because he befriended Duke Gaston in his youthful adventuring days. There're unsubstantiated rumors that the two may have a bond even closer than that."

"What, are they secret lovers or something?" Pascal scoffed.

"It's not for intelligence to speculate on such," Cecylia shook her head. "That leads to self-deceptive behaviors such as 'motivated reasoning'. Just know that there is likely a bond there and it ''may'' run deep."

"Information is not intelligence. Data does not necessarily permit a conclusion," Kaede quoted before smiling towards Hans. "Isn't that right? Lieutenant-Colonel?"

"You're a good student," the middle-aged man chuckled.

"Still, quite rare to hear about two young nobles travelling and bonding together despite the deep ethnic hatred between Lotharins and Imperials," Hans mused aloud. "His Arcadian name is traditional too."

"Aetius is born-and-bred Arcadian," Cecylia referred to the origin culture of the Imperium -- the cross-shaped island in the Inner Sea which hosts the Imperial capital of Arcadia, the 'City of World's Desire'. "He's more of a true-blooded Imperial than even their Imperator."

"Which makes it all the more astonishing," Pascal frowned as though merely befriending an Imperial national was inappropriate.

''Probably also why the Duke expressed disdain for 'identitarian bloodshed','' Kaede thought before she told the others: "I met Duke Gaston earlier during my walk, actually."

The Princess instantly spun to face her with a handkerchief over her nose.

"He's here? In Alis Avern?"

"Yes, with Marshal Cosette, Dame Ariette, and a few others from the Lazarus Order."

"Is he coming to the war council?"

"No. I asked."

The Princess exhaled a deep sigh before she fumed:

"Again! He keeps doing that! My authority as the next Empress might well be scrap paper in his eyes."

"Even your late father couldn't summon him," Cecylia pointed out.

Sylviane sighed again.

"Father once told me that Duke Gaston, despite being a paladin and archmage, was exceptionally hard to depend upon in a conflict," she began. "He's Lotharin, but lacks any sense of cultural or national identity. He's a lord, but only seems to remember his titles and fief when he runs out of money. His religion varies by location. His disdain for marriage extends to most of his family...

"The only thing he consistently cares about is looking stylish and saving women," the Princess concluded with a scowl. "And he only serves the Empire today because my father was able to take advantage of the latter."

''That does sound like him,'' Kaede thought based on her limited impression.

It made her wonder if Gaston only fought for Rhin-Lotharingie because the women he helped were more nationalistic than him.

"In Weichsel, his behavior would be considered treasonous," Pascal scowled.

"Father was not stupid, and neither am I," Sylviane rebutted. "To turn an Oriflamme Paladin and archmage into an enemy of the crown would be a catastrophic mistake. Gaston might be our vassal on paper. But in reality, the status of his position a... allow... a-Achoo!"

"--Allows him to do whatever he wants," Kaede quietly finished for the sneezing Princess.

The Samaran girl understood all too well from her own Russian father in her previous life that power structures were never as simple as they looked on paper. Though in this case, she somewhat admired the Duke. Clearly, Gaston was someone who had grown past the tribalistic yet virally infectious mindset of 'us-vs-them' and embraced a purer form of humanism -- those whose lives were destroyed by war deserve a savior, regardless of their nationality, religion, ethnicity, or any other identity.

===Author's History Notes===

Lazarus of Bethany - According to the Gospel of John, Lazarus had already been dead from an illness for four days already when Jesus prayed to God to call Lazarus out from his tomb. When Lazarus emerged alive, the miracle became the most powerful sign of Jesus' divine authority.

Book of Invasions - The 'Lebor Gabála Érenn' chronicles the mythological history of Ireland, which describes the taking of the island by multiple mythological races. This includes the Sidhe, who are generalized today as a race of powerful faeries from the Otherworld.

Franco-Ottoman Alliance - Established in 1536 between Francis I of France and Suleiman the Magnificent of the Ottoman Empire after the disastrous French defeat at the Battle of Pavia. The alliance lasted intermittently until the 18th century. Because the main foe of the alliance was the Catholic Habsburg Empire, they would come to directly and indirectly support many anti-Catholic forces (despite France also being Catholic), such as the French intervention during the Thirty Years War in favor of the Protestant League.

Daybreak:Volume 5 Chapter 4

2025-12-30T21:30:43Z

Aorii: Created page with "===Chapter 4 - Weight of the Past / The Price of Heroism=== ''"Give me blood, and I shall give you freedom!"'' - Battlecry of Charles the Bold, Oriflamme Paladin and later, founding Emperor of the Empire of Rhin-Lotharingie, during the 5th Lotharin Uprising. "Thank you so much for helping me negotiate with the supplier, Gerard." Kaede smiled towards him from across the dining table. "You've been such a help in the founding of my new village. I honestly don't know wh..."

===Chapter 4 - Weight of the Past / The Price of Heroism===

''"Give me blood, and I shall give you freedom!"''

- Battlecry of Charles the Bold, Oriflamme Paladin and later, founding Emperor of the Empire of Rhin-Lotharingie, during the 5th Lotharin Uprising.

"Thank you so much for helping me negotiate with the supplier, Gerard." Kaede smiled towards him from across the dining table. "You've been such a help in the founding of my new village. I honestly don't know what I would have done without you."

"You're going to make me blush," the tall and brawny engineer replied. He scratched his cheek, which did in fact redden. "I've had some experience negotiating with suppliers before, growing up as the eldest son of a large bakery. So it was no big deal."

He then raised his tankard of ale. "To the success of Lithia village."

"To Lithia!" Both Kaede and Laetitia joined in.

The three sat around an isolated table by the tavern's windows. The sun had slipped beneath the western horizon, yet the clouds still burned with a brilliant wash of orange and crimson. In the north, a vast indigo sphere -- the gas giant around which their world revolved -- dominated a third of their view of the sky. And from beyond its shadowed edge, a smaller companion moon in pale silver drifted into view for the first time in weeks.

After meeting with Princess Sylviane and King Alistair, Kaede left the castle with Gerard to meet with a supplier that Pascal had helped to arrange. The Aria trading company had come recommended by Cecylia as being fair in its dealings. It also operated in both Alis Avern and Nordkreuz, the northern trading hub that was part of Pascal's fiefdom in Weichsel. This meant the company not only had an interest to stay on good terms with Kaede, she also had plenty of political leverage to apply if they treated her badly.

''I really am privileged,'' the familiar thought as she downed the last of her tankard with a grimace. She had never liked the taste of alcohol and was only drinking to keep Gerard company.

The thought made Kaede reflect on her status as a familiar to a high-ranking noble. The girl had never asked nor given her approval to Pascal before the ritual. Yet, the sacred familiar bond that linked them was unbreakable. Common wisdom also claimed that familiars rarely survived the death of their master -- this essentially meant that Kaede was tethered to Pascal for life whether she liked it or not.

There were a few people who had compared this to slavery. However, Kaede's situation fell into a void where the law had no coverage. Regardless, the Samaran girl was at peace with her circumstances.

There were a few people who had compared this to slavery. However, Kaede's situation fell into a void where the law had no coverage. Regardless, the familiar was at peace with her circumstances for a myriad of reasons.

The petite Baroness thought back to her new settlement where the Princess had graciously provided not only volunteers to help, but also tools, construction materials, seed stock, and even two dozen farm animals. Nevertheless, Lithia still needed other supplies for everyday use such as food, salt, oil, soap, and even the all-important booze to maintain morale. And Kaede had just spent half her savings on a deal to supply every amenity that her village needed during its first year.

"Are you going to finish that, Milady?" Laetitia asked from beside her.

"No, I'm full." Kaede looked down at her small bowl of beef bourguignon. The house special had been excellent, but she could still only finish two-thirds.

"Do you want it?"

"Yes, please!" Laetitia grabbed the bowl from Kaede's hands the moment she lifted it.

The petite girl looked down and noticed that their complimentary side of bread and cheeses had also been devoured by her bodyguard. The other three sides had been finished earlier, but there wasn't even a scrap remaining on each plate.

"Should we order some more?" Kaede asked sheepishly as she felt like a bad host. ''This was supposed to be a dinner to thank Gerard.''

"No need for me. I've had enough," Gerard answered as he looked down at his extra large bowl of beef stew, which now laid empty.

"I'm good also," Laetitia added. "I'll just raid the castle kitchens later if I get hungry."

"That reminds me of Reynaud and I back at the Academy," Gerard chuckled.

"Laetitia, you sure eat a lot," Kaede said with a hint of envy.

The Samaran girl rather missed being able to chow down without worrying about her weight in her former life. Though her current limitation was the constriction of her tight corset.

"My mother tells me that a lot," Laetitia responded in between mouthfuls. "I've learned to always clean up the leftovers so I could be a bit less of a burden."

"Why would you ever be a burden to your own family?" Gerard was puzzled.

"Because I'm adopted," the girl answered with a bittersweet smile. "Grandpa plucked me from some half-burnt village when he served in the rangers. But he passed away from a stroke when I was only fifteen since he was a commoner."

"I thought you were from a yeoman's family?" Gerard asked.

"I am. Grandpa married up," Laetitia replied. "Of his three children, only one inherited grandma's magic, so she became my adoptive mother," the girl commented with a faint scowl.

"Grandpa did always feel bad that he'd be leaving my grandmother behind," she then added.

''Unfortunate, since commoners have only half the lifespan of mages,'' Kaede thought.

"I'm sorry to hear that," Kaede voiced her sympathy. "Your grandmother must have loved your grandpa a great deal."

Laetitia made an odd-looking scowl for a moment before it vanished as she chewed.

"Intermarriages between commoners and yeomen are somewhat rare due to that exact reason," Gerard shrugged. "It doesn't help that there's also often a culture gap."

"What do you mean?" Kaede's eyebrows shot up.

"Different lifestyle expectations," Gerard explained. "Yeomen women sometimes follow the traditions of the nobility in pursuing a career first, as they can wait as late as ''eighty'' to have healthy children. Meanwhile, commoner women are expected to bear children in their teens and twenties since their reproductive years are so much shorter, which forces them to stay at home.

"For those of us raised in mixed communities, expectations... often fail to meet reality," the tall captain looked down and sighed as though he had personal experiences with this.

''The tyranny of biology,'' Kaede thought. Many women in her old world also struggled to come to terms with this.

It was probably why the nobility, of all social classes, had the most progressive views about women in Hyperion society. Though perhaps that wasn't much different from back on Earth, as the elites always had more resources to pursue their dreams than the average person did.

"But do women ''have to have'' children?" Laetitia asked in a somber voice.

It hadn't escaped Kaede's notice that her bodyguard had been growing more disenchanted and morose as the conversation continued. She rather doubted it was merely because the girl's bowl was almost empty.

However, Gerard never noticed this as his expression remained pensive.

"In Lotharin society? Yes," Gerard answered without his gaze ever connecting. "Our independence was born from and sustained by the blood of our men and the tears of our mothers. Unless you join a nunnery, everyone would call a girl selfish for refusing this duty."

His words made even Kaede feel uncomfortable, as the reincarnated Samaran had never seriously thought about whether ''she'' wanted to carry children.

"I'll go pay since we've all finished." She stood up from her corner seat, as she didn't really want to think about it right now either.

The petite girl felt at least a dozen eyes follow her as she crossed the floor to the main counter. A few gazes felt indecent enough that it made Kaede shiver and wish she wore a cloak. The girl knew that coming to a tavern in noble garments would make her stick out like a sore thumb. Nevertheless, she had chosen this locale because it was more comfortable for Gerard to dine at a casual place.

The tavern and its wooden furnishings were simple but clean and held a rustic charm. There were even several animal trophies mounted on its bare stone walls which gave the atmosphere of a hunting lodge. A large board on the wall near the entrance held numerous requests and ads from the local community. One of these advertisements was for the tavern itself, as its aging proprietress was clearly looking for a buyer.

Kaede reached into her messenger bag and pulled out a gold livre. The proprietress' eyes swelled as she swiftly left to find change. The sumptuous food had been reasonable in cost at only one silver écu and forty copper sous. Nevertheless, Kaede figured that the busy tavern could break down a large gold coin, which could pay a month of wages for even a skilled professional like Laetitia.

The woman in her fifties soon returned with ninety-eight small silver coins and sixty tiny coppers in neat stacks. Kaede pulled out a small bag and pushed the entire pile inside. The rest of her gold would stay out of sight in the extradimensional storage of her messenger bag, which came with anti-theft protection among its magical enhancements.

"Thanks for the excellent food," Gerard beamed to the owner as he walked by to grab a toothpick. He then moved over to the door and held it open. "Ladies first."

Kaede smiled awkwardly as she didn't exactly like being treated as a lady. Nevertheless, it would be rude to say anything now so she simply accepted.

The petite girl emerged under a starry sky as the sun's glow had completely vanished. A combination of oil lamps and ley-line fuelled crystal lanterns illuminated the streets outside. Many residents still walked about while the town watch patrolled the main roads which gave Kaede a sense of security.

"Gerard, is it true you're leaving for the front tomorrow?"

Kaede had just turned around to ask him when a weight slammed into her back. The petite girl would have fallen face-first into the pebbled ground had Gerard not caught her in his buff arm.

"Thanks... wait, my purse!"

"HEY! STOP HIM!" Gerard shouted as Kaede spun around. She barely caught sight of a boy of around eight, who disappeared into a small crowd of drunks loitering about outside.

Laetitia pointed her casting glove towards the ground once more before Gerard stopped her with a hand on her shoulders.

"I'll go after him. You keep an eye on Kaede," he remarked before bolting off.

Kaede and Laetitia made haste to follow Gerard. The huge man had quite a heavy step, and the familiar could track him through her keen hearing even as he turned around sharp bends in the main road. Though this became harder as they fell behind.

Alis Avern was a city that followed the typical Lotharin 'hillside settlement' design. It was built on only the south-facing slope with homes arranged to maximize exposure to sunlight. Its main avenue zigzagged up and down the hill with most streets extending out horizontally. This made the city easy to defend as every house could turn into a strongpoint to shoot down from. But the downside was that it was far more time-consuming to travel up and down the settlement.

The petite girl had run out of breath by the time she reached the lowest part of the city inside the gates. She slowly came to stop and held onto a crystal lantern post as she panted.

''This stupid corset!'' She blamed the garment even as a voice reminded her that she also hadn't kept up with aerobics exercise.

"Kaede?"

The petite girl looked up and saw a young nobleman barely over twenty. He stood above average in height and had a lean musculature that emphasized his long legs. His face was mildly handsome with his short brown hair, pretty aquamarine eyes, a wide nose, and a strong jaw. The young man also wore a velvet doublet in seafoam-green and a rich fur cloak slung over one shoulder.

"Perceval?" She stared at the healer whom she had known since becoming a familiar. The man also had two armigers following behind him as an entourage. "What are you... doing here...?"

"I'm here to attend the war council tomorrow," he answered. "I came in place of my grandfather, Duke Mathias of Baguette."

The moment he spoke those words, Laetitia, who stood two steps behind Kaede, let out a muffled snort.

The young noble sighed with a faint scowl.

"What are you doing outside at this hour? And who's this?" He fished for an introduction.

"I'm Laetitia Leclerc, Milord -- Dame Kaede's new bodyguard," the armiger introduced herself with a courteous bow. "A kid stole Milady's purse earlier and Sir Fournier gave chase. And I apologize for laughing," she said before covering her lips to stifle another snort.

"It's fine. I'm used to it," Perceval sighed again.

"I lost track of Gerard somewhere over there," Kaede finally caught her breath enough to say as she pointed to a neighborhood off the main road and near the slums.

Lotharin towns and cities were mostly built on hills with the main gate at the bottom and the lord's keep or castle on top. This meant the lower in altitude a home was, the less affluent one could generally expect its owners to be.

Perceval nodded before he turned to the two armigers following him:

"Have you both met Sir Gerard Fournier before?"

"Yes, Milord."

"Then let's go."

Kaede and Laetitia took a minute longer to follow. But between the quieter night-time and the clinking of armor from Perceval's armigers, the familiar had little trouble keeping track. And by the time she arrived, the two old friends had already joined up.

"I saw him enter this building," Kaede heard Gerard call out as he pointed to a ramshackled house. "I've placed an ''Alarm'' ward around the perimeter."

"And my men are watching around the corners," Perceval added before tapping his head to note that they were in communication via ''Telepathy''.

"Then, let's do this the right way," Kaede said as she could hear two women berating someone inside.

"What the hell were you thinking, stealing from a noble?"

"But she looked like the meek daughter of some rich merchant from outside the city. I didn't think nobles even ate at taverns!"

A young boy protested loudly as Kaede walked up to the front door and knocked. Everything fell quiet for a minute before it opened to reveal a nervous woman in her late forties.

"Y-yes?"

"Hello, goodwife. My name is Kaede," the petite Baroness began with a meek smile as she tried to calm the other side. "I'm looking for a boy of around eight. He ran off with my purse earlier."

"N-n-nobody has come here for h-hours," the woman replied with an apparent lie.

"We saw him entering this home earlier," Kaede added. "I promise no harm will befall the boy. I simply want my money back."

The woman remained nervous as she looked up and down at Kaede.

"P-please, come in."

"Gerard, Perceval, could you two please wait outside?" Kaede asked. "Laetitia should be enough."

"Of course. We'll wait right here," Perceval replied.

The two girls then went inside and emerged into a common room with a large dining table lit by an oil lamp. Over a dozen chairs and stools were crammed around it. Meanwhile, unfinished bowls of lentil soup and pieces of broken off stale bread laid all around the table.

Kaede could see four other women, ages twenty to forty, standing guard by the stairs or the doorway to other rooms. The sickly coughing of an elderly woman could also be heard from another room, while the sounds and faint mutterings from no less than ten children could be heard from upstairs.

''Just how many people live in this building?'' She thought in amazement.

"Jean?" The woman who opened the door called out. "Jean? Come out this instant."

A boy around eight, whom Kaede immediately recognized, walked out from a back room.

"Jean, is it?" Kaede walked closer before kneeling down with a smile to look up at the boy. "I can see that your family is struggling. But that does not give you the right to steal from others."

"I'm sorry," the boy said begrudgingly as he looked away.

A young woman who stood behind him had to nudge him twice before he offered the bag of coins he took from Kaede.

"Thank you," Kaede patted the boy on the head as she stood back up. "Do you ''all'' live here?" She looked at the women in bewilderment.

"Yes," an older woman by the stairs replied. "Dahlia had to sell her home so we could have enough money to stay fed until the next harvest." She nodded towards another woman. "Zéphine owns a tailor across the street, but she's had to rent out the living space to another family."

"What happened to all your menfolk?" Kaede asked next.

"Dead," a young woman answered bluntly. "They marched off to the Avorica front and never came back."

The Samaran girl felt her chest constrict as it was a far too common tale. The war with the Caliphate had been the bloodiest on the Kingdom of Avorica's front thus far. And although Sylviane's intervention and Pascal's stratagems had shattered an entire invading army, it was done only with the expenditure of many tens of thousands of lives.

''And I had taken part in it,'' Kaede thought.

"A few women followed the army as well as seamstresses and fletchers. But they died during the Siege of Roazhon when their camp was struck," said another. "We're taking care of their orphans as well."

"Our husbands were all members of the 3rd Alisia Rangers banner," a third added.

''3rd... Alisia...''

Kaede heard those words as if she had just been punched in the gut.

The petite girl exhaled but forgot how to draw breath. Her chest constricted in pain as she heard faint explosions and the muffled screams of men from all around. And although her jaw was clenched and her lips were quivering, she could hear her own voice cry out:

''"Rangers! Those with the courage to drive back hell! Follow me!"''

The familiar could almost see the bloody banks of the Gwilen River as she gazed blankly at the women in the dim room. She thought back to the men that she ran past on that day. Kaede hadn't met a single one of those soldiers before the battle, nor knew even one of them by their names. Yet, they had answered her call-to-arms during that bloodbath with little regard for their own lives.

Tears fell down from her eyes as Kaede realized she couldn't remember even a single face from the men who followed her to death that day. The petite Baroness sank to her knees as she felt two streams roll down her cheeks as she wept and cried.

"I'm sorry... I'm sorry..."

Meanwhile, the women could only look at each other in confusion as if they had no idea how to react.

<nowiki>----- * * * -----</nowiki>

"Kaede, I know you want to help those women, but please think this through!" Kaede heard Gerard plead as she sat in the back room of the tavern they had dined in earlier.

After departing from the widows' home, Kaede marched back uptown and returned to the tavern to negotiate a sale. She found out that the proprietress was also selling because her husband and two sons had also died at the front. Now, with only three daughters remaining, the old widow wanted to leave behind the painful memories of a life spent building this place and return to her old hometown.

"I've heard that you Samarans don't care much about material wealth," Gerard commented as the door opened and Perceval walked through. "But it's insane to spend the remainder of your savings like this!"

"Savings... What do I do with savings?" Kaede muttered in a hollow voice without looking up. "I sleep, dine, and travel at the crown's expense. Everything I need, Pascal or Her Highness buys for me."

"<Kaede, are you alright?>" She then heard Pascal's worried voice over the telepathy of their familiar bond. "<Your emotions have been all over the place for the past hour.>"

"<Not really,>" she replied.

"Aren't you founding a village?" Perceval asked.

"I've already paid for a deal to keep the village supplied with everything they need over the next year," Kaede answered. "And after that...? I'll figure something out with my earnings from this year."

The two men looked at each other before Gerard huffed. "Please, you talk some sense into her."

"<Are you still with Gerard?>" Pascal asked next. "<Can I use your senses?>"

"<Go ahead.>"

Kaede felt too emotionally exhausted to explain to him. It was much easier for him to just use her eyes and ears to follow directly.

"Kaede..." Perceval began in a sympathetic voice as he sat down on the chair facing the petite girl. "I understand your desire to help. But the Empire is in a state of war, and there are countless widows and orphans like them all over the country. If you spend your hard-earned money on them now, you may regret it later when you need those resources to save the lives of others -- just like the expense I must pay to fill this back up."

The young noble reached into an extradimensional storage pocket and pulled out a baton made of translucent-red stone before placing it on the table. Kaede stared for a moment, confused, before she recognized it as an empty bloodquartz stasis rod. The item was used by healers to carry Samaran blood -- a bright-pink fluid known as the 'fluid of life'.

It was used as a focus for curative and calming spells, which had the rare ability to allow such magic to bypass the resistance created by Mana Repulsion. Without it, most healers would find themselves struggling to heal other mages.

''The hospital ethical dilemma,'' Kaede pursed her lips as she thought.

The Samaran girl had done her share of reading about ethics in her former life. The dilemma was about whether a hospital should save a patient's life by spending a hundred million yen -- money which could no longer be used to keep the hospital running by purchasing equipment and supplies?

"It's not the same," Kaede whispered as she shook her head.

"Do you know... what I did at the Battle of Gwilen River?" The petite girl looked up with swollen, haunted eyes. "The deed that Her Highness cited most when she gave me my chevalier's sword and baroness title?"

The two men looked at one another again. Yes, all three of them had participated in that bloodbath of a battle. But they fought in different roles on separate sectors of that twelve-kilopace long battlefield.

"Didn't you stop the Caliphate's main cavalry charge?" Perceval asked.

"Yes... when the Caliphate froze the river crossing and tried to break through our center..."

Kaede nodded as she felt the din of combat envelop her once more. She heard the low-bass sonic detonation of a trebuchet shot which resulted in a half-dozen soldiers' screams. More cries of battle resounded from all around her as the swish of flying arrows filled the air. And before her, the familiar could hear the sharp cracks and pops of rapidly expanding ice as the main crossing was frozen by a spell barrage.

She could almost see the opposite bank where a tidal wave of heavy cavalry surged down the hill crest. Rows upon rows of beasts and men covered in mail and lamellar bore the green and yellow crescent moon of the Tauheed faith. Eight thousand hooves hammered the ground in sync as they rushed towards the river's frozen crossing. Two thousand riders raised their lances into the air and shouted their bone-chilling battle cry in foreign speech.

"Pascal sent me into the breach so he could take advantage of my familiar ability to cast through me by proxy..." She added.

Kaede felt the desperation of that moment surge back into her. She heard Pascal's voice echo in her mind once more -- the same urgent orders that had once come to her through their familiar link, relayed from his post at army headquarters as he coordinated the outnumbered Lotharin defense...

...

"<Kaede! Run closer to the ice! We need to plug that gap!>"

"<Are you trying to get me killed?>" She lashed back.

"<Trust me! And take out those three arrows I gave you this morning! We are going to need them!>"

The Lotharins didn't have enough artillery. Their heavy infantry was still out of position as they rushed up through the trenches. If this charge crashed through the half-ruined fortifications in the center and plowed into the archers, their losses would be disastrous.

Kaede closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Pascal's words 'trust me' echoed across her mind.

''This is insane...''

The Samaran girl activated an ''Air Glide'' rune and leapt down from the damaged redoubt that she had stood on. She dashed across a collapsed earthen rampart which partially filled the trench in front of it. Her hand swiped across her right forearm to activate a full set of her defensive runes. Then she reached back and pulled out the three new arrows from Pascal -- each tipped by a sleek gemstone instead of the usual bodkin penetrator.

"<Hold the stones between your fingers and raise them towards the frozen crossing!>" His voice came as though he ran right besides her.

Kaede balled her right hand into a fist with the three gem arrows pointed forward from between her fingers. Mana poured over the familiar conduit as magical power amassed into her fist. Energy pulsed from the three gemstones as their magic linked to her hand. The jewels lit up and radiated a turquoise shimmer across her pale skin.

"Rangers!" She called several nearby squads to attention as she ran. Her free hand pointed at the massive wave of charging cavalry downriver. "Those with the courage to drive back hell! Follow me!"

Boosted by a ''Shift Impulse'' movement spell, her legs quickly carried her to within thirty paces of the frozen crossing. She felt the ground shake and the water tremble as several thousand hooves thundered over earth and onto the thick ice at the far side of the river.

"<''Beam Field,''>" Pascal began to recite the mnemonic spellwords. The mana buildup in Kaede's arm flowed forward into a turquoise halo, which began to spin in place just in front of her fist.

"<''Sonic Penetrator Blast!''>"

A column of harmonic shockwaves poured out from the turquoise ring of mana. They streamed through the air before crashing into the thick ice. Magic from both her body and the gemstones fed into the halo, which was guzzled up as fuel to feed the emitter's glow.

The ''Field'' spellword was typically reserved for duration spells. It created a continuous area effect for as long as mana demands could be met. Combined with ''Beam'' and the ''Penetrator'' spellword which enhanced its ability to pierce wards through brute force, Pascal had transformed her hand into a sonic disruptor cannon.

Kaede used her arm to aim as she recognized her cue. She pivoted the shockwave stream as she drew lines across the frozen water. Layered ice cracked and fissured under the sonic assault. Their breaking was hastened by the crowded, stomping hooves. The Cataliyan mages tried to refreeze the water or conjure ramps over cracks. However, few would manage to achieve results as more spellfire from the Lotharins poured in.

The cavalry charge was stopped cold as Kaede cut multiple lines across both shores. The fractures trapped over two thousand assault troops on drifting plates of ice. The familiar then slashed across the ice with more dissecting cuts, and the frigid surface began to crumble.

Frozen plates overturned and added to the chaos. Entire squads and platoons of horses and riders toppled over and fell through the ice. Burdened by their heavy armor, the men and beasts alike began to sink and drown.

Meanwhile, arrows flew all around Kaede as Lotharin bowmen fell left and right to the Caliphate's covering fire. The Samaran girl hardly noticed that a unit of cavalry archers began focusing their shots on her. Their first arrows bounced off her wards. However, the infused ''Dispels'' that followed cut through her ''Repulsion Field'' and shattered her rotating spellshields.

Kaede was still breaking the ice into smaller pieces when her body shook. The taste of blood filled her mouth as she looked down, finding two arrows buried into her chest. One of them was lodged in the gap for her right arm, while the other was a bodkin penetrator that pierced a weak spot between two plates in her brigandine.

"<Spellshield Fortress!>"

Pascal tried to rebuild her defenses, but a third impact struck her waist and disrupted the forming mana. The sonic emitter from her clenched fist vanished as Kaede dropped her arrows and fell to her knees.

"<Kaede--!>" Her numbed brain heard Pascal's seemingly-distant cry.

"<Good luck, Pas-->"

Neither had finished before the air burst, as a Cataliyan mortar round fell just twenty paces away and exploded into shrapnel.

...

"The late Sir Robert was able to save my life," Kaede said after summarizing the events as her senses slowly returned to the present. "And since I'm a Samaran, even the arm I lost during that battle was fully healed by ''Regenerate'' spells within days. But the same can't be said for everyone else...

"It wasn't until after we relieved the Siege of Roazhon, when I finally learned that it was the 3rd Alisia Rangers that I had called upon to fight with me that day," she continued in her hollow voice. "But by that time, only three out of ninety-eight men remained alive. The banner had suffered eighty percent casualties during the Battle of Gwilen River alone."

It was a sign of how disciplined and professional the unit had been, as most formations fell apart once they exceeded fifty percent casualties.

"Kaede..." Perceval's soft gaze was filled with sympathy. "People die in war. It's not your fault."

''It's Survivor's Guilt, I know,'' Kaede thought to herself. But knowing something logically and being able to absolve oneself of the pain that she felt simply wasn't the same.

"It's not fair," she mumbled as another tear slipped from her eyes. "I led them all to their death, so why am I the only one recognized as a 'hero' and rewarded!? While those men's families have to live in squalor?"

"Pascal ''is'' trying to change it," Gerard replied as he stood against the door. "The new 'Military Adoption Act' will apply retroactively to the beginning of the Caliphate's invasion last year. It's still not much, but it should at least help them put food on the table."

"I know..." Kaede whispered as she wiped her eyes. "I helped him draft it after all. The Empire's administrative records are incomplete, so Pascal also has to maintain a delicate balance. The Act needs to offer enough to make a difference to poor families, but not so much that it invites widespread 'ghost applicant' fraud, which will happen if the financial gains are too appealing compared to the punishment of being discovered."

The petite girl then looked at Perceval before she raised her voice:

"Look, I know I'm being selfish. I know I'm being illogical and there are better ways to help more people. But I can't stand knowing and ''not doing'' something for them! I have to do this or my conscience won't let me rest!"

"In that case, I won't stop you then," Perceval said with a wry smile as he stood up. "Were you able to negotiate a good deal at least?" He then looked at Gerard.

"It's not a bad one," Gerard shrugged. "The proprietress knew that Kaede was offering everything she had."

"It might not be bad to use this place as an orphanage in the city either," Perceval considered.

"That's my thought exactly," Kaede responded. "With all the children, they'll have plenty of hands to help run the place. The business would be able to cover the cost of feeding and providing for the kids."

"Teach a man to fish and all," Gerard smiled a little at last.

"And Perceval," Kaede looked at the healer. "How was the grandma?"

"Pneumonia. Not hard to heal, but..." Perceval replied as he looked to his empty bloodquartz stasis rod. "She's a yeoman."

The Samaran girl didn't hesitate for an instant before she raised her right arm and began rolling up her sleeves.

"Take as much as your rod can hold."

<nowiki>----- * * * -----</nowiki>

By the time Kaede signed a contract with the tavern's proprietress and brought it back to the widows' home, most of the kids had gone to sleep. The older women had tried to refuse her at first. But Kaede was insistent, and the residents eventually accepted.

However, they did so under the condition that Kaede remained the legal owner of the tavern, and they would merely sign another contract to run the place in her stead. Gerard also suggested an informal promise where they would take in any other war orphans or homeless widows in the city by offering them a place to stay and work. Since the women also owned a tailor, it wouldn't be too hard for them to keep any additional children clothed and fed.

It was almost midnight by the time Kaede returned to the castle.

"Thank you both so much for helping me through all this," the petite girl bowed to the two men as they stood inside the closed gates.

"Don't be such an outsider. Helping out is what comrades are for," Gerard smiled before his mouth stretched open in a yawn. "That being said, I do have to leave early tomorrow so, have a good night!"

"Good night!" The remaining three waved as the tall captain left for the castle's barracks. The young nobleman's armigers had gone even earlier to secure guest beds.

"And I actually owe you more," Perceval then added. The healer shook the bloodquartz stasis rod in his hands. It was full of cotton-candy-colored blood once more, as Kaede had insisted that he filled it back up.

"This would have easily cost me three gold," he added. "Samaran blood is expensive during a time of war. The Grand Republic's Blood Bank offers only a limited quantity to each country as a 'diplomatic trade good'. Rhin-Lotharingie does receive more as we historically have good relations. But our people are poorer than our neighbors, so we also struggle to curb black market reselling."

Kaede did feel a little faint in the head as a result. Her gentle swaying did not escape Perceval's notice as the young noble insisted:

"Let me take you back to your room. You look like you're about to collapse."

"It's okay. Laetitia can..." Kaede hadn't even finished before she lost her balance and her bodyguard had to catch her.

"I told you it was a little too much to draw at once," Perceval said as he looked more annoyed at himself than her. "It's all about body size and you're quite small for an adult."

"It's fine. I'm just exhausted," Kaede muttered in her quiet voice. "Been a long day."

Meanwhile, Laetitia strapped her spear to her back, before she picked Kaede up in a cradle carry.

"Hey... I'm not an invalid!" The petite girl protested.

"No, but you are a patient now," Perceval declared. "Laetitia, if I remember correctly?" He asked again before the armiger nodded. "Please take Dame Kaede all the way back to her room. Ignore her complaints -- Healer's orders."

"Tyrant," Kaede whined.

"The best custodian is a benevolent autocrat," Perceval chuckled. "Have a good night to the both of you. I must inquire about a guest room to stay at."

"Good night!"

...

As the healer ordered, Laetitia carried her petite mistress through the castle. Kaede was thankful that the servants had already gone to sleep and there were only a handful of guards on watch and patrol. The security of the Castle had been undermanned ever since Princess Sylviane retook it from her traitorous uncle at the end of the Civil War. Nevertheless, the familiar felt her face growing red every time they passed by a guard.

"Milady?" Kaede eventually heard Marina's voice as they entered the royal residence hall.

Her maid wasn't alone either, as Pascal emerged from the door opposite Kaede's room -- where Princess Sylviane had arranged for her to stay whenever she was in the capital.

"Thank you, Laetitia. I'll take her from here."

"Wait..." Kaede was about to object when Pascal received her body from Laetitia's arms. He swayed a little but to her surprise, managed to hold steady.

"Have a good night, both of you," Pascal then insisted as he carried Kaede into her room.

"Good night, Your Grace, Milady."

Marina gently closed the door behind him while Pascal carried Kaede straight to a fancy-looking four-poster bed.

"I thought you were going to drop me," Kaede muttered as he set her down atop the soft comforter.

"Give me some credit. I have been practicing daily to rebuild my muscle mass, and you are not exactly heavy," Pascal answered as he unlaced her knee-high wedge boots before pulling them off. "Roll over so I can unlace your corset."

"How long have you been waiting?" Kaede stretched out her arms and did as she was told.

"A few hours. It gave me time to work on that star-sapphire."

Pascal gestured towards the room's desk, where Kaede saw the brooch that Sylviane gave her to go with her formal dress. Her master had borrowed it earlier so he could enhance it with more magic.

"I finished adding ''Earthen Body'' -- the spell that boosts your strength and constitution -- so you can activate the magic without having to use one of my runes," he said. "I have noticed that you use that spell far more than the others."

Unlike most Lotharin mages who used only Aura Magic, Pascal also used Runic Magic as another method for spellcraft. Both forms used mnemonic spellwords to shape mana within a caster's body. However, whereas Aura Magic projected that mana directly from the body to create phenomenons, Runic Magic infused objects with an incomplete spell in the form of a rune that dissipated its mana over time, but could be activated by anyone through a preset contact trigger.

Both Runic Magic and enchanting also imparted magic upon a physical object, though for different purposes. Regardless, once mana was removed from a caster's body, it always began to revert back into ether. This Mana Dissipation could also be slowed by using certain materials. Gemstones with their non-conductive crystal lattice structures were ideal for this -- which in turn made gems ideal for enhancing into magical items... or really expensive runestones.

"Yeahhh... I can't exactly shoot without it," Kaede considered her archery practice every morning. Though to her, it was more of a 'meditation' exercise. "That spring-steel bow transformed from the morphic blade you gave me feels like it has at least a 100-kilogram draw weight."

"Gram?" Pascal asked as he slowly pulled apart the back of her corset before he started to unbutton the upper back of her dress.

"Sorry, make that... 15 stones?" Kaede thought as she converted to Hyperion's mass units.

The familiar then rolled onto her back and sat up while giving her master a knowing look.

"Pascal, are you trying to get me naked?"

"No. I just want you to rest." The young lord looked melancholic as he sat down beside her. "I saw and heard what happened earlier."

"Oh... right." Kaede had completely forgotten about how she gave Pascal permission to listen in.

"Kaede, I want you to remember that it is not your fault," Pascal insisted as he wrapped his left arm around her half-exposed back. "I was the one who gave you the orders. I was the one who told you to run into hell to hold the line that day... and not for the first time."

The familiar could see her master's right hand trembling before he clenched it into a fist.

"The burden is on ''me'' to see that those men's families are provided for, not you," he declared with a heavy voice and steely resolve in his remaining good eye. "Just as I must make amends for those men that I killed with my botched spell at the Battle of Glywysing."

"Pascal," Kaede voiced gently as she reached over and took the right hand that had cast the spell into her palm. "Please don't try to bear everything by yourself. You may have given me those orders. But it was ''my choice'' how and if I wanted to carry them out.

"Don't ever think for a moment that I was 'just following orders'," Kaede then added with a bitter smile and a teary gaze. "I may be your familiar, but I've never surrendered my free will. I admire your sense of accountability and wished more leaders had it. But I will always answer for ''my own actions.''"

An appreciative smile slowly formed on Pascal's lips as he reached his left hand up to her head and stroked her hair.

"And that is exactly why I am proud to call you ''my'' familiar."

===Author's History Notes===

'Give me blood, and I shall give you freedom' - Inspired by the slogan of Subhas Chandra Bose, Indian independence leader who led the Axis-supported Indian National Army (INA) during WW2. The INA's military campaign failed, but its legacy led to the Red Fort Trials and the Bombay Mutiny -- these events made British leaders fear a large-scale revolt by the 2.5 million Indian soldiers who served during WW2, and realized they have no choice but to withdraw from India (contrary to the myth that the British left 'willingly').

Livre, écu, sou - Named after currency used by West Francia and later France between the 8th to 18th centuries. The 100:1 exchange ratio is due to Hyperion using the decimal system for all of its units.

'Ghost applicant' fraud - A form of fraud most common in (but not limited to) underdeveloped countries, where perpetrators file for either aid or wages with people who don't actually exist to receive payouts from the government. For instance, during the Afghanistan War (2001-2021), warlords allied to the US often claimed their armies were several times their actual size, so they could receive more monetary subsidies which they pocketed as their own.

'Just following orders' - Known as the infamous 'Nuremberg Defense', when German army officers (not merely Nazis) claimed that they were 'just following orders' to excuse themselves from the war crimes they committed. Although this excuse was rejected during the trials, it perpetuates to this day through the widely-believed 'Clean Wehrmacht Myth', which falsely claimed that only Nazis, not regular German troops, were responsible for the numerous atrocities committed.

For older readers - Yes, the flashback scene is from Daybreak on Hyperion, Volume 3 Chapter 13 - ''Ten Thousand A Day''

Daybreak:Volume 5 Chapter 3

2025-11-16T14:19:04Z

Aorii: Created page with "===Chapter 3 - An Eccentric Royal Duo=== ''"The Gaetane dynasty was established by Charles the Bold, leader of the coalition that won the Lotharin Independence War and the first sovereign of the Empire. A man trapped in political union his entire life, he was unable to marry his lover and close ally, Queen Gwendolen of Ceredigion. As a result, he decreed to his descendants that the Imperial family should never again marry for shortsighted political gains. Instead, prior..."

===Chapter 3 - An Eccentric Royal Duo===

''"The Gaetane dynasty was established by Charles the Bold, leader of the coalition that won the Lotharin Independence War and the first sovereign of the Empire. A man trapped in political union his entire life, he was unable to marry his lover and close ally, Queen Gwendolen of Ceredigion. As a result, he decreed to his descendants that the Imperial family should never again marry for shortsighted political gains. Instead, priority was given to create secure and loving families which fostered the best conditions for raising healthy and capable heirs.''

''"This became known as the 'Gaetane Legacy'."''

- Abbot Gregory Froissart de Saint-Hilaire, ''Geoffroi the Great: The Brilliance Who Ended in Tragedy''

"How was the feast and dance last night?"

Kaede asked as she followed Pascal through the halls of Oriflamme Castle while Cecylia and Laetitia trailed behind her. The soothing melody of a harpsichord and a viol continued to resound through the air, which bestowed an atmosphere of serenity upon the castle that reminded her of a museum.

The fortress was fairly simple for being the residence of an imperial family. Its walls and floors were marbled and partially carpeted. However, its furnishings and chandeliers were by no means extravagant. Its hallways were mostly divided by simple mahogany doors that were occasionally guarded by pairs of armigers. Kaede had certainly visited plenty of other estates in Rhin-Lotharingie which showed more wealth and pomposity.

"There was not much dancing," Pascal answered with a shrug. "Everyone was too anxious and mostly wanted to discuss wartime politics."

"Still, Her Highness was disappointed that you couldn't attend," Cecylia giggled. "She even prepared matching dresses for you and Vivienne."

''That's exactly why I didn't come back early,'' Kaede almost groaned.

''Well, one of the reasons,'' she admitted as she also simply didn't want to attend a social gathering full of people she didn't know -- especially when many of them were likely to look down upon her.

The four then strode across one of the massive landscape-style paintings distributed across the marbled walls. It was these artworks which truly distinguished the Oriflamme Castle from other estates in Rhin-Lotharingie. Each canvas had a frame as wide as a dining room and ran from hip-high to near the ceiling. Almost every artwork depicted a scene with its focus on an individual with a blue-feathered phoenix. And they served to both romanticize and memorialize the heroes of Rhin-Lotharingie since the Empire's founding.

''The aura of nationalism here is almost stifling...''

Kaede had always felt uneasy with the excessive glorification of the past. To her, history was meant to be studied with truthful and brutal honesty -- to uncover its lessons and grasp the consequences of long-forgotten choices. Only then could individuals, cultures, and nations alike learn from past mistakes, refine their triumphs into wisdom, and shape a better tomorrow for their people. For history offered nothing less than the collective record of people succeeding and failing, with world-altering implications, for the past thousands of years.

But here, in the 'grand cathedral' of Lotharin nationalism, there were few nuances to how their heroes were illustrated and viewed.

Kaede did understand why, for the Empire and its Lotharin peoples paid dearly in blood for their independence and freedom. Identity was usually built upon narratives, and there were few stories as powerful and as inspiring as those of gallant and grandiose heroism. It was why every country, both in Hyperion and in her former life, had its 'national myth' -- a romanticized legacy that was often more idealization than fact.

The problem, however, was that when legends took this 'national myth' too far, it often created distortions in people's cultural values and ways of thinking -- such as a certain superpower's claims to its 'indispensable moral righteousness' to police the world.

"Hold up..."

Kaede slowed to a halt before another painting that she had looked upon many times before. Like most of the other artworks found in the Oriflamme Castle, its focus was another paladin -- this time a lean-shouldered, handsome, if somewhat effeminate young man. Clad in mail armor, the paladin sprouted flame-feathered phoenix wings and glowed in a halo of white-blue flames. He flew above the ground with his armigers, leading far ahead of a massive charge of mixed cavalry and heavy, wagon-like chariots.

Meanwhile, displayed on the far side was the 'enemy' painted in ominous grey. The flanks were predominantly light cavalry, with many drawing their recurve bows. However, the center was mostly infantry carrying wooden planks with small iron tubes affixed to them. Interspersed among them were wheeled, wooden platforms that each carried a black, metallic tube. One of them even belched forth flames as the ancient bombard unleashed its shot.

"Is that Leslie the Paladin?" Laetitia asked as the energetic girl rushed up to examine the painting's details with a look of childish wonder.

"Leslie Eachann Barclay of Tollaigh, Voivode of Dvina," Kaede read the label inscribed onto the bottom of the art frame. "You're familiar with Leslie's story, I'm guessing?"

"Who isn't?" Laetitia replied in an awestruck voice as her eyes remained glued to the artwork. "Leslie was a mercenary who journeyed to the Grand Republic of Samara and lent his services to them during the Great Northern War. The Grand Republic remembered his help three centuries later when they aided us during our Independence War. It's a story taught to every Lotharin child through the rhyme ''Leslie's Blessing'', which my grandfather first told me when I was six."

"That's the simplified version, as Leslie actually aided the Grand Republic's predecessor state, the Polisian Federation," Kaede explained. "Nevertheless, this painting is a romanticization of the Second Battle of Desna River, where Leslie led a Polisian cavalry charge against their enemies, the Great Khanate's 'Divine Engine Division'. It's also probably the first and last time a formation which relied on blast powder weapons was used to hold a battle line."

"Why the last?" Laetitia asked as she finally peered at Kaede.

"What do you think happens when a phoenix's aura, which burns the very air around them, makes contact with tightly packed infantry whose pockets are stuffed with blast powder ammunition?" Pascal responded in his typical aristocratic drawl, while the side of his mouth twisted into a lopsided smile.

Meanwhile, Kaede winced as she couldn't help imagining the devastation and carnage inflicted upon those poor soldiers. It didn't matter to her that they were clearly the villains in the painting.

''Thus the battle altered not only Hyperion history, but the very trajectory of military technology in this world,'' the scholar within her thought.

It made her wonder: if the Princess sent her on a journey as she suspected, could she truly secure aid from their allies in the manner Leslie did?

-- The bar seemed impossibly high from where she was standing.

"Speaking of, Laetitia, there's a painting here I think you'd love," Kaede put on another smile before she gestured for the others to follow.

She strolled down the hall and turned left. The four made their way through several more hallways before the petite girl stopped beside another landscape artwork.

"It's whom your grandfather named you after," Kaede beamed. "It's also one of my favorite paintings in the castle."

The artwork centered on a young woman whose long, mint-green hair streamed outward in the billowing breeze. A blue-feathered phoenix rested on her left shoulder, while a kingfisher perched delicately on the fingers of her outstretched right hand. The woman stood among crop fields that blanketed the rolling hills, their lots divided by rows of fruit trees. A clear stream and several ditches ran between the farmlands, feeding into a pond brimming with local wildlife. Meanwhile, several local farmers gathered around with baskets and carts full with harvest, all of them smiling towards her with their cornucopia.

"Laetitia Eulalia de Estrées, the Greenheart Paladin," Pascal read from the label before turning to ask. "I thought she was a hero of the Independence War?"

"She was," Laetitia and Kaede's voices overlapped before the shorter girl gestured for the armiger to take the lead.

"Laetitia was not only an archmage known as the 'River Witch', but also a master of the spear," the bodyguard explained with ecstatic pride. Yet her voice began to dull as she continued: "though her moniker comes from her actions after the war. She journeyed throughout Rhin-Lotharingie to spread the knowledge of Permaculture, which she had learned from the Druids of Ceredigion."

"I have heard of that term before," Pascal commented as his brows rose with curiosity. "Unfortunately, agriculture has never ranked high in my reading. What exactly does it mean?"

"It's short for 'permanent agriculture'," Kaede responded this time. "Gerard is much better at explaining it as he had studied the subject back when you were both at Alisia Academy. But the gist is that agricultural land shouldn't rely on laborious infrastructure, expensive magic, or chemical fertilizers to stay productive. Instead, farming communities should be designed in a synergistic manner that allows nature to sustain itself through its biological cycles. This includes the soil, the trees, the animals, the weather, the hydrology -- ''everything'' must work together. And only through generational knowledge of the land can we manipulate the biome without disrupting it in a manner that's harmful to our descendants."

"As you can imagine, the Lotharins benefitted significantly from such low-maintenance farming after the Rhin-Lotharingie Independence War, when much of the Lotharin Heartlands lay depopulated," Cecylia commented. "Though based on the data I've seen, even today the Lotharins' permaculture practices have an efficiency almost matching Weichsel's intensive farming methods."

"That is impressive, when you consider that our homeland has always been blessed by its black soil," Pascal praised as he exchanged a look with his fellow officer from Weichsel.

"It's also an excellent example of nation-building that doesn't have to rely on wars and conflicts," Kaede beamed.

"There is definitely room for identity-building through creation alone," Pascal nodded. "Though I would argue that the process is much slower compared to the unifying power of ''ethnic conflict''. The Lotharins survived centuries of Imperial occupation through their inter-tribal unity against a common foe. Without it, I would not be surprised if their culture had gone extinct."

"That's true," Kaede admitted as she thought about the fate of the Lotharins' equivalent in her former life. They had been divided and conquered and left with only a few cultural holdouts.

''Though the Lotharins have also adopted more Imperial practices than they'd like to admit, such as Trinitian religion,'' she considered.

"Regardless, I think we have delayed long enough," Pascal said to Kaede. "Sylv is waiting for us on the northeast roof."

"I need to meet with Ambassador Gerhard, so I'll see you all later," Cecylia gave a little wave before she walked off.

Meanwhile, as Pascal trotted ahead to lead the way, Kaede looked back at Laetitia who was still gazing upon her namesake. The Samaran girl didn't understand why Laetitia's earlier excitement had faded to a pensive, almost melancholic look.

"Is something wrong?"

"No, nothing," Laetitia replied, perhaps a tad too quickly, before she also put on a forced smile.

Kaede certainly wasn't convinced. But she also didn't press the matter as she beckoned:

"Let's be going then."

She then scurried after Pascal. And she had just turned around a corner when she heard Laetitia mutter.

"Grandpa, are you sure you gave me the right name?" The armiger spoke in barely more than a whisper. It was difficult to hear even for Kaede's familiar-enhanced senses.

"I'm a failure as a scribe, a village healer, and as an older sibling. Is there truly any worth to me beyond my physical abilities?"

...

"Give me... one moment..."

Kaede heard Pascal's rough, breathy voice as they neared the top of the spiraling staircase that climbed up to the roof. The girl had intentionally kept close behind him in case he needed support. His leg hadn't been the same ever since he almost died on the field of battle where he earned his notoriety as the ''Dusklord''. Nevertheless, the fact Pascal was able to climb almost four stories by himself was quite an achievement compared to even two months ago.

"Take your time," Kaede stroked his back beneath the skylight's illumination before she briefly closed her eyes to enjoy the music.

The serene strains of harpsichord and viol continued to flow through the air. Their harmony resonated with refined notes as the previous song drew to a close. Hardly a moment then passed before an energetic flute began the music anew, with the new instrument taking the lead in a more lively ballad.

Lotharin music was renowned for its rich variety, wide palette of instruments, and intricate layering of simultaneous melodies. Listening closely to the aria, Kaede could tell that the harpsichordist had willingly dropped to a supportive role. Their graceful notes weaved a calming backdrop to the musical duet between an assertive flute and a hesitant viol.

''It's so unlike Vivi to be nervous on her viol,'' Kaede thought.

The melody had never stopped long enough for players to change instruments. This meant it should still be Lady Vivienne who played the viol as Kaede recognized her earlier music. The Samaran girl wasn't sure who the keyboard player was, but it was most likely the Princess as she owned the castle's harpsichord. The question was who could make an accomplished bard like Vivienne nervous, and Kaede's only thought was that the flute player had to be a man.

"All right. I am good now," Pascal said with a calm breath once more.

Meanwhile, Laetitia bounded up the spiral staircase by taking the almost impossibly steep steps near the center column. She quickly arrived at the landing and pushed open the heavy oaken door and held it.

"Thanks," Pascal nodded appreciatively as he made his way out onto the castle's roof.

By the time Kaede emerged, several armigers on the roof were already examining the new arrivals with an alert gaze. Most of them recognized Pascal and Kaede. However, they stared suspiciously at Laetitia with hands over hilts as the latter was fully equipped.

"Laetitia," Kaede said as she pushed back her hair in the strong breeze. "Not to be rude, but please remain over here for now. We don't want any misunderstandings."

"Of course, Milady," Laetitia nodded before she moved to a nearby crenel and leaned against it.

Pascal had walked ahead to a cushioned chair in the middle of the available seating and sat down upon it like he owned the castle. He was the only audience member sitting beneath the hexagonal, greenhouse-like pavilion which hosted the harpsichord.

As Kaede had surmised, it was Sylviane who sat playing the keyboard instrument. The Princess was in her early twenties and of moderate height. Her voluminous, dark-purple hair draped across both of her narrow shoulders, stopping short of her modest chest in front and reaching just beyond her slender waist in the back. Her eyes were large and caring as they carried the color of wisteria flowers. Below them lay a slender nose, fair cheeks, and a pair of peachy-pale lips.

Crowned by a silvery-cerulean tiara, the Princess wore what could best be described as a 'battledress'. The outfit hugged her torso and ran down to a wide, sectioned skirt that reached down past her knees. Its fabric was dyed in a gradient from sky-blue to violet, but also came with purple padding and darker leather reinforcing key locations, which included fitting spots and buckles for strapping down armor.

The snowy-haired girl caught the Princess' gaze and the two smiled at one another in greeting.

''She seems to be in a pleasant mood today, political events notwithstanding.''

Kaede considered the dozen sealed amphorae jugs of lithium spring water stored inside the extradimensional storage of her messenger bag. She had brought them from her village for the Princess, as consumed lithium was an effective mood stabilizer.

The petite familiar walked over to Pascal and looked at her master. The young general sat upright in his armchair with his good eye fixated upon his betrothed. His gaze followed her graceful movements on the keyboard with an enchanted look. And as Kaede focused on him, she could sense the faint echo of his adoration over their familiar bond.

It reminded Kaede of how Pascal had first told her about his betrothal to the Princess: ''"I do not believe a girl more beautiful than her could exist."'''

Kaede had always thought that to be an exaggeration. Sylviane was pretty, of course, but it would be a gross exaggeration to call her one of the great beauties of the realm. Nevertheless, the relationship between the imperial couple went back to their childhoods. And without Pascal's and his country of Weichsel's military support, it was doubtful that Sylviane could have won the civil war against her uncle.

The familiar then looked back to the other two musicians who were performing the duet. They stood divided by the grand harpsichord and neither looked at one another as they seemed to communicate through only their notes. Their ballad was surprisingly normal in volume considering how the music could be heard with perfect clarity even from the castle's far side entrance.

Kaede could only chalk this up to Vivienne's magic, which always had the ability to carry sound further than it normally would have gone. She would not be surprised if even most of the city's inhabitants could enjoy the melody.

To the right, King Alistair Aileas Mackay-Martel stood facing his country in the distant north as he led with a lively tune on his flute. The monarch from the Kingdom of Gleann Mòr wore a rich fur cloak draped over his dark-blue gambeson and padded chausses.

The King was youthful and tall, appearing in his late-twenties, but was sixty-four in reality. He had a towering height and broad, muscular shoulders. However, he wasn't exactly a handsome man. His head leaned on the squarish side, his eyes faded blue, and his hair a dull brown. Apart from a rustic smile and a goatee-like fuzz, his face could easily blend in among the crowd.

Opposite him, Lady Vivienne Máiréad de Winter was almost an exact doppelganger of Kaede as she played a glowing viol of transparent crystal with her eyes held closed. The petite girl wore a silver-white long dress with black and lavender highlights and embroidered musical symbols. She had the same build, the same size, and would have had the same height as Kaede if she wasn't always perched on exceptionally high heels. Almost every proportion of their bodies appeared identical, from their small noses, soft cheeks, and porcelain-pale cheeks, to their thin shoulders, narrow chests, and even the circumference of their corsets -- as the Princess had ordered both of their clothes.

The only notable difference aside from their outfits was that whereas Kaede had snowy-white hair and rose-quartz eyes, Vivienne had a brilliant-blue gaze beneath her long, silver-white hair that, similar to Kaede's, reached past her hips.

Between the three figures was Sylviane's grand harpsichord with three phoenixes perched on top. Hauteclaire, Almace, and Olifant respectively belonged to the Princess, the King, and Lady Vivienne. The birds looked like lean falcons with blue feathers and magnificent, flowing tails decorated by tiny sapphire gems. The three phoenixes varied somewhat in size and their exact shade of blue, though their feathers always grew progressively lighter towards the wings and tail. Meanwhile, their bodies emitted white-blue flames that sent ripples of soothing heat through the surrounding air as though the pavilion was warmed by a bonfire.

''I wonder if phoenixes also enjoy music?'' Kaede thought as two of the birds greeted her with chirps and she waved back.

It felt as though they were expressing solidarity as familiars.

The petite girl stood beside Pascal's armchair, savoring the music as the ballad from the three performers drew to a gentle close.

"Thank you for accompanying me, Lady Vivienne," King Alistair finally turned around to face the girl. However, his eyes only briefly met hers before he glanced down with a dejected smile.

"It was a beautiful song, Your Majesty," the girl replied with a polite curtsy.

"Indeed. I did not know Your Majesty could play so well," Pascal genuinely praised.

Meanwhile, Vivienne turned towards her lookalike with a beaming smile and almost ran up to hug the Samaran girl.

"Kaede!"

"It's good seeing you again too, Vivi," Kaede smiled as she squeezed back.

"Well, it ''is'' customary for every Lotharin man to learn a musical instrument," Alistair answered Pascal with an odd smile. "It's part of our courting ritual -- a man offers serenades to his sweetheart, and is rewarded by her lovely voice in return should he succeed.

''Is that why he looked disheartened?'' Kaede thought as she and her older 'twin' embraced for a long moment before breaking their hug.

After all, it had been clear from their duet that Alistair was performing to Vivienne. And while the latter played her viol back in support, the girl known as the 'Winter Siren' never opened her lips to sing in her angelic voice.

"Has Your Grace never tried to pluck Her Highness' heartstrings?" The King asked in a teasing voice.

"Of course I have," Pascal said with an annoyed scowl. "Just not very well."

"Pascal tried, and I do give him credit," Sylviane added agreeably as she stood up from her harpsichord seat. "But... let's just say he doesn't have a feel for music," she said with an amused smile while her fiancé looked ''almost'' sheepish.

"I cannot be a prodigy in everything," Pascal shrugged with a forced smile. "It only makes sense that there are some feats that even I am bad at."

''Humble as always,'' Kaede almost giggled at her sarcastic thought.

In the meantime, the Princess had walked over to a cushioned sofa and sat down in its middle. She then patted the seat on both sides as she beckoned to the two girls:

"Kaede, Vivi, come here."

Vivienne's smile remained sunny and infectious as she grabbed one of Kaede's small hands and led her over to Sylviane. The silver-haired bard all but delivered the snowy-haired Samaran into the Princess' hands before she sat down on the other side.

Kaede felt an assertive hand reach around her waist before she bowed to the inevitable and sat down.

"Welcome back, Kaede."

Sylviane greeted as she wrapped one arm around each of the 'twins'. She then pulled Kaede close to her side and leaned her cheek against the silky, snowy-white hair before giving the petite girl a kiss on the head.

"Thank you, Your Highness," Kaede replied as warmly as she could.

It wasn't that she disliked the Princess or felt nervous around her -- at least not right now when Sylviane seemed to be in a good mood. However, it was a little hard to relax when the Princess held her tight and rubbed against her side, her cheeks, and her hair like she was a living hugging pillow.

''It's the price I pay for getting along with Pascal's fiancée,'' Kaede thought. ''Though it's not all bad. Sylviane does give really nice headpats.''

"Dame Kaede, is it?" King Alistair said as he moved closer and leaned casually against one of the pavilion's stone columns. "I don't think this is the first time we've met."

"Your Majesty." Kaede bowed her head. "It's the first time we've spoken though."

"Yes, I believe so!" The King grinned playfully but without any pretense. "I first saw you in the previous war council several months ago, when you stood behind His Grace," he nodded towards Pascal.

The young general had propped his head on one arm as he gazed leisurely at his betrothed, who stroked his petite familiar's hair with gentle caresses.

"I almost mistook you for Lady Vivienne at first. But I never realized just how uncanny the resemblance was." Alistair's voice rang with astonishment as he stared between the two girls flanking the Princess. His eyes always fell upon her like she was a rare and exotic art piece.

''Please don't look at me like that,'' Kaede averted her eyes as she couldn't help fidgeting in Sylviane's embrace.

The fact she knew the King took a romantic interest in her 'twin' only made Kaede more uncomfortable.

"Alistair," the Princess interjected for her. "You're slobbering."

"Wait, what?" The King broke out of his trance immediately. He wiped his lips to find nothing there, only to look back and see the Princess giggling at him.

"Please don't make me sound like some lecher. Although I guess I was behaving a bit like one." The King frowned before bowing his head slightly. "I apologize, dear ladies. I was momentarily possessed by my curiosity and admiration."

"It's alright," Kaede smiled back. ''He sure is humble for a King.''

"Dame Kaede, if you don't mind me just asking," Alistair tentatively spoke next. "Is it true what the rumors say -- that you're a familiar?"

"Yes, she is ''my'' familiar," Pascal interjected with a proud and possessive grin.

Meanwhile, Kaede simply smiled and nodded.

"Your Grace certainly loves breaking conventions. I didn't even know it was possible to have a person as a familiar," the King frowned as he struggled to accept the reality before him. "But Dame Kaede, you and Vivienne aren't ''actually'' twins as some rumors claim, are you?"

"No. We're not even the same human subspecies," Kaede replied. "Vivi is a Faekissed Winterborn. I'm a Samaran."

Her explanation left the King only more slack-jawed and dumbfounded. Though perhaps the expression looked a little too natural for him.

"I have heard that you Samarans reincarnate across lives," Alistair said after a long break. "So are you like... some version of Lady Vivienne from the past or something? Not an evil twin, I hope?" He added in a clear jest.

Both Vivienne and Sylviane giggled at his remark, while Kaede shook her head with a mirthful smile.

"We Samarans do reincarnate with memories from our past lives. But it's impossible for me to be the reincarnation of someone currently alive," she explained. "I do have memories of another life -- it's where my name Kaede comes from. But I do not share any memories with Vivienne. We're certainly not some sort of timeline-offset copies."

"Then... is the fact you two look alike just... complete coincidence?"

"Not exactly," Pascal answered the King. "I had made some changes to the familiar summoning ritual spell so that I could give it some... specifications."

"Is Your Grace saying... that you had altered the ritual to summon a person, and then cast it with her ''appearance'' in mind?" Alistair asked in disbelief as he didn't think it was even possible.

Every pair of eyes around the pavilion had turned towards Pascal as well. Yet the young general remained tone-deaf as he declared with a proud grin while staring at Kaede:

"Yes. She is sublimely lovely, is she not?"

The bewildered King couldn't even respond as he looked somewhere between being appalled and struggling to pick his jaw off the floor. Even all six of the armigers who stood guard around them looked at the future Prince Consort like he had grown two extra heads.

Meanwhile, Pascal's fiancée sighed even as she pulled a comb from her dress pockets and began brushing Kaede's long snowy-white hair.

"Pascal, you ''really'' lack even the most basic common sense sometimes," the Princess reprimanded as she gently stroked the silky hair with her brush. "Just because I've forgiven you for summoning her, it doesn't mean you should brag about your attraction to your familiar in front of your betrothed."

"But you find her adorable as well," he protested.

At the same time, Kaede kept her silence and closed her eyes as she basked in the soothing feeling of having her hair gently brushed.

''She's really good at this.''

"I'm a girl. I'm allowed to cuddle other girls even after I'm engaged," Sylviane answered with an entitled voice.

"I think your reputation for liking cute girls goes a ''little'' beyond cuddling," Pascal retorted as he sent her a knowing look. "I have seen your spare wardrobe, after all."

It made the King of the Glens snort before he hastily suppressed his laughter.

"Your Grace should be thankful that Her Highness, and the girls around her, bring such a pleasant atmosphere that's a sight for sore eyes," he said brightly. "Compared to the brawny clansmen who fight and argue around me all day, I must say that I'm a little envious."

"Yet, those 'brawny clansmen' of yours may be the salvation of our realm," Sylviane remarked as her expression turned serious, even as her hands continued to stroke the comb down Kaede's hair. "I won't lie to you, Alistair -- the situation is desperate, and your kingdom represents the Empire's greatest untapped reserve of strength."

''Since the Caliphate's invasion came too late last year for the Glens to mobilize,'' Kaede thought.

After all, the Kingdom of Gleann Mòr was mostly situated on the slopes and valleys of the North Lotharingie Mountains and the continent's northwestern coast beyond it. The early snow, which had sealed off the passes, meant the Kingdom had effectively been cut off from the rest of the Empire for several months.

"I only hope it is enough, Your Highness," the King answered as he stood straight. "We have delayed mobilization due to our own needs to plant crops. But the north relies more on pasturing and fishing than farming, which has given us a headstart. The armies of the Glens are marching down the North Lotharingie Mountains in three columns as we speak.

"Nevertheless, it is important that we decide on a strategy tomorrow for the war at large," the King expressed. "My forces have a long road ahead to the southern fronts. It's imperative that they take the right route from the start."

"I agree," Pascal nodded. "Time is of the essence, and their march will take weeks."

"However, before we can decide on a national war strategy tomorrow, I would like to decide on a course between us today," Sylviane proposed. "That way, regardless of who supports what during the war council tomorrow, the five of us here can push the agenda in one unified direction. And Pascal already has a war plan that he'd like to propose."

"''Sanctum Veil.''"

Pascal stood before his betrothed even finished and cast a spell over the nearby area. A wave of magic swept out to create an invisible barrier that would prevent any eavesdropping. Those outside its radius would hear nothing but inconspicuous conversation -- like those about food, clothing, and the weather.

"Sounds swell to me!" Alistair said before he chuckled. "And I'll be ready to bark and bite at our opponents as usual, so you can focus on settling a deal."

It reminded Kaede of the many meanings behind Alistair's nickname, the 'Hound King'.

<nowiki>----- * * * -----</nowiki>

"Sylviane, I really appreciate you setting up the opportunity today for me to perform to Vivienne."

The Princess heard the King speak in the salon room that the two had retreated to for a private conversation. Nevertheless, Sylviane could hear the discouragement in Alistair's voice before he trailed off into a sigh.

"Don't feel bad, Alistair," she said as he sat down on an armchair facing her. "As I've told you before, Vivienne has androphobia due to what happened to her in the past. Her deeds in battle might make her seem a brave and outgoing girl, but she's actually more cautious and skittish than most people realize. The fact her music stopped being nervous towards the end of today's performance was a good sign that she's warming up to you.

"I'll arrange more chances for you two to spend time together in the future." The Princess' smile helped bring back a positive expression from the King.

"Thanks, I appreciate that. Though... are you sure you're fine with the prospect of me taking such a cute girl off your hands?" He joked.

It brought a giggle to Sylviane's lips before the Princess replied:

"I adore Vivienne. I don't deny it -- that it would sadden me if she moved away," she answered. "But I'm also her dearest friend. I want her to live a bountiful life despite what fate has saddled her with. And I trust you," she then looked intently at Alistair. "Not merely as a political ally, but also as a close friend and a sterling suitor for her."

"I'm honored that you think so highly of me, given my reputation for visiting brothels and bathhouses," the King responded with a chuckle as he picked up a cup of mint tea from the table between them.

"You might be a randy ex-mercenary captain. But I know you're also loyal to your men, and they in turn to you," the Princess remarked. "I have no doubt that would extend to a would-be wife as well."

"And of course, ''you'' get to place a close friend of yours, an asset so to speak, to tie me as an ally to the Imperial crown." The King raised his eyebrows before he playfully added: "Don't think that I haven't noticed that you've picked up your father's playbook. I may be good at ''looking'' stupid, but even this old dog can still learn a thing or two."

"Stop it, Alistair, you're not even that old!" Sylviane giggled.

Sure, the King might be thrice her age, and more than double that of Vivienne's. But most mages didn't marry until at least their forties, which meant Alistair was still in his 'late prime'.

"And I shan't deny that I would like to replace myself with someone," she then added.

The Princess thought back to how her late father had sent her twelve-year-old self to attend Alistair's coronation. He even gave her a gift that she was to give Alistair in private, along with a lecture that she was to treat the 'bastard king' with ''genuine courtesy and respect''. It had opened the door for conversation between the newly declared Crown Princess of the Empire and the newly crowned King of the Glens, both of whom had felt constantly manipulated by the court and unsuited to their new roles.

"Though, speaking of Vivienne," Alistair said. "Does His Grace know about Vivienne's curse?"

"No," Sylviane shook her head. "You're the only one whom I've ever told about the curse she bears. It's not exactly information that should be openly shared. Though I think Vivi might have told Kaede about it."

"Wouldn't Kaede tell Pascal?" Alistair then asked. "She's his familiar after all."

"Kaede knows when to keep a secret," Sylviane confidently replied. "And their familiar bond -- Pascal told me he can feel her emotions just like a regular familiar. But he cannot actually read her thoughts. And while he can use her eyes and ears as a master could with normal familiars, he has to ask her for permission first."

''Though it's more like he promised to ask her for permission first,'' Sylviane thought.

Nevertheless, she didn't want to have to explain to Alistair that when it came to matters like these, she believed Pascal was as good as his word.

"Well, that's... comforting," the King exhaled a sigh before his voice only grew more sarcastic. "Because Holy Father knows I wasn't at all disturbed by the fact he practically ''copied'' Vivienne..."

Sylviane's smile turned wry as she thought back to her own initial reaction towards Pascal's actions. She didn't speak to him for a month after he first told her about Kaede.

"I do know what you mean," she nodded with a faint sigh. "Nevertheless, I trust Pascal. His actions often come from a lack of consideration, but not a lack of loyalty."

"No. And I certainly don't mean to speak ill of him," Alistair insisted. "Not when he has bet and paid so much to help you retake the throne from your traitorous uncle. Nevertheless, if he had known about the curse beforehand, it would have shifted his actions from... disturbingly creepy, to 'someone please lock this man in the confessional'."

Sylviane couldn't help but laugh in response.

"Are you saying that there ''aren't'' millions of men who would prefer an adorable girl like Vivi, who comes packaged with a curse that enforces her honesty and encourages her obedience?"

"Those men ''all'' need the confessional," Alistair remarked in an exaggerated voice before he drank from his tea.

"I don't even think it's limited to men," Sylviane then continued. "Kaede once told me a story from her world -- I guess it would be the world of her past life -- that when a certain famous monarch gathered representatives from all social classes and ethnicities and asked them all what right they would most like to have. The answer she received was 'the right to own slaves'."

Alistair almost sprayed the tea that he was drinking out at that moment. It led to a series of choking coughs instead.

"Is that what they mean..." he responded a moment later. "By 'freedom for the pike is death for the minnows?'"

"It's certainly a part of it," Sylviane said as she gracefully reached down to her own tea and brought it elegantly to her chest. "We humans are simply obsessed with a desire to maintain control of our lives by controlling others. And it's especially the case when we already find certain other people desirable -- be it for their beauty, their traits, or just their labor -- whom we then wish to include in our lives, for reasons both benign and exploitative."

''Just as I had sought to control Kaede since Pascal summoned her,'' the Princess thought to herself. ''Though she has turned out to be a really good girl.''

Regardless, her words left Alistair silent and brooding for a minute as the King reflected with a deep scowl and a rather uncomfortable look.

"I do hope I'm not that way with Lady Vivienne," he muttered in a quiet voice.

"I'll be sure to remind you when you toe the line," Sylviane smiled back.

"That's reassuring to hear," Alistair beamed before he changed the topic again. "And with that last story... Do Samarans really reincarnate then? And they remember everything from their past lives?" He asked with a still-incredulous gaze. "I had briefly conversed with a Samaran trade captain on the topic. But I wasn't sure how much to believe him."

"Well, I certainly believe Kaede," Sylviane answered. "A Samaran doesn't remember ''everything'', at least according to what she has told me. But she does remember her life growing up in two countries called 'Japan' and 'Russia' on a world called 'Earth'."

"As in, the ground?" Alistair raised an eyebrow before he scoffed in good humor. "How original."

Sylviane simply laughed.

"What would we call our world then, had Hyperion the Dragonlord not died for our sins?"

Her question made the King scratch his goatee-like fuzz for a long moment. He then looked at Sylviane in the eye as wagged his eyebrows as he declared:

"Primrose Path?"

It brought another round of soft laughter to the Princess' lips.

===Author's History Notes===

'Indispensable moral righteousness' to police the world - as the ending revelation about Kaede shows, this actually refers to 'America World Police' and the US national myths of the 'City upon a Hill' and the 'indispensable nation'. The first is the 17th century Puritan religious belief that American colonies were founded to serve as moral exemplars to the world, thus justifying anything America did to convert others. The second is the post-WW2 nationalistic rhetoric that the world can't manage itself without America doing it for them.

Leslie Eachann Barclay of Tollaigh - Based on Alexander Leslie of Auchintoul, a Scottish nobleman and mercenary who fought for the Russians during the 17th century, eventually rising to Voivode (warlord) of Smolensk. His surname is a reference to Barclay de Tolly, a branch of the Scottish Barclay Clan of Tollaigh who became members of the Russian nobility thanks to their services to Imperial Russia -- most famously Prince Michael Andreas Barclay de Tolly, commander of Russian forces during the start of Napoleon's invasion of Russia.

Divine Engine Division - One of the three elite Imperial divisions of Ming dynasty China in the late 14th century. The formation was created to specialize in gunpowder warfare and to experiment with new weapons and tactics. It pioneered the famous rotating ranks volley fire at least a century prior to the Dutch and Japanese.

Permaculture - Based on the modern Permaculture movement, which promotes ecological and self-sustaining agricultural management based on traditional wisdom and environmental understanding.

'Lotharins' equivalent in her world' - Kaede is referring to the Celts here, who once dominated most of Western Europe but are today limited to only Brittany and half the British Isles. The lack of unity among ancient Celtic tribes allowed the Romans (esp. Caesar) to pursue an effective divide-and-conquer strategy. Subsequent genocides such as the Celtic Holocaust would depopulate many Celtic population centers and pave the way for Latinization.

'They all asked for the 'right to own slaves<nowiki>''</nowiki> - Sylviane is generalizing the story of when Catherine the Great of Russia wrote the Nakaz (lit: instruction), which expressed her beliefs on Enlightened Absolutism based on the principles of freedom of thought and speech and equality of all classes before the law. However, when she summoned delegates from various ethnicities and social classes (minus serfs/clergy) for her new legal reform based on it, the biggest item that they could all agree on wanting was the right to own serfs.

'Freedom for the pike is death for the minnows' - Quote by Isaiah Berlin in ''The Two Concepts of Liberty'', which is used to describe the concept of Negative Liberty.

Daybreak:Volume 5 Prologue

2025-10-17T14:14:09Z

Aorii:

===Prologue - Unholy Friday===

''Disclaimer: this prologue is a standalone short story. Its events serve as catalyst to the main story of Journey through Daybreak, but is not required to follow the main story. '''The graphic violence depicted here may also trigger those who have lived through similar events. Reader discretion is advised.'''''

''If you're a reader who prefers to meet the story's main characters first, feel free to skip this chapter and come back later.''

"One, two, ''PUUUUSH!''"

Marius slammed his shoulders against the thick wooden end board of the wagon. His companion did the same to his right as the two rammed their bodies against the ponderous vehicle. The two men gritted their teeth as they mustered all their strength while their worn leather shoes slipped against wet cobblestones. Their efforts paid off as the iron-rimmed wheel which had been stuck in a cavity in the road finally climbed back onto the stone-paved bridge.

An audible breath of relief came from his youthful partner on the side. But the older Marius looked up and took a nervous glance at the wide wooden planks that projected upwards from the wagon bed. The vertical boards had lurched backwards as the ponderous cargo inside his extremely overloaded wagon resisted the sudden movement. Marius was sure he had heard a crack earlier, but the wooden planks nevertheless held up and kept their precious cargo safe inside the makeshift container that was packed to the brim.

"Boss," Marius heard Ramón address him as the latter strode back from the front of the wagon and offered him the reins. "Let's switch. You're exhausted."

"I'm not as young... as I used to be..." Marius admitted through his heavy breathing.

He accepted the reins with a nod while his companion clasped him on his heaving shoulders.

To be fair, Marius was still quite fit, or at least he'd like to think so. But he had crossed the half-century milestone just a few weeks back, and age was quickly catching up to him. Nevertheless, he had been insistent on replacing Ramón, as the middle-aged member of their crew had a bad shoulder -- an injury from the chaos of the last war which never properly healed.

"The gates aren't far ahead," he spoke to his two companions as he pointed towards the other end of the long bridge. "We're almost there," he said before striding towards the front of the wagon to take the lead.

With a grim look, Marius took another deep breath of the cool morning air before he gazed upriver towards the northeast. It was just past daybreak and the sun had yet to even emerge halfway from its cozy bed beyond the horizon. The sky was still dominated by a gigantic indigo moon which took up over a third of the heavens. Its massive bulk also hid the tiny silvery orb which his late wife once half-jested could be used to determine when she would be most willing.

Leading their ox by the reins once more, Marius strode towards the imposing fortified gates that overlooked the bridge which crossed the Tanarus river. The long bridge was over a kilopace across and featured both a double-drawbridge which could be raised to allow civilian ships to pass, as well as a removable pontoon segment behind them for military use.

He heard the wagon wheels roll onto the thick wooden beams of the drawbridge and towards the well-guarded gatehouse that loomed ahead. The stern-faced Marius practiced raising the corners of his lips and his eyes once more to form what passed for a smile. The borders of the Imperium were only thirty kilopaces to their northwest. Considering the escalating political tensions of late, it was all the more important for him to show that he was a friendly trader, even if he had long forgotten what it felt like to truly smile.

The trio of burly men and their ox-drawn wagon approached the first gatehouse just as two figures garbed in forest-green cloaks neared its entrance. A soldier clad in mail and plate armor shouted "HALT!" before he approached the other two with his spear raised beside his towering shield.

"Remove those cloaks at once!" The soldier demanded in the Imperial tongue as he pointed his spear menacingly.

The dull garments were uniform in color except for the white threads that wove embroidered patterns lining the edges. They had holes on each side where two pairs of thin arms emerged from. Their designs marked them as Lotharin in origin without any doubt. And it was those Lotharins, from the Empire of Rhin-Lotharingie, whom the soldiers of the Holy Imperium of the Inner Sea had a long and bloodied history with.

"Y-yes Sir."

A frightened feminine voice responded as the two women removed their outerwear as ordered. Their clothes underneath were frayed and filthy, with torn gaps in their long skirts that exposed their emaciated legs. Neither of them carried any packs and it was clear that they were refugees with little more than the clothing on their backs.

"The city has no room for beggars and whores the likes of you!" The soldier yelled. "Get out of here!" He ordered with a wave of his spear.

"P-please Sir, we've nowhere else to go..." The other woman pleaded weakly.

"Not my problem," the soldier growled.

Marius glanced at the two women as his wagon passed them by from the other side of the wide bridge. The younger couldn't have been older than twenty years old and was likely the daughter of the older woman. Her worn and ragged clothing, her bony and tired body, her pleading gaze which held onto a spark of hope as she turned to look at him...

-- She reminded him so much of his late wife when they had first met along a mountainous road, when he was still a soldier and she was a refugee fleeing the chaos of conflict.

It felt a lifetime ago, during another age when war and turmoil ravaged the land, bringing death and suffering to those least able to defend themselves.

"Now leave, before I throw you both into the river," the soldier threatened.

For a moment, Marius almost felt something stirring in his heartstrings. It was a sliver of pity and sympathy, but without any warmth to carry it throughout his body. The emotion was soon deadened by the haunting image of a dark night lit by a city's burning buildings...

Marius had long learned that the world did not care for the weak and defenseless -- and with that in mind, neither should he. Certainly not while he still had a goal to accomplish and helping these women would only attract the wrong kind of attention.

''With any luck, death will relieve them of life's burdens shortly,'' he thought grimly.

As the man pulled his eyes away, he noticed a glint of silver from the grimy cross that the young girl wore around her neck. It had probably been muddied to deter others from robbing her of her last precious belonging. The cross also hinted that the two women were Trinitian refugees.

Marius had seen plenty of their kind in the past few years, ever since the Albigensians splintered off the Trinitian Church in the Kingdom of Garona -- the southernmost of the four vassal kingdoms inside the Empire of Rhin-Lotharingie. The Albigensians had denounced the Trinitian Church as corrupt and faithless. In response, the Pope in Arcadia had declared them a heresy to be cleansed.

The religious conflict that followed had seen numerous churches destroyed and priests burned alive. Countless residents were given the choice of either conversion or exile from the dukedoms that the Albigensians won.

There was a time during his life when Marius wondered why they couldn't just all live peacefully and get along. Why did humans have to allow nations, culture, and religion to divide them into perpetual conflict?

But those were days long past...

Marius turned his head to face the raised steel portcullis once more. He saw the other guard look warily at his overloaded wagon before meeting his gaze. The merchant put on his best smile and raised an open hand in gesture before the young soldier nodded back in recognition. After all, Marius had been coming in and out of these gates for more than five years now, and most of the soldiers had at least seen him before.

The outer gate was large enough to allow two of his wagons to pass through side by side. Beyond it was a paved courtyard surrounded by walls on all four sides. An even taller inner gatehouse loomed ahead, surrounded by soldiers who checked the belongings of every individual who wished to pass through. A short line of a dozen people waited outside for their turn.

Marius could hear the faint sound of a bell tolling from the city center which was reciprocated by another inside the inner gatehouse. As he led his ox-drawn cart to line up behind the others, the sound of a clatter drew his attention towards the side of the courtyard where five men and women materialized out of thin air.

The newcomers held each others' hands in a circle around the stone pedestal that housed the city's teleportation beacon. It was the daily morning Wayfarer transit from the border town of Caiarellus which had arrived exactly on time. Among the travellers were two soldiers who wore back-strapped round shields over their burgundy-red capes. Their equipment and colors marked them as Imperial Akritae, the border troops of the Holy Imperium's legions.

The older of the two soldiers double-paced to the gatehouse in swift strides. He pulled out a bronze messenger tube and raised it into the air with a shout.

"Priority communique from Caiarellus!"

"Is there an attack?" The officer in charge of the gate's security asked tensely as he stepped up.

"No," the messenger answered calmly. "The borders remain quiet but uneasy. Ever since the Lotharins were invaded by the Caliphate, their brigands have stopped harassing us. I think this is a report from our informants across the border," the soldier added before shrugging to signal that he didn't actually know. "Must be maps or something, or our signifer would have sent it by ''Farspeak''."

"Well, let's hope those Tauheed infidels and Lotharin heretics all rip each other to pieces." The officer who looked past his prime smirked as he reached his hand out towards the tube. "Holy Father willing, we'll take that land back just in time for my retirement."

Marius felt an unnatural chill gather inside him as he heard the two soldiers talk casually about the conflict that was ravaging his homeland. Perhaps it was because he had always known these Imperials were bastards. Perhaps it was due to his own aloofness towards what he could not change. But their callous words no longer triggered any visible response from him.

However, the same could not be said of his youngest colleague Arnau, who took a step from behind the wagon before Ramón yanked him back into place.

''Don't blow our cover,'' Marius thought to himself as he willed for the brash young man to keep calm. Meanwhile, his eyes looked upon the officer's outstretched hand with an interested gaze.

Marius wasn't born with any affinity for magic, but he had long learned to recognize the signs of a spell being cast. The officer must have used a scanning spell to verify the messenger tube. It was simple enough that most mages didn't even need to recite the words for mnemonic spellcasting. The lack of any visible manifestation meant that a simple gesture was the only tell Marius could use to discern its practice.

"Mana signature matches," the officer confirmed before gesturing toward the gate and his men. "LET THEM THROUGH!"

"Salve, brothers."

The messenger extended his arm in an Imperial salute before gesturing to the other soldier who followed him.

Marius watched as the younger soldier, who was a teen barely old enough to join, scurried forward to match steps with his senior. The sight of his youthful determination passing through elicited a pang of bitter nostalgia that left Marius taken aback.

Perhaps it was the way they turned their armored shoulders. Perhaps it was their purposeful stride beneath a distant sun that reflected off their steel plate. But the sight of their departure made memories swirl inside Marius as he felt a tremble from his weathered hand.

And in that moment, the years peeled away like autumn leaves in the wind, returning him to that one morning which still felt raw and bleeding:

...

"I'm sorry, Father. It's time."

The young man before Marius turned to follow the armored recruitment officer out. He was halfway through the door when Marius grabbed him by the forearm.

Marius did not wish to see his firstborn depart the house this way -- the house that he had built by hand all those years ago, when he could still look proudly down upon his wife's first pregnancy.

"Lois, you can't do this!" He added in a half-pleading voice before it hardened to half-scolding. "I...I forbid it!"

"I'm an adult now, Father," the tall young man replied calmly before he sighed once more. He turned his face one last time to meet his parent with an imploring but also determined gaze.

"It's my decision. And I won't be stopped."

"But why?" Marius asked as he stared into his son's faded-green eyes and rounded face. It felt almost like he was looking at a younger version of himself.

"Why must you join the rangers as soon as you're of age? Why can't you ''live life'' for a few years first to understand what it ''means''? Don't you know that the rangers have been fighting an undeclared war for decades!?"

"''Why?''" Lois responded with a frown as his gaze grew clouded by disappointment. "Father, I thought that you, of all people, would understand! You! Who had joined the Garona Liberation Army when you were only ''fourteen!''"

It wasn't that Marius didn't understand his son's motives. His old war buddies had always said that Lois was the spitting image of him, not just in looks but also in personality. Yet Marius always wished that Lois wouldn't take after him in this regard -- to indulge in that youthful romanticism and bravado which led him to fight in one of the cruelest and bloodiest wars in Hyperion history.

There were many stories that he had told to his children with pride. Stories of courage, of camaraderie, of fighting against impossible odds and pulling through by the edge of his teeth. But there were also other stories that he was not proud of and said nothing of -- for Marius had seen the worst of humanity in all of its gratuitous hate and violence, and not just in others but also in himself.

"Those were different times!" Marius' pitch steadily rose as his own buried shame transformed into rejection and anger. "I had been born into a land under Imperial occupation. My parents ''died'' during the First Garona Independence War when the legion burned down my home village with their 'reprisals'!" He almost shouted. "I joined to create a peaceful world for my family and my children!"

The father then gestured towards the house that he had built, towards Lois' young brother and a crying baby sister whom his mother was trying to calm despite her own tears.

"We ''have'' that peace now," he stressed. "So why must you tear this family apart to continue the conflict?"

''Why must you bloody your hands just as I did?'' Marius could not bring himself to say his final thought out loud.

"Because while we selfishly bask in our peaceful lives, our Lotharin brethren south of the border continue to live under Imperial tyranny!" Lois answered as he pointed through the doorway towards the south -- the direction that every Lotharin home was built to face.

"There shall be no peace with the Imperium until there is peace for all Lotharins!"

Marius froze as it was a quote so often repeated by his comrades. Even he himself had worn it with familiarity upon his lips when he was young -- a phrase which he had even woven into many of his stories to his kids.

And in that moment, Marius knew he could not win. For Lois had become exactly the man whom he had raised.

...

''There shall be no peace...''

Marius felt his chest tighten as he continued to stare through the gateway towards the rising sun. He could not help but reflect upon those heavy words, which carried such a different meaning for him today than it did back then.

''How we all change, even at my age.''

The soldiers who bore the message had already disappeared from view, yet his nostalgic gaze remained transfixed on the empty archway.

"Marius, you old smudge, it's good seeing you again," the officer in charge of the gatehouse pulled Marius' thoughts back to the present as he clasped the aging man's shoulders with a wide grin.

"Did you bring the wine you promised me last time?"

For a moment, Marius only blinked as he struggled to bury the emotions of his past. A half-depreciating chortle left his lips as he couldn't help but wonder what his son would say to him today -- to see him 'consort with the enemy' like this.

"Is that all you think about when you see me, Acacius?" Marius answered in jest as his lips stretched into a fake smile.

Regardless, the old trader turned towards his wagon where he pulled out a large box tucked into the vehicle's front frame. From it, he took out a clay amphorae which he presented to the officer in both hands as a gift.

"Twenty years aged by its previous owners. I hope you enjoy and share it with your men."

"Don't worry, I ain't a pig," Acacius accepted the wine with a beaming grin. "I'll be sure to let my boys know whom this ambrosia is from," he added before looking at the overloaded wagon and tapping it with his knuckle. "So what's the cargo this time?"

"Harvest of muskmelons from the border villages," Marius answered.

"This early? It's still mid-spring!" Acacius' brows rose in amazement.

"Muskmelons are planted indoors before the last frost and transplanted outside as soon as spring begins," Marius explained. "Give it six weeks after that and you have an early crop."

"That so? Good thing I'm learning now. Will be handy when I become a landlord after retiring from service," the officer joked.

"How much longer do you have?" Marius asked with feigned curiosity.

"Little more than six months, at which point I'll have finished a double tour of fifty years."

Acacius' words reminded Marius of the officer's yeomen status. As a man of the 'middle-class' who was born with magical affinity, Acacius could expect to live for well over a hundred years. Even now, for a man nearly eighty years of age, Acacius had the appearance of someone who was merely thirty.

"I heard you've already secured yourself a good woman?" Marius asked next.

"She's expecting in a month, actually," the officer beamed. "But don't worry. Soon as I retire, she'll be recognized as my proper wife and our son legitimized," Acacius said as though hinting that they were already secretly married, as such unions were officially forbidden for active members of the legion. "It's all standard practice in the army."

"Well, congratulations on becoming a father soon. I wish you peace for these last six months and a smooth road to retirement."

Marius tried his best to keep the irony out of his tone and smile. He already knew that the days ahead would be anything but peaceful.

"Same to you, and thanks again," the officer said before raising the tall wine jug and tapping it with his gauntlet.

It was a polite signal for him to pass and stop blocking the gateway. Meanwhile, Ramón and Arnau were already pushing their wagon forward towards the city's main street.

Marius and his companions moved past the double portcullis and emerged from the fortified gatehouse into the bustling city of Augusta Tanarus. A wide, stone-paved thoroughfare stretches before him, flanked by multi-storied buildings with shops occupying their ground floors. A cacophony of sounds, smells, and movement along the main streets immediately assaulted his senses, as the distinct smells of fresh bread, roasting meat, tanned leather, and the less pleasant odors of waste mingled in the morning air.

Yet despite the early hour, the merchants had already started setting up their wooden awnings and were now beginning to hawk their wares -- everything from pottery and textiles to exotic spices and fresh produce. Water splashed from a nearby public fountain where citizens gathered with clay amphorae to fill their jugs. Meanwhile, porters push past with loaded carts, yielding only to a wealthy woman who was carried past in a litter by slaves.

It was hardly surprising, as the city of Augusta Tanarus was built at the tip of where the Tanarus river formed a delta that flowed into the Inner Sea. It was the site of not only a historic victory for the Imperium, but also a ley line junction where magic could be used to power the city's wards and industry. Surrounded by river estuaries and protected by layered enchantments, the fortress-city was considered an impregnable bastion.

Furthermore, today was the Friday before Resurrection Day, the most Holy of all holidays in Trinitian tradition. It marked the day when Hyperion the Dragonlord sacrificed his life in the 'Ritual of the True Cross', a grand sorcery which sealed the demons back in their Abyss and ended the millenia-long Dragon-Demon Wars that ravaged two continents.

Finally, the city was widely considered the last stronghold of 'true civilization' before one entered the half-civilized, half-barbarous lands of Rhin-Lotharingie... or so it was said by the maritime traders of the Imperium.

As such, Augusta Tanarus was also one of the main trading hubs of the Holy Imperium of the Inner Sea. Here, cargo galleys and sky-barges picked up goods from the northwest to be transported to the rest of the thalassocracy. Merchants could rest assured that their businesses would be kept safe by the formidable legionary garrison. The city even had a citadel headquarters which was in charge of all thematic legionary forces in the northwestern borderlands of the Imperium.

"It's hard to believe how peaceful it is here." Marius heard Arnau, the youngest of his companions, mutter with half-amazement and half-bitterness beneath his breath.

Turning back to face Arnau, Marius saw the young man gawking up towards the skies with his slack-jawed mouth hanging agape. The lad couldn't stop staring at the towering structure near the northern entrance. His eyes moved between the building and the two massive floating airships anchored next to it.

It wasn't exactly surprising, for Marius had reacted much the same way the first time he saw Augusta Tanarus' aerodrome tower.

The blocky stone and concrete structure jutting up from the ground rose a good ten stories into the sky. Four windlass cranes projected from its corners where dock workers busied themselves raising cargo up to the airships. Two ramps -- one for cargo and one for personnel -- connected the tower to each of the two gargantuan sky-barges with their giant elliptical balloons. Dozens of ropes were used to anchor each humongous vehicle and keep it from being blown away by the wind. Meanwhile, seven cargo nets, a fortuitous number in Arcadian culture, hung from the gondola strapped to the underside of each skyship.

"Holy Father be blessed," Arnau whispered with a childish sense of wonder. "How do those giants stay aloft?"

"The elliptical hulls of those sky-barges are filled with a lighter-than-air gas which keeps them afloat," Marius answered with the best of his knowledge.

He had heard an alchemist explain it once but couldn't remember the names of those gases. All he remembered was that it was colorless, odorless, and had the odd effect of making his voice squeak.

"They travel through the use of wind magic," Ramón then added. "However, their attuned crystals are bound to specific ley lines, and as a result they can only transport goods along a preset path. But occasionally one of them will get blown off course, at which point they'll need a proper stormcaller mage to push them back."

"I thought you said that ley line crystals were bound to a single location?" The young man then asked.

"The Imperium's technology exceeds Rhin-Lotharingie's in every respect," Marius answered as a matter of fact. His words made Ramón open his lips before closing them in a scowl as though the latter wanted to yet couldn't refute.

Meanwhile, Marius narrowed his eyes and frowned as he noticed that one of the barges' cargo nets was fully loaded with thousands of barrels that looked familiar even from a distance. At least three of them were marked with a red 'X' on the bottom, which seemed to hint that they were the same barrels that he had once smuggled into the city.

''Is that the target of the saboteur team that the commander mentioned?'' It made him wonder as he watched the crew secure the cargo nets to the lower deck as they prepared for departure.

Once again, Marius thought of the nature of their mission ahead. It was completely antithetical to Arnau's youthful, innocent stare as the young man gazed up towards the sky.

It reminded the older man that he had never asked for young Arnau's age. After all, it was easier on his conscience to not know.

But Ramón did not have such concerns as he queried:

"How old are you, Arnau?"

Marius had anticipated twenty. He had hoped for twenty. But the answer that came back from Arnau was "seventeen."

"Why are you here?" The group's leader scowled as he almost wanted to tell Arnau to turn back.

But Arnau met the older man's gaze directly. Something shifted in the boy's countenance -- the youthful exuberance that had animated his features just moments before vanished in an instant, like a candle snuffed by a bone-chilling gale that cast the air around them into a blizzard.

His reply came in a deadened voice that belonged to a much older soul: "why are we all here?"

The apathetic tone sent a faint stabbing pain through Marius' chest. He'd heard those same words before. It came from another time, through a different voice, and under different circumstances. Yet, the haunting memory of it rose through Marius' thoughts as though the wound had been freshly made:

...

"Why are we all here? Because our duty is to protect our families from what's out there!" The conscription officer pointed towards the town's southern walls even as he kept his other hand on the shoulders of Pau, Marius' second born son.

"But why would you take him and not me!?" Marius' frustrations rose. "I'm a veteran of the last war!"

"Look, I'm a father too, I know what it's like." The officer sighed with a sympathetic gaze. "I would ''gladly'' take you in exchange, if you weren't so injured you can barely even run. But my orders are to conscript one able-bodied man from every family for the defense of this town. We're about to come under siege and there is no exception for you refugees."

"But he's only seventeen!" Marius exclaimed as his voice almost cracked with desperation.

"Father," it was his son Pau who interjected next with a forced smile. "I'll be fine." He tried to embolden himself as much as he reassured his father.

"Didn't you tell me just yesterday?" Pau continued. "The Imperial campaign in Garona is on its last legs. It won't be long before Emperor Geoffroi's main Lotharin army arrives. We only need to hold out for a few days."

The young man squeezed his fist as his eyes and voice hardened with steadfast resolve. "Besides, it's my duty as a man to protect my family -- isn't that what you've always taught me?"

Marius' jaw trembled as he didn't know if he should cry or smile at that moment. To see his second child march off to war -- the son whom his wife had named in their traditional Lengadoc tongue's word for 'peace'. It brought tears to his eyes even as he felt pride in his son's maturity and courage.

Before Marius stood the culmination of every quality he had spent years instilling into his children. To see Pau face the challenges of adulthood with a resolute gaze determined to overcome all fear and doubt, Marius could not be more proud as a father.

But why did it have to come to this? Why couldn't he protect his own children? Why did he have to injure his leg during their flight here?

"Big bro!" Pau's four year-old little sister cried out as she ran to him while he knelt down to hug her.

"Don't worry, Mireia, I'll be back with you and Ma and Pa before you even miss me," he said with a broad grin. "And together, we'll go back home and await our older brother's return."

"Promise?" The little girl asked as she hugged her stuffed bunny with one arm and reached out her tiny hand with the other.

Her brother answered with his own hand and interweaved his fingers through hers. "I promise," he added with a nod and a beaming smile.

Pau then gave his sister one last all-embracing hug before he stood up and did the same for his father.

"Remember that I'm proud of you, son," Marius felt his voice shake as he squeezed his son's broad chest. He then pulled away and grasped Pau by the shoulders with a stern gaze. "And remember -- fight well with your comrades, but no heroics. Come back in one piece."

"I know, father," Pau responded with another bravely forced smile. "And I'll be sure to bring this back to you," he said before raising the steel sling staff and winged mace that Marius once soldiered with. "I promise."

...

''Why is it always the young who are sent to die?''

Marius considered as his thoughts returned to the present once more. He stared at his youngest companion for another moment as he realized that Arnau was the same age as his son Pau had been. A part of Marius wanted to tell Arnau to go back and return to his family. But another part of him also knew -- even had Arnau any family left, the three of them were already too far gone to live a peaceful life.

It's why they all volunteered for this...

Raman was driving their ox to pull the wagon forward once more. The three men followed as they made their way down the city's increasingly-crowded main street. They had to stop several times at intersections to allow other vehicles to cross first. Compared to the others, their extremely overloaded wagon moved at a snail's pace across the cobblestone road.

Thankfully, the Imperium's cities had wide boulevards which allowed three or even four wagons to pass side by side.

The road even had stone ditches to both sides which drained wastewater away into the sewers. Meanwhile above them, smaller branches of the city's main aqueduct carried water to the local bathhouses which allowed the crowded city to maintain sanitation and hygiene. It was a sign of the Holy Imperium's wealth that their cities could afford such luxurious infrastructure. All of it lay in stark contrast to the narrow, winding, and filthy streets that dominated the towns and cities inside Marius' home country of Rhin-Lotharingie.

The old man thought he heard a noise behind him before he turned about to look back. His gaze caught sight of another rope falling from one of the sky-barges parked by the aerodrome. The colossal airship was slowly pulling away from the docking tower. A strong gust blew from behind them as the vehicle's enchantments altered the local weather for its movement.

The ox-drawn cart sped up slightly as they neared the canal that separated the northwestern third of the city from its central plaza. A Trinitian Cathedral with its three towering spires and the dome of a governor's palace could also be seen on the other side of the marketplace. Yet here, in the commercial and administrative heart of the city, the cacophony of hawking merchants and working tradesmen had dropped significantly.

In their place, a large man with exotic ebony-black skin stood atop a raised marble platform. The man wore a striped toga in the Arcadian fashion as he spoke with a magically-enhanced deep voice that resounded clearly across the air.

"--''from Arcadia,''" he made a dramatic gesture towards the south as he proclaimed the Imperium's capital. "Imperator Augustus Skantarios decrees the mobilization of all furloughed thematic legions from the northern and western provinces of our most Holy Imperium. Our brave soldiers are charged to ensure that the heresy and barbarism of war in Rhin-Lotharingie does not spill onto our lands. Renowned General Marcus Avilius Belisarius will arrive in our city in five days, bringing with him the Tagmata Legions Hikanatoi and Archontopoulai..."

"''Two'' Tagmata Legions," Ramón spoke in an awed voice as he considered the elite formations whose names struck fear across the continent.

Marius could still remember the sight of those demigryph super-heavy-cavalry charging the Lotharin center during the Battle of Montaiglin Gap. Their magic and armor impervious to the hailstorm of sling-bullets and runic-spells alike from the Lotharins. Their indomitable riders plowed straight into a wall of pikes like giants scything through wheat, and twelve lines of infantry crumbled before the Lotharin army broke and ran.

-- Even now, the old veteran could feel his hand shaking at the scene of frightful slaughter that followed on that tragic day.

"Complete overkill for 'border security'," Marius commented grimly as he clenched his fingers around the reins. "The Imperator is readying his armies for full scale conflict," he muttered in a low voice as he considered the inevitability of the war ahead.

Had he any reservations towards the actions that he was about to perpetrate, this dire news had just absolved him of them.

After all, Augusta Tanarus was not merely a trade port, but a fortress-city built as the Legions' main logistics hub in the western edge of their Empire north of the Inner Sea. Here, sky-barges and cargo-galleys would be offloaded and wagon-trains packed to supply the armies that would march into Garona and Rhin-Lotharingie. Within the walls of the Imperium's military infrastructure, every man and woman living here was a participant in the economy that fueled the Imperial war machine.

-- And to Marius, that made the whole city a legitimate military target.

Yet, as the trio drew near a busy stone bridge that crossed the canal, Marius's jaded eyes spotted a little girl who ran innocently across it. The child could not have been more than six years old and had wavy brunette locks that flowed freely in the morning breeze. Her hands clutched a stuffed rabbit beneath her beautiful green eyes and rosy red cheeks.

Marius didn't even notice his breathing pause as he couldn't help fixate upon her with his gaze. The girl looked so nostalgic that it felt like he had travelled backwards through time.

It was a sight that he had not seen for so long. A feeling of warmth and longing that his frigid chest had not experienced in a decade...

For several moments, the little girl who wore a beaming smile ran straight towards him as though she was about to leap into his embrace. Yet, before Marius could emerge from his frozen trance, the girl dashed past him and towards someone else instead.

"Mama!" The girl joyfully rushed into her parent's embrace.

The mother was young and pretty and wore an elegantly draped stola of fine lilac -- a long pleated dress that was more commonly seen among the wealthier citizens of the Holy Imperium. A delicate shawl of imported silk hung from the woman's head and over both shoulders to add modesty to her appearance.

Meanwhile, standing next to her was a broad-shouldered, middle-aged man dressed in the purple cloak of an Imperial Quaestor. He looked at least fifteen years older than the young mother, but laid a possessive hand upon her shoulders which clearly showed that they were married.

A scowl grew across Marius' countenance as he forced himself to look away. A gale of frozen anger swept through him from deep within him as he felt disturbed by his own mistake.

''How could I mistake an Imp child for my sweet Mireia.''

Meanwhile, a massive shadow steadily grew across the busy cobblestone street. The colossal sky-barge that Marius saw departing the tower earlier now flew directly over them to block out direct sunlight. The gargantuan elliptical airship was over three hundred paces long. Its twelve revolving propellers filled the air with a dull whirring as the chain-linked pairs repurposed the gale force winds that blew at the airship's back for steering.

A cheer of support resounded from the central plaza where the men gathered around the news crier. Marius had barely been paying attention, but it was not difficult to guess why the townsfolk were celebrating. Per the Arcadian tradition of 'bread and circuses', food and entertainment would usually be provided to celebrate the arrival of dignitaries. Chariot races would then be held in the city's hippodrome, with contestants from the military to help whip the public into a pro-war frenzy.

However, the cheers and applause were short lived this time, as the shadow cast by the colossal airship soon came to loom over the central plaza. Countless citizens looked skyward as they pointed and spoke to each other in hushed murmurs.

It reminded Marius that in all the times he was in this city while a sky-barge departed, this was the first time a massive vehicle passed directly over the heart of the city.

The old trader was still pondering the reason when a shrill cry pierced the air from high above:

"LOOK OUT!"

One of the seven heavy-duty cargo nets that carried goods beneath the dirigible had fallen loose. At least four cords of thick rope seemed to have snapped which left the net hanging to one side with an open gap. Over a dozen wooden barrels rolled out from the cargo hold and fell through the air. Several anxious screams could be heard from the market's residents as the huge barrels plunged down from above.

"Order!" Another shout came from the soldiers. "The city protects!"

Surely enough, before the falling objects could even come close to hitting ground, they struck a translucent dome-like barrier of cobalt blue that suddenly flared into existence around sixty paces above ground. The wooden barrels had shattered on contact as they crashed into the city's anti-air defense ward. The magical barrier was strong enough to break apart even giant boulders hurled from trebuchets. It was part of why Augusta Tanarus was considered an impregnable fortress.

However, while the ward could stop large objects, it was designed to allow lighter substances and liquids to pass through. The dozen barrels that burst open were full of a smooth, glossy, yet viscous liquid that looked like some kind of cooking oil. Hectojugs of this flammable fluid rained down from the sky which drenched entire shops in the marketplace beneath.

Worse yet, more ropes seemed to be breaking loose from the already spilling cargo net, which led to a steady stream of barrels to fall from the gargantuan airship.

"That can't be an accident," Marius muttered to his comrades as he stared up at the sky-barge.

The double-layered cargo nets those sky-barges used would have been inspected before departure. They were secured to the cargo deck by over two dozen heavy duty 'anchor' ropes. There was no way so many cords could have broken loose unless there had been deliberate sabotage.

"You think that's ''them?''" Ramón asked in a low voice.

"I'm positive," Marius added as he spotted another one of those tell-tale barrels that he had seen earlier.

It was marked with a red 'X' on the bottom, and so was the barrel next to it.

Those barrels' own cargo net swayed beneath the sky-barge as several ropes were cut. A gap to the side soon opened where one barrel after another rolled through before plummeting. The wooden containers were shattered by the warding barrier just like before. However, instead of breaking apart to rain oil down upon the ground below, the barrels released a black powdery substance that fell like a carpet of volcanic sand.

''Blast powder.''

Marius' eyes swelled as those X-marked barrels were indeed the same ones that he, among others, had smuggled into the city over the past few years.

He was not the only one to recognize it either as more cries and screams erupted from the marketplace. Residents and tradesmen alike looked up in horror as it began to dawn on them that this was no simple mistake.

One after another, the ropes securing the seven cargo nets beneath the sky-barge were cut. One after another, the barrels kept within those holds slipped, rolled, and bounced into the air before plummeting towards the ground. The speed of the disaster hastened as dozens of barrels began to rain down from the airship at a time.

-- And every one of these barrels shattered to spill forth a flammable substance, be it oil, powder, grease, tar, and even spirits.

"Terrorist!" A terrified shrill cry resounded from among the civilians in the crowded marketplace.

More and more screams followed in its wake as panic quickly began to spread. Even the soldiers had lost control as many of them turned to run from the airship's eastbound flight. Throngs of civilians began to flee the downpour of powder, liquids, and other debris. They pushed and shoved aside others in their path with little regard for anything but their own lives.

"This is our chance," Marius declared as he looked back at his companions. "Light the fuse."

The old veteran moved behind the ox where he grasped the animal's tail with his hand. A dozen strips of tar-coated linen had been wrapped around the ox's tail which ended with a small tube. Marius took the bell that disguised the tube's true purpose in hand and yanked hard to break the strings. The attached flint rod created a series of sparks inside, which ignited the oiled paper within and then the tarred tail.

The oxen cried out in pain as it began to push forward with all the strength it could muster in an attempt to escape the flames. The animal's hooves gripped and slipped across the stone-paved ground as it pulled against the overloaded wagon that struggled to move faster than a snail's pace. The beast was successful in drawing the wagon onto the gentle arc of the stone bridge while Ramón leapt down from the vehicle's side. Within his hand was the flint core to a similar tube which had been used to spark a five-minute timed fuse.

"STOP!" A soldier who stood guard on the other side of the canal bridge yelled. "STOP THAT WAGON AT ONCE!"

"Don't you see what's happening!?" His companion also cried out as he gestured towards the tide of panic-stricken civilians surging toward their direction.

Yet, before any of the soldiers could take even three steps, a loud voice shouted from the airship above drew all of their attention skywards:

''"THE DEAD DEMAND JUSTICE!"''

The airship had already cut all of its large nets and dropped the majority of its cargo. Now, the hijackers completed their mission by detonating the entire vessel. An earthrending explosion which seemed to tear the heavens asunder shook through the city. And in the blink of an eye, the colossal dirigible which had loomed over much of the marketplace plaza went up in a massive inferno.

A torrent of hot air followed which almost knocked Marius off his feet. The old veteran dug in his heels as he felt the searing heat of the blast expand. It was not entirely surprising to him, as decades ago -- back when he was a child saboteur in the Garona Liberation Army -- he had taken on a mission to plant several runestones on a smaller airship. The runes held an alchemy spell that steadily transmuted the squeak-inducing odorless gas inside those elliptical balloons to something far more flammable. And after that, a ''Lightning'' spell from their yeoman captain was all that it took to set the entire sky-barge ablaze.

Smoke filled the air and rose skyward in a mushroom-shaped column as burning embers and debris rained down upon the plaza. Fires spread in an instant through the oil-soaked peddler booths and the pools of tar and powder that blanketed the cobblestone ground.

At the same time, the colossal flaming wreck of the sky-barge drifted down towards the city's southeastern districts. The air above the city flared with cobalt-blue mana once more as the air defense ward tried to resist the falling skyship's metallic frame. However, the sheer mass of the burning vessel proved too much and the entire magical barrier shattered like a glass dome breaking into a million shards. The searing carcass of the dirigible then crashed into the dense blocks of crowded residential homes to the city's southeast, which almost instantly set the entire area ablaze in a sea of flames.

Countless fires were spreading out of control inside the fortress-city that was claimed to be 'impregnable'. Meanwhile, the hundreds of civilians who had been knocked off their feet scrambled to climb over each other to get away from the growing holocaust of flames.

"The Dead Demand Justice!" Marius heard another shout in the Lotharin tongue from the far side of the marketplace plaza.

The explosion that followed revealed that yet another infiltration squad, like the trio formed by him, Ramón, and Arnau, had gone into action. The detonation came from the entrance to the cathedral where the city's residents no doubt sought shelter. The destruction shook the ground with such force that one of the limestone spires cracked and began to topple.

Marius knelt and reached to his boots where he unsheathed a concealed dagger. The blade was within reason for what could pass as a 'self-defense weapon' should a soldier discover it. He watched as Ramón and Arnau opened the wagon's side storage to pull out a lumber axe and a steel mallet. The three men all looked at each other with grim faces as they nodded wordlessly to one another.

There was no need for final farewells, for all of them had already accepted their coming fate. Each of them was haunted by a past that they could not escape. And their mission was the only end that could bring them peace.

Their ox cried out in pain as its burning tail forced the animal to pull the overloaded wagon over the slightly-arched canal bridge. The soldiers on the far side however had caught on as they stood up and formed a half-wedge to one side of the passage. The disciplined legionaries leveled their spears in preparation to impale the animal that struggled to charge forward in pain. But before the beast could pull its heavy burden past the crest of the bridge, the young Arnaud dashed past the wagon to assault them with his raised steel mallet.

Nevertheless, the untrained teen was no match against professional soldiers. Three spears thrust forth and two of them impaled his unprotected torso before the young man could even land a single swing.

Yet, despite a shaft that ran through his gut, Arnau continued to push himself forward as he stared upon the soldiers with gritted teeth. The young man dropped his hammer before raising his right arm with all of his remaining strength. Marius could see the glint of a brooch that Arnau said belonged to his late mother in his fingers as young man croaked out one last cry before he slammed the hand into the center of his chest:

"THE DEAD DEMAND JUSTICE!"

His body then exploded in a blast of flames that not only tore his limbs apart. The sonic burst that came with it also shattered the stone bridge railing and broke every bone in all three Imperial soldiers who stood before him.

There were several fleeing civilians who had been caught in the explosion as well. However, more residents who had been running towards the bridge froze in shock as they could no longer tell which direction safety was. Nevertheless, dozens if not hundreds of others continued to push and shove from behind them as people sought to flee the inferno that consumed the marketplace. Countless people were pushed under and trampled upon even as others hastily changed the direction of their flight.

"THE DEAD DEMAND JUSTICE!"

Another cry came from a bridge to the north just as a wave of panic-stricken residents rushed onto it. The explosion that followed destroyed not only the bridge but sent a shower of blood and limbs flying into the air in every direction.

Meanwhile, Raman had jogged ahead of him and raised his lumber axe against the side of their still-moving wagon. The man cried out as he swung with all of his strength, which forced the axe head to cut straight through one of the wooden sideboards that projected upwards from the wagon bed. The thin wooden plank snapped in half which opened up a wide gap into the filled wagon hold. Their cargo of muskmelons rolled out in a torrent and scattered onto the cobblestone-paved plaza.

Ramón pulled back his axe but its head had become stuck in a muskmelon's rind. Oil leaked from the fruit's interior which showed that the melon had been hollowed out. Almost their entire cargo of muskmelons had their innards replaced with either oil or blast powder. Only a surface layer of real fruits were placed on top to fool inspections.

Marius watched as the melons bounced and rolled into a confused crowd that ran from one side of the plaza to another in a mindless panic. One of the powder-filled fruits ran into a piece of burning debris and promptly exploded. Two tradesmen were caught in the blast and one of them fell clutching their leg where only a bloody stump remained. Several nearby women screamed and turned to run in the opposite direction before they were shoved onto the ground and trampled under by others running the opposite way.

The residents were caught between the burning marketplace and the 'assault' of the ground infiltration teams. Dozens of civilians leapt into the canal, only for some of them to catch fire as the burning oil spread across the water's surface as well. The injured who had been trampled upon crawled over the ground begging for help while the children sat and wailed in terror for their parents to come.

It was the very image of hell -- the sight of a city, with its buildings, its market, its streets, and even its canals all awash with growing flames. Desperate screams and cries came abound from every direction, and corpses both deceased and half-dead littered the streets as more explosions resounded.

Yet, it was not the first time that Marius lay witness to such a grisly sight. The old veteran felt no pity for those who laid dead and dying before him, for the sight of the burning city only steeled his resolve as it uncovered the half-buried agony of a life lost in his memories.

...

"LAIA! MIREIA!"

Marius cried out the names of his wife and daughter as he limped through the streets of the town that they had taken refuge in. He looked frantically from the blazing tavern to his left to the burning houses on his right as he searched for the silhouette of a mother and her four-year-old child in the fire-lit night.

A trio of stones ablaze soared overhead as the besieging Imperial trebuchets let loose another volley. One of the boulders crashed into the side of the already burning tavern before its imbued spell burst. A low bass sonic shockwave shattered the boulder and the building's timber supports alike. The detonation created a hail of jagged rock and wooden splinters that shredded a row of women who had been passing buckets to fight the flames.

"AAHhhhh!"

A teenage girl and her ailing mother screamed as they had just emerged from the tavern's side entrance before the boulder smashed into it. The blazing second floor of the building collapsed on top of them even before the rock could turn them into pincushions for its deadly fragments.

Even Marius felt a sharp pain as several rock splinters struck him. He had reflexively raised his arms to protect his face just in time to avoid worse injuries. Nevertheless, the aging father didn't even pause to examine his wounds before he continued his limp walk down the streets. His parched throat was already hoarse yet he continued to cry out:

"LAIA! MIREIA!"

Marius knew he needed to calm down and not allow desperation to cloud his judgment. However, he could not stop the increasingly frantic emotions running through his mind. He had returned from his meeting with the town's magistrate as a representative for the refugees, only to find their encampment near the city's walls in flames. The place had been struck by an incendiary barrel flung out from the besieger's catapults. And the only survivor who remained told him that everyone had fled into the center of town to seek shelter after the Imperial forces began a full-scale assault against the southern walls.

The old veteran with a crippled leg forced himself to trot as fast as he could. He scanned his gaze in every direction as he spotted small groups of women and children huddled in narrow alleys and behind stone buildings. Others formed long lines to pass buckets from nearby wells to burning buildings. But every once in a while, a boulder launched by the siege engines would land among those brave women to leave a strung out line of corpses.

Several such bodies laid ahead on the road in a grim reminder. A home to their left had been completely pulverized by what must have been a direct hit by those boulders. The ruins of the building remained aflame while more embers burned from a blast crater on the left side of the dirt road. The old veteran immediately recognized it as the result of an explosive bomb fired from a heavy mortar which plunged down from a high above.

Then, about two dozen paces away from the crater, Marius felt his blood chill as he spotted a familiar figure on the ground.

"LAIA!"

The body which lay in the middle of the street was half-wrapped in a bloodied green cloak. A silver leaf-shaped buckle that he had gifted his wife as a wedding gift was attached to the torn garment. The left rear of the cloak and her body was visibly shredded as dozens of jagged rock splinters could be seen lodged into the dirt road all around her.

"No, no! Laia! ''Laia!''"

Marius cried out as he scrambled forward and fell to his knees beside the body. However, part of him knew that she was already dead even before he turned her over to gaze into her bloodied and lifeless expression. He could tell from her body's posture that she had partially turned her back towards the bursting boulder. It was as though she was using her own body to protect someone.

It was not difficult to guess who that someone was. Yet, there was no sign of his daughter Mireia. For a moment, as Marius cradled the lifeless body of his wife, he hoped that at least the frightened four-year-old had run off after her mother's gruesome death. But as he looked around, he spotted the torn-off head of a stuffed rabbit which had been his daughter's favorite a mere thirty paces away.

"Mireia?"

The aging father spoke in a stunned voice as his eyes noticed a small pool of blood by the rabbit's head. A red droplet fell into it from above and another drop followed seconds later. The father felt his chest constrict in terror as for the first time since the Battle of Montaiglin Gap. Fear took hold of his body as he was almost too afraid to look up.

Time itself seemed to slow to a crawl as the already grieving father could do nothing else. His eyes gradually raised upwards where he saw a reality that surpassed his worst nightmares. He saw the body of a young girl hanging off an iron post that had once hung a shop sign. Her small dress had been ripped to shreds and her face was too bloody to recognize, yet Marius could instantly recognize from the silhouette that she was his daughter.

...

Marius could only remember the events that took place afterwards like images from a passing dream. He had survived the siege only to receive back-to-back news that his two sons had been killed in combat. Now, a father bereft of his family and purpose, he enlisted in the Garona Liberation Army once more and joined the ranks of the Mòrt-Vivent -- the 'living dead' who had nothing remaining in life to live for.

He remembered attending his own funeral, where he laid down upon his empty grave to let the Albigense priestess to inscribe a rune upon his chest. It was a combination spell that would be triggered by pounding into it with his own fist as his final action in life. The priestess claimed that it would bring salvation as his angelic spirit would finally shed its sinful flesh and be released. But truth be told, Marius had never seriously cared for the Church's religious disputes and preferred for the Holy Father's truth to remain mysterious.

The old veteran looked towards Ramón as the middle-aged man bore the same rune upon his body. The same applied to Arnau, whose immortal soul had gone on ahead of them to reunite with his own lost family. Every infiltrator and saboteur in the Garona Liberation Army had joined the Mòrt-Vivent willingly. The runes inscribed into their flesh cut their remaining lifespan to no more than ten years, for after that the magic would unravel and destroy them regardless.

Not far away, Marius saw a crying girl sitting on the ground. It made him think back to the child he saw earlier who reminded him so much of his own daughter. The old veteran knew that these children all had parents and what he was about to do would inflict the same gut-wrenching pain that he felt upon them.

The grieving father reached absentmindedly into a pocket with his left hand. His fingers wrapped around a soft item before pulling it out. The old man opened his palm and felt tears pool into his gaze once more. Within his hand was the severed head of the stuffed rabbit the Mireia always clutched, its white fabric still stained with her blood from that fateful night.

''How can there be justice when my sweet Mireia is dead while these Imp spawn remain alive?''

Ramón was still trying to remove his axe from the melon rind that it was stuck in. But just as he used his feet to hold the fruit down and pull, a thrown pilum impaled him through his chest and pushed his body into the canal. Two other javelins flew at Marius but both missed as the veteran stepped aside. The four legionaries then drew their swords and charged forward toward him and the moving wagon that continued to spill muskmelons.

There were still minutes before the timed fuse would set the wagon off. Marius would not risk these soldiers finding and defusing it. He squeezed the furry memento in his palm before sprinting towards the moving wagon. His right arm reached out and prepared for his final action.

"THE DEAD DEMAND JUSTICE!" He heard another cry in the distance followed by another explosion. Dozens of people screamed as yet another comrade martyred himself in the middle of a crowd.

Within seconds, Marius reached the side of the wagon that had its wooden board broken. He stabbed his dagger into one of the muskmelons that had yet to roll out. He used the handle to pull the fruit out of the wagon and turned to face his assailants. The soldiers were mere steps away from him when he screamed and pounded his left hand -- still grasping the severed head of his daughter's favorite toy -- into his chest.

"AND WE SHALL BRING VENGEANCE!"

It took but an instant for the rune to activate and for Marius' body to be ripped asunder. But in that final split-second of his life, Marius' thoughts were filled with an image of his wife Laia, their two sons Lois and Pau, and his little girl Mireia. All of them stood together in front of the house that he had built and the farm behind them, a picturesque afterlife which he had always sought.

And he could finally retire to it in peace, for he could tell his family that their deaths had been avenged.

<nowiki>----- * * * -----</nowiki>

Needless to say, Marius' infiltration squad wasn't the only one who acted. Nor was the city of Augusta Tanarus the only city struck by the Mòrt-Vivent that day. Instead, a simultaneous attack by over thirty infiltration and saboteur squads of the Garona Liberation Army had struck over a dozen towns, cities, and ports of the Holy Imperium of the Inner Sea. By the day's end, most of those settlements lay in trembling terror and blazing ruins.

It would go down in Imperial history as 'Unholy Friday' -- the day that marked Hyperion the Dragonlord's ritualistic sacrifice for the people of this world was corrupted into a gratuitous revelry of destruction and death.

Yet despite its name, the Garona Liberation Army was more of a paramilitary militia group than the official army of the Kingdom of Garona. Nevertheless, the Imperium held the Kingdom, and by extension, its overlord the Empire of Rhin-Lotharingie, responsible for the terror attacks. And on that night, Imperator Augustus Skantarios issued a formal declaration of war against the Empire, which Pope Vigilius, in a show of obedience to his caesar, promptly sanctified as the 4th Trinitian Crusade.

And thus, the stage had been set for the most destructive conflict the continent of Hyperion had seen since the departure of the Dragonlords.

===Author's History Notes===

Albigensians: Based on the Cathar Heresy which took place in 12-14th century Southern France, which the Catholics wiped out during the Albigensian Crusade and its aftermath through mass genocide. The Cathars believed in Dualism - that there is both a good and an evil God - and that the Old Testament (including the creation of the world) was the work of the evil god. Thus, they considered the entire material world evil, and that humans were angels trapped in sinful flesh.

Acacius' Marriage: Roman Legionaires were famously not allowed to start families while in service (with a service period of 25 years). However, many of them often entered unofficial marriages before retirement, which were recognized as soon as they retired, including the legitimacy of any children. This practice became so standard that the Roman bureaucracy came to readily accept it.

Thematic Legions: Based on the Eastern Roman (Byzantine) Thematic administration/mobilization system, which replaced Diocletian's Provincial Defense System in the Late Roman era. This split the Empire into administrative districts (themes), where soldiers were settled and given farming land, in exchange for their agreement that their descendants would also serve in the army. However unlike feudalism, the soldiers did not own the land, and they remained part of active military units in peacetime. The allowed the Empire to both reduce the cost of standing armies and minimize the need for unpopular conscription.

Tagmata Legions: Based on the elite Tagmata units of the Eastern Roman (Byzantine) Empire, which would form the core of Imperial field armies. Hikanatoi and Archontopoulai are two historical unit name, meaning the 'able ones' and 'sons of leaders'.

'Bread and Circuses': A phrase from Roman times which referred to the idea that rulers can keep the public distracted and docile from sociopolitical problems by providing basic food and entertainment.

Daybreak:Volume 5 Prologue

2025-10-17T14:11:46Z

Aorii:

===Prologue - Unholy Friday===

''Disclaimer: this prologue is a standalone short story. Its events serve as catalyst to the main story, but is not required to follow the main story. '''The graphic violence depicted here may also trigger those who have lived through similar events. Reader discretion is advised.'''

If you're a reader who prefers to meet the story's main characters first, feel free to skip this chapter and come back later.''

"One, two, ''PUUUUSH!''"

Marius slammed his shoulders against the thick wooden end board of the wagon. His companion did the same to his right as the two rammed their bodies against the ponderous vehicle. The two men gritted their teeth as they mustered all their strength while their worn leather shoes slipped against wet cobblestones. Their efforts paid off as the iron-rimmed wheel which had been stuck in a cavity in the road finally climbed back onto the stone-paved bridge.

An audible breath of relief came from his youthful partner on the side. But the older Marius looked up and took a nervous glance at the wide wooden planks that projected upwards from the wagon bed. The vertical boards had lurched backwards as the ponderous cargo inside his extremely overloaded wagon resisted the sudden movement. Marius was sure he had heard a crack earlier, but the wooden planks nevertheless held up and kept their precious cargo safe inside the makeshift container that was packed to the brim.

"Boss," Marius heard Ramón address him as the latter strode back from the front of the wagon and offered him the reins. "Let's switch. You're exhausted."

"I'm not as young... as I used to be..." Marius admitted through his heavy breathing.

He accepted the reins with a nod while his companion clasped him on his heaving shoulders.

To be fair, Marius was still quite fit, or at least he'd like to think so. But he had crossed the half-century milestone just a few weeks back, and age was quickly catching up to him. Nevertheless, he had been insistent on replacing Ramón, as the middle-aged member of their crew had a bad shoulder -- an injury from the chaos of the last war which never properly healed.

"The gates aren't far ahead," he spoke to his two companions as he pointed towards the other end of the long bridge. "We're almost there," he said before striding towards the front of the wagon to take the lead.

With a grim look, Marius took another deep breath of the cool morning air before he gazed upriver towards the northeast. It was just past daybreak and the sun had yet to even emerge halfway from its cozy bed beyond the horizon. The sky was still dominated by a gigantic indigo moon which took up over a third of the heavens. Its massive bulk also hid the tiny silvery orb which his late wife once half-jested could be used to determine when she would be most willing.

Leading their ox by the reins once more, Marius strode towards the imposing fortified gates that overlooked the bridge which crossed the Tanarus river. The long bridge was over a kilopace across and featured both a double-drawbridge which could be raised to allow civilian ships to pass, as well as a removable pontoon segment behind them for military use.

He heard the wagon wheels roll onto the thick wooden beams of the drawbridge and towards the well-guarded gatehouse that loomed ahead. The stern-faced Marius practiced raising the corners of his lips and his eyes once more to form what passed for a smile. The borders of the Imperium were only thirty kilopaces to their northwest. Considering the escalating political tensions of late, it was all the more important for him to show that he was a friendly trader, even if he had long forgotten what it felt like to truly smile.

The trio of burly men and their ox-drawn wagon approached the first gatehouse just as two figures garbed in forest-green cloaks neared its entrance. A soldier clad in mail and plate armor shouted "HALT!" before he approached the other two with his spear raised beside his towering shield.

"Remove those cloaks at once!" The soldier demanded in the Imperial tongue as he pointed his spear menacingly.

The dull garments were uniform in color except for the white threads that wove embroidered patterns lining the edges. They had holes on each side where two pairs of thin arms emerged from. Their designs marked them as Lotharin in origin without any doubt. And it was those Lotharins, from the Empire of Rhin-Lotharingie, whom the soldiers of the Holy Imperium of the Inner Sea had a long and bloodied history with.

"Y-yes Sir."

A frightened feminine voice responded as the two women removed their outerwear as ordered. Their clothes underneath were frayed and filthy, with torn gaps in their long skirts that exposed their emaciated legs. Neither of them carried any packs and it was clear that they were refugees with little more than the clothing on their backs.

"The city has no room for beggars and whores the likes of you!" The soldier yelled. "Get out of here!" He ordered with a wave of his spear.

"P-please Sir, we've nowhere else to go..." The other woman pleaded weakly.

"Not my problem," the soldier growled.

Marius glanced at the two women as his wagon passed them by from the other side of the wide bridge. The younger couldn't have been older than twenty years old and was likely the daughter of the older woman. Her worn and ragged clothing, her bony and tired body, her pleading gaze which held onto a spark of hope as she turned to look at him...

-- She reminded him so much of his late wife when they had first met along a mountainous road, when he was still a soldier and she was a refugee fleeing the chaos of conflict.

It felt a lifetime ago, during another age when war and turmoil ravaged the land, bringing death and suffering to those least able to defend themselves.

"Now leave, before I throw you both into the river," the soldier threatened.

For a moment, Marius almost felt something stirring in his heartstrings. It was a sliver of pity and sympathy, but without any warmth to carry it throughout his body. The emotion was soon deadened by the haunting image of a dark night lit by a city's burning buildings...

Marius had long learned that the world did not care for the weak and defenseless -- and with that in mind, neither should he. Certainly not while he still had a goal to accomplish and helping these women would only attract the wrong kind of attention.

''With any luck, death will relieve them of life's burdens shortly,'' he thought grimly.

As the man pulled his eyes away, he noticed a glint of silver from the grimy cross that the young girl wore around her neck. It had probably been muddied to deter others from robbing her of her last precious belonging. The cross also hinted that the two women were Trinitian refugees.

Marius had seen plenty of their kind in the past few years, ever since the Albigensians splintered off the Trinitian Church in the Kingdom of Garona -- the southernmost of the four vassal kingdoms inside the Empire of Rhin-Lotharingie. The Albigensians had denounced the Trinitian Church as corrupt and faithless. In response, the Pope in Arcadia had declared them a heresy to be cleansed.

The religious conflict that followed had seen numerous churches destroyed and priests burned alive. Countless residents were given the choice of either conversion or exile from the dukedoms that the Albigensians won.

There was a time during his life when Marius wondered why they couldn't just all live peacefully and get along. Why did humans have to allow nations, culture, and religion to divide them into perpetual conflict?

But those were days long past...

Marius turned his head to face the raised steel portcullis once more. He saw the other guard look warily at his overloaded wagon before meeting his gaze. The merchant put on his best smile and raised an open hand in gesture before the young soldier nodded back in recognition. After all, Marius had been coming in and out of these gates for more than five years now, and most of the soldiers had at least seen him before.

The outer gate was large enough to allow two of his wagons to pass through side by side. Beyond it was a paved courtyard surrounded by walls on all four sides. An even taller inner gatehouse loomed ahead, surrounded by soldiers who checked the belongings of every individual who wished to pass through. A short line of a dozen people waited outside for their turn.

Marius could hear the faint sound of a bell tolling from the city center which was reciprocated by another inside the inner gatehouse. As he led his ox-drawn cart to line up behind the others, the sound of a clatter drew his attention towards the side of the courtyard where five men and women materialized out of thin air.

The newcomers held each others' hands in a circle around the stone pedestal that housed the city's teleportation beacon. It was the daily morning Wayfarer transit from the border town of Caiarellus which had arrived exactly on time. Among the travellers were two soldiers who wore back-strapped round shields over their burgundy-red capes. Their equipment and colors marked them as Imperial Akritae, the border troops of the Holy Imperium's legions.

The older of the two soldiers double-paced to the gatehouse in swift strides. He pulled out a bronze messenger tube and raised it into the air with a shout.

"Priority communique from Caiarellus!"

"Is there an attack?" The officer in charge of the gate's security asked tensely as he stepped up.

"No," the messenger answered calmly. "The borders remain quiet but uneasy. Ever since the Lotharins were invaded by the Caliphate, their brigands have stopped harassing us. I think this is a report from our informants across the border," the soldier added before shrugging to signal that he didn't actually know. "Must be maps or something, or our signifer would have sent it by ''Farspeak''."

"Well, let's hope those Tauheed infidels and Lotharin heretics all rip each other to pieces." The officer who looked past his prime smirked as he reached his hand out towards the tube. "Holy Father willing, we'll take that land back just in time for my retirement."

Marius felt an unnatural chill gather inside him as he heard the two soldiers talk casually about the conflict that was ravaging his homeland. Perhaps it was because he had always known these Imperials were bastards. Perhaps it was due to his own aloofness towards what he could not change. But their callous words no longer triggered any visible response from him.

However, the same could not be said of his youngest colleague Arnau, who took a step from behind the wagon before Ramón yanked him back into place.

''Don't blow our cover,'' Marius thought to himself as he willed for the brash young man to keep calm. Meanwhile, his eyes looked upon the officer's outstretched hand with an interested gaze.

Marius wasn't born with any affinity for magic, but he had long learned to recognize the signs of a spell being cast. The officer must have used a scanning spell to verify the messenger tube. It was simple enough that most mages didn't even need to recite the words for mnemonic spellcasting. The lack of any visible manifestation meant that a simple gesture was the only tell Marius could use to discern its practice.

"Mana signature matches," the officer confirmed before gesturing toward the gate and his men. "LET THEM THROUGH!"

"Salve, brothers."

The messenger extended his arm in an Imperial salute before gesturing to the other soldier who followed him.

Marius watched as the younger soldier, who was a teen barely old enough to join, scurried forward to match steps with his senior. The sight of his youthful determination passing through elicited a pang of bitter nostalgia that left Marius taken aback.

Perhaps it was the way they turned their armored shoulders. Perhaps it was their purposeful stride beneath a distant sun that reflected off their steel plate. But the sight of their departure made memories swirl inside Marius as he felt a tremble from his weathered hand.

And in that moment, the years peeled away like autumn leaves in the wind, returning him to that one morning which still felt raw and bleeding:

...

"I'm sorry, Father. It's time."

The young man before Marius turned to follow the armored recruitment officer out. He was halfway through the door when Marius grabbed him by the forearm.

Marius did not wish to see his firstborn depart the house this way -- the house that he had built by hand all those years ago, when he could still look proudly down upon his wife's first pregnancy.

"Lois, you can't do this!" He added in a half-pleading voice before it hardened to half-scolding. "I...I forbid it!"

"I'm an adult now, Father," the tall young man replied calmly before he sighed once more. He turned his face one last time to meet his parent with an imploring but also determined gaze.

"It's my decision. And I won't be stopped."

"But why?" Marius asked as he stared into his son's faded-green eyes and rounded face. It felt almost like he was looking at a younger version of himself.

"Why must you join the rangers as soon as you're of age? Why can't you ''live life'' for a few years first to understand what it ''means''? Don't you know that the rangers have been fighting an undeclared war for decades!?"

"''Why?''" Lois responded with a frown as his gaze grew clouded by disappointment. "Father, I thought that you, of all people, would understand! You! Who had joined the Garona Liberation Army when you were only ''fourteen!''"

It wasn't that Marius didn't understand his son's motives. His old war buddies had always said that Lois was the spitting image of him, not just in looks but also in personality. Yet Marius always wished that Lois wouldn't take after him in this regard -- to indulge in that youthful romanticism and bravado which led him to fight in one of the cruelest and bloodiest wars in Hyperion history.

There were many stories that he had told to his children with pride. Stories of courage, of camaraderie, of fighting against impossible odds and pulling through by the edge of his teeth. But there were also other stories that he was not proud of and said nothing of -- for Marius had seen the worst of humanity in all of its gratuitous hate and violence, and not just in others but also in himself.

"Those were different times!" Marius' pitch steadily rose as his own buried shame transformed into rejection and anger. "I had been born into a land under Imperial occupation. My parents ''died'' during the First Garona Independence War when the legion burned down my home village with their 'reprisals'!" He almost shouted. "I joined to create a peaceful world for my family and my children!"

The father then gestured towards the house that he had built, towards Lois' young brother and a crying baby sister whom his mother was trying to calm despite her own tears.

"We ''have'' that peace now," he stressed. "So why must you tear this family apart to continue the conflict?"

''Why must you bloody your hands just as I did?'' Marius could not bring himself to say his final thought out loud.

"Because while we selfishly bask in our peaceful lives, our Lotharin brethren south of the border continue to live under Imperial tyranny!" Lois answered as he pointed through the doorway towards the south -- the direction that every Lotharin home was built to face.

"There shall be no peace with the Imperium until there is peace for all Lotharins!"

Marius froze as it was a quote so often repeated by his comrades. Even he himself had worn it with familiarity upon his lips when he was young -- a phrase which he had even woven into many of his stories to his kids.

And in that moment, Marius knew he could not win. For Lois had become exactly the man whom he had raised.

...

''There shall be no peace...''

Marius felt his chest tighten as he continued to stare through the gateway towards the rising sun. He could not help but reflect upon those heavy words, which carried such a different meaning for him today than it did back then.

''How we all change, even at my age.''

The soldiers who bore the message had already disappeared from view, yet his nostalgic gaze remained transfixed on the empty archway.

"Marius, you old smudge, it's good seeing you again," the officer in charge of the gatehouse pulled Marius' thoughts back to the present as he clasped the aging man's shoulders with a wide grin.

"Did you bring the wine you promised me last time?"

For a moment, Marius only blinked as he struggled to bury the emotions of his past. A half-depreciating chortle left his lips as he couldn't help but wonder what his son would say to him today -- to see him 'consort with the enemy' like this.

"Is that all you think about when you see me, Acacius?" Marius answered in jest as his lips stretched into a fake smile.

Regardless, the old trader turned towards his wagon where he pulled out a large box tucked into the vehicle's front frame. From it, he took out a clay amphorae which he presented to the officer in both hands as a gift.

"Twenty years aged by its previous owners. I hope you enjoy and share it with your men."

"Don't worry, I ain't a pig," Acacius accepted the wine with a beaming grin. "I'll be sure to let my boys know whom this ambrosia is from," he added before looking at the overloaded wagon and tapping it with his knuckle. "So what's the cargo this time?"

"Harvest of muskmelons from the border villages," Marius answered.

"This early? It's still mid-spring!" Acacius' brows rose in amazement.

"Muskmelons are planted indoors before the last frost and transplanted outside as soon as spring begins," Marius explained. "Give it six weeks after that and you have an early crop."

"That so? Good thing I'm learning now. Will be handy when I become a landlord after retiring from service," the officer joked.

"How much longer do you have?" Marius asked with feigned curiosity.

"Little more than six months, at which point I'll have finished a double tour of fifty years."

Acacius' words reminded Marius of the officer's yeomen status. As a man of the 'middle-class' who was born with magical affinity, Acacius could expect to live for well over a hundred years. Even now, for a man nearly eighty years of age, Acacius had the appearance of someone who was merely thirty.

"I heard you've already secured yourself a good woman?" Marius asked next.

"She's expecting in a month, actually," the officer beamed. "But don't worry. Soon as I retire, she'll be recognized as my proper wife and our son legitimized," Acacius said as though hinting that they were already secretly married, as such unions were officially forbidden for active members of the legion. "It's all standard practice in the army."

"Well, congratulations on becoming a father soon. I wish you peace for these last six months and a smooth road to retirement."

Marius tried his best to keep the irony out of his tone and smile. He already knew that the days ahead would be anything but peaceful.

"Same to you, and thanks again," the officer said before raising the tall wine jug and tapping it with his gauntlet.

It was a polite signal for him to pass and stop blocking the gateway. Meanwhile, Ramón and Arnau were already pushing their wagon forward towards the city's main street.

Marius and his companions moved past the double portcullis and emerged from the fortified gatehouse into the bustling city of Augusta Tanarus. A wide, stone-paved thoroughfare stretches before him, flanked by multi-storied buildings with shops occupying their ground floors. A cacophony of sounds, smells, and movement along the main streets immediately assaulted his senses, as the distinct smells of fresh bread, roasting meat, tanned leather, and the less pleasant odors of waste mingled in the morning air.

Yet despite the early hour, the merchants had already started setting up their wooden awnings and were now beginning to hawk their wares -- everything from pottery and textiles to exotic spices and fresh produce. Water splashed from a nearby public fountain where citizens gathered with clay amphorae to fill their jugs. Meanwhile, porters push past with loaded carts, yielding only to a wealthy woman who was carried past in a litter by slaves.

It was hardly surprising, as the city of Augusta Tanarus was built at the tip of where the Tanarus river formed a delta that flowed into the Inner Sea. It was the site of not only a historic victory for the Imperium, but also a ley line junction where magic could be used to power the city's wards and industry. Surrounded by river estuaries and protected by layered enchantments, the fortress-city was considered an impregnable bastion.

Furthermore, today was the Friday before Resurrection Day, the most Holy of all holidays in Trinitian tradition. It marked the day when Hyperion the Dragonlord sacrificed his life in the 'Ritual of the True Cross', a grand sorcery which sealed the demons back in their Abyss and ended the millenia-long Dragon-Demon Wars that ravaged two continents.

Finally, the city was widely considered the last stronghold of 'true civilization' before one entered the half-civilized, half-barbarous lands of Rhin-Lotharingie... or so it was said by the maritime traders of the Imperium.

As such, Augusta Tanarus was also one of the main trading hubs of the Holy Imperium of the Inner Sea. Here, cargo galleys and sky-barges picked up goods from the northwest to be transported to the rest of the thalassocracy. Merchants could rest assured that their businesses would be kept safe by the formidable legionary garrison. The city even had a citadel headquarters which was in charge of all thematic legionary forces in the northwestern borderlands of the Imperium.

"It's hard to believe how peaceful it is here." Marius heard Arnau, the youngest of his companions, mutter with half-amazement and half-bitterness beneath his breath.

Turning back to face Arnau, Marius saw the young man gawking up towards the skies with his slack-jawed mouth hanging agape. The lad couldn't stop staring at the towering structure near the northern entrance. His eyes moved between the building and the two massive floating airships anchored next to it.

It wasn't exactly surprising, for Marius had reacted much the same way the first time he saw Augusta Tanarus' aerodrome tower.

The blocky stone and concrete structure jutting up from the ground rose a good ten stories into the sky. Four windlass cranes projected from its corners where dock workers busied themselves raising cargo up to the airships. Two ramps -- one for cargo and one for personnel -- connected the tower to each of the two gargantuan sky-barges with their giant elliptical balloons. Dozens of ropes were used to anchor each humongous vehicle and keep it from being blown away by the wind. Meanwhile, seven cargo nets, a fortuitous number in Arcadian culture, hung from the gondola strapped to the underside of each skyship.

"Holy Father be blessed," Arnau whispered with a childish sense of wonder. "How do those giants stay aloft?"

"The elliptical hulls of those sky-barges are filled with a lighter-than-air gas which keeps them afloat," Marius answered with the best of his knowledge.

He had heard an alchemist explain it once but couldn't remember the names of those gases. All he remembered was that it was colorless, odorless, and had the odd effect of making his voice squeak.

"They travel through the use of wind magic," Ramón then added. "However, their attuned crystals are bound to specific ley lines, and as a result they can only transport goods along a preset path. But occasionally one of them will get blown off course, at which point they'll need a proper stormcaller mage to push them back."

"I thought you said that ley line crystals were bound to a single location?" The young man then asked.

"The Imperium's technology exceeds Rhin-Lotharingie's in every respect," Marius answered as a matter of fact. His words made Ramón open his lips before closing them in a scowl as though the latter wanted to yet couldn't refute.

Meanwhile, Marius narrowed his eyes and frowned as he noticed that one of the barges' cargo nets was fully loaded with thousands of barrels that looked familiar even from a distance. At least three of them were marked with a red 'X' on the bottom, which seemed to hint that they were the same barrels that he had once smuggled into the city.

''Is that the target of the saboteur team that the commander mentioned?'' It made him wonder as he watched the crew secure the cargo nets to the lower deck as they prepared for departure.

Once again, Marius thought of the nature of their mission ahead. It was completely antithetical to Arnau's youthful, innocent stare as the young man gazed up towards the sky.

It reminded the older man that he had never asked for young Arnau's age. After all, it was easier on his conscience to not know.

But Ramón did not have such concerns as he queried:

"How old are you, Arnau?"

Marius had anticipated twenty. He had hoped for twenty. But the answer that came back from Arnau was "seventeen."

"Why are you here?" The group's leader scowled as he almost wanted to tell Arnau to turn back.

But Arnau met the older man's gaze directly. Something shifted in the boy's countenance -- the youthful exuberance that had animated his features just moments before vanished in an instant, like a candle snuffed by a bone-chilling gale that cast the air around them into a blizzard.

His reply came in a deadened voice that belonged to a much older soul: "why are we all here?"

The apathetic tone sent a faint stabbing pain through Marius' chest. He'd heard those same words before. It came from another time, through a different voice, and under different circumstances. Yet, the haunting memory of it rose through Marius' thoughts as though the wound had been freshly made:

...

"Why are we all here? Because our duty is to protect our families from what's out there!" The conscription officer pointed towards the town's southern walls even as he kept his other hand on the shoulders of Pau, Marius' second born son.

"But why would you take him and not me!?" Marius' frustrations rose. "I'm a veteran of the last war!"

"Look, I'm a father too, I know what it's like." The officer sighed with a sympathetic gaze. "I would ''gladly'' take you in exchange, if you weren't so injured you can barely even run. But my orders are to conscript one able-bodied man from every family for the defense of this town. We're about to come under siege and there is no exception for you refugees."

"But he's only seventeen!" Marius exclaimed as his voice almost cracked with desperation.

"Father," it was his son Pau who interjected next with a forced smile. "I'll be fine." He tried to embolden himself as much as he reassured his father.

"Didn't you tell me just yesterday?" Pau continued. "The Imperial campaign in Garona is on its last legs. It won't be long before Emperor Geoffroi's main Lotharin army arrives. We only need to hold out for a few days."

The young man squeezed his fist as his eyes and voice hardened with steadfast resolve. "Besides, it's my duty as a man to protect my family -- isn't that what you've always taught me?"

Marius' jaw trembled as he didn't know if he should cry or smile at that moment. To see his second child march off to war -- the son whom his wife had named in their traditional Lengadoc tongue's word for 'peace'. It brought tears to his eyes even as he felt pride in his son's maturity and courage.

Before Marius stood the culmination of every quality he had spent years instilling into his children. To see Pau face the challenges of adulthood with a resolute gaze determined to overcome all fear and doubt, Marius could not be more proud as a father.

But why did it have to come to this? Why couldn't he protect his own children? Why did he have to injure his leg during their flight here?

"Big bro!" Pau's four year-old little sister cried out as she ran to him while he knelt down to hug her.

"Don't worry, Mireia, I'll be back with you and Ma and Pa before you even miss me," he said with a broad grin. "And together, we'll go back home and await our older brother's return."

"Promise?" The little girl asked as she hugged her stuffed bunny with one arm and reached out her tiny hand with the other.

Her brother answered with his own hand and interweaved his fingers through hers. "I promise," he added with a nod and a beaming smile.

Pau then gave his sister one last all-embracing hug before he stood up and did the same for his father.

"Remember that I'm proud of you, son," Marius felt his voice shake as he squeezed his son's broad chest. He then pulled away and grasped Pau by the shoulders with a stern gaze. "And remember -- fight well with your comrades, but no heroics. Come back in one piece."

"I know, father," Pau responded with another bravely forced smile. "And I'll be sure to bring this back to you," he said before raising the steel sling staff and winged mace that Marius once soldiered with. "I promise."

...

''Why is it always the young who are sent to die?''

Marius considered as his thoughts returned to the present once more. He stared at his youngest companion for another moment as he realized that Arnau was the same age as his son Pau had been. A part of Marius wanted to tell Arnau to go back and return to his family. But another part of him also knew -- even had Arnau any family left, the three of them were already too far gone to live a peaceful life.

It's why they all volunteered for this...

Raman was driving their ox to pull the wagon forward once more. The three men followed as they made their way down the city's increasingly-crowded main street. They had to stop several times at intersections to allow other vehicles to cross first. Compared to the others, their extremely overloaded wagon moved at a snail's pace across the cobblestone road.

Thankfully, the Imperium's cities had wide boulevards which allowed three or even four wagons to pass side by side.

The road even had stone ditches to both sides which drained wastewater away into the sewers. Meanwhile above them, smaller branches of the city's main aqueduct carried water to the local bathhouses which allowed the crowded city to maintain sanitation and hygiene. It was a sign of the Holy Imperium's wealth that their cities could afford such luxurious infrastructure. All of it lay in stark contrast to the narrow, winding, and filthy streets that dominated the towns and cities inside Marius' home country of Rhin-Lotharingie.

The old man thought he heard a noise behind him before he turned about to look back. His gaze caught sight of another rope falling from one of the sky-barges parked by the aerodrome. The colossal airship was slowly pulling away from the docking tower. A strong gust blew from behind them as the vehicle's enchantments altered the local weather for its movement.

The ox-drawn cart sped up slightly as they neared the canal that separated the northwestern third of the city from its central plaza. A Trinitian Cathedral with its three towering spires and the dome of a governor's palace could also be seen on the other side of the marketplace. Yet here, in the commercial and administrative heart of the city, the cacophony of hawking merchants and working tradesmen had dropped significantly.

In their place, a large man with exotic ebony-black skin stood atop a raised marble platform. The man wore a striped toga in the Arcadian fashion as he spoke with a magically-enhanced deep voice that resounded clearly across the air.

"--''from Arcadia,''" he made a dramatic gesture towards the south as he proclaimed the Imperium's capital. "Imperator Augustus Skantarios decrees the mobilization of all furloughed thematic legions from the northern and western provinces of our most Holy Imperium. Our brave soldiers are charged to ensure that the heresy and barbarism of war in Rhin-Lotharingie does not spill onto our lands. Renowned General Marcus Avilius Belisarius will arrive in our city in five days, bringing with him the Tagmata Legions Hikanatoi and Archontopoulai..."

"''Two'' Tagmata Legions," Ramón spoke in an awed voice as he considered the elite formations whose names struck fear across the continent.

Marius could still remember the sight of those demigryph super-heavy-cavalry charging the Lotharin center during the Battle of Montaiglin Gap. Their magic and armor impervious to the hailstorm of sling-bullets and runic-spells alike from the Lotharins. Their indomitable riders plowed straight into a wall of pikes like giants scything through wheat, and twelve lines of infantry crumbled before the Lotharin army broke and ran.

-- Even now, the old veteran could feel his hand shaking at the scene of frightful slaughter that followed on that tragic day.

"Complete overkill for 'border security'," Marius commented grimly as he clenched his fingers around the reins. "The Imperator is readying his armies for full scale conflict," he muttered in a low voice as he considered the inevitability of the war ahead.

Had he any reservations towards the actions that he was about to perpetrate, this dire news had just absolved him of them.

After all, Augusta Tanarus was not merely a trade port, but a fortress-city built as the Legions' main logistics hub in the western edge of their Empire north of the Inner Sea. Here, sky-barges and cargo-galleys would be offloaded and wagon-trains packed to supply the armies that would march into Garona and Rhin-Lotharingie. Within the walls of the Imperium's military infrastructure, every man and woman living here was a participant in the economy that fueled the Imperial war machine.

-- And to Marius, that made the whole city a legitimate military target.

Yet, as the trio drew near a busy stone bridge that crossed the canal, Marius's jaded eyes spotted a little girl who ran innocently across it. The child could not have been more than six years old and had wavy brunette locks that flowed freely in the morning breeze. Her hands clutched a stuffed rabbit beneath her beautiful green eyes and rosy red cheeks.

Marius didn't even notice his breathing pause as he couldn't help fixate upon her with his gaze. The girl looked so nostalgic that it felt like he had travelled backwards through time.

It was a sight that he had not seen for so long. A feeling of warmth and longing that his frigid chest had not experienced in a decade...

For several moments, the little girl who wore a beaming smile ran straight towards him as though she was about to leap into his embrace. Yet, before Marius could emerge from his frozen trance, the girl dashed past him and towards someone else instead.

"Mama!" The girl joyfully rushed into her parent's embrace.

The mother was young and pretty and wore an elegantly draped stola of fine lilac -- a long pleated dress that was more commonly seen among the wealthier citizens of the Holy Imperium. A delicate shawl of imported silk hung from the woman's head and over both shoulders to add modesty to her appearance.

Meanwhile, standing next to her was a broad-shouldered, middle-aged man dressed in the purple cloak of an Imperial Quaestor. He looked at least fifteen years older than the young mother, but laid a possessive hand upon her shoulders which clearly showed that they were married.

A scowl grew across Marius' countenance as he forced himself to look away. A gale of frozen anger swept through him from deep within him as he felt disturbed by his own mistake.

''How could I mistake an Imp child for my sweet Mireia.''

Meanwhile, a massive shadow steadily grew across the busy cobblestone street. The colossal sky-barge that Marius saw departing the tower earlier now flew directly over them to block out direct sunlight. The gargantuan elliptical airship was over three hundred paces long. Its twelve revolving propellers filled the air with a dull whirring as the chain-linked pairs repurposed the gale force winds that blew at the airship's back for steering.

A cheer of support resounded from the central plaza where the men gathered around the news crier. Marius had barely been paying attention, but it was not difficult to guess why the townsfolk were celebrating. Per the Arcadian tradition of 'bread and circuses', food and entertainment would usually be provided to celebrate the arrival of dignitaries. Chariot races would then be held in the city's hippodrome, with contestants from the military to help whip the public into a pro-war frenzy.

However, the cheers and applause were short lived this time, as the shadow cast by the colossal airship soon came to loom over the central plaza. Countless citizens looked skyward as they pointed and spoke to each other in hushed murmurs.

It reminded Marius that in all the times he was in this city while a sky-barge departed, this was the first time a massive vehicle passed directly over the heart of the city.

The old trader was still pondering the reason when a shrill cry pierced the air from high above:

"LOOK OUT!"

One of the seven heavy-duty cargo nets that carried goods beneath the dirigible had fallen loose. At least four cords of thick rope seemed to have snapped which left the net hanging to one side with an open gap. Over a dozen wooden barrels rolled out from the cargo hold and fell through the air. Several anxious screams could be heard from the market's residents as the huge barrels plunged down from above.

"Order!" Another shout came from the soldiers. "The city protects!"

Surely enough, before the falling objects could even come close to hitting ground, they struck a translucent dome-like barrier of cobalt blue that suddenly flared into existence around sixty paces above ground. The wooden barrels had shattered on contact as they crashed into the city's anti-air defense ward. The magical barrier was strong enough to break apart even giant boulders hurled from trebuchets. It was part of why Augusta Tanarus was considered an impregnable fortress.

However, while the ward could stop large objects, it was designed to allow lighter substances and liquids to pass through. The dozen barrels that burst open were full of a smooth, glossy, yet viscous liquid that looked like some kind of cooking oil. Hectojugs of this flammable fluid rained down from the sky which drenched entire shops in the marketplace beneath.

Worse yet, more ropes seemed to be breaking loose from the already spilling cargo net, which led to a steady stream of barrels to fall from the gargantuan airship.

"That can't be an accident," Marius muttered to his comrades as he stared up at the sky-barge.

The double-layered cargo nets those sky-barges used would have been inspected before departure. They were secured to the cargo deck by over two dozen heavy duty 'anchor' ropes. There was no way so many cords could have broken loose unless there had been deliberate sabotage.

"You think that's ''them?''" Ramón asked in a low voice.

"I'm positive," Marius added as he spotted another one of those tell-tale barrels that he had seen earlier.

It was marked with a red 'X' on the bottom, and so was the barrel next to it.

Those barrels' own cargo net swayed beneath the sky-barge as several ropes were cut. A gap to the side soon opened where one barrel after another rolled through before plummeting. The wooden containers were shattered by the warding barrier just like before. However, instead of breaking apart to rain oil down upon the ground below, the barrels released a black powdery substance that fell like a carpet of volcanic sand.

''Blast powder.''

Marius' eyes swelled as those X-marked barrels were indeed the same ones that he, among others, had smuggled into the city over the past few years.

He was not the only one to recognize it either as more cries and screams erupted from the marketplace. Residents and tradesmen alike looked up in horror as it began to dawn on them that this was no simple mistake.

One after another, the ropes securing the seven cargo nets beneath the sky-barge were cut. One after another, the barrels kept within those holds slipped, rolled, and bounced into the air before plummeting towards the ground. The speed of the disaster hastened as dozens of barrels began to rain down from the airship at a time.

-- And every one of these barrels shattered to spill forth a flammable substance, be it oil, powder, grease, tar, and even spirits.

"Terrorist!" A terrified shrill cry resounded from among the civilians in the crowded marketplace.

More and more screams followed in its wake as panic quickly began to spread. Even the soldiers had lost control as many of them turned to run from the airship's eastbound flight. Throngs of civilians began to flee the downpour of powder, liquids, and other debris. They pushed and shoved aside others in their path with little regard for anything but their own lives.

"This is our chance," Marius declared as he looked back at his companions. "Light the fuse."

The old veteran moved behind the ox where he grasped the animal's tail with his hand. A dozen strips of tar-coated linen had been wrapped around the ox's tail which ended with a small tube. Marius took the bell that disguised the tube's true purpose in hand and yanked hard to break the strings. The attached flint rod created a series of sparks inside, which ignited the oiled paper within and then the tarred tail.

The oxen cried out in pain as it began to push forward with all the strength it could muster in an attempt to escape the flames. The animal's hooves gripped and slipped across the stone-paved ground as it pulled against the overloaded wagon that struggled to move faster than a snail's pace. The beast was successful in drawing the wagon onto the gentle arc of the stone bridge while Ramón leapt down from the vehicle's side. Within his hand was the flint core to a similar tube which had been used to spark a five-minute timed fuse.

"STOP!" A soldier who stood guard on the other side of the canal bridge yelled. "STOP THAT WAGON AT ONCE!"

"Don't you see what's happening!?" His companion also cried out as he gestured towards the tide of panic-stricken civilians surging toward their direction.

Yet, before any of the soldiers could take even three steps, a loud voice shouted from the airship above drew all of their attention skywards:

''"THE DEAD DEMAND JUSTICE!"''

The airship had already cut all of its large nets and dropped the majority of its cargo. Now, the hijackers completed their mission by detonating the entire vessel. An earthrending explosion which seemed to tear the heavens asunder shook through the city. And in the blink of an eye, the colossal dirigible which had loomed over much of the marketplace plaza went up in a massive inferno.

A torrent of hot air followed which almost knocked Marius off his feet. The old veteran dug in his heels as he felt the searing heat of the blast expand. It was not entirely surprising to him, as decades ago -- back when he was a child saboteur in the Garona Liberation Army -- he had taken on a mission to plant several runestones on a smaller airship. The runes held an alchemy spell that steadily transmuted the squeak-inducing odorless gas inside those elliptical balloons to something far more flammable. And after that, a ''Lightning'' spell from their yeoman captain was all that it took to set the entire sky-barge ablaze.

Smoke filled the air and rose skyward in a mushroom-shaped column as burning embers and debris rained down upon the plaza. Fires spread in an instant through the oil-soaked peddler booths and the pools of tar and powder that blanketed the cobblestone ground.

At the same time, the colossal flaming wreck of the sky-barge drifted down towards the city's southeastern districts. The air above the city flared with cobalt-blue mana once more as the air defense ward tried to resist the falling skyship's metallic frame. However, the sheer mass of the burning vessel proved too much and the entire magical barrier shattered like a glass dome breaking into a million shards. The searing carcass of the dirigible then crashed into the dense blocks of crowded residential homes to the city's southeast, which almost instantly set the entire area ablaze in a sea of flames.

Countless fires were spreading out of control inside the fortress-city that was claimed to be 'impregnable'. Meanwhile, the hundreds of civilians who had been knocked off their feet scrambled to climb over each other to get away from the growing holocaust of flames.

"The Dead Demand Justice!" Marius heard another shout in the Lotharin tongue from the far side of the marketplace plaza.

The explosion that followed revealed that yet another infiltration squad, like the trio formed by him, Ramón, and Arnau, had gone into action. The detonation came from the entrance to the cathedral where the city's residents no doubt sought shelter. The destruction shook the ground with such force that one of the limestone spires cracked and began to topple.

Marius knelt and reached to his boots where he unsheathed a concealed dagger. The blade was within reason for what could pass as a 'self-defense weapon' should a soldier discover it. He watched as Ramón and Arnau opened the wagon's side storage to pull out a lumber axe and a steel mallet. The three men all looked at each other with grim faces as they nodded wordlessly to one another.

There was no need for final farewells, for all of them had already accepted their coming fate. Each of them was haunted by a past that they could not escape. And their mission was the only end that could bring them peace.

Their ox cried out in pain as its burning tail forced the animal to pull the overloaded wagon over the slightly-arched canal bridge. The soldiers on the far side however had caught on as they stood up and formed a half-wedge to one side of the passage. The disciplined legionaries leveled their spears in preparation to impale the animal that struggled to charge forward in pain. But before the beast could pull its heavy burden past the crest of the bridge, the young Arnaud dashed past the wagon to assault them with his raised steel mallet.

Nevertheless, the untrained teen was no match against professional soldiers. Three spears thrust forth and two of them impaled his unprotected torso before the young man could even land a single swing.

Yet, despite a shaft that ran through his gut, Arnau continued to push himself forward as he stared upon the soldiers with gritted teeth. The young man dropped his hammer before raising his right arm with all of his remaining strength. Marius could see the glint of a brooch that Arnau said belonged to his late mother in his fingers as young man croaked out one last cry before he slammed the hand into the center of his chest:

"THE DEAD DEMAND JUSTICE!"

His body then exploded in a blast of flames that not only tore his limbs apart. The sonic burst that came with it also shattered the stone bridge railing and broke every bone in all three Imperial soldiers who stood before him.

There were several fleeing civilians who had been caught in the explosion as well. However, more residents who had been running towards the bridge froze in shock as they could no longer tell which direction safety was. Nevertheless, dozens if not hundreds of others continued to push and shove from behind them as people sought to flee the inferno that consumed the marketplace. Countless people were pushed under and trampled upon even as others hastily changed the direction of their flight.

"THE DEAD DEMAND JUSTICE!"

Another cry came from a bridge to the north just as a wave of panic-stricken residents rushed onto it. The explosion that followed destroyed not only the bridge but sent a shower of blood and limbs flying into the air in every direction.

Meanwhile, Raman had jogged ahead of him and raised his lumber axe against the side of their still-moving wagon. The man cried out as he swung with all of his strength, which forced the axe head to cut straight through one of the wooden sideboards that projected upwards from the wagon bed. The thin wooden plank snapped in half which opened up a wide gap into the filled wagon hold. Their cargo of muskmelons rolled out in a torrent and scattered onto the cobblestone-paved plaza.

Ramón pulled back his axe but its head had become stuck in a muskmelon's rind. Oil leaked from the fruit's interior which showed that the melon had been hollowed out. Almost their entire cargo of muskmelons had their innards replaced with either oil or blast powder. Only a surface layer of real fruits were placed on top to fool inspections.

Marius watched as the melons bounced and rolled into a confused crowd that ran from one side of the plaza to another in a mindless panic. One of the powder-filled fruits ran into a piece of burning debris and promptly exploded. Two tradesmen were caught in the blast and one of them fell clutching their leg where only a bloody stump remained. Several nearby women screamed and turned to run in the opposite direction before they were shoved onto the ground and trampled under by others running the opposite way.

The residents were caught between the burning marketplace and the 'assault' of the ground infiltration teams. Dozens of civilians leapt into the canal, only for some of them to catch fire as the burning oil spread across the water's surface as well. The injured who had been trampled upon crawled over the ground begging for help while the children sat and wailed in terror for their parents to come.

It was the very image of hell -- the sight of a city, with its buildings, its market, its streets, and even its canals all awash with growing flames. Desperate screams and cries came abound from every direction, and corpses both deceased and half-dead littered the streets as more explosions resounded.

Yet, it was not the first time that Marius lay witness to such a grisly sight. The old veteran felt no pity for those who laid dead and dying before him, for the sight of the burning city only steeled his resolve as it uncovered the half-buried agony of a life lost in his memories.

...

"LAIA! MIREIA!"

Marius cried out the names of his wife and daughter as he limped through the streets of the town that they had taken refuge in. He looked frantically from the blazing tavern to his left to the burning houses on his right as he searched for the silhouette of a mother and her four-year-old child in the fire-lit night.

A trio of stones ablaze soared overhead as the besieging Imperial trebuchets let loose another volley. One of the boulders crashed into the side of the already burning tavern before its imbued spell burst. A low bass sonic shockwave shattered the boulder and the building's timber supports alike. The detonation created a hail of jagged rock and wooden splinters that shredded a row of women who had been passing buckets to fight the flames.

"AAHhhhh!"

A teenage girl and her ailing mother screamed as they had just emerged from the tavern's side entrance before the boulder smashed into it. The blazing second floor of the building collapsed on top of them even before the rock could turn them into pincushions for its deadly fragments.

Even Marius felt a sharp pain as several rock splinters struck him. He had reflexively raised his arms to protect his face just in time to avoid worse injuries. Nevertheless, the aging father didn't even pause to examine his wounds before he continued his limp walk down the streets. His parched throat was already hoarse yet he continued to cry out:

"LAIA! MIREIA!"

Marius knew he needed to calm down and not allow desperation to cloud his judgment. However, he could not stop the increasingly frantic emotions running through his mind. He had returned from his meeting with the town's magistrate as a representative for the refugees, only to find their encampment near the city's walls in flames. The place had been struck by an incendiary barrel flung out from the besieger's catapults. And the only survivor who remained told him that everyone had fled into the center of town to seek shelter after the Imperial forces began a full-scale assault against the southern walls.

The old veteran with a crippled leg forced himself to trot as fast as he could. He scanned his gaze in every direction as he spotted small groups of women and children huddled in narrow alleys and behind stone buildings. Others formed long lines to pass buckets from nearby wells to burning buildings. But every once in a while, a boulder launched by the siege engines would land among those brave women to leave a strung out line of corpses.

Several such bodies laid ahead on the road in a grim reminder. A home to their left had been completely pulverized by what must have been a direct hit by those boulders. The ruins of the building remained aflame while more embers burned from a blast crater on the left side of the dirt road. The old veteran immediately recognized it as the result of an explosive bomb fired from a heavy mortar which plunged down from a high above.

Then, about two dozen paces away from the crater, Marius felt his blood chill as he spotted a familiar figure on the ground.

"LAIA!"

The body which lay in the middle of the street was half-wrapped in a bloodied green cloak. A silver leaf-shaped buckle that he had gifted his wife as a wedding gift was attached to the torn garment. The left rear of the cloak and her body was visibly shredded as dozens of jagged rock splinters could be seen lodged into the dirt road all around her.

"No, no! Laia! ''Laia!''"

Marius cried out as he scrambled forward and fell to his knees beside the body. However, part of him knew that she was already dead even before he turned her over to gaze into her bloodied and lifeless expression. He could tell from her body's posture that she had partially turned her back towards the bursting boulder. It was as though she was using her own body to protect someone.

It was not difficult to guess who that someone was. Yet, there was no sign of his daughter Mireia. For a moment, as Marius cradled the lifeless body of his wife, he hoped that at least the frightened four-year-old had run off after her mother's gruesome death. But as he looked around, he spotted the torn-off head of a stuffed rabbit which had been his daughter's favorite a mere thirty paces away.

"Mireia?"

The aging father spoke in a stunned voice as his eyes noticed a small pool of blood by the rabbit's head. A red droplet fell into it from above and another drop followed seconds later. The father felt his chest constrict in terror as for the first time since the Battle of Montaiglin Gap. Fear took hold of his body as he was almost too afraid to look up.

Time itself seemed to slow to a crawl as the already grieving father could do nothing else. His eyes gradually raised upwards where he saw a reality that surpassed his worst nightmares. He saw the body of a young girl hanging off an iron post that had once hung a shop sign. Her small dress had been ripped to shreds and her face was too bloody to recognize, yet Marius could instantly recognize from the silhouette that she was his daughter.

...

Marius could only remember the events that took place afterwards like images from a passing dream. He had survived the siege only to receive back-to-back news that his two sons had been killed in combat. Now, a father bereft of his family and purpose, he enlisted in the Garona Liberation Army once more and joined the ranks of the Mòrt-Vivent -- the 'living dead' who had nothing remaining in life to live for.

He remembered attending his own funeral, where he laid down upon his empty grave to let the Albigense priestess to inscribe a rune upon his chest. It was a combination spell that would be triggered by pounding into it with his own fist as his final action in life. The priestess claimed that it would bring salvation as his angelic spirit would finally shed its sinful flesh and be released. But truth be told, Marius had never seriously cared for the Church's religious disputes and preferred for the Holy Father's truth to remain mysterious.

The old veteran looked towards Ramón as the middle-aged man bore the same rune upon his body. The same applied to Arnau, whose immortal soul had gone on ahead of them to reunite with his own lost family. Every infiltrator and saboteur in the Garona Liberation Army had joined the Mòrt-Vivent willingly. The runes inscribed into their flesh cut their remaining lifespan to no more than ten years, for after that the magic would unravel and destroy them regardless.

Not far away, Marius saw a crying girl sitting on the ground. It made him think back to the child he saw earlier who reminded him so much of his own daughter. The old veteran knew that these children all had parents and what he was about to do would inflict the same gut-wrenching pain that he felt upon them.

The grieving father reached absentmindedly into a pocket with his left hand. His fingers wrapped around a soft item before pulling it out. The old man opened his palm and felt tears pool into his gaze once more. Within his hand was the severed head of the stuffed rabbit the Mireia always clutched, its white fabric still stained with her blood from that fateful night.

''How can there be justice when my sweet Mireia is dead while these Imp spawn remain alive?''

Ramón was still trying to remove his axe from the melon rind that it was stuck in. But just as he used his feet to hold the fruit down and pull, a thrown pilum impaled him through his chest and pushed his body into the canal. Two other javelins flew at Marius but both missed as the veteran stepped aside. The four legionaries then drew their swords and charged forward toward him and the moving wagon that continued to spill muskmelons.

There were still minutes before the timed fuse would set the wagon off. Marius would not risk these soldiers finding and defusing it. He squeezed the furry memento in his palm before sprinting towards the moving wagon. His right arm reached out and prepared for his final action.

"THE DEAD DEMAND JUSTICE!" He heard another cry in the distance followed by another explosion. Dozens of people screamed as yet another comrade martyred himself in the middle of a crowd.

Within seconds, Marius reached the side of the wagon that had its wooden board broken. He stabbed his dagger into one of the muskmelons that had yet to roll out. He used the handle to pull the fruit out of the wagon and turned to face his assailants. The soldiers were mere steps away from him when he screamed and pounded his left hand -- still grasping the severed head of his daughter's favorite toy -- into his chest.

"AND WE SHALL BRING VENGEANCE!"

It took but an instant for the rune to activate and for Marius' body to be ripped asunder. But in that final split-second of his life, Marius' thoughts were filled with an image of his wife Laia, their two sons Lois and Pau, and his little girl Mireia. All of them stood together in front of the house that he had built and the farm behind them, a picturesque afterlife which he had always sought.

And he could finally retire to it in peace, for he could tell his family that their deaths had been avenged.

<nowiki>----- * * * -----</nowiki>

Needless to say, Marius' infiltration squad wasn't the only one who acted. Nor was the city of Augusta Tanarus the only city struck by the Mòrt-Vivent that day. Instead, a simultaneous attack by over thirty infiltration and saboteur squads of the Garona Liberation Army had struck over a dozen towns, cities, and ports of the Holy Imperium of the Inner Sea. By the day's end, most of those settlements lay in trembling terror and blazing ruins.

It would go down in Imperial history as 'Unholy Friday' -- the day that marked Hyperion the Dragonlord's ritualistic sacrifice for the people of this world was corrupted into a gratuitous revelry of destruction and death.

Yet despite its name, the Garona Liberation Army was more of a paramilitary militia group than the official army of the Kingdom of Garona. Nevertheless, the Imperium held the Kingdom, and by extension, its overlord the Empire of Rhin-Lotharingie, responsible for the terror attacks. And on that night, Imperator Augustus Skantarios issued a formal declaration of war against the Empire, which Pope Vigilius, in a show of obedience to his caesar, promptly sanctified as the 4th Trinitian Crusade.

And thus, the stage had been set for the most destructive conflict the continent of Hyperion had seen since the departure of the Dragonlords.

===Author's History Notes===

Albigensians: Based on the Cathar Heresy which took place in 12-14th century Southern France, which the Catholics wiped out during the Albigensian Crusade and its aftermath through mass genocide. The Cathars believed in Dualism - that there is both a good and an evil God - and that the Old Testament (including the creation of the world) was the work of the evil god. Thus, they considered the entire material world evil, and that humans were angels trapped in sinful flesh.

Acacius' Marriage: Roman Legionaires were famously not allowed to start families while in service (with a service period of 25 years). However, many of them often entered unofficial marriages before retirement, which were recognized as soon as they retired, including the legitimacy of any children. This practice became so standard that the Roman bureaucracy came to readily accept it.

Thematic Legions: Based on the Eastern Roman (Byzantine) Thematic administration/mobilization system, which replaced Diocletian's Provincial Defense System in the Late Roman era. This split the Empire into administrative districts (themes), where soldiers were settled and given farming land, in exchange for their agreement that their descendants would also serve in the army. However unlike feudalism, the soldiers did not own the land, and they remained part of active military units in peacetime. The allowed the Empire to both reduce the cost of standing armies and minimize the need for unpopular conscription.

Tagmata Legions: Based on the elite Tagmata units of the Eastern Roman (Byzantine) Empire, which would form the core of Imperial field armies. Hikanatoi and Archontopoulai are two historical unit name, meaning the 'able ones' and 'sons of leaders'.

'Bread and Circuses': A phrase from Roman times which referred to the idea that rulers can keep the public distracted and docile from sociopolitical problems by providing basic food and entertainment.

Daybreak:Volume 5 Chapter 1

2025-10-17T14:09:29Z

Aorii:

===Chapter 1 - A Friendly Recall===

"''Between the peaks of the North and South Lotharin Mountains lay the plains of Lotharingie. Here the heartland of the Lotharin peoples lay bound but unbroken despite centuries of 'Pax Arcadia'. The legions and merchants of our Holy Imperium who roam these lands are seen as little more than foreign occupiers whose blood shall be spilled in the next uprising. Three rebellions have quenched the land in red iron, yet it shall only be a matter of time until a fourth, a fifth, until the Lotharins claim independence, uncaring of the blood toll they pay in its efforts.''

"''Why, one might ask, must we hold onto such territory and people who abhor us? Whose pacification necessitates an endless drain upon our Imperium?''"

- Livia, Drusilla Tranquillus, ''The Greatest Empire No Longer'', written a century before the Lotharin Independence War which gave birth to the Empire of Rhin-Lotharingie

Reynaud took a deep breath before opening his eyes.

As a mage who had been training to be a Wayfarer since seventeen years of age, he had long learned that teleportation magic remained disorienting no matter how many times one experienced it. The sight of reality being flushed into a hole so minuscule it was imperceptible to the naked eye simply wasn't something human apperception could comprehend. It was far better to close his eyes, empty his lungs, and hold his breath for the brief seconds it took for one to vanish from existence on one side and reappear in a distant land.

The fact he had cast a low-power ''Electrify'' spell on himself also helped. It distracted his senses with a tingly, prickly sensation across his skin -- a feeling that his brain could actually comprehend. Meanwhile, his body defied the laws of conventional physics in leaping across thirty kilopaces in an instant.

Regardless, the ''Astral Teleport'' spell had been completed. Reynaud found himself standing atop a small grassy ridge on the southern slopes of the North Lotharin Mountains, which stretched from east to west for as far as the eye could see.

A steep incline ran down from the ridge into a small and winding valley no more than a thousand paces across. A narrow river barely larger than a stream had cut the ravine into the mountain slopes. Birch and ash trees in Spring bloom dotted both sides of the running water. And across the river laid the wooden buildings of a new settlement built at the river's gentle bend.

Reynaud turned around and gazed southward from his vantage point halfway up the mountain range. The sky was partly cloudy but otherwise offered a clear and unobstructed view into the distance. Several folds of lesser peaks and rolling hills could be seen downslope from where he stood. Beyond that stretched the wooded plains of the Lotharin Heartlands, which would run for over a thousand kilopaces -- far further than the eye could see -- before it met the southern mountain range.

''What an idyllic view.''

The short young man who had just passed his twenty-fifth birthday beamed as he reached out his arms to both sides. A cool breeze blew in from the south as he closed his eyes and soaked in the sunlight. The wind lifted the hem of his white cloak and brushed across his flaming-red hair in a soothing caress. And he enjoyed it to the fullest as he playfully spun twice on his heels like a child dancing in the wind.

''No wonder why she likes this place,'' Reynaud reopened his eyes as he considered the girl whom he had journeyed here to meet.

''But... it's still far too early for her to retire.''

The young man turned his back on the magnificent view. He touched the recently erected stone obelisk which housed the teleportation beacon that his spell had locked onto. Inscribed upon it was the name of the new settlement being built:

Lithia.

Reynaud smiled to himself as he strode past the stone and began a quick descent into the ravine. His footsteps were swift but careful as the steep and winding dirt trail offered neither steps nor railings. The young man tilted his head as he made his way down the slope and onto a small stone bridge. He had anticipated hearing the sounds of people and work in progress: the chatter of construction crews erecting new buildings, the noise of fresh timber being sawed into wooden planks.

Yet, aside from the chirping of birds from the nearby woods, the entire settlement stood as quiet as the night.

''Where is everyone?'' Reynaud pondered to himself as something didn't feel right.

''It's almost halfway to noon on a Saturday morning. Why isn't anyone working?''

The redhead strode across the bridge and into the village. He noticed that most of the newly erected homes still had their windows and doors shut, instead of being left open to air as most rural folk did. There were only eleven homes, which meant the villagers probably numbered thirty to forty. The buildings also included a blacksmith, a cookhouse, and a modest church with an incomplete bell tower and a Trinitian Cross on top.

That was all that could fit onto the available flat land. Even the Church had to be built on an incline with its foundation dug into the slope. Yet, as Reynaud's feet began to trek uphill once more, he also heard the quiet murmurs of people and the excited cry of a small child on the far side of the Church.

The young man made his way around the building, and sure enough, he found a dozen people gathered in a small crowd. They were mostly women and children, who congregated around a two-target archery range -- a facility as necessary to any Lotharin village as a cookhouse or church.

Beyond the dozen onlookers stood a single petite girl with snowy-white long hair. Standing sideways with her pink eyes trained on the target, she raised a strange-looking metallic greatbow with asymmetric limbs above her head. Then, after a brief pause and without a single wasted motion, she lowered the bow to chest level while her arms used the downward motion to pull the silvery bowstring to its full draw.

''Never seen anyone else pull a bow the way she does,'' Reynaud thought as he eyed how she gripped the bowstring with her thumb.

Several nearby villagers noticed Reynaud as he trekked up the dirt trail. The young man raised an open hand in a friendly gesture and smiled. He might not have been wearing his hood and his blades remained hidden beneath his outerwear. But the small community would have undoubtedly felt wary towards the approach of a cloaked stranger.

Nevertheless, the onlookers seemed nervous as another party of four descended down the dirt trail that went further up the mountain. Three of the men wore brigandine and kettle helms as they flanked a rather flamboyantly dressed young man. The group's leader wore a silver-trimmed doublet in sky-blue and had a trio of brightly dyed feathers in his cap. It did not take any guessing for Reynaud to discern that the men were a local noble and his entourage.

"Dame Kaede!"

The nobleman called out without waiting for the girl to finish shooting -- an act which was downright rude in Lotharin etiquette. However, the girl's attention never wavered from the target as she released the notched war arrow. The heavy missile soared a hundred paces before striking the tail of a shaft already lodged into the dead center of the bullseye. But rather than piercing into the wood, the newly shot arrow skimmed off and landed in the dirt behind the straw target.

"Oooh, so close yet so far. Talk about unlucky," the young noble commented with a snide grin.

''Not unlucky,'' Reynaud observed. ''She's trying to split her own arrows again.''

Meanwhile, the petite girl who had shot the arrow closed her eyes before inhaling long and deep. She then held her breath for three seconds, before exhaling over the same interval. The nobleman called again but she was completely non-responsive. Her arm slowly lowered her asymmetric greatbow which glowed with a turquoise light as it quickly shrank, disappearing into her gloved hand.

It was as though the girl was in a trance, oblivious to everything else around her as she finished her archery practice. It was only after her bow fully vanished into the extradimensional storage of her three-fingered archery glove, when she finally reopened her eyes and turned to look uphill.

"May I help you, Milord?"

The petite girl addressed the noble in a soft, wispy voice. Her short stature and small build gave the impression of a fragile girl no older than sixteen. Her straight, snowy-white hair gleamed in the sunlight as it hung loose past her hips. She had large brilliant eyes the color of rose-quartz and dainty features that gave her an almost doll-like appearance. Meanwhile, her flawless white skin shone like fine porcelain tinted pink by the morning chill.

Yet, in stark contrast to her adolescent appearance, the girl also wore a white jacket with the straight trim of a military uniform. Underneath it was a short skirt and leggings in a style that only women in armed service donned.

"I'm Count Adrien Kenneth de Puy, Lord of Stratum Gap."

The youthful noble declared without even a nod of courtesy. He merely raised his hand and gestured backwards in the direction of his castle estate.

In response, the snowy-haired girl looked down, grasped the sides of her skirt, and dipped down in an elegant curtsy. Then, with a smile that looked slightly forced but genuinely free of any hostility, she met the Count's gaze and introduced herself:

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Milord. My name is Kaede Nikita Konstantinovna Suvorskaya, the new barone--"

"Yes, I know who you are, Dame Kaede," Adrien interrupted with a scowl before she could even finish. "I hear they call you a hero of the Battle of Gwilen River."

''More like the Bloodbath of Gwilen River,'' Reynaud scowled as he thought of the heaps of corpses that they had to climb out of.

"--Yet, here you are, encroaching upon lands that had been passed down the de Puy family for generations, like naught but a common bandit," the Count accused. "Lands which rightfully belong to my cousin Albert, whose noble father, ''and mine,'' gave their lives in the previous war!"

"Milord Adrien," Kaede's smile grew sympathetic as she replied. "Lord Albert Neacel de Puy was relieved of these lands for siding with the traitor Gabriel during the recent civil war. Her Highness, the Crown Princess, has generously allowed him to keep his main estate, in recognition of his family's service and in exchange for his oath -- that he would continue to serve in the armies of Rhin-Lotharingie in defense of the realm during this time of conflict."

However, her steady voice and even tone only seemed to annoy Adrien further as the Count's sardonic smile slipped into a condescending scowl. He raised two fingers into the air and made a swiping gesture to his entourage. His three soldiers raised their polearm shafts off the ground and fanned out threateningly around the petite baroness.

The atmosphere grew tense, the villagers collectively backing away from the brewing conflict. All of them except two: a woman in her forties whose long dress and stays wouldn't look out of place behind a loom, and a man in his fifties with a hideous scar exposed just beneath his neck.

"And you think you deserve them?" Adrien raised a pointed hand as he glared down at the girl from his high ground. "You are but a commoner without a past, a ''Samaran strumpet'' and love toy of that foreign princeling!"

"How dare he..."

Reynaud barely heard the woman in front mutter. The other adult villagers looked similarly angry -- one of them even reached deep into a pocket slit in her long skirt. It was said that all adult Lotharin women learned to carry a concealed dagger. However, before any of the civilians could reveal bared steel, their liege Kaede raised a hand to stop them.

Even Reynaud could also feel his temple twitch and his teeth clench in that moment. His gloved fingers were touching the handles of his dual blades before he even noticed. Yet, the girl who was the target of the gratuitous and grave insult, who stood unarmed with her flanks exposed to brandished steel, barely furrowed her eyebrows in response.

"You may call me a 'commoner without a past', for that is the truth," she shrugged with her soft voice barely rising. "You may even call me a 'Samaran strumpet', despite the fact that anyone who knows the nature of Samarans could tell you that is an oxymoron."

The redhead whose hands remained on his weapons blinked with astonishment. To be called a prostitute was the greatest insult for any decent girl, for it attacked their character in a manner that society most unforgivingly judged. Yet, the young baroness before him had shrugged it off as though the words barely mattered.

"However, the prince whom you speak of is my master, Landgrave Pascal of Nordkreuz, and your future Emperor Consort," Kaede continued as her soft voice took on a serious note. "Surely, Milord, you are not insinuating that Her Highness, the 'Cerulean Princess' who led the charge during the climactic battle of the civil war, is so helpless that she would ennoble a mistress of her betrothed?"

Reynaud watched the youthful Count carefully as the nobleman's slate-blue eyes narrowed with hostility. His scowl twisted into a snarl with bared teeth while his face darkened with contempt. Then, as the nobleman opened his lips to shout, Reynaud cried out in a loud voice to interrupt:

"That would be truly insulting, Milord, and a criminal offense to so blatantly slander the crown."

At that moment, every pair of eyes assembled near the archery range pivoted towards him. The Count's gaze almost flashed in anger as he gripped the handle of his arming sword.

"Who the devil are you?" Adrien snarled as his voice hardened into an authoritative demand. "To speak to a nobleman like we're equals!?"

Reynaud's hands parted from his weapons as he unbuttoned the clasp holding his outerwear closed. He removed his white cloak to reveal the gambeson he wore underneath and a short cerulean cape that reached just past his hips. The redheaded armiger stretched his neck, the unusual medal that he wore between his folded collars swaying from the motion. The black cross laying against a shattered 'snowflake' was an accolade that he had earned from the King of Weichsel.

"I'm Sir Reynaud Moreau, Royal Oriflamme Armiger to Her Highness, Crown Princess Sylviane Etiennette de Gaetane," he nonchalantly introduced himself as his hands neatly folded the white cloak. "I am here to recall and escort Grand Squire Kaede to an emergency conference at the capital on Her Highness' orders."

The armiger watched as the Count looked taken aback. He wondered if Adrien even knew who Kaede truly was. It wasn't exactly common knowledge that she was the new Grand Squire. And the girl was often looked down upon due to her commoner background, meek demeanor, and delicate appearance, which made others think she was easy to push around.

Meanwhile, an audible mutter came from one of Adrien's guards to the side:

"The ''Winterslayer.''"

The huge man who would tower over Reynaud even without the advantage of elevation lowered his polearm shaft back onto the ground. He did not take a step back like his compatriots, but all signs of aggression had vanished from his posture.

"I'm glad to see that my reputation is not unknown to even a backwater hamlet like yours, Milord."

Reynaud smirked as he placed the folded cloak into a storage pouch that hung from his belt. Meanwhile, his left hand returned to the handle of a sheathed kukri as he flexed his fingers across it.

"Now, as Your Lordship was saying before I interrupted?" He asked in a chilled voice that almost dared the Count to hurl another insult.

"I..."

The young Count looked taken aback as he paused for a brief moment before straightening his gaze. His countenance was still filled with a disgruntled expression as he forced the words from his lips:

"I apologize for my careless words, for it was not my intention to imply any insult upon Her Highness and our future Empress," he said before forcing himself into a slight bow.

"Well, in that case, if Dame Kaede does not object, I am willing to put this episode behind us," Reynaud added as he pressed his right hand against his hip and stared at Adrien with a tilted grin.

"I don't mind," the young dame answered almost immediately as she waved a small hand.

''You're supposed to wait until he apologizes to you!'' Reynaud's smiling lips twitched before he exhaled a faint sigh.

"Then I'm glad we managed to put that misunderstanding behind us," Count Adrien remained a bit nervous as he replied. "And Sir Reynaud, Dame Kaede, as you have official business at hand to attend to, I shall bid you both farewell for today and offer my welcome at another time."

"Good day then, Lord Adrien," Kaede answered as she dipped a slight curtsy once more. "I hope next time we shall have a chance to talk on more friendly terms," she added with a pleasant smile.

"Good day, Milord."

Reynaud decided to follow the younger girl's lead. However, as Count Adrien turned about with his soldiers in tow, the redhead armiger couldn't resist getting one last word in:

"And Milord, the proper way to address the Grand Squire of the realm is 'Your Excellency'. Dame Kaede might only be a baroness, but her position as one of the Six Great Officers of the Crown means her position supersedes yours."

The Count replied with only a half-turned nod before walking away. Nevertheless, Reynaud could feel a sense of righteous victory as he noticed Adrien's arms shaking with suppressed anger, and how the noble's hands had clenched into fists as they parted.

...

"Good morning, Your Ladyship."

"Good morning, Dame Kaede."

The villagers greeted their liege with friendly smiles as Reynaud followed Kaede back to the village center from the unfinished church. Several more men had also emerged from their cabins and were washing themselves in the water barrels left outside. All of the men were in their fifties and most of them looked visibly hungover as they intermittently groaned or cradled their foreheads.

"Good morning, Giselle. Good morning, Mairi"

Kaede replied with a friendly smile as she addressed each passing resident by name. She then steered Reynaud to another dirt path that traversed uphill towards a large but incomplete wooden building nested into the steep mountainside.

"Shouldn't they be calling you Dame Suvok... Suvorsk..." Reynaud asked as he struggled to pronounce Kaede's foreign surname.

"Suvorskaya. And that's exactly why they don't address me so." The girl chuckled in response. "Though, why do people call you Sir Reynaud and not Sir Moreau?" She looked at him with curiosity. "You were born a yeoman after all."

"Because my father is Sir Moreau." Reynaud shrugged. "Surnames are only used to address the first person in a household to be ennobled, even if it's a mere chevalier title and not an inheritable rank. Sometimes it's also used for the oldest and head-of-house. The only reason this tradition exists at all is to avoid confusion when there's too many nobles in one family."

After all, the average mage could expect to live a natural life of up to one-hundred-fifty years. Therefore, it was commonplace to find aristocratic families of four or even five generations.

"And speaking of rank," he then pivoted to meet her gaze. "I'm surprised you accepted the title of Baroness. I still remember you turning down Her Highness when she first offered you a fief -- which might be a first in Lotharin history." He chuckled as even now he couldn't help shaking his head at it.

"You said back then that you didn't think you could fulfill your obligations as a liege. What changed?" The short armiger stopped as he looked at the petite girl who, in her high wedge boots, was almost as tall as him.

"Do you remember the letter that the late Sir Robert left me?" Kaede's smile grew nostalgic and mournful.

Reynaud felt a pain in his chest as he heard the name. His expression faltered as he thought of the young knight who died doing what he had failed to do, as Reynaud had been absent in that confrontation where the Princess' entire guard had almost been wiped out.

A moment of silence passed between the two as Reynaud clenched his fist where his companion could not see. The young man then forced a stiff smile back onto his face as he met the girl's gaze.

"Yes." He nodded. "If memory serves, he told you about a spring with lithium salts in the water, which could be used to stabilize the Princess' mood swings."

"It also helps with veterans suffering from war trauma, which our country has far too many of," Kaede added with a sour expression. "The spring that Sir Robert spoke of is actually down-mountain about three kilopaces from here, near a village settled by veterans of the last war. However, when Gerard went to investigate, he discovered that the spring was fed through an underground conduit which ran down from several hot springs over there." She pointed in the direction of the dirt trail as it ran past the unfinished building.

"When Gerard told me about this place, I suggested that he be the one to develop it for public use," Kaede continued. "But Her Highness told me that as much as she approved of the idea, Gerard's contributions during the war did not warrant granting him a rank of landed nobility. However, if I was the one who asked instead..."

The petite girl raised her palms and shrugged with a wry smile.

"Her Highness played you like a fiddle." Reynaud laughed. "I take it she recruited some families from her crown lands to help you get started?"

"All retired soldiers, every one of the men and several of the women as well." Kaede looked back to the village with a wistful gaze. "Every veteran here bears the scars of war, seen or unseen."

''That explains the woman earlier,'' Reynaud thought of the one who was brave enough to reach for a dagger against fully-kitted soldiers.

"Is that why you let them all get sloshed last night and spend today lazing around?" Reynaud looked back to the village where several of the families were congregating at the tables outside the cookhouse for a late breakfast.

"No," Kaede shook her head. "I gave them Saturdays off. It's the weekend," she said like it's the most obvious thing in the world.

"''Week-end?''" Reynaud's eyebrows tilted as he looked at her quizzically.

"Work five days, take two off," Kaede explained. "That's how it works where I come from."

"I've been to almost every country in Western Hyperion and I've never heard of such a thing," Reynaud replied with a frown. "Our traditions are to take only Sundays off."

"Well, I'll start a new tradition then," the girl shrugged. "Maybe once the word starts spreading it'll catch on."

"You're going to make every other noble throw a fit," Reynaud commented with a shake of his head even as he felt a smirk tugging at his lips.

A deep sense of satisfaction welled up inside him at the thought of annoying the aristocracy to grant the commons some extra privileges. However, the cheerful thought soon ended with how blatantly the Count from earlier disrespected the petite baroness standing before him.

"Which reminds me to ask, Kaede, why do you let people insult you like that back there?" The redheaded armiger scowled as he gestured towards the archery range.

"What do you propose then? That I shoot him?" Kaede answered with a jesting smile before she started leading him uphill once more.

"I don't have any armed soldiers at hand. And even if I did, Count Adrien is the lord of one of the fortresses that guard the mountain passes to the north. He has the military muscle to out-escalate me."

"Well, you could at least offer him a few choice words," Reynaud responded before he wondered when was the last time he actually saw the mild mannered girl insult someone.

"Insulting him back might feel good at the moment, but it doesn't bring any more security to my position and only creates enemies for both my subjects and my liege," Kaede commented. "Besides, anyone who believes in the phrase 'Samaran strumpet' is clearly too ignorant for me to seriously consider their opinion."

"I see Pascal's condescending attitude did rub off on you a little." The redhead chuckled. "In a good way, of course."

"I certainly hope that I'll never be as bad as he is," Kaede feigned a look of being offended before it vanished into a smile. "And speaking of Pascal, you said something earlier about an emergency..."

"Reynaud! Fancy meeting you here," a deep masculine voice called out from the incomplete building ahead of them. "And good mooooorrrning, Kaede," it went on with a huge yawn.

Standing in the doorway was Sir Gerard Fournier, whose figure towered over Reynaud as the latter barely came up to his shoulders. The man wore a simple brown tunic which hardly concealed his broad shoulders and muscular chest. His hands were large, his arms brawny, and his height could compare to even the giant northern Highlanders. He wiped the ash-blue eyes beneath his black hair, before looking down with a huge toothy grin that parted his prominent nose and his chiselled chin.

"Morning, Gerard," Reynaud reached up and patted his old friend on the shoulders. "I see you still refuse to dress to your title."

"Her Highness made me a chevalier, not a gold merchant." Gerard yawned again before shrugging. "I've got plenty of higher priority things to buy than fancy clothes, especially in this war economy where the prices keep inflating."

"Yeah, but you could at least dress better in front of a lady," Reynaud scowled as he looked down at Gerard's linen hose. The garment had several old stains which simply screamed 'peasant'. "I take it you're here to help with the construction?"

"Inspecting the works and making plans for Her Ladyship's new mansion," the tall engineer beamed. "Can't have a noblewoman keep sleeping in a boarding house like this," he gestured to the incomplete building behind him. "The Holy Father might disapprove."

"...Or so the aristocracy likes to tell us," Reynaud raised his palms as he appended what Gerard was unwilling to say.

"Please don't start again," Kaede said, looking a bit miffed. "You two have been making fun of me ever since I accepted this title."

"Awww, don't let a little lowbrow humor get to you," Reynaud wrapped one arm around Kaede's back as he leaned into her side with a beaming grin. "We're teasing you because we're both glad to see you getting the recognition that you deserve!"

Yet, even as he said that, Reynaud was slowly moving his hand up Kaede's torso.

''She really is soft. It's no wonder why the Princess calls her 'huggable'.''

"Reynaud, if you wiggle those fingers any closer to my breasts, I'm going to snap them off," the girl glanced towards him with a warning in her pink eyes.

"Not that you have much breast to speak of," Reynaud jabbed back before he noticed Kaede's lips tilt. "I'm kidding!"

The redhead immediately let go and stepped back while the girl rolled her eyes. Meanwhile, Gerard gave him a look like he should know better.

"You're lucky Kaede isn't like most girls," he added. "If it had been any of my sisters, you would have been smacked already."

"If I flirted with your little sisters, I'd have to run away before you break both my arms," Reynaud joked as he leaned back and swayed nonchalantly with his hands behind his head.

"''And'' both legs," Gerard added. "But I'm glad you at least know where the line is drawn."

"He just toes it constantly."

Kaede sighed as she sent one last annoyed look at the redhead, to which Reynaud playfully stuck out his tongue at her in reply.

...

The three former comrades took some time catching up before Reynaud and Gerard sat down at a log table around a kilopace away from the village. Their spot was situated atop a barren hill with the hot springs to one side and the river dropping into several small waterfalls on the other.

Reynaud gazed upon the flooded chasm to the north that was surrounded by stony cliffs on three sides. The water that filled the ravine was sparkling clear and occasionally emitted bubbles. Its surface had a slight sheen and deposited a faint white crust on the rocks around the water's edge.

"Have you tried the water already?" He asked Gerard in a distant voice as he thought of their fallen comrade whose final wish led them to this place.

"Yes. It's quite comfortable. Hot enough to be soothing, but I can stay inside for hours without feeling overwhelmed," the tall engineer answered with a relaxed smile. "Kaede and I are still discussing which of the springs would be best collected for drinking."

"Do you think... Sir Robert would approve of developing it like this?" Reynaud pondered aloud as he remembered the young knight with an infectious smile.

"Well, I didn't know him as well as you and Kaede did," Gerard mulled. "But she wants to create an affordable retreat for veterans to relax, meet each other, and find support for the unseen scars that we all bear."

''It's such a Samaran thing to do,'' Reynaud felt a smile tug at his lips. ''To prioritize mental trauma over physical wounds.''

The men stopped talking as they saw Kaede returning from the village with another petite girl in her late teens. The two brought food on wooden trays. It consisted of whole loaf bread soup with lentils, mushrooms, herbs, and salted pork. There was also an eighth of a wheel of cheese.

"Thank you, Marina, that'll be all," Kaede spoke to the maid. "I'll come get you if I need anything else."

"Of course, Your Ladyship," Marina curtsied before she departed back towards the village.

"Is that...?" Reynaud stared at the girl who had brown hair tied in a single braid over her shoulders.

"My Lady's Maid, yes," Kaede smiled proudly.

"She looks familiar," Reynaud added.

"She was at Alisia Academy when you two were still attending before the war started." The girl frowned slightly, as though she'd rather not discuss this further.

"Please, help yourselves," she then gestured with an open palm. "And sorry I don't have anything better to offer," she added sheepishly as she sat down.

"What're you talking about?" Gerard joyfully remarked. "This is perfect -- it's just like what we ate back on campaign."

"Assuming you paid coin for the herbs," Reynaud beamed as he nodded.

"True, those field kitchens were stingy," Gerard commented before examining the ingredients in the soup, which was thick enough to be considered a stew.

"Do you even grow any food here?"

"There are terraces being built further downstream," Kaede answered as she pulled a furry waterskin from her pockets. "We've also plenty of wild herbs and mushrooms thanks to the mountains. Two of my people are retired rangers who have been teaching the kids."

"Oh good," Gerard feigned a sign of relief. "At least I don't have to worry about being poisoned like that one time Reynaud pretended he knew how to forage."

"Those were mountains in ''Weichsel''," Reynaud protested. "It doesn't count!"

"What were you doing hiking in the Kingdom of Weichsel?" Kaede asked in curiosity before she took a drink.

"Trying to find an edelweiss flower for Perceval to court his girl with," Reynaud beamed. "My idea," he proudly pointed at himself.

The petite girl nearly choked as she started coughing. She had to wipe some lavender and chamomile off her lips from that tea Reynaud often saw her drink.

"Those flowers only grow in the Dead Mountains!"

"Probably why a single bite of that mushroom made me so sick I thought I was gonna die," Gerard shot another accusatory glare towards Reynaud. "Still, considering that Perceval and Ariadne are betrothed now, I'd say the three-day trip -- only one where we had to brave that toxic, murderous mist -- was well worth it."

"Perceval really is lucky he has friends like you two," Kaede beamed.

"Not at all." Gerard smiled humbly as he looked down. "You forgot how much he's done for me. Without his patronage, I'd still be a yeoman baker," he said before looking at the redhead. "Reynaud, however..."

"True brothers are forged in adversity!" The short armiger puffed up his chest before pounding a fist into it. "Sisters too," he then grinned at Kaede.

The snowy-haired girl looked taken aback before a faint blush came over her cheeks.

''She's cute when she's embarrassed,'' Reynaud couldn't help thinking.

"But to return to the food topic," Kaede pulled the discussion back. "The soil here is poor and must be sifted first to remove rocks and break up chunks before we can grow crops. That requires a lot of work in addition to building terraces. So I doubt we'll achieve food self-sufficiency in the first two to three years. We missed most of the planting season this year already and I doubt we'll have anything more than a vegetable garden ready in time."

"A lot of places failed to get a full crop planted this year." Gerard scowled as he stirred his stew in its bread loaf. "The Empire will need to carefully manage its food supply, or there might be famines by next year."

"Even with the partial demobilization?" Reynaud asked before eating a mouthful.

After all, the entire Wayfarer network, as well as individual Wayfarers like him, had been working overtime to help bring as many soldiers back home as possible in time for the planting season. Their ''Astral Teleport'' spells might only ferry up to around a dozen people at a time. But even that was a godsend for villages who have lost most of their able-bodied men to the war effort.

"Had Her Highness not demobilized more than half of our armies, we'd probably be starving by winter," Gerard declared in a grave voice. "The Caliphate's invasion late last year overran far too many grain silos in the south. The army was only able to hold together by drawing on the civilian food reserves. However, that placed a tremendous burden on food supplies across the countryside, especially after the failed harvest in the south last year."

Reynaud frowned as he thought about the numbers that he had heard from the Princess' meetings. More than 250,000 soldiers had been mobilized for the three fronts fighting the 3rd Tauheed Holy War -- the invasion of Rhin-Lotharingie by the Cataliyan Caliphate which began five months ago. Another 100,000 were recruited to run supply trains and guard logistic hubs.

-- And that didn't even include a brief, three-month-long civil war between the Crown Princess and her traitorous uncle over the throne.

The Empire of Rhin-Lotharingie had never been particularly populous to begin with. Centuries of bloody conflicts to throw off the Imperial yoke had left most of the country sparsely populated. Mobilization for the war effort then called up most men of fighting age which left many towns and villages with a noticeable gender imbalance.

The situation was the worst in the southern Kingdom of Garona, which bordered both the Holy Imperium and the Cataliyan Caliphate. They had enacted their famous 'Total Mobilization' decree to call up every man between the ages of sixteen to sixty.

"Things were bad enough before the Imperium's declaration of war." Kaede stared at her untouched stew with a scowl before she looked at Reynaud. "Which is, of course, why you're here."

"Declaration?" Gerard grew alarmed as he halted the rising spoon in his hand.

"Yes." Reynaud nodded. "The Imps formally declared war against our Empire last night. I'm here to recall Kaede for an emergency council meeting," he said before looking at Kaede. "Though I think you probably already knew."

"Pascal told me about it during our ''Farspeak'' call this morning." Kaede spoke of the spell that allowed for long-distance communications. "I haven't had a chance to tell you before now," she said to Gerard who then exhaled a deep sigh.

"I guess it was bound to happen sooner or later, considering their role in provoking both the Caliphate's invasion and the recent civil war," the engineer commented.

"Yes. But it happened in the worst possible manner," Kaede added grimly. "The Garona ''Liberation Army''," the girl said with sarcasm dripping in her soft voice, "struck a dozen cities and ports across the Imperium yesterday with a massive terrorist attack."

"'Terrorist' is what the Imps call them," Reynaud interjected despite his mouth being still stuffed with food. "Those people are ''heroes''," he insisted with a pointed spoon as his eyes hardened to meet Kaede's gaze.

"Heroes don't butcher civilians, women and children, in cold blood," Kaede countered as she stared back.

"And how many women and children did the Imps butcher over the centuries of their 'Pax Arcadia' occupation!?" Reynaud's voice rose sharply before he even noticed.

"This isn't a contest about who can commit the most war crimes," Kaede replied. "Yes, the Imperium is our enemy. They've invaded, occupied, and exploited Lotharins for the past ''eight centuries''," she said agreeably, reminding him they were on the same side. "And in standing up against the oppressor, those men certainly are freedom fighters and martyrs."

For a moment, the redheaded armiger felt vindicated as Kaede seemed to admit the truth. However, the girl also wasn't finished:

"But children are children regardless of who their parents are. And you cannot tell me that those who commit mass murder against the innocent and the helpless aren't also villains and terrorists!"

Reynaud bit down on his lips as he struggled to come up with a retort that didn't sound illogical to even himself.

After all, the Holy Imperium has been the predominant military, economic, and technological superpower in the West for more than a thousand years. For the Lotharin peoples, and especially the impoverished Garonans who lived on the rocky slopes of the South Lotharin Mountains, a direct confrontation with the Imperium spelled certain defeat. Therefore, they had been forced to rely on ambushes, raids, sabotage, and other forms of guerilla tactics -- all of which were labelled as 'terrorism' by the Imperial propaganda machine.

"For what it's worth, I do agree with Kaede," Gerard said with a deep scowl of his own. "It's one thing to sabotage Imperial Legion outposts and raid their supply convoys. But to attack population centers with indiscriminate slaughter? That's not just ''wrong'', it also plays straight into our opponents' hands."

"Which is exactly what happened," Kaede spoke next in a fuming voice that, had the circumstances been different, Reynaud might have considered cute. "The terror attacks gave the Imperator Augustus the perfect ''casus belli'' to declare war with overwhelming popular support.

"Worse yet, the attacks took place just two days before Resurrection Day," Kaede continued. "And the perpetrators were mostly Garonans of the Albigese Sect, whom the Trinitian Church view as heretics. This gave the Pope the ideal excuse to declare the 4th Trinitian Crusade."

"So we're now the target of both a Tauheed Holy War and a Trinitian Crusade!?" Gerard looked up from his bread bowl in horror. "''Fuck!''" He pounded the table with one fist while his other threw the wooden spoon back into the stew.

"We've survived worse," Reynaud muttered even as he resisted the depressive urge to agree with Gerard. "We Lotharins will ''never'' bend knee to a foreign occupier."

"And how many Lotharins will be ''left'' after this!?" Kaede retorted. "You were both with me when we travelled to the Kingdom of Garona back in February. Tell me -- did you see any healthy men of fighting age in the villages and towns that we passed? I've even heard of calls to legalize polygamy among the Garonans, which might just actually pass since the Albigese don't hold the institution of marriage in high regard to begin with."

"Clearly, I should convert," Reynaud commented dryly.

It made Gerard snort a little, but only drew a gaze of ire from Kaede.

"That's not funny," the girl remarked.

"Sorry," Reynaud said sheepishly. "Humor is all I have at moments like these."

Kaede's eyes softened as she looked back down to her own soup and finally lifted a spoonful.

"I think I know what Her Highness has planned," she said as her voice fell quiet and wispy. "She probably wants me to go to our allies to seek assistance. Desperate times call for desperate measures. The Empire needs any help it can gather in this darkest hour."

Yet even as the petite girl spoke, her expression betrayed neither enthusiasm nor the slightest confidence.

"Holy Father knows we could use another ''Leslie's Blessing''," Reynaud nodded.

"When is the conference that you mentioned?" Kaede stared at the armiger before stuffing her cheeks with a wooden spoon that was clearly too large for her.

"In two days," Reynaud answered. "Her Highness has recalled the commanders of every war front and summoned all the monarchs and heads of the major aristocratic houses."

"So we leave tomorrow then?"

"Her Highness has asked that I bring you back today," the redhead added with a frown.

Reynaud wasn't exactly a fan of making a round trip in a single day. The dozens of ''Astral Teleport'' jumps it required were exhausting, especially as he would be bringing at least two passengers on the way back.

"For what?"

"Well..." The armiger trailed off into silence.

"I'm not leaving unless you tell me," Kaede said in that soft yet firm tone which Reynaud knew as putting her foot down.

"There's a feast and a dance scheduled for tonight, and Her Highness wants you to attend," Reynaud admitted.

"A ''feast?'' Now?" Gerard remarked with an incredulous gaze.

"It was originally scheduled to thank the lesser nobles who supported her during the civil war," Reynaud shrugged. "She could hardly cancel it at the last minute after many of them had already made their way to the capital."

"Why does the Princess need me for that?" Kaede asked with a frown. "Her supporters want gratitude and accolades from ''her'', not empty words from a nobody like me."

"I think you've long graduated from being a 'nobody'," Reynaud pointed out. "But you're right on the first."

"Maybe she just wants to see you at a dance," Gerard shrugged. "You've never attended one, have you?"

"I don't even know ''how'' to dance," Kaede replied as her eyes gazed away. Her expression seemed to steadily darken before she gave a morose sigh.

"I think she just wants to play dressup."

The two men looked at each other. Neither quite understood what the girl meant or why she looked even more depressed from the thought.

"I can teach you if you'd like," Reynaud offered. "Though we only have a few hours at most."

"And Reynaud is an excellent dancer," Gerard added. "Terrible teacher though."

"Oh sod off!"

"Thank you, but no, I won't be going back today," Kaede declared as though the decision was already made.

"If I'm right and the Princess wants to send me on a diplomatic mission, it might be a while before I come back to this village," she continued. "I need to get my affairs in order and ensure my people have everything they need in case I take months to return. I'm sure the Princess will understand when I tell her that."

Yet, even as Kaede explained, her eyes remained downcast and refused to meet his gaze. Then, as she stood up from her seat and looked away, Reynaud couldn't help feeling that the girl was just coming up with excuses.

"We'll leave tomorrow," she then added before picking up her loaf of bread stew. "And I'm not hungry enough to eat this right now. I'll see if someone else wants it."

She then left the table and the two men to themselves.

"Do you think...?" Gerard asked in a quiet voice as he watched Kaede march off into the distance.

"Yeah."

''She ran away.''

"Knowing Kaede, she's already made arrangements this morning after hearing the news from Pascal," Reynaud commented.

The armiger considered the girl's unusually keen hearing, before opting to say anyway:

"She's ducking out because she hates crowds and gatherings, especially those full of pomp and ceremony."

Meanwhile, Gerard exhaled a deep sigh in turn as he stared blankly at the direction Kaede went.

"You know I don't like to second guess our illustrious Princess..." he remarked. "But is it ''truly'' a good idea to have a Grand Squire, our Empire's foremost diplomat, be someone with social anxiety?"

===Author's History Notes===

Rhin-Lotharingie - Named after the Kingdom of Lotharingia during the Frankish Carolingian era, with its lands and people caught between West Frankia (France) and East Frankia (Germany). Rhin-Lotharingie basically means Rhine (river) + Lotharingia (area). The Lotharin people are based on Celtic cultures in our history, which had dominated this region before the Romans committed their 'Celtic Holocaust'.

Thumb Draw - Kaede's archery is based on Japanese kyudo, which uses the thumb to pull the bowstring with two fingers to stabilize the arrow, similar to that of many Asian nomadic cultures. This is very different from the 'Mediterranean draw' used commonly in the West, which uses three fingers to pull the bow.

'Pax Arcadia' - Based on 'Pax Romana', a centuries-long period of 'Roman Peace' which marked the highwater mark of Roman Imperialism. Widely associated with the prosperity, strength, and relative peace of the Empire during its time, such periods would nevertheless feature many internal revolts and border conflicts which would be squashed by the Empire through its domineering strength.

Oriflamme - Named after the Oriflamme 'golden flame' battle standard traditionally used by the Kings of France, until its loss and replacement by Joan of Arc's fleur-de-lis banner.

Six Great Officers - The Six Great Officers of the Empire of Rhin-Lotharingie is based on the Great Officers of the Crown of France, which included the position of the Grand Squire of France.

Edelweiss Flowers - An alpine flower that famously grows in rocky places at high altitudes, often on cliffs. Thus, they become the symbol of German/Austrian alpinism and are often recognized as a symbol of courage.

Albigese and Marriage - The Cathars that the Albigese are based on didn't view marriage with high regard, as they viewed material world as sinful and sex as spiritually harmful. Reproduction itself was often frowned upon as children meant 'trapping more souls in corrupt physical bodies', not that Kaede would entirely grasp their theology here.

Daybreak:Volume 5 Chapter 2

2025-10-17T14:07:59Z

Aorii:

===Chapter 2 - A Familiar Squire===

''"Historians remain at loss as to the origin of Dame Kaede Nikita Konstantinovna Suvorskaya. Though it is common for Samarans to live an unassuming life, not a trace of the girl could be found before Year 566 of the Faith Age. The earliest record shows that she appeared in Alisia Academy in the autumn of that year. And despite the girl's quiet demeanor which could easily pass for a wallflower, her actions have carried consequences that have since reverberated through the history of the West."''

- Yue Yuling, ''Journey to the West, Part II: Thunder of the Great War'', written after her embassy to Western Hyperion from the Dawn Imperium in the Far East.

''They're late...''

Laetitia turned towards the busy docks as she played with her braid in the strong headwind from the lake. The skies were clear and the sun was at its highest point at half past noon. But the person she waited on had yet to arrive.

The girl absentmindedly twirled the spear in her hands as she stood near a stone gatehouse built like a keep. The guards there kept a watchful eye on both sides as they watched both the docks district and the small bailey that housed the teleportation beacon obelisk.

Several of the soldiers eyed her cautiously as she wasn't part of the city's garrison or militia. Nevertheless, she wore a gambeson in Lotharin blue beneath her steel cuirass and spaulders, while the shield on her back bore the phoenix crest.

"Hey girl," the gruff sergeant in command of the checkpoint called out. "Who are you waiting..."

His cry trailed off as a clear ringing chimed from the magical wards linked to the teleportation beacon outside. A small group of four suddenly materialized from thin air around the stone obelisk. The soldiers on watch immediately grew alert as they spotted the four figures who unlinked their hands. One of them wore the feathered blue cape of an Oriflamme Armiger which helped to put them at ease.

The new arrivals included two young men, one tall and one short, plus two petite girls. The young woman who wore a noble-looking dress then bent over with a sickly pale face. She covered her mouth as she ran to the nearest parapet facing the lake before leaning over the wooden battlements.

Laetitia could only see the girl's long snowy-white hair as she heard retching sounds from the girl throwing up.

''A Samaran?'' She pondered.

Laetitia had met a Samaran only once before -- a travelling merchant from the Grand Republic of Samara who stopped at her hometown. They were known by their distinctive unblemished white hair, which was quite rare among other human sub-species.

"I think you need to slow down with the teleports."

A deep voice which Laetitia recognized as Gerard's suggested from among the remaining three. The tall young man looked quite dashing today in his blue gambeson and a one-sided shoulder cape. It was the uniform of the new model army that Laetitita had recently heard about. And it made quite a difference from Gerard's usual well-worn clothes.

Perched atop his shoulder cape was a black raven with white feathers above its neck. It was Gerard's familiar, though Laetitia rarely saw the bird with its master.

"We already took two extra breaks," another familiar voice came from a short man in the group. He frowned with a mix of concern and exasperation before he shrugged: "you'd think she'd be used to it by now. It's like she's pregnant or something."

The redhead who spoke was a lean young man who clearly stood shorter than the average Lotharin male. Nevertheless, he seemed exuberant with energy as he stretched from side to side even as he stood in place. Beneath his short red hair were a pair of vivid-green eyes, lightly freckled cheeks, and a narrow, delicate nose above his open lips. His features combined for an innocent, boyish look better suited to an apprentice than an Oriflamme Armiger -- decorated men-at-arms who directly served one of the twelve Oriflamme Paladins of Rhin-Lotharingie.

Meanwhile, the other girl, who wore a maid's dress beneath a green cape, scurried to the bent-over young lady before giving the still-vomiting girl several sweeping strokes down her back.

"There, there, Milady," she spoke in a soothing tone.

It took a minute before the white-haired girl straightened her back. She wiped her lips with a handkerchief offered from the maid, then took several deep breaths and drew out the time between each inhale and exhale as if doing breathing exercises. Only after that did she turn back around. Her face still held a sickly pallor as she retorted in a soft and airy voice:

"Who are you calling pregnant!"

"That's rude. Her Ladyship is a proper virgin," her slightly taller maid declared as though she had personally verified it.

"AHHHhhh don't announce that either!"

The petite lady cried aloud -- though 'loud' was relative given her wispy voice -- as she covered the maid's lips with her small hands. Her pale cheeks had gone from ghostly white to burning scarlet in the span of seconds. Her entire face grew flustered and burned as though she was about to start giving off steam.

Meanwhile, both of the men had unsuccessfully tried to stifle their mirth before bursting out laughing. Even the maid had a merry look in her eyes as though she was about to start giggling, which her lady did not fail to notice.

"You've only met for a day and you're ganging up on me already!?"

"Ah, sorry, Kaede. You're just too fun to tease, and I wasn't even trying this time," the short armiger wiped a tear from his eyes. "But look on the bright side, at least you're not feeling sick anymore."

"My mouth still tastes rancid."

The snowy-haired girl reached into a messenger bag slung over her shoulder and pulled out a furry waterskin. The large, utilitarian leather bag looked completely out of place with her fancy dress, but she didn't seem to care.

The girl's outfit was a combination of white, bright blue, and soft pink. The garment was centered on a built-in corset that wrapped tightly around her narrow waist. A long and wide skirt that came in multiple layers descended down to ankle-level and almost hid her wedge boots. The skirt's sectioned outer panels displayed the Empire's phoenix heraldry. Meanwhile, her thin shoulders were wrapped in a tight bolero jacket and a 'blouse' attached to the corset, both with straight trim and stiff lines to give the air of a military uniform.

"I didn't get any on my dress, did I?" She then asked before rinsing with several mouthfuls.

"A little here, Milady," the maid pointed out.

"Ehhhh!?" The petite lady grew concerned. "This is the only formal dress that I have!"

"Here," Gerard walked over to her before kneeling down and placing his right hand over her lower dress. His casting glove glowed briefly as he enunciated in ancient Draconic: "''Cleanse''"

The simple spell easily expunged the small vomit stain from her dress.

"Thank you so much, Gerard," the lady said. "Her Highness will get mad at me if I meet nobles in a soiled dress."

"Think nothing of it," the tall officer stood back up with a gallant smile as he replied.

''Can't she cast it herself?'' Laetitia wondered as she watched them.

After all, ''Cleanse'' was a simple cantrip taught to every mage. Sure, not everyone could learn magic -- affinity for it had to be inherited -- but noble families all traced their bloodlines back to magical stock. A noble without magic was unthinkable, as magical talent was one of the chief markers of status. It was why commoners who did possess the gift, like her own family, were referred to as 'yeomen' to distinguish them above the rest.

"You know both Her Highness and Pascal would be ''happy'' to buy you more outfits," the shorter redhead grinned.

"Don't you say anything," the white-haired girl almost pouted. "I don't want to give either of them any encouragement, nor waste money on more clothing than I need."

"Your 'need' is like four outfits, Milady," the maid protested. "Might I suggest that we at least do better than that?"

''Did she grow up impoverished or something?'' Laetitia's imagination leapt to a young girl who lived off scraps of food scavenged in back alleys. It certainly explained the girl's short height and small stature in her mind's view.

''Poor thing.''

Nevertheless, the destitute girl's life had clearly changed, as the quality of her clothes alone made apparent. Her outfit was custom-tailored to her exact size and used only the finest fabrics and trim. The girl also wore several jewels -- rose-quartz floral earrings, a turquoise ring on her right hand, a brilliant star-sapphire brooch beneath her collar -- all of them in the highest quality.

Furthermore, Laetitia could tell from the light radiating from each gemstone that they were all ''enchanted''. Magic items were invariably expensive, as they could only be made by a mage with an affinity for object enhancement -- many of whom were nobles.

''But how could she sustain her magic items with mana if she's not a mage?'' Laetitia wondered.

Regardless, before she could speculate how the girl achieved such a huge leap in social status, Gerard walked over towards her and greeted:

"Morning, Laetitia, I'm glad to see you've been doing well since we last met."

"Afternoon, Sir Fournier," Laetitia smiled as she corrected him. "Glad to see you again as well!"

The tall engineer then moved past her and towards the gatehouse where he began talking to the sergeant on watch:

"I'm Captain Gerard Fournier, commanding officer of the new model army engineers, 1st company. With me are Sir Reynaud and..."

He was still talking when the armiger named Reynaud called out to Laetitia.

"Afternoon, Laetitia, meet your new charge," he announced as they walked up. "This is Dame Kaede Nikita Konstanstov, Konstantinov, novna--? Surkorska..." His eyes crossed as he struggled with the names before pivoting to the girl he was introducing. "Your name's too long!"

''And foreign,'' Laetitia thought as she had never heard of a name like that.

Kaede merely giggled before she reached out with a gloved hand.

"Just Kaede is fine. Reynaud has already told me loads about you."

Laetitia's eyebrows rose slightly as shaking hands with someone you've just met was a male custom among equals. However, it wasn't a female one, and certainly not between a noblewoman and a yeoman's daughter.

Nevertheless, she accepted the invite with both hands and vigorously shook Kaede's.

"Pleasure to meet you, Milady!"

''I didn't know fabric this smooth existed.'' Laetitia marveled as her fingers felt Kaede's silky white gloves. ''Is this how she keeps her skin so pristine?''

"This is Laetitia Leclerc. I met her on my last mission," Reynaud then introduced. "Never seen a girl who's so eager to become an armiger in service. But she's good, very good. So I'm assigning her to you as your bodyguard."

Slightly taller than the average Lotharin woman, Laetitia had a lean and sinewy physique common to martial arts practitioners. Her light-blonde hair had some tousled curls and would have reached halfway down her back had it not been pulled over her right shoulder in a loose braid. She had large peridot-green eyes with a delicate nose that people often complimented as pretty. Though her mother always complained that she'd be a true beauty if she just applied a little more daily care and makeup.

Laetitia carried a spear half again her height and bore a diamond-shaped bouche shield on her back. Her armor was almost form-fitting as she wore a shortened cuirass that went down to only her waist, emphasizing a greater need for agility than coverage. She had more steel covering her limbs and tassets over her layered and sectioned over-knee skirt. Her dress, however, was homesewn as it featured a combination of brightly layered cloth and gambeson-like padding.

"Why do I need..."

Kaede objected almost in reflex before trailing off into a scowl as she seemed to recognize the answer herself. However, that didn't stop Reynaud from lecturing her:

"Because you're useless when ambushed in close combat, to quote Her Highness," he said. "Becoming the Grand Squire means you now have a responsibility to keep yourself safe, as it would trouble others if something happened to you. And even if you weren't, there's still an incentive to kidnap you for your blood during such conflict-laden times."

''She really is Samaran then.''

Laetitia had heard that Samaran blood was a panacea that could cure any disease and even reverse aging. Though it was mostly used as a spell focus by healers as it improved the effectiveness of curative spells.

Meanwhile, Kaede looked a little down as she clearly didn't like being called 'useless'. Nevertheless, the petite girl kept a smile on her lips as she presented the maid beside her.

"This is Marina, my lady's maid."

"Delighted to make your acquaintance," Marina dipped down in a slight curtsy.

"Mine also," Laetita returned a friendly wave as she had never curtsied in her life.

The late-teen maid was a hint taller than Kaede and wore a classic frilled black-and-white dress. She had spring-green eyes and brunette hair loosely tied in two tails that slung before her shoulders. Her face was pretty and cute in a plain, village girl sort of way, which looked still innocent to the world at large. Regardless, with her unassuming appearance she could easily melt into a group of servants without being noticed.

"You and your companions are clear to enter, Sir," Laetitia then heard the sergeant declare from behind her as he handed a scrollcase back to the tall engineer.

"Come on, everyone," Gerard gestured for them. "Let's not loiter outside the gates."

"Let's go then," Kaede said as she led Marina towards the city's entrance.

Meanwhile, Reynaud moved closer to Laetitia until his brigandine pressed into her shoulders and he could whisper into her ear:

"Remember, you asked for this, so don't complain to me later when the hours suck."

The young man then pulled back slightly with a playful grin. "Kaede could be a bit handful at times, as she doesn't know her limits and doesn't follow common sense."

"I heard that!" Kaede's soft cry came from beyond the gate.

''How?'' Laetitia's eyes swelled as the girl should be well beyond earshot of Reynaud's hushed voice.

However, the redhead merely chuckled as he added:

"But she's a good person."

Laetitia's expression lit up in a sunny smile that beamed with appreciation. The twenty-four-years old girl from the boondocks thought back to the conversation they had a month ago, when Reynaud asked why she wanted to join his mission group. She had brought her grandfather's spear and shield. But almost every piece of armor she wore had been paid for by the young man standing before her.

"Thank you. I appreciate this so much," she lauded. "It's like a wish come true for me."

"Don't say that until you've lived the life, because it's not that easy," Reynaud smirked with a wink. "But welcome aboard, Laetitia. We'll be working together often from now on."

...

"I'm sorry, but that's all I can sell you with the new rationing in place," Laetitia heard a merchant cry outside a grain warehouse. A crowd had already gathered around him as others protested which forced her group to detour around.

"How are things here at the capital?" Reynaud then asked as they trekked through the open area in front of the docks.

The city of Alis Avern might not be a bustling center of commerce or an overpopulated metropolis, but it was nevertheless the capital of the Empire of Rhin-Lotharingie. Situated on the northeastern tip of an island in the middle of Lake Alise, the largest lake in Western Hyperion, the city was built on a south-facing slope and enveloped by water and cliffs on three sides. It was on this excellent defensive position that the Averni tribe built the settlement many centuries ago, after they fled from Imperial forces in the aftermath of a catastrophic uprising.

However, aside from the famous Oriflamme Citadel which dominated the city from atop its rocky crag, the capital had no other impressive structures that truly stood out. Most buildings were wooden with thatched roofs raised two stories high. Most alleys were narrow and meandered between buildings with no pre-planning. Homes were crammed onto the hillside like stepping stones. And even the single main avenue that zigzagged uphill could barely manage two wagons passing side-by-side.

''It's honestly disappointing,'' Laetitia thought, as she had left her hometown in hopes of seeing the world and experiencing its wonders.

"Nervous, to say the least," the girl replied to Reynaud as she glanced around.

Most of the residents of the city were either rushing about, or murmuring quietly to each other as they looked upon the small group of officers, armigers, and one young noble with her maid.

"News about the Imperium's declaration of war has spread among the civilians this morning," she continued. "Many seemed pessimistic if not frightened by what this means for our battered country. However, Her Highness the Princess opened the castle's great chapel to residents this morning for the Resurrection Day service. And at its conclusion, she addressed the residents with quite an inspiring speech."

Laetitia thought back to the church service that she attended along with thousands of others. It was the first time she had seen the elegant 'Cerulean Princess' in person.

"The mood seems to have calmed a little after seeing the Princess' composure. Many people are working hard today despite the holiday to support the war effort," she said before looking towards the city's docks.

The harbor infrastructure had been expanded over the past month under Gerard's command. Hundreds of laborers, many of them women and older children, were busy transferring supplies between boats and loading equipment onto barges even as they spoke.

"Nevertheless, there are many rumors flying around on what's happening, such as how the Imperium and the Caliphate are preparing a joint offensive." Laetitia frowned as even she couldn't help feeling worried about that claim. It would easily doom any possibility that the Empire could emerge victorious from this conflict.

"There's no way that's true," Kaede replied before diving into an impromptu historical lecture.

"The Imperium and the Caliphate are mortal enemies who have hated each other since the rise of the Tauheed Prophet. The Caliphate could even trace its origins to a revolt against the Imperium on the southern continent of Euryphaessa. Between the Southern Suppression Campaign, the Wasteland War, three Trinitian Crusades, two Tauheed Holy Wars, and numerous other conflicts, the Imperium has far more Tauheed blood and genocidal atrocities on its hands than they could ever accuse our Empire of. It would take an outright miracle for those two to work together."

Laetitia zoned out a little as the speech dragged on. Though it didn't escape her notice that the more Kaede talked about history, the more lively and animated the petite girl became.

"The only problem is that they just happen to have a mutual enemy in us at the current moment," the snowy-haired Samaran added with a frown as her voice grew thoughtful. "Which we ''really'' need to resolve as quickly as possible."

"Much easier said than done," Reynaud countered. "The Caliphate is occupying more than six duchies' of our land in the south, which we must first retake."

"''If'' we can retake them," Kaede murmured quietly.

"How can you doubt our soldiers at a moment like this?" Reynaud rebutted.

"I'm being realistic," Kaede replied in a faint but serious voice. "We must examine only facts when considering strategy. And if trading land would give us the peace that we desperately need to develop our nation's strength..."

"That's traitor talk--" Reynaud's voice was fast rising when Gerard interrupted him:

"Not again, you two. You were at it for two whole hours yesterday. Give it a rest!" Gerard insisted as he led the group. He then changed the subject: "by the way, Reynaud, why didn't we use the upper teleportation beacon? The one just outside the castle? You'd easily get permission."

"Because it's inactive today," the redhead replied. "The wards there are being adjusted."

Laetitia knew that teleportation beacons were used by mages, especially Wayfarers, to lock onto their destination, even those they had never visited. With a beacon, the risk of mishaps vanished; no chance of arriving with one's feet embedded in stone. But inside a fortified settlement like this, the small area around a beacon was also the only place where teleportation was permitted. The rest of the urban sprawl within the walls would be warded by a ''Lockdown'' spell, which bounced off inbound teleportation magic.

As the group turned around a corner and made their way towards the city's main gates, a hauntingly long yet melodic sound resonated across the air. A series of loud clicking noises followed which drew everybody's attention skyward. A humongous flying creature in the distance then emerged into view from behind the gargantuan rock that the Oriflamme Citadel sat on top of.

The colossal beast looked more like a creature of the sea than a bird. Its long gray body was sleek and hydrodynamic and it had a tail that looked appropriate for a giant fish. It had two short fins which reached down to the sides just behind a massively bulky head. Tentacle-like appendages ran around the front of the head like long mustaches, while below them was a thin jaw that opened to emit another beautifully haunting melody.

A steel-framed wooden structure was also strapped beneath the belly of the beast. Its size rivalled that of a wealthy family's home and could easily accommodate a dozen or more rooms. Support beams wrapped around the sides and back the monster which held the gondola in place. It was clear the animal was being used as a tamed beast of burden.

"Is that... a skywhale?"

Laetitia whispered in awe as she stared up at the gargantuan animal that she had only heard about in her grandfather's war stories. Meanwhile, her legs suddenly halted as though she forgot how to walk.

"That looks like Marianna," Reynaud smiled as the others stopped to look as well.

"Your father's skywhale?" Kaede asked.

"Yep!" The short armiger nodded. "Which means King Alistair is likely onboard."

"Why doesn't he ever arrive by Wayfarer like a normal person?" Gerard pondered aloud.

"Because he has to travel in ''style''," Reynaud swung one arm excitedly across his chest as he clearly approved. "Besides, it's good for the city's morale."

"Can I ride on it later?" Laetitia asked with a starry-eyed gaze.

"Of course," Reynaud answered. "I'll even give you a tour."

"Yes!"

Laetitia pumped both hands as she returned to admiring the gigantic beast. The skywhale flapped its tail as it descended towards the city from several hundred paces up. The girl could just make out the weapon ports that opened to the side of the skywhale's gondola. There were also two ballistae mounted towards the front of the structure, just behind an observation deck lined by glass windows.

"Is that a baby flying beside it?" Kaede pointed.

"A baby!?"

It took a moment before the ecstatic Laetitia noticed the much smaller skywhale which flew alongside the parent. Their dark-gray bodies blended together in the distance as the calf laid in close contact against the mother's side.

"That's Priscilla, my familiar," Reynaud beamed like a proud father. "She's almost nine months old now."

"I thought mages usually kept their familiars with them?" Kaede asked as she looked towards Gerard's raven.

"Pascal doesn't with you," Reynaud jokingly replied.

Laetitia's eyebrows rose slightly as she wasn't sure what he had meant. However, the girl was too entranced by the adorable baby skywhale to even ask. Familiars were widely considered a nobles' tradition, as maintaining a large or exotic familiar could be quite expensive. But at this moment, she couldn't help wondering what she might summon if she tried.

"Besides, I realized I couldn't substitute for a skywhale's nutritious milk," Reynaud added. "Best she stays with her mother until she grows up more."

"Breast-envy, huh?" Gerard commented flatly. "It's no wonder you prefer girls with big boobs."

"I like big breasts and I cannot lie." Reynaud smiled with his palms raised in a shrug.

"Does that apply when you dress as a girl too?" Gerard asked next. "Like when you almost did during our last mission?"

The mere thought of the short young man with stuffed breasts the size of cantaloupes made Laetitia chortle. She wasn't the only one either as both of the other girls started laughing.

"That was only so we could infiltrate an enemy camp!" Reynaud retorted. "Don't give the girls the wrong impression of me!"

"Bit late for that." Kaede beamed a mirthful smile.

Nevertheless, the young lady refrained from picking on him further. Then, as another melodic song rang out from the skywhale, the maid Marina asked:

"I'm surprised you can summon a baby for a familiar. I'd feel bad for its mother."

"Not normally. But I knew Priscilla before I summoned her for my familiar ceremony. Though it did still spook Marianna," Reynaud gave an apologetic shrug. "The only way to tame a skywhale is by binding it as a familiar while it's still very young, before they develop their own ability to channel magic during puberty, which is what allows them to fly -- though Priscilla is floating on Marianna's magic right now. Once they do that, the mutual repulsion from different mana sources makes it impossible to bind them as a familiar."

After all, what separates the magical from the mundane is the presence of mana. The ability to gather ether, which could be found throughout nature, and refine it into mana was what defined mages. And mana in turn could be shaped to create miraculous phenomenons through the process known as 'spellcraft'.

Laetitia never fully understood the process, but she knew mana always dissipated back into ether over time when not stored within a special receptacle. Mages and magical creatures alike use their own bodies as such a receptacle, to ensure they'd always have a reserve on hand for spellcraft. However, with few exceptions, mana that came from different sources also repelled one another like same-pole magnets. This gave every mage and magical creature resistance to direct physical-altering or mind-affecting magic, which included the binding of a familiar ritual spell.

"There are even people who believe the skywhales' singing and clicking is actually a spoken language, and not merely animal noises," Reynaud continued excitedly. "Unfortunately, I don't think anyone has been able to decipher it to confirm."

''That's still amazing!''

Laetitia was still staring at the skywhales alongside the others, when she felt a faint breeze as the petite lady walked away behind her.

"Cecylia?"

The armiger turned around just in time to glimpse Kaede ask a girl in a nun's habit. The sister had a quill and parchment in hand as she stared at a wooden price board in front of a nearby warehouse. The name from Kaede's wispy voice immediately drew the attention of the nun. She spun around to look at the white-haired girl. And within a split second, her eyes, which had been a tranquil blue, flashed a crimson-red glow that accentuated a pair of tiny crosses in her irises.

''A dhampir?''

Laetitia thought back to the sermons from her Church pastor on how the dhampirs were the descendants of demon-tainted vampires. They had crosses in their eyes from the Church's seal which allegedly quenched their thirst for blood. Nevertheless, they bore the guilt of their ancestors who whored themselves to evil during the Demonic Invasion. And even today, it's said that few of them would ever live a clean life as the corruption in their blood pulled them towards sin.

Alarm bells began to sound in the armiger's head as she clenched her spear. But the sister had already grabbed Kaede by the wrist and began to sprint. The petite girl seemed to offer no resistance as the nun yanked her towards an alley between two warehouses.

"Milady!?"

Laetitia thought of how she had only become an armiger for a few minutes yet her lady was ''already'' being abducted! She gripped her spear shaft and ripped it off the cords that held it on her back. The young woman immediately gave chase just as Kaede and her assailant vanished around a pile of large wooden crates.

It wasn't hard to grasp why a blood-drinker would want to kidnap a Samaran. Laetitia's mind imagined Kaede being suspended and tied up like a hog, while her blood slowly drained into an ornate wine glass.

''She's going to become literal 'health food'!''

The bodyguard had to get her charge back and quickly at that.

"''Cyclone Lift Burst!''"

Laetitia pointed her casting glove down at the ground as she spoke the mnemonic phrase in Draconic. Her nerves tingled and she felt mana coursing through her body. She had previously rehearsed each spellword a thousand times until the process became ingrained. A cool, rushing sensation began from her lower ribs before spiraling up to her neck and then coming back the center of her chest.

The drawing of mana shaped the three-word spell before she forced the magic to pass through the casting focus of her right glove -- which helped to concentrate the spell's mana so it didn't quickly dissipate back into ether.

A blast of wind battered the stone-paved ground as the expelling force launched Laetitia into the air. Within seconds, the girl found herself fifty paces above ground as she looked down upon the rooftops of the harbor district. She spotted Kaede's brightly-colored dress with ease as the young lady was still being pulled by the sister. Laetitia shifted the lingering vestiges of her wind spell to adjust her parabolic trajectory before she fell towards the ground.

"''Smiting Dispel. Air Cushion.''"

The armiger cast a second spell to infuse her spear with antimagic to break through any wards that her opponent might have. Her third spell followed after to slow her landing before she could crash into the ground. The timing was perfect as the magic slowed her just enough for a soft landing without delaying her much. Laetitia came down right in front of the escaping dhampir and slashed her spear straight at the kidnapper's throat.

The sister raised her left arm and a blade ejected from her sleeve to block with a steel clang. However, the dhampir's guard was weak and came late. And Laetitia's speartip almost reached the nun's neck before she stopped.

"What kind of a sister carries a wristblade?" Laetitia challenged. "Surrender, villain."

Yet, the girl in nun's habit showed no sign of acquiescence as she stared back calmly despite her heavy breathing. Her blue eyes fell away to a crimson-red as the ''Dispel'' spell ripped away the illusory glamor that disguised the girl's true visage. Gone were her brown bangs and the freckles on her cheeks. Even her lips seemed to change slightly, as she smiled in just the right manner to reveal a small fang that was too sharp to be the canine of a regular human.

And most telling of all -- there were two tiny scarlet-red crosses in her dark-ruby eyes which lit up once more.

Laetitita broke eye contact just in time as she noticed the dhampir's pupils glow. She still caught an inkling of the evil eye magic and felt disoriented for a moment. Nevertheless, the armiger pulled back her spear and prepared to thrust again. And this time, there would be no warning strike.

"Stooop!"

A soft voice cried out as Kaede stumbled forward. The young lady placed herself just in front of the fake nun which immediately stopped Laetitia's attack.

"Milady, step aside. She's a dhampir!"

"Y-yes, I-I know," Kaede replied as she doubled over panting with her lungs completely out of breath. "Ju-just wait.... and l-let me... explain."

It took a half minute before Kaede could recover enough to where she could properly speak. She stood back straight as she turned to the fake nun in the empty back alley.

"Sheesh, Cecylia... couldn't you at least... let me get a word in...?" Kaede gasped breathlessly in between phrases. "You know I can't... run when I'm wearing a corset!"

Meanwhile, the dhampir named Cecylia retracted her wristblade back into her tight sleeve. She pulled a ruby pendant from her neck and tapped it. The nun's habit she wore began to glow before it vanished into a glowing cloud of crimson-red mana. The magic was then drawn into the gemstone even as another wave of red mana poured out. They solidified around her thin figure into a black military uniform with an ankle-length wide skirt.

A hint taller than Kaede and looking about twenty years in age, Cecylia had glossy black hair that reached her shoulders in front but was tied back by a large red ribbon in the rear. She was below average in height and had a fragile-looking figure as well. Her skin was fair to the point of bearing a translucent silky sheen, which laid in sharp contrast to her black uniform. Her dainty nose and lips might have looked cute, but her vibrant, dark-ruby eyes held two crossed pupils which gave off a dangerous yet alluring gaze.

"How did you notice it was me?"

"Your footsteps plus... the way you twirled the quill... drew my attention," Kaede said. "And I noticed... the faint traces of the cross... seal in your pupils."

"Your senses are way too sharp, Kaede," the dhampir sighed with a wistful smile as she whined with the lighthearted soprano of a teenage girl. "And who's the spear-carrier?"

"Laetitia. Reynaud had assigned her to me as bodyguard... like literally ten minutes ago."

Kaede then turned around to face the armiger, just as Reynaud rushed into sight behind them before he calmly slowed to a walk.

"Laetitia, this is Captain Cecylia Renata von Falkenhausen, military attaché to the ambassador from the Kingdom of Weichsel, our allies to the east."

"Major now, actually," Cecylia added with a bright smile.

"Congratulations," Kaede beamed.

"What's an embassy staff doing spying?" Laetitia finally raised her speartip skyward and took a more neutral pose.

"All embassy staff are technically spies," Cecylia wagged a finger as her smile turned quirky. "Don't they teach you anything in this country?"

Laetitia could only look confused as she didn't understand what the girl was talking about.

"Embassies, by their nature, are used by the sending nation to collect information on the host country," Cecylia began to explain. "It's why embassies are always a quid-pro-quo exchange, as they're used to establish networks of both legal and illegal residents.

"I'm what you'd call a 'legal resident'," she proudly placed a gloved hand on her chest. "The Empire knows who I am and what I'm doing here -- collecting information for my King to facilitate decision-making back home. However, the fact that I'm here openly doesn't stop me from doing some clandestine information gathering from time to time."

Legal spy or not, the girl seemed remarkably frank with Laetitia about her status. Nevertheless, the bodyguard tightened her grip on her upright spear as she thought:

''You're still a dhampir, and not to be trusted.''

"Hello, Cecylia," Reynaud finally greeted as he drew near, while Gerard and Marina followed some distance behind them. "Why are you always around when there's commotion in the city?"

"Hiyo, Reynaud, Gerard," Cecylia greeted like old acquaintances. "It's my job."

"Laetitia, you don't have to be so on-guard with this one." Reynaud noticed the girl's grip. "She's actually a friend of our Princess and Prince Consort."

''Why would Her Highness associate with such sinners?'' Laetitia frowned.

"What ''were'' you doing earlier anyway?" Kaede then asked.

"I was collecting data on commodity prices, to track inflation and identify those who shamelessly profiteer from the war," Cecylia replied. "It's easier when nobody pays attention to me. I dragged you off as I was hoping to keep my cover. Though I doubt that after what you've all done."

Then, in that moment, the dhampir girl seemed to recognize Marina walking in behind Gerard and narrowed her gaze. Laetitia had barely caught it, but Cecylia's dark-ruby eyes shot a warning glare at the innocuous maid. And the latter virtually froze midstep in fright and turned pale as though she'd seen a ghost.

There was clearly a history between those two girls as well. Perhaps the maid also wasn't as innocent as she appeared to be. Though regardless of what the story was, Laetitia felt certain it was the dhampir's fault.

<nowiki>----- * * * -----</nowiki>

"Welcome to Oriflamme Citadel, Your Excellency."

The officer at the gates saluted as Laetitia followed Kaede into the castle.

"Thank you," the petite lady nodded with courtesy.

The Oriflamme Citadel was built atop a single, gargantuan rock that formed the northernmost tip of the island. Built entirely from blue granite, the stone fortress was almost boring in its utilitarian design which looked nothing like an imperial palace. It had a curtain wall with twelve towers, each devoted to one of the twelve sacred phoenixes of the Empire of Rhin-Lotharingie. And within its center was a huge, hexagonal keep about four stories tall.

Their trip to the citadel had taken longer than expected. In addition to the incident with Cecylia, they also ran thrice into crowds that argued about the new food rationing policies outside local shops -- two of which had blocked off the narrow road. It showed that despite the relative calm on the surface, there were deep-seated anxieties from the city's residents about the war.

Even Laetitia felt rather nervous as she stepped into the castle, though her reasons were entirely different. Sure, she had been inside during this morning's service. But that was alongside thousands of others who overflowed into the courtyard from the great chapel. Meanwhile, she had little doubt that her new liege, Dame Kaede, would be meeting the Empire's dignitaries in person.

Nevertheless, as the group emerged from the gatehouse, Laetitia heard a calming aria beginning to reverberate through the air. It started with a viol and was quickly joined by a harpsichord. Both sounds came from some distance away, yet they rang with perfect clarity as though their notes were carried by the wind.

-- And the more she listened to the soothing melody, the more she felt her nerves mellowing away as though she stood in a gentle breeze.

"There's mana laced into the music," the armiger muttered in astonishment as she finally realized. "I didn't even know there's a spell that could do that..."

Thanks to the repulsion property of mana, all mages had a natural resistance towards spells of the enchantment school which affected the mind. Yet, somehow the magical melody seemed to calm her nerves without being diminished.

"That must be Vivienne." Kaede turned to her bodyguard with a reassuring smile. "She's the youngest of the Oriflamme Paladins, and known as the ''Winter Siren'' for good reason."

"Also your twin," Gerard chuckled.

Kaede looked at him like he should know better.

"She only ''looks'' like me... Well, almost exactly like me," the young lady responded sheepishly before a low, whistling chirp drew their attention skyward.

Laetitia looked up and saw two birds with burning-blue feathers flying towards the music. Like every child born within the Empire of Rhin-Lotharingie, she had learned about the phoenixes who were considered the guardians of the realm. They chose the twelve Oriflamme Paladins of the Empire by becoming their familiars, with one phoenix always selecting a successor to the crown.

"They're so pretty..." the young woman admired.

She had always wished that she could summon a phoenix and become a paladin just like her namesake. But... What were the chances of someone like her passing the test of a phoenix?

"That's Hauteclaire and Almace," Kaede observed before turning towards Reynaud. "King Alistair must have arrived with Marianna."

"I'll go meet my father once you're off then," he replied.

Laetitia recognized the smaller of the two birds as the Princess' own phoenix. She had seen them this morning from a distance during the church service. The familiar was the reason Sylviane was called the 'Cerulean Princess', as a phoenix merged with its master during combat and enshrouded them in a flaming aura of its color.

Regardless, since the passing of the late Emperor Geoffroi the Great at the hands of his traitorous brother Gabriel, Rhin-Lotharingie had only nine paladins. The Crown Princess had avenged her father's death at the conclusion of the civil war a mere month ago, but she had yet to formally take the crown.

After walking across the paved plaza just inside the gates, Laetitia's group took one of the stone paths heading east. The road wound through a sparse grove of apple trees in spring bloom as it headed towards the keep's south entrance. And as they drew closer, Laetitia began to hear two male voices in conversation:

"--Her Highness has already approved your proposal then?"

"Yes," a younger voice replied. "Sylv has already pushed it through the council with 7:2 approval and signed it into law under the name 'Military Adoption Act'. It will be announced throughout the Empire starting tomorrow."

But rather than sounding pleased, the speaker seemed wistful about the news.

"Rhin-Lotharingie will never be able to afford military orphanages in the same way Weichsel does," the first man counseled as his figure came into view. He was in his late 'forties' with a large and balding forehead. Though his body was still quite fit as he wore a tightly buckled black uniform with crimson highlights and black leather jackboots.

"The Empire's finances are stretched thin as is," he added. "To subsidize the adoption of orphans left behind by soldiers who died in service is the best option that you had. And it was a good call to add a bonus when the adoption is done by a war widow, considering how little they receive right now."

"It is not enough," replied the other in a mournful voice that mixed oddly with his aristocratic drawl. "The Empire is losing ten thousand men a month in this war. Entire banners recruited from villages are being thrown into the grinder and wiped out. Those soldiers fought bravely yet do not even have assurances that the families they leave behind are properly taken care of. It is a travesty that I cannot and will not tolerate!" He finished as he clenched his hand into a fist.

The speaker was a young noble around twenty years of age, who looked like he had stepped out of a painting of military romanticism. He sat regally atop the granite steps leading into the castle like it was his throne. His build was lean and fit with broad shoulders clad in an immaculate crimson-on-black military uniform. His graceful features were framed by golden wavy hair which ran just long enough to obscure his ears. A black cross with white edges hung between his folded collars as a medal of valor, while a single gold star decorated his crimson shoulder insignias.

Yet, despite his apparent youth, the young man already looked scarred by conflict. Laetitia noticed his right hand trembling faintly as he unravelled his fist. His left eye was a stormy turquoise filled with turbulence as he scowled, while his right eye was covered by a black eyepatch which gave him a rather dangerous look.

''They're Weichsens.''

Laetitia realized as she noticed the similarities between the two men's black uniforms and Cecylia's. Though the dhampir's outfit did not have crimson highlights like the two male officers. All three were clearly visitors from the Empire's ally, the Kingdom of Weichsel.

She also remembered seeing the young noble with the black eyepatch from this morning. ''Didn't he sit next to the Princess during church service?''

"The Lotharins are tough people. And speaking of, Your Grace has visitors." The older officer smiled as he raised a friendly gesture towards Laetitia's group. "I'll leave you be then. Say hello to Kaede for me."

He then walked away into the castle as though he didn't want to intrude.

At the mention of Kaede's name, the young nobleman immediately spun his head around to face Laetitia's group. His good eye widened as he saw the white-haired girl, and a faint shine of yearning entered his turquoise gaze as he cried out:

"You are late!"

"I'm sorry."

Kaede scurried forward as the young nobleman picked up a walking cane from beside him. He pressed his weight into it as he slowly stood up. Meanwhile, the snowy-haired girl ran up to his side and gave him a hand.

"I felt you enter the city over an hour ago!" The noble added with an impatient frown. "What were you doing taking your sweet time?"

"Some of that's my fault, sorry." Cecylia smiled but she didn't sound apologetic at all. "I kind of kidnapped her."

"Were you waiting outside for me this whole time?" Kaede asked.

"Yes!" The young nobleman scowled. "I had not expected to be kept waiting for so long. It was good of Lieutenant-Colonel Ostergalen to keep me company, so we could at least discuss policy and strategy."

''He must have been recovering from wounds.'' Laetitia considered the young man's stiff motions looked more like those of an elderly man than someone in their twenties. It was sadly all too common a sight these days.

Kaede also held supportively onto the noble's arm which looked more than a little awkward. The short girl was trying to lift the arm of a man who was noticeably taller than the male average. There was enough height difference between them that he could easily use her shoulders as an armrest.

"Hans is a Lieutenant-Colonel again?" She beamed genuine joy as she helped him find a steady footing. "I'll need to congratulate him later. But in the meantime, how's it feel to become the youngest general in Weichsel's history? You've made brigadier at only age twenty!"

"As it should be," the self-assured nobleman responded with a haughty smirk. "Any later and I would have been disappointed."

"I'm informing the King that you said that." Cecylia giggled.

"His Majesty is the one who wrote that he 'expected great things from me' in his personal letter," the young nobleman proudly announced. "And you need not support me, Kaede. My recovery has gone well for the past month and I can walk without a cane again. A return to my daily regime surprisingly works wonders."

Laetitia briefly closed her eyes to concentrate. She pointed towards Reynaud, who was already gesturing to Gerard towards leaving, as she silently spoke to herself.

''Telepathy.''

Her spell formed a connection which was immediately accepted by the receiver. And she took advantage to ask him over their private channel:

"<Who is he anyway?>"

"<Pascal Kay Lennart von Moltewitz,>" the redhead's voice spoke directly inside her mind. "<He's the Landgrave of Nordkreuz in Weichsel -- treat him as you would a duke. He's also the Crown Prince Consort, or will be, as he's betrothed to our Princess.>"

''The Dusklord?''

Laetitia blinked in surprise as she stared at the noble with the eyepatch. The handsome young man was a far cry from the cruel and villainous tyrant that she had imagined. She had heard stories of how he had slaughtered over 10,000 men, enemies and allies alike, with a ''single spell'' of such destructive power that it blocked out the midday sun.

Yet, the Pascal before her was all smiles as he rubbed Kaede's snowy-white hair with a gentle hand. Then, perhaps even more surprising, he leaned down and gave the petite girl an all-encompassing hug around the waist that almost picked her off the ground.

"Welcome back, Kaede." His voice was so tender and affectionate that it sounded like they were lovers.

"I'm back, Pascal." The girl stood on her tiptoes as she accepted his embrace and leaned her cheek against his chest.

''Are they...?''

Laetitia had heard that royalty and the nobility often kept mistresses. But surely the future ''Prince Consort'' wouldn't flaunt such a relationship before he was even married? It made her raise an eyebrow as she looked towards Reynaud once more.

However, the royal armiger who directly served the Princess was also smiling as he watched the two embrace, and so were Cecylia and the departing Gerard and even the maid Marina.

''Am I misunderstanding something?'' Laetitia thought before asking: "<Just what is their relationship anyway?>"

Reynaud looked back at her and almost chuckled before he explained it over telepathy. Though the words themselves made no sense at all and left even her imagination unable to fill the gap.

"<Kaede is Pascal's familiar.>"

===Author's History Notes===

Tauheed - Based on the Arabic word Tawhid, or 'oneness [of God]'. It is Islam's most important concept, that there is a single universal God and a single absolute truth. The Tauheed Prophet is of course analogous to Islam's final prophet Muhammad.

Hyperion and Euryphaessa - The two major continents of this world are named after the Titans Hyperion ('he who goes before') and his spouse Euryphaessa ('wide-shining'). Many of the Dragonlords in the setting's history are also named after the titans. This is due to the fundamental question asked in the Daybreak setting - ''How would humanity develop if the titans won the Titanomachy and bestowed humanity with the gift of magic?''

Whale Language - Biologists in recent years have noticed that whales use sequences of clicks, or Codas, similar to that of how humans use vowels and diphthongs. And they occur in similar statistical distributions as in human languages, leading to the theory that whales have an actual complex language.

Embassies and Residents - Residents are leaders of intelligence units stationed in foreign nations, usually at an embassy. They manage individual networks of agents and assets. They're divided into legal residents (who have official diplomatic cover and immunity) vs illegal residents (deep cover).

Landgrave - A title from the Holy Roman Empire that roughly means 'territorial Count', except answering directly to the Emperor.

Daybreak:Volume 5 Chapter 2

2025-10-16T03:00:11Z

Aorii: Created page with "===Chapter 2 - A Familiar Squire=== ''"Historians remain at loss as to the origin of Dame Kaede Nikita Konstantinovna Suvorskaya. Though it is common for Samarans to live an unassuming life, not a trace of the girl could be found before Year 566 of the Faith Age. The earliest record shows that she appeared in Alisia Academy in the autumn of that year. And despite the girl's quiet demeanor which could easily pass for a wallflower, her actions have carried consequences th..."

===Chapter 2 - A Familiar Squire===

''"Historians remain at loss as to the origin of Dame Kaede Nikita Konstantinovna Suvorskaya. Though it is common for Samarans to live an unassuming life, not a trace of the girl could be found before Year 566 of the Faith Age. The earliest record shows that she appeared in Alisia Academy in the autumn of that year. And despite the girl's quiet demeanor which could easily pass for a wallflower, her actions have carried consequences that have since reverberated through the history of the West."''

- Yue Yuling, ''Journey to the West, Part II: Thunder of the Great War'', written after her embassy to Western Hyperion from the Dawn Imperium in the Far East.

''They're late...''

Laetitia turned towards the busy docks as she played with her braid in the strong headwind from the lake. The skies were clear and the sun was at its highest point at half past noon. But the person she waited on had yet to arrive.

The girl absentmindedly twirled the spear in her hands as she stood near a stone gatehouse built like a keep. The guards there kept a watchful eye on both sides as they watched both the docks district and the small bailey that housed the teleportation beacon obelisk.

Several of the soldiers eyed her cautiously as she wasn't part of the city's garrison or militia. Nevertheless, she wore a gambeson in Lotharin blue beneath her steel cuirass and spaulders, while the shield on her back bore the phoenix crest.

"Hey girl," the gruff sergeant in command of the checkpoint called out. "Who are you waiting..."

His cry trailed off as a clear ringing chimed from the magical wards linked to the teleportation beacon outside. A small group of four suddenly materialized from thin air around the stone obelisk. The soldiers on watch immediately grew alert as they spotted the four figures who unlinked their hands. One of them wore the feathered blue cape of an Oriflamme Armiger which helped to put them at ease.

The new arrivals included two young men, one tall and one short, plus two petite girls. The young woman who wore a noble-looking dress then bent over with a sickly pale face. She covered her mouth as she ran to the nearest parapet facing the lake before leaning over the wooden battlements.

Laetitia could only see the girl's long snowy-white hair as she heard retching sounds from the girl throwing up.

''A Samaran?'' She pondered.

Laetitia had met a Samaran only once before -- a travelling merchant from the Grand Republic of Samara who stopped at her hometown. They were known by their distinctive unblemished white hair, which was quite rare among other human sub-species.

"I think you need to slow down with the teleports."

A deep voice which Laetitia recognized as Gerard's suggested from among the remaining three. The tall young man looked quite dashing today in his blue gambeson and a one-sided shoulder cape. It was the uniform of the new model army that Laetitita had recently heard about. And it made quite a difference from Gerard's usual well-worn clothes.

Perched atop his shoulder cape was a black raven with white feathers above its neck. It was Gerard's familiar, though Laetitia rarely saw the bird with its master.

"We already took two extra breaks," another familiar voice came from a short man in the group. He frowned with a mix of concern and exasperation before he shrugged: "you'd think she'd be used to it by now. It's like she's pregnant or something."

The redhead who spoke was a lean young man who clearly stood shorter than the average Lotharin male. Nevertheless, he seemed exuberant with energy as he stretched from side to side even as he stood in place. Beneath his short red hair were a pair of vivid-green eyes, lightly freckled cheeks, and a narrow, delicate nose above his open lips. His features combined for an innocent, boyish look better suited to an apprentice than an Oriflamme Armiger -- decorated men-at-arms who directly served one of the twelve Oriflamme Paladins of Rhin-Lotharingie.

Meanwhile, the other girl, who wore a maid's dress beneath a green cape, scurried to the bent-over young lady before giving the still-vomiting girl several sweeping strokes down her back.

"There, there, Milady," she spoke in a soothing tone.

It took a minute before the white-haired girl straightened her back. She wiped her lips with a handkerchief offered from the maid, then took several deep breaths and drew out the time between each inhale and exhale as if doing breathing exercises. Only after that did she turn back around. Her face still held a sickly pallor as she retorted in a soft and airy voice:

"Who are you calling pregnant!"

"That's rude. Her Ladyship is a proper virgin," her slightly taller maid declared as though she had personally verified it.

"AHHHhhh don't announce that either!"

The petite lady cried aloud -- though 'loud' was relative given her wispy voice -- as she covered the maid's lips with her small hands. Her pale cheeks had gone from ghostly white to burning scarlet in the span of seconds. Her entire face grew flustered and burned as though she was about to start giving off steam.

Meanwhile, both of the men had unsuccessfully tried to stifle their mirth before bursting out laughing. Even the maid had a merry look in her eyes as though she was about to start giggling, which her lady did not fail to notice.

"You've only met for a day and you're ganging up on me already!?"

"Ah, sorry, Kaede. You're just too fun to tease, and I wasn't even trying this time," the short armiger wiped a tear from his eyes. "But look on the bright side, at least you're not feeling sick anymore."

"My mouth still tastes rancid."

The snowy-haired girl reached into a messenger bag slung over her shoulder and pulled out a furry waterskin. The large, utilitarian leather bag looked completely out of place with her fancy dress, but she didn't seem to care.

The girl's outfit was a combination of white, bright blue, and soft pink. The garment was centered on a built-in corset that wrapped tightly around her narrow waist. A long and wide skirt that came in multiple layers descended down to ankle-level and almost hid her wedge boots. The skirt's sectioned outer panels displayed the Empire's phoenix heraldry. Meanwhile, her thin shoulders were wrapped in a tight bolero jacket and a 'blouse' attached to the corset, both with straight trim and stiff lines to give the air of a military uniform.

"I didn't get any on my dress, did I?" She then asked before rinsing with several mouthfuls.

"A little here, Milady," the maid pointed out.

"Ehhhh!?" The petite lady grew concerned. "This is the only formal dress that I have!"

"Here," Gerard walked over to her before kneeling down and placing his right hand over her lower dress. His casting glove glowed briefly as he enunciated in ancient Draconic: "''Cleanse''"

The simple spell easily expunged the small vomit stain from her dress.

"Thank you so much, Gerard," the lady said. "Her Highness will get mad at me if I meet nobles in a soiled dress."

"Think nothing of it," the tall officer stood back up with a gallant smile as he replied.

''Can't she cast it herself?'' Laetitia wondered as she watched them.

After all, ''Cleanse'' was a simple cantrip taught to every mage. Sure, not everyone could learn magic -- affinity for it had to be inherited -- but noble families all traced their bloodlines back to magical stock. A noble without magic was unthinkable, as magical talent was one of the chief markers of status. It was why commoners who did possess the gift, like her own family, were referred to as 'yeomen' to distinguish them above the rest.

"You know both Her Highness and Pascal would be ''happy'' to buy you more outfits," the shorter redhead grinned.

"Don't you say anything," the white-haired girl almost pouted. "I don't want to give either of them any encouragement, nor waste money on more clothing than I need."

"Your 'need' is like four outfits, Milady," the maid protested. "Might I suggest that we at least do better than that?"

''Did she grow up impoverished or something?'' Laetitia's imagination leapt to a young girl who lived off scraps of food scavenged in back alleys. It certainly explained the girl's short height and small stature in her mind's view.

''Poor thing.''

Nevertheless, the destitute girl's life had clearly changed, as the quality of her clothes alone made apparent. Her outfit was custom-tailored to her exact size and used only the finest fabrics and trim. The girl also wore several jewels -- rose-quartz floral earrings, a turquoise ring on her right hand, a brilliant star-sapphire brooch beneath her collar -- all of them in the highest quality.

Furthermore, Laetitia could tell from the light radiating from each gemstone that they were all ''enchanted''. Magic items were invariably expensive, as they could only be made by a mage with an affinity for object enhancement -- many of whom were nobles.

''But how could she sustain her magic items with mana if she's not a mage?'' Laetitia wondered.

Regardless, before she could speculate how the girl achieved such a huge leap in social status, Gerard walked over towards her and greeted:

"Morning, Laetitia, I'm glad to see you've been doing well since we last met."

"Afternoon, Sir Fournier," Laetitia smiled as she corrected him. "Glad to see you again as well!"

The tall engineer then moved past her and towards the gatehouse where he began talking to the sergeant on watch:

"I'm Captain Gerard Fournier, commanding officer of the new model army engineers, 1st company. With me are Sir Reynaud and..."

He was still talking when the armiger named Reynaud called out to Laetitia.

"Afternoon, Laetitia, meet your new charge," he announced as they walked up. "This is Dame Kaede Nikita Konstanstov, Konstantinov, novna--? Surkorska..." His eyes crossed as he struggled with the names before spinning around towards the girl he was introducing. "Your name's too long!"

''And foreign,'' Laetitia thought as she had never heard of a name like that.

Kaede merely giggled before she reached out with a gloved hand.

"Just Kaede is fine. Reynaud has already told me loads about you."

Laetitia's eyebrows rose slightly as shaking hands with someone you've just met was a male custom among equals. However, it wasn't a female one, and certainly not between a noblewoman and a yeoman's daughter.

Nevertheless, she accepted the invite with both hands and vigorously shook Kaede's.

"Pleasure to meet you, Milady!"

''I didn't know fabric this smooth existed.'' Laetitia marveled as her fingers felt Kaede's silky white gloves. ''Is this how she keeps her skin so pristine?''

"This is Laetitia Leclerc. I met her on my last mission," Reynaud then introduced. "Never seen a girl who's so eager to become an armiger in service. But she's good, very good. So I'm assigning her to you as your bodyguard."

Slightly taller than the average Lotharin woman, Laetitia had a lean and sinewy physique common to martial arts practitioners. Her light-blonde hair would have reached halfway down her back had it not been pulled over her right shoulder in a loose braid. She had large peridot-green eyes with a delicate nose and people often complimented her as pretty. Though her mother always complained that she'd be a true beauty if she just applied a little more daily care and makeup.

Laetitia carried a spear half again her height and bore a diamond-shaped bouche shield on her back. Her armor was almost form-fitting as she wore a shortened cuirass that went down to only her waist, due to her greater need for agility than coverage. She had more steel covering her limbs and tassets over her layered and sectioned over-knee skirt. Her dress, however, was homesewn as it featured a combination of brightly layered cloth and gambeson-like padding.

"Why do I need..."

Kaede objected almost in reflex before trailing off into a scowl as she seemed to recognize the answer herself. However, that didn't stop Reynaud from lecturing her:

"Because you're useless when ambushed in close combat, to quote Her Highness," he said. "Becoming the Grand Squire means you now have a responsibility to keep yourself safe, as it would trouble others if something happened to you. And even if you weren't, there's still an incentive to kidnap you for your blood during such conflict-laden times."

''She really is Samaran then.''

Laetitia had heard that Samaran blood was a panacea that could cure any disease and even reverse aging. Though it was mostly used as a spell focus by healers as it improved the effectiveness of curative spells.

Meanwhile, Kaede looked a little down as she clearly didn't like being called 'useless'. Nevertheless, the petite girl kept a smile on her lips as she presented the maid beside her.

"And this is Marina, my lady's maid."

"Delighted to make your acquaintance," Marina dipped down in a slight curtsy.

"Mine also," Laetita returned a friendly wave as she had never curtsied in her life.

The twenty-ish maid was slightly taller than Kaede and wore a classic frilled black-and-white dress. She had spring-green eyes and brunette hair loosely tied into a single braid slung before her left shoulder. Her face was pretty and cute in a plain, village girl sort of way, as if she was still innocent to the world at large. Regardless, with her unassuming appearance she could easily melt into a group of servants without being noticed.

"You and your companions are clear to enter, Sir," Laetitia then heard the sergeant declare from behind her as he handed a scrollcase back to the tall engineer.

"Come on, everyone," Gerard gestured for them. "Let's not loiter outside the gates."

"Let's go then," Kaede said as she led Marina towards the city's entrance.

Meanwhile, Reynaud moved closer to Laetitia until his brigandine pressed into her shoulders and he could whisper into her ear:

"Remember, you asked for this, so don't complain to me later when the hours suck."

The young man then pulled back slightly with a playful grin. "Kaede could be a bit handful at times, as she doesn't know her limits and doesn't follow common sense."

"I heard that!" Kaede's soft cry came from beyond the gate.

''How?'' Laetitia's eyes swelled as the girl should be well beyond earshot of Reynaud's hushed voice.

However, the redhead merely chuckled as he added:

"But she's a good person."

Laetitia's expression lit up in a sunny smile that beamed with appreciation. The twenty-four-years old girl from the boondocks thought back to the conversation they had a month ago, when Reynaud asked why she wanted to join his mission group. She had brought her grandfather's spear and shield. But almost every piece of armor she wore had been paid for by the young man standing before her.

"Thank you. I appreciate this so much," she lauded. "It's like a wish come true for me."

"Don't say that until you've lived the life, because it's not that easy," Reynaud smirked with a wink. "But welcome aboard, Laetitia. We'll be working together often from now on."

...

"I'm sorry, but that's all I can sell you with the new rationing in place," Laetitia heard a merchant cry outside a grain warehouse. A crowd had already gathered around him as others protested which forced her group to detour around.

"How are things here at the capital?" Reynaud then asked as they trekked through the open area in front of the docks.

The city of Alis Avern might not be a bustling center of commerce or an overpopulated metropolis, but it was nevertheless the capital of the Empire of Rhin-Lotharingie. Situated on the northeastern tip of an island in the middle of Lake Alise, the largest lake in Western Hyperion, the city was built on a south-facing slope and enveloped by water and cliffs on three sides. It was on this excellent defensive position that the Averni tribe built the settlement many centuries ago, after they fled from Imperial forces in the aftermath of a catastrophic uprising.

However, aside from the famous Oriflamme Citadel which dominated the city from atop its rocky crag, the capital had no other impressive structures that truly stood out. Most buildings were wooden with thatched roofs raised two stories high. Most alleys were narrow and meandered between buildings with no pre-planning. Homes were crammed onto the hillside like stepping stones. And even the single main avenue that zigzagged uphill could barely manage two wagons passing side-by-side.

''It's honestly disappointing,'' Laetitia thought, as she had left her hometown in hopes of seeing the world and experiencing its wonders.

"Nervous, to say the least," the girl replied to Reynaud as she glanced around.

Most of the residents of the city were either rushing about, or murmuring quietly to each other as they looked upon the small group of officers, armigers, and one young noble with her maid.

"News about the Imperium's declaration of war has spread among the civilians this morning," she continued. "Many seemed pessimistic if not frightened by what this means for our battered country. However, Her Highness the Princess opened the castle's great chapel to residents this morning for the Resurrection Day service. And at its conclusion, she addressed the residents with quite an inspiring speech."

Laetitia thought back to the church service that she attended along with thousands of others. It was the first time she had seen the elegant 'Cerulean Princess' in person.

"The mood seems to have calmed a little after seeing the Princess' composure. Many people are working hard today despite the holiday to support the war effort," she said before looking towards the city's docks.

The harbor infrastructure had been expanded over the past month under Gerard's command. Hundreds of laborers, many of them women and older children, were busy transferring supplies between boats and loading equipment onto barges even as they spoke.

"Nevertheless, there are many rumors flying around on what's happening, such as how the Imperium and the Caliphate are preparing a joint offensive." Laetitia frowned as even she couldn't help feeling worried about that claim. It would easily doom any possibility that the Empire could emerge victorious from this conflict.

"There's no way that's true," Kaede replied before diving into an impromptu historical lecture.

"The Imperium and the Caliphate are mortal enemies who have hated each other since the rise of the Tauheed Prophet. The Caliphate could even trace its origins to a revolt against the Imperium on the southern continent of Euryphaessa. Between the Southern Suppression Campaign, the Wasteland War, three Trinitian Crusades, two Tauheed Holy Wars, and numerous other conflicts, the Imperium has far more Tauheed blood and genocidal atrocities on its hands than they could ever accuse our Empire of. It would take an outright miracle for those two to work together."

Laetitia zoned out a little as the speech dragged on. Though it didn't escape her notice that the more Kaede talked about history, the more lively and animated the petite girl became.

"The only problem is that they just happen to have a mutual enemy in us at the current moment," the snowy-haired Samaran added with a frown as her voice grew thoughtful. "Which we ''really'' need to resolve as quickly as possible."

"Much easier said than done," Reynaud countered. "The Caliphate is occupying more than six duchies' of our land in the south, which we must first retake."

"''If'' we can retake them," Kaede murmured quietly.

"How can you doubt our soldiers at a moment like this?" Reynaud rebutted.

"I'm being realistic," Kaede replied in a faint but serious voice. "We must examine only facts when considering strategy. And if trading land would give us the peace that we desperately need to develop our nation's strength..."

"That's traitor talk--" Reynaud's voice was fast rising when Gerard interrupted him:

"Not again, you two. You were at it for three whole hours yesterday. Give it a rest!" Gerard insisted as he led the group. He then changed the subject: "by the way, Reynaud, why didn't we use the upper teleportation beacon? The one just outside the castle? You'd easily get permission."

"Because it's inactive today," the redhead replied. "The wards there are being adjusted."

Laetitia knew that teleportation beacons were used by mages, especially Wayfarers, to lock onto their destination, even those they had never visited. With a beacon, the risk of mishaps vanished; no chance of arriving with one's feet embedded in stone. But inside a fortified settlement like this, the small area around a beacon was also the only place where teleportation was permitted. The rest of the urban sprawl within the walls would be warded by a ''Lockdown'' spell, which bounced off inbound teleportation magic.

As the group turned around a corner and made their way towards the city's main gates, a hauntingly long yet melodic sound resonated across the air. A series of loud clicking noises followed which drew everybody's attention skyward. A humongous flying creature in the distance then emerged into view from behind the gargantuan rock that the Oriflamme Citadel sat on top of.

The colossal beast looked more like a creature of the sea than a bird. Its long gray body was sleek and hydrodynamic and it had a tail that looked appropriate for a giant fish. It had two short fins which reached down to the sides just behind a massively bulky head. Tentacle-like appendages ran around the front of the head like long mustaches, while below them was a thin jaw that opened to emit another beautifully haunting melody.

A steel-framed wooden structure was also strapped beneath the belly of the beast. Its size rivalled that of a wealthy family's home and could easily accommodate a dozen or more rooms. Support beams wrapped around the sides and back the monster which held the gondola in place. It was clear the animal was being used as a tamed beast of burden.

"Is that... a skywhale?"

Laetitia whispered in awe as she stared up at the gargantuan animal that she had only heard about in her grandfather's war stories. Meanwhile, her legs suddenly halted as though she forgot how to walk.

"That looks like Marianna," Reynaud smiled as the others stopped to look as well.

"Your father's skywhale?" Kaede asked.

"Yep!" The short armiger nodded. "Which means King Alistair is likely onboard."

"Why doesn't he ever arrive by Wayfarer like a normal person?" Gerard pondered aloud.

"Because he has to travel in ''style''," Reynaud swung one arm excitedly across his chest as he clearly approved. "Besides, it's good for the city's morale."

"Can I ride on it later?" Laetitia asked with a starry-eyed gaze.

"Of course," Reynaud answered. "I'll even give you a tour."

"Yes!"

Laetitia pumped both hands as she returned to admiring the gigantic beast. The skywhale flapped its tail as it descended towards the city from several hundred paces up. The girl could just make out the weapon ports that opened to the side of the skywhale's gondola. There were also two ballistae mounted towards the front of the structure, just behind an observation deck lined by glass windows.

"Is that a baby flying beside it?" Kaede pointed.

"A baby!?"

It took a moment before the ecstatic Laetitia noticed the much smaller skywhale which flew alongside the parent. Their dark-gray bodies blended together in the distance as the calf laid in close contact against the mother's side.

"That's Priscilla, my familiar," Reynaud beamed like a proud father. "She's almost nine months old now."

"I thought mages usually kept their familiars with them?" Kaede asked as she looked towards Gerard's raven.

"Pascal doesn't with you," Reynaud jokingly replied.

Laetitia's eyebrows rose slightly as she wasn't sure what he had meant. However, the girl was too entranced by the adorable baby skywhale to even ask. Familiars were widely considered a nobles' tradition, as maintaining a large or exotic familiar could be quite expensive. But at this moment, she couldn't help wondering what she might summon if she tried.

"Besides, I realized I couldn't substitute for a skywhale's nutritious milk," Reynaud added. "Best she stays with her mother until she grows up more."

"Breast-envy, huh?" Gerard commented flatly. "It's no wonder you prefer girls with big boobs."

"I like big breasts and I cannot lie." Reynaud smiled with his palms raised in a shrug.

"Does that apply when you dress as a girl too?" Gerard asked next. "Like when you almost did during our last mission?"

The mere thought of the short young man with stuffed breasts the size of cantaloupes made Laetitia chortle. She wasn't the only one either as both of the other girls started laughing.

"That was only so we could infiltrate an enemy camp!" Reynaud retorted. "Don't give the girls the wrong impression of me!"

"Bit late for that." Kaede beamed a mirthful smile.

Nevertheless, the young lady refrained from picking on him further. Then, as another melodic song rang out from the skywhale, the maid Marina asked:

"I'm surprised you can summon a baby for a familiar. I'd feel bad for its mother."

"Not normally. But I knew Priscilla before I summoned her for my familiar ceremony. Though it did still spook Marianna," Reynaud gave an apologetic shrug. "The only way to tame a skywhale is by binding it as a familiar while it's still very young, before they develop their own ability to channel magic during puberty, which is what allows them to fly -- though Priscilla is floating on Marianna's magic right now. Once they do that, the mutual repulsion from different mana sources makes it impossible to bind them as a familiar."

After all, what separates the magical from the mundane is the presence of mana. The ability to gather ether, which could be found throughout nature, and refine it into mana was what defined mages. And mana in turn could be shaped to create miraculous phenomenons through the process known as 'spellcraft'.

Laetitia never fully understood the process, but she knew mana always dissipated back into ether over time when not stored within a special receptacle. Mages and magical creatures alike use their own bodies as such a receptacle, to ensure they'd always have a reserve on hand for spellcraft. However, with few exceptions, mana that came from different sources also repelled one another like same-pole magnets. This gave every mage and magical creature resistance to direct physical-altering or mind-affecting magic, which included the binding of a familiar ritual spell.

"There are even people who believe the skywhales' singing and clicking is actually a spoken language, and not merely animal noises," Reynaud continued excitedly. "Unfortunately, I don't think anyone has been able to decipher it to confirm."

''That's still amazing!''

Laetitia was still staring at the skywhales alongside the others, when she felt a faint breeze as the petite lady walked away behind her.

"Cecylia?"

The armiger turned around just in time to glimpse Kaede ask a girl in a nun's habit. The sister had a quill and parchment in hand as she stared at a wooden price board in front of a nearby warehouse. The name from Kaede's wispy voice immediately drew the attention of the nun. She spun around to look at the white-haired girl. And within a split second, her eyes, which had been a tranquil blue, flashed a crimson-red glow that accentuated a pair of tiny crosses in her irises.

''A dhampir?''

Laetitia thought back to the sermons from her Church pastor on how the dhampirs were the descendants of demon-tainted vampires. They had crosses in their eyes from the Church's seal which allegedly quenched their thirst for blood. Nevertheless, they bore the guilt of their ancestors who whored themselves to evil during the Demonic Invasion. And even today, it's said that few of them would ever live a clean life as the corruption in their blood pulled them towards sin.

Alarm bells began to sound in the armiger's head as she clenched her spear. But the sister had already grabbed Kaede by the wrist and began to sprint. The petite girl seemed to offer no resistance as the nun yanked her towards an alley between two warehouses.

"Milady!?"

Laetitia thought of how she had only become an armiger for a few minutes yet her lady was ''already'' being abducted! She gripped her spear shaft and ripped it off the cords that held it on her back. The young woman immediately gave chase just as Kaede and her assailant vanished around a pile of large wooden crates.

It wasn't hard to grasp why a blood-drinker would want to kidnap a Samaran. Laetitia's mind imagined Kaede being suspended and tied up like a hog, while her blood slowly drained into an ornate wine glass.

''She's going to become literal 'health food'!''

The bodyguard had to get her charge back and quickly at that.

"''Cyclone Lift Burst!''"

Laetitia pointed her casting glove down at the ground as she spoke the mnemonic phrase in Draconic. Her nerves tingled and she felt mana coursing through her body. She had previously rehearsed each spellword a thousand times until the process became ingrained. A cool, rushing sensation began from her lower ribs before spiraling up to her neck and then coming back the center of her chest.

The drawing of mana shaped the three-word spell before she forced the magic to pass through the casting focus of her right glove -- which helped to concentrate the spell's mana so it didn't quickly dissipate back into ether.

A blast of wind battered the stone-paved ground as the expelling force launched Laetitia into the air. Within seconds, the girl found herself fifty paces above ground as she looked down upon the rooftops of the harbor district. She spotted Kaede's brightly-colored dress with ease as the young lady was still being pulled by the sister. Laetitia shifted the lingering vestiges of her wind spell to adjust her parabolic trajectory before she fell towards the ground.

"''Smiting Dispel. Air Cushion.''"

The armiger cast a second spell to infuse her spear with antimagic to break through any wards that her opponent might have. Her third spell followed after to slow her landing before she could crash into the ground. The timing was perfect as the magic slowed her just enough for a soft landing without delaying her much. Laetitia came down right in front of the escaping dhampir and slashed her spear straight at the kidnapper's throat.

The sister raised her left arm and a blade ejected from her sleeve to block with a steel clang. However, the dhampir's guard was weak and came late. And Laetitia's speartip almost reached the nun's neck before she stopped.

"What kind of a sister carries a wristblade?" Laetitia challenged. "Surrender, villain."

Yet, the girl in nun's habit showed no sign of acquiescence as she stared back calmly despite her heavy breathing. Her blue eyes fell away to a crimson-red as the ''Dispel'' spell ripped away the illusory glamor that disguised the girl's true visage. Gone were her brown bangs and the freckles on her cheeks. Even her lips seemed to change slightly, as she smiled in just the right manner to reveal a small fang that was too sharp to be the canine of a regular human.

And most telling of all -- there were two tiny scarlet-red crosses in her dark-ruby eyes which lit up once more.

Laetitita broke eye contact just in time as she noticed the dhampir's pupils glow. She still caught an inkling of the evil eye magic and felt disoriented for a moment. Nevertheless, the armiger pulled back her spear and prepared to thrust again. And this time, there would be no warning strike.

"Stooop!"

A soft voice cried out as Kaede stumbled forward. The young lady placed herself just in front of the fake nun which immediately stopped Laetitia's attack.

"Milady, step aside. She's a dhampir!"

"Y-yes, I-I know," Kaede replied as she doubled over panting with her lungs completely out of breath. "Ju-just wait.... and l-let me... explain."

It took a half minute before Kaede could recover enough to where she could properly speak. She stood back straight as she turned to the fake nun in the empty back alley.

"Sheesh, Cecylia... couldn't you at least... let me get a word in...?" Kaede gasped breathlessly in between phrases. "You know I can't... run when I'm wearing a corset!"

Meanwhile, the dhampir named Cecylia retracted her wristblade back into her tight sleeve. She pulled a ruby pendant from her neck and tapped it. The nun's habit she wore began to glow before it vanished into a glowing cloud of crimson-red mana. The magic was then drawn into the gemstone even as another wave of red mana poured out. They solidified around her thin figure into a black military uniform with an ankle-length wide skirt.

A hint taller than Kaede and looking about twenty years in age, Cecylia had glossy black hair that reached her shoulders in front but was tied back by a large red ribbon in the rear. She was below average in height and had a fragile-looking figure as well. Her skin was fair to the point of bearing a translucent silky sheen, which laid in sharp contrast to her black uniform. Her dainty nose and lips might have looked cute, but her vibrant, dark-ruby eyes held two crossed pupils which gave off a dangerous yet alluring gaze.

"How did you notice it was me?"

"Your footsteps plus... the way you twirled the quill... drew my attention," Kaede said. "And I noticed... the faint traces of the cross... seal in your pupils."

"Your senses are way too sharp, Kaede," the dhampir sighed with a wistful smile as she whined with the lighthearted soprano of a teenage girl. "And who's the spear-carrier?"

"Laetitia. Reynaud had assigned her to me as bodyguard... like literally ten minutes ago."

Kaede then turned around to face the armiger, just as Reynaud rushed into sight behind them before he calmly slowed to a walk.

"Laetitia, this is Captain Cecylia Renata von Falkenhausen, military attaché to the ambassador from the Kingdom of Weichsel, our allies to the east."

"Major now, actually," Cecylia added with a bright smile.

"Congratulations," Kaede beamed.

"What's an embassy staff doing spying?" Laetitia finally raised her speartip skyward and took a more neutral pose.

"All embassy staff are technically spies," Cecylia wagged a finger as her smile turned quirky. "Don't they teach you anything in this country?"

Laetitia could only look confused as she didn't understand what the girl was talking about.

"Embassies, by their nature, are used by the sending nation to collect information on the host country," Cecylia began to explain. "It's why embassies are always a quid-pro-quo exchange, as they're used to establish networks of both legal and illegal residents.

"I'm what you'd call a 'legal resident'," she proudly placed a gloved hand on her chest. "The Empire knows who I am and what I'm doing here -- collecting information for my King to facilitate decision-making back home. However, the fact that I'm here openly doesn't stop me from doing some clandestine information gathering from time to time."

Legal spy or not, the girl seemed remarkably frank with Laetitia about her status. Nevertheless, the bodyguard tightened her grip on her upright spear as she thought:

''You're still a dhampir, and not to be trusted.''

"Hello, Cecylia," Reynaud finally greeted as he drew near, while Gerard and Marina followed some distance behind them. "Why are you always around when there's commotion in the city?"

"Hiyo, Reynaud, Gerard," Cecylia greeted like old acquaintances. "It's my job."

"Laetitia, you don't have to be so on-guard with this one." Reynaud noticed the girl's grip. "She's actually a friend of our Princess and Prince Consort."

''Why would Her Highness associate with such sinners?'' Laetitia frowned.

"What ''were'' you doing earlier anyway?" Kaede then asked.

"I was collecting data on commodity prices, to track inflation and identify those who shamelessly profiteer from the war," Cecylia replied. "It's easier when nobody pays attention to me. I dragged you off as I was hoping to keep my cover. Though I doubt that after what you all have done."

Then, in that moment, the dhampir girl seemed to recognize Marina walking in behind Gerard and narrowed her gaze. Laetitia had barely caught it, but Cecylia's dark-ruby eyes shot a warning glare at the innocuous maid. And the latter virtually froze midstep in fright and turned pale as though she'd seen a ghost.

There was clearly a history between those two girls as well. Perhaps the maid also wasn't as innocent as she appeared to be. Though regardless of what the story was, Laetitia felt certain it was the dhampir's fault.

<nowiki>----- * * * -----</nowiki>

"Welcome to Oriflamme Citadel, Your Excellency."

The officer at the gatehouse saluted as Laetitia followed Kaede into the gatehouse.

"Thank you," the petite lady nodded with courtesy.

The Oriflamme Citadel was built atop a single, gargantuan rock that formed the northernmost tip of the island. Built entirely from blue granite, the stone fortress was almost boring in its utilitarian design which looked nothing like a royal palace. It had a curtain wall with twelve towers, each devoted to one of the twelve sacred phoenixes of the Empire of Rhin-Lotharingie. And within its center was a huge, hexagonal keep about four stories tall.

Their trip to the citadel had taken longer than expected. In addition to the incident with Cecylia, they also ran thrice into crowds that argued about the new food rationing policies outside local shops -- two of which had blocked off the narrow road. It showed that despite the relative calm on the surface, there were deep-seated anxieties from the city's residents about the war.

Even Laetitia felt rather nervous as she stepped into the castle, though her reasons were entirely different. Sure, she had been inside during this morning's service. But that was alongside thousands of others who overflowed into the courtyard from the great chapel. Meanwhile, she had little doubt that her new liege, Dame Kaede, would be meeting the Empire's dignitaries in person.

Nevertheless, as the group emerged from the gatehouse, Laetitia heard a calming aria beginning to reverberate through the air. It started with a viol and was quickly joined by a harpsichord. Both sounds came from some distance away, yet they rang with perfect clarity as though their notes were carried by the wind.

-- And the more she listened to the soothing melody, the more she felt her nerves mellowing away as though she stood in a gentle breeze.

"There's mana laced into the music," the armiger muttered in astonishment as she finally realized. "I didn't even know there's a spell that could do that..."

Thanks to the repulsion property of mana, all mages had a natural resistance towards spells of the enchantment school which affected the mind. Yet, somehow the magical melody seemed to calm her nerves without being diminished.

"That must be Vivienne." Kaede turned to her bodyguard with a reassuring smile. "She's the youngest of the Oriflamme Paladins, and known as the ''Winter Siren'' for good reason."

"Also your twin," Gerard chuckled.

Kaede looked at him like he should know better.

"She only ''looks'' like me," the young lady commented. "Well, almost exactly like me," she added sheepishly before a low, whistling chirp drew their attention skyward.

Laetitia looked up and saw two birds with burning-blue feathers flying towards the music. Like every child born within the Empire of Rhin-Lotharingie, she had learned about the phoenixes who were considered the guardians of the realm. They chose the twelve Oriflamme Paladins of the Empire by becoming their familiars, with one phoenix always selecting a successor to the crown.

"They're so pretty..." the girl admired.

She had always wished that she could summon a phoenix and become a paladin just like her namesake. But... What were the chances of someone like her passing the test of a phoenix?

"That's Hauteclaire and Almace," Kaede observed before turning towards Reynaud. "King Alistair must have arrived with Marianna."

"I'll go meet my father once you're off then," he replied.

Laetitia recognized the smaller of the two birds as the Princess' own phoenix. She had seen them this morning from a distance during the church service. The familiar was the reason Sylviane was called the 'Cerulean Princess', as a phoenix merged with its master during combat and enshrouded them in a flaming aura of its color.

Regardless, since the passing of the late Emperor Geoffroi the Great at the hands of his traitorous brother Gabriel, Rhin-Lotharingie had only nine paladins. The Crown Princess had avenged her father's death at the conclusion of the civil war a mere month ago, but she had yet to formally take the crown.

After walking across the paved plaza just inside the gates, Laetitia's group took one of the stone paths heading east. The road wound through a sparse grove of apple trees in spring bloom as it headed towards the keep's south entrance. And as they drew closer, Laetitia began to hear two male voices in conversation:

"--Her Highness has already approved your proposal then?"

"Yes," a younger voice replied. "Sylv has already pushed it through the council with 7-2 approval and signed it into law under the name 'Military Adoption Act'. It will be announced throughout the Empire starting tomorrow."

But rather than sounding pleased, the speaker seemed wistful about the news.

"Rhin-Lotharingie will never be able to afford military orphanages in the same way Weichsel does," the first man counseled as his figure came into view. He was in his late 'forties' with a large and balding forehead. Though his body was still quite fit as he wore a tightly buckled black uniform with crimson highlights and black leather jackboots.

"The Empire's finances are stretched thin as is," he added. "To subsidize the adoption of orphans left behind by soldiers who died in service is the best option that you had. And it was a good call to add a bonus when the adoption is done by a war widow, considering how little they receive right now."

"It is not enough," replied the other in a mournful voice that mixed oddly with his aristocratic drawl. "The Empire is losing ten thousand men a month in this war. Entire banners recruited from villages are being thrown into the grinder and wiped out. Those soldiers fought bravely yet do not even have assurances that the families they leave behind are properly taken care of. It is a travesty that I cannot and will not tolerate!" He pounded a fist into a nearby stone pillar.

The speaker was a young noble around twenty years of age, who looked like he had stepped out of a painting of military romanticism. He sat regally atop the granite steps leading into the castle like it was his throne. His build was lean and fit with broad shoulders clad in an immaculate crimson-on-black military uniform. His graceful features were framed by golden wavy hair which ran just long enough to obscure his ears. A black cross with white edges hung between his folded collars as a medal of valor, while a single gold star decorated his crimson shoulder insignias.

Yet, despite his apparent youth, the young man already looked scarred by conflict. Laetitia noticed his right hand trembling faintly as he unravelled his fist. His left eye was a stormy turquoise filled with turbulence as he scowled, while his right eye was covered by a black eyepatch which gave him a rather dangerous look.

''They're Weichsens.''

Laetitia realized as she noticed the similarities between the two men's black uniforms and Cecylia's. Though the dhampir's outfit did not have crimson highlights like the two male officers. All three were clearly visitors from the Empire's ally, the Kingdom of Weichsel.

She also remembered seeing the young noble with the black eyepatch from this morning. ''Didn't he sit next to the Princess during church service?''

"The Lotharins are tough people. And speaking of, Your Grace has visitors." The older officer smiled as he raised a friendly gesture towards Laetitia's group. "I'll leave you be then. Say hello to Kaede for me."

He then walked away into the castle as though he didn't want to intrude.

At the mention of Kaede's name, the young nobleman immediately spun his head around to face Laetitia's group. His good eye widened as he saw the white-haired girl, and a faint shine of yearning entered his turquoise gaze as he cried out:

"You are late!"

"I'm sorry."

Kaede scurried forward as the young nobleman picked up a walking cane from beside him. He leaned his weight against it as he struggled to stand. Meanwhile, the snowy-haired girl ran up to his side and gave him a hand to help him up.

"I felt you enter the city over an hour ago!" The noble added with an impatient frown. "What were you doing taking your sweet time?"

"Some of that's my fault, sorry." Cecylia smiled but she didn't sound apologetic at all. "I kind of kidnapped her."

"Were you waiting outside for me this whole time?" Kaede asked.

"Yes!" The young nobleman scowled. "I had not expected to be kept waiting for so long. It was good of Lieutenant-Colonel Ostergalen to keep me company, so we could at least discuss policy and strategy."

''He must have been recovering from wounds.'' Laetitia considered the young man's stiff motions looked more like those of an elderly man than someone in their twenties. It was sadly all too common a sight these days.

Kaede also held supportively onto the noble's arm which looked more than a little awkward. The short girl was trying to lift the arm of a man who was noticeably taller than the male average. There was enough height difference between them that he could easily use her shoulders as an armrest.

"Hans is a Lieutenant-Colonel again?" She beamed genuine joy as she helped him find a steady footing. "I'll need to congratulate him later. But in the meantime, how's it feel to become the youngest general in Weichsel's history? You've made brigadier at only age twenty!"

"As it should be," the self-assured nobleman responded with a haughty smirk. "Any later and I would have been disappointed."

"I'm informing the King that you said that." Cecylia giggled.

"His Majesty is the one who wrote that he 'expected great things from me' in his personal letter," the young nobleman proudly announced. "And you need not support me, Kaede. My recovery has gone well for the past month and I can walk without a cane again. It just tires me out faster."

Laetitia briefly closed her eyes to concentrate. She pointed towards Reynaud, who was already gesturing to Gerard towards leaving, as she silently spoke to herself.

''Telepathy.''

Her spell formed a connection which was immediately accepted by the receiver. And she took advantage to ask him over their private channel:

"<Who is he anyway?>"

"<Pascal Kay Lennart von Moltewitz,>" the redhead's voice spoke directly inside her mind. "<He's the Landgrave of Nordkreuz in Weichsel, so sort of a duke. He's also the Crown Prince Consort, or will be, as he's betrothed to our Princess.>"

''The Dusklord?''

Laetitia blinked in surprise as she stared at the noble with the eyepatch. The handsome young man was a far cry from the cruel and villainous tyrant that she had imagined. She had heard stories of how he had slaughtered over 10,000 men, enemies and allies alike, with a ''single spell'' of such destructive power that it blocked out the midday sun.

Yet, the Pascal before her was all smiles as he rubbed Kaede's snowy-white hair with a gentle hand. Then, perhaps even more surprising, he leaned down and gave the petite girl an all-encompassing hug around the waist that almost picked her off the ground.

"Welcome back, Kaede." His voice was so tender and affectionate that it sounded like they were lovers.

"I'm back, Pascal." The girl stood on her tiptoes as she accepted his embrace and leaned her cheek against his chest.

''Are they...?''

Laetitia had heard that royalty and the nobility often kept mistresses. But surely the future ''Prince Consort'' wouldn't flaunt such a relationship before he was even married? It made her raise an eyebrow as she looked towards Reynaud once more.

However, the royal armiger who directly served the Princess was also smiling as he watched the two embrace, and so were Cecylia and the departing Gerard and even the maid Marina.

''Am I misunderstanding something?'' Laetitia thought before asking: "<Just what is their relationship anyway?>"

Reynaud looked back at her and almost chuckled before he explained it over telepathy. Though the words themselves made no sense at all and left even her imagination unable to fill the gap.

"<Kaede is Pascal's familiar.>"

===Author's History Notes===

Tauheed - Based on the Arabic word Tawhid, or 'oneness [of God]'. It is Islam's most important concept, that there is a single universal God and a single absolute truth. The Tauheed Prophet is of course analogous to Islam's final prophet Muhammad.

Hyperion and Euryphaessa - The two major continents of this world are named after the Titans Hyperion ('he who goes before') and his spouse Euryphaessa ('wide-shining'). Many of the Dragonlords in the setting's history are also named after the titans. This is due to the fundamental question asked in the Daybreak setting - ''How would humanity develop if the titans won the Titanomachy and bestowed humanity with the gift of magic?''

Whale Language - Biologists in recent years have noticed that whales use sequences of clicks, or Codas, similar to that of how humans use vowels and diphthongs. And they occur in similar statistical distributions as in human languages, leading to the theory that whales have an actual complex language.

Embassies and Residents - Residents are leaders of intelligence units stationed in foreign nations, usually at an embassy. They manage individual networks of agents and assets. They're divided into legal residents (who have official diplomatic cover and immunity) vs illegal residents (deep cover).

Landgrave - A title from the Holy Roman Empire that roughly means 'territorial Count', except answering directly to the Emperor.

Daybreak:Volume 5 Prologue

2025-10-01T14:52:26Z

Aorii:

===Prologue===

"One, two, ''PUUUUSH!''"

Marius slammed his shoulders against the thick wooden end board of the wagon. His companion did the same to his right as the two rammed their bodies against the ponderous vehicle. The two men gritted their teeth as they mustered all their strength while their worn leather shoes slipped against wet cobblestones. Their efforts paid off as the iron-rimmed wheel which had been stuck in a cavity in the road finally climbed back onto the stone-paved bridge.

An audible breath of relief came from his youthful partner on the side. But the older Marius looked up and took a nervous glance at the wide wooden planks that projected upwards from the wagon bed. The vertical boards had lurched backwards as the ponderous cargo inside his extremely overloaded wagon resisted the sudden movement. Marius was sure he had heard a crack earlier, but the wooden planks nevertheless held up and kept their precious cargo safe inside the makeshift container that was packed to the brim.

"Boss," Marius heard Ramón address him as the latter strode back from the front of the wagon and offered him the reins. "Let's switch. You're exhausted."

"I'm not as young... as I used to be..." Marius admitted through his heavy breathing.

He accepted the reins with a nod while his companion clasped him on his heaving shoulders.

To be fair, Marius was still quite fit, or at least he'd like to think so. But he had crossed the half-century milestone just a few weeks back, and age was quickly catching up to him. Nevertheless, he had been insistent on replacing Ramón, as the middle-aged member of their crew had a bad shoulder -- an injury from the chaos of the last war which never properly healed.

"The gates aren't far ahead," he spoke to his two companions as he pointed towards the other end of the long bridge. "We're almost there," he said before striding towards the front of the wagon to take the lead.

With a grim look, Marius took another deep breath of the cool morning air before he gazed upriver towards the northeast. It was just past daybreak and the sun had yet to even emerge halfway from its cozy bed beyond the horizon. The sky was still dominated by a gigantic indigo moon which took up over a third of the heavens. Its massive bulk also hid the tiny silvery orb which his late wife once half-jested could be used to determine when she would be most willing.

Leading their ox by the reins once more, Marius strode towards the imposing fortified gates that overlooked the bridge which crossed the Tanarus river. The long bridge was over a kilopace across and featured both a double-drawbridge which could be raised to allow civilian ships to pass, as well as a removable pontoon segment behind them for military use.

He heard the wagon wheels roll onto the thick wooden beams of the drawbridge and towards the well-guarded gatehouse that loomed ahead. The stern-faced Marius practiced raising the corners of his lips and his eyes once more to form what passed for a smile. The borders of the Imperium were only thirty kilopaces to their northwest. Considering the escalating political tensions of late, it was all the more important for him to show that he was a friendly trader, even if he had long forgotten what it felt like to truly smile.

The trio of burly men and their ox-drawn wagon approached the first gatehouse just as two figures garbed in forest-green cloaks neared its entrance. A soldier clad in mail and plate armor shouted "HALT!" before he approached the other two with his spear raised beside his towering shield.

"Remove those cloaks at once!" The soldier demanded in the Imperial tongue as he pointed his spear menacingly.

The dull garments were uniform in color except for the white threads that wove embroidered patterns lining the edges. They had holes on each side where two pairs of thin arms emerged from. Their designs marked them as Lotharin in origin without any doubt. And it was those Lotharins, from the Empire of Rhin-Lotharingie, whom the soldiers of the Holy Imperium of the Inner Sea had a long and bloodied history with.

"Y-yes Sir."

A frightened feminine voice responded as the two women removed their outerwear as ordered. Their clothes underneath were frayed and filthy, with torn gaps in their long skirts that exposed their emaciated legs. Neither of them carried any packs and it was clear that they were refugees with little more than the clothing on their backs.

"The city has no room for beggars and whores the likes of you!" The soldier yelled. "Get out of here!" He ordered with a wave of his spear.

"P-please Sir, we've nowhere else to go..." The other woman pleaded weakly.

"Not my problem," the soldier growled.

Marius glanced at the two women as his wagon passed them by from the other side of the wide bridge. The younger couldn't have been older than twenty years old and was likely the daughter of the older woman. Her worn and ragged clothing, her bony and tired body, her pleading gaze which held onto a spark of hope as she turned to look at him...

-- She reminded him so much of his late wife when they had first met along a mountainous road, when he was still a soldier and she was a refugee fleeing the chaos of conflict.

It felt a lifetime ago, during another age when war and turmoil ravaged the land, bringing death and suffering to those least able to defend themselves.

"Now leave, before I throw you both into the river," the soldier threatened.

For a moment, Marius almost felt something stirring in his heartstrings. It was a sliver of pity and sympathy, but without any warmth to carry it throughout his body. The emotion was soon deadened by the haunting image of a dark night lit by a city's burning buildings...

Marius had long learned that the world did not care for the weak and defenseless -- and with that in mind, neither should he. Certainly not while he still had a goal to accomplish and helping these women would only attract the wrong kind of attention.

''With any luck, death will relieve them of life's burdens shortly,'' he thought grimly.

As the man pulled his eyes away, he noticed a glint of silver from the grimy cross that the young girl wore around her neck. It had probably been muddied to deter others from robbing her of her last precious belonging. The cross also hinted that the two women were Trinitian refugees.

Marius had seen plenty of their kind in the past few years, ever since the Albigensians splintered off the Trinitian Church in the Kingdom of Garona -- the southernmost of the four vassal kingdoms inside the Empire of Rhin-Lotharingie. The Albigensians had denounced the Trinitian Church as corrupt and faithless. In response, the Pope in Arcadia had declared them a heresy to be cleansed.

The religious conflict that followed had seen numerous churches destroyed and priests burned alive. Countless residents were given the choice of either conversion or exile from the dukedoms that the Albigensians won.

There was a time during his life when Marius wondered why they couldn't just all live peacefully and get along. Why did humans have to allow nations, culture, and religion to divide them into perpetual conflict?

But those were days long past...

Marius turned his head to face the raised steel portcullis once more. He saw the other guard look warily at his overloaded wagon before meeting his gaze. The merchant put on his best smile and raised an open hand in gesture before the young soldier nodded back in recognition. After all, Marius had been coming in and out of these gates for more than five years now, and most of the soldiers had at least seen him before.

The outer gate was large enough to allow two of his wagons to pass through side by side. Beyond it was a paved courtyard surrounded by walls on all four sides. An even taller inner gatehouse loomed ahead, surrounded by soldiers who checked the belongings of every individual who wished to pass through. A short line of a dozen people waited outside for their turn.

Marius could hear the faint sound of a bell tolling from the city center which was reciprocated by another inside the inner gatehouse. As he led his ox-drawn cart to line up behind the others, the sound of a clatter drew his attention towards the side of the courtyard where five men and women materialized out of thin air.

The newcomers held each others' hands in a circle around the stone pedestal that housed the city's teleportation beacon. It was the daily morning Wayfarer transit from the border town of Caiarellus which had arrived exactly on time. Among the travellers were two soldiers who wore back-strapped round shields over their burgundy-red capes. Their equipment and colors marked them as Imperial Akritae, the border troops of the Holy Imperium's legions.

The older of the two soldiers double-paced to the gatehouse in swift strides. He pulled out a bronze messenger tube and raised it into the air with a shout.

"Priority communique from Caiarellus!"

"Is there an attack?" The officer in charge of the gate's security asked tensely as he stepped up.

"No," the messenger answered calmly. "The borders remain quiet but uneasy. Ever since the Lotharins were invaded by the Caliphate, their brigands have stopped harassing us. I think this is a report from our informants across the border," the soldier added before shrugging to signal that he didn't actually know. "Must be maps or something, or our signifer would have sent it by ''Farspeak''."

"Well, let's hope those Tauheed infidels and Lotharin heretics all rip each other to pieces." The officer who looked past his prime smirked as he reached his hand out towards the tube. "Holy Father willing, we'll take that land back just in time for my retirement."

Marius felt an unnatural chill gather inside him as he heard the two soldiers talk casually about the conflict that was ravaging his homeland. Perhaps it was because he had always known these Imperials were bastards. Perhaps it was due to his own aloofness towards what he could not change. But their callous words no longer triggered any visible response from him.

However, the same could not be said of his youngest colleague Arnau, who took a step from behind the wagon before Ramón yanked him back into place.

''Don't blow our cover,'' Marius thought to himself as he willed for the brash young man to keep calm. Meanwhile, his eyes looked upon the officer's outstretched hand with an interested gaze.

Marius wasn't born with any affinity for magic, but he had long learned to recognize the signs of a spell being cast. The officer must have used a scanning spell to verify the messenger tube. It was simple enough that most mages didn't even need to recite the words for mnemonic spellcasting. The lack of any visible manifestation meant that a simple gesture was the only tell Marius could use to discern its practice.

"Mana signature matches," the officer confirmed before gesturing toward the gate and his men. "LET THEM THROUGH!"

"Salve, brothers."

The messenger extended his arm in an Imperial salute before gesturing to the other soldier who followed him.

Marius watched as the younger soldier, who was a teen barely old enough to join, scurried forward to match steps with his senior. The sight of his youthful determination passing through elicited a pang of bitter nostalgia that left Marius taken aback.

Perhaps it was the way they turned their armored shoulders. Perhaps it was their purposeful stride beneath a distant sun that reflected off their steel plate. But the sight of their departure made memories swirl inside Marius as he felt a tremble from his weathered hand.

And in that moment, the years peeled away like autumn leaves in the wind, returning him to that one morning which still felt raw and bleeding:

...

"I'm sorry, Father. It's time."

The young man before Marius turned to follow the armored recruitment officer out. He was halfway through the door when Marius grabbed him by the forearm.

Marius did not wish to see his firstborn depart the house this way -- the house that he had built by hand all those years ago, when he could still look proudly down upon his wife's first pregnancy.

"Lois, you can't do this!" He added in a half-pleading voice before it hardened to half-scolding. "I...I forbid it!"

"I'm an adult now, Father," the tall young man replied calmly before he sighed once more. He turned his face one last time to meet his parent with an imploring but also determined gaze.

"It's my decision. And I won't be stopped."

"But why?" Marius asked as he stared into his son's faded-green eyes and rounded face. It felt almost like he was looking at a younger version of himself.

"Why must you join the rangers as soon as you're of age? Why can't you ''live life'' for a few years first to understand what it ''means''? Don't you know that the rangers have been fighting an undeclared war for decades!?"

"''Why?''" Lois responded with a frown as his gaze grew clouded by disappointment. "Father, I thought that you, of all people, would understand! You! Who had joined the Garona Liberation Army when you were only ''fourteen!''"

It wasn't that Marius didn't understand his son's motives. His old war buddies had always said that Lois was the spitting image of him, not just in looks but also in personality. Yet Marius always wished that Lois wouldn't take after him in this regard -- to indulge in that youthful romanticism and bravado which led him to fight in one of the cruelest and bloodiest wars in Hyperion history.

There were many stories that he had told to his children with pride. Stories of courage, of camaraderie, of fighting against impossible odds and pulling through by the edge of his teeth. But there were also other stories that he was not proud of and said nothing of -- for Marius had seen the worst of humanity in all of its gratuitous hate and violence, and not just in others but also in himself.

"Those were different times!" Marius' pitch steadily rose as his own buried shame transformed into rejection and anger. "I had been born into a land under Imperial occupation. My parents ''died'' during the First Garona Independence War when the legion burned down my home village with their 'reprisals'!" He almost shouted. "I joined to create a peaceful world for my family and my children!"

The father then gestured towards the house that he had built, towards Lois' young brother and a crying baby sister whom his mother was trying to calm despite her own tears.

"We ''have'' that peace now," he stressed. "So why must you tear this family apart to continue the conflict?"

''Why must you bloody your hands just as I did?'' Marius could not bring himself to say his final thought out loud.

"Because while we selfishly bask in our peaceful lives, our Lotharin brethren south of the border continue to live under Imperial tyranny!" Lois answered as he pointed through the doorway towards the south -- the direction that every Lotharin home was built to face.

"There shall be no peace with the Imperium until there is peace for all Lotharins!"

Marius froze as it was a quote so often repeated by his comrades. Even he himself had worn it with familiarity upon his lips when he was young -- a phrase which he had even woven into many of his stories to his kids.

And in that moment, Marius knew he could not win. For Lois had become exactly the man whom he had raised.

...

''There shall be no peace...''

Marius felt his chest tighten as he continued to stare through the gateway towards the rising sun. He could not help but reflect upon those heavy words, which carried such a different meaning for him today than it did back then.

''How we all change, even at my age.''

The soldiers who bore the message had already disappeared from view, yet his nostalgic gaze remained transfixed on the empty archway.

"Marius, you old smudge, it's good seeing you again," the officer in charge of the gatehouse pulled Marius' thoughts back to the present as he clasped the aging man's shoulders with a wide grin.

"Did you bring the wine you promised me last time?"

For a moment, Marius only blinked as he struggled to bury the emotions of his past. A half-depreciating chortle left his lips as he couldn't help but wonder what his son would say to him today -- to see him 'consort with the enemy' like this.

"Is that all you think about when you see me, Acacius?" Marius answered in jest as his lips stretched into a fake smile.

Regardless, the old trader turned towards his wagon where he pulled out a large box tucked into the vehicle's front frame. From it, he took out a clay amphorae which he presented to the officer in both hands as a gift.

"Twenty years aged by its previous owners. I hope you enjoy and share it with your men."

"Don't worry, I ain't a pig," Acacius accepted the wine with a beaming grin. "I'll be sure to let my boys know whom this ambrosia is from," he added before looking at the overloaded wagon and tapping it with his knuckle. "So what's the cargo this time?"

"Harvest of muskmelons from the border villages," Marius answered.

"This early? It's still mid-spring!" Acacius' brows rose in amazement.

"Muskmelons are planted indoors before the last frost and transplanted outside as soon as spring begins," Marius explained. "Give it six weeks after that and you have an early crop."

"That so? Good thing I'm learning now. Will be handy when I become a landlord after retiring from service," the officer joked.

"How much longer do you have?" Marius asked with feigned curiosity.

"Little more than six months, at which point I'll have finished a double tour of fifty years."

Acacius' words reminded Marius of the officer's yeomen status. As a man of the 'middle-class' who was born with magical affinity, Acacius could expect to live for well over a hundred years. Even now, for a man nearly eighty years of age, Acacius had the appearance of someone who was merely thirty.

"I heard you've already secured yourself a good woman?" Marius asked next.

"She's expecting in a month, actually," the officer beamed. "But don't worry. Soon as I retire, she'll be recognized as my proper wife and our son legitimized," Acacius said as though hinting that they were already secretly married, as such unions were officially forbidden for active members of the legion. "It's all standard practice in the army."

"Well, congratulations on becoming a father soon. I wish you peace for these last six months and a smooth road to retirement."

Marius tried his best to keep the irony out of his tone and smile. He already knew that the days ahead would be anything but peaceful.

"Same to you, and thanks again," the officer said before raising the tall wine jug and tapping it with his gauntlet.

It was a polite signal for him to pass and stop blocking the gateway. Meanwhile, Ramón and Arnau were already pushing their wagon forward towards the city's main street.

Marius and his companions moved past the double portcullis and emerged from the fortified gatehouse into the bustling city of Augusta Tanarus. A wide, stone-paved thoroughfare stretches before him, flanked by multi-storied buildings with shops occupying their ground floors. A cacophony of sounds, smells, and movement along the main streets immediately assaulted his senses, as the distinct smells of fresh bread, roasting meat, tanned leather, and the less pleasant odors of waste mingled in the morning air.

Yet despite the early hour, the merchants had already started setting up their wooden awnings and were now beginning to hawk their wares -- everything from pottery and textiles to exotic spices and fresh produce. Water splashed from a nearby public fountain where citizens gathered with clay amphorae to fill their jugs. Meanwhile, porters push past with loaded carts, yielding only to a wealthy woman who was carried past in a litter by slaves.

It was hardly surprising, as the city of Augusta Tanarus was built at the tip of where the Tanarus river formed a delta that flowed into the Inner Sea. It was the site of not only a historic victory for the Imperium, but also a ley line junction where magic could be used to power the city's wards and industry. Surrounded by river estuaries and protected by layered enchantments, the fortress-city was considered an impregnable bastion.

Furthermore, today was the Friday before Resurrection Day, the most Holy of all holidays in Trinitian tradition. It marked the day when Hyperion the Dragonlord sacrificed his life in the 'Ritual of the True Cross', a grand sorcery which sealed the demons back in their Abyss and ended the millenia-long Dragon-Demon Wars that ravaged two continents.

Finally, the city was widely considered the last stronghold of 'true civilization' before one entered the half-civilized, half-barbarous lands of Rhin-Lotharingie... or so it was said by the maritime traders of the Imperium.

As such, Augusta Tanarus was also one of the main trading hubs of the Holy Imperium of the Inner Sea. Here, cargo galleys and sky-barges picked up goods from the northwest to be transported to the rest of the thalassocracy. Merchants could rest assured that their businesses would be kept safe by the formidable legionary garrison. The city even had a citadel headquarters which was in charge of all thematic legionary forces in the northwestern borderlands of the Imperium.

"It's hard to believe how peaceful it is here." Marius heard Arnau, the youngest of his companions, mutter with half-amazement and half-bitterness beneath his breath.

Turning back to face Arnau, Marius saw the young man gawking up towards the skies with his slack-jawed mouth hanging agape. The lad couldn't stop staring at the towering structure near the northern entrance. His eyes moved between the building and the two massive floating airships anchored next to it.

It wasn't exactly surprising, for Marius had reacted much the same way the first time he saw Augusta Tanarus' aerodrome tower.

The blocky stone and concrete structure jutting up from the ground rose a good ten stories into the sky. Four windlass cranes projected from its corners where dock workers busied themselves raising cargo up to the airships. Two ramps -- one for cargo and one for personnel -- connected the tower to each of the two gargantuan sky-barges with their giant elliptical balloons. Dozens of ropes were used to anchor each humongous vehicle and keep it from being blown away by the wind. Meanwhile, seven cargo nets, a fortuitous number in Arcadian culture, hung from the gondola strapped to the underside of each skyship.

"Holy Father be blessed," Arnau whispered with a childish sense of wonder. "How do those giants stay aloft?"

"The elliptical hulls of those sky-barges are filled with a lighter-than-air gas which keeps them afloat," Marius answered with the best of his knowledge.

He had heard an alchemist explain it once but couldn't remember the names of those gases. All he remembered was that it was colorless, odorless, and had the odd effect of making his voice squeak.

"They travel through the use of wind magic," Ramón then added. "However, their attuned crystals are bound to specific ley lines, and as a result they can only transport goods along a preset path. But occasionally one of them will get blown off course, at which point they'll need a proper stormcaller mage to push them back."

"I thought you said that ley line crystals were bound to a single location?" The young man then asked.

"The Imperium's technology exceeds Rhin-Lotharingie's in every respect," Marius answered as a matter of fact. His words made Ramón open his lips before closing them in a scowl as though the latter wanted to yet couldn't refute.

Meanwhile, Marius narrowed his eyes and frowned as he noticed that one of the barges' cargo nets was fully loaded with thousands of barrels that looked familiar even from a distance. At least three of them were marked with a red 'X' on the bottom, which seemed to hint that they were the same barrels that he had once smuggled into the city.

''Is that the target of the saboteur team that the commander mentioned?'' It made him wonder as he watched the crew secure the cargo nets to the lower deck as they prepared for departure.

Once again, Marius thought of the nature of their mission ahead. It was completely antithetical to Arnau's youthful, innocent stare as the young man gazed up towards the sky.

It reminded the older man that he had never asked for young Arnau's age. After all, it was easier on his conscience to not know.

But Ramón did not have such concerns as he queried:

"How old are you, Arnau?"

Marius had anticipated twenty. He had hoped for twenty. But the answer that came back from Arnau was "seventeen."

"Why are you here?" The group's leader scowled as he almost wanted to tell Arnau to turn back.

But Arnau met the older man's gaze directly. Something shifted in the boy's countenance -- the youthful exuberance that had animated his features just moments before vanished in an instant, like a candle snuffed by a bone-chilling gale that cast the air around them into a blizzard.

His reply came in a deadened voice that belonged to a much older soul: "why are we all here?"

The apathetic tone sent a faint stabbing pain through Marius' chest. He'd heard those same words before. It came from another time, through a different voice, and under different circumstances. Yet, the haunting memory of it rose through Marius' thoughts as though the wound had been freshly made:

...

"Why are we all here? Because our duty is to protect our families from what's out there!" The conscription officer pointed towards the town's southern walls even as he kept his other hand on the shoulders of Pau, Marius' second born son.

"But why would you take him and not me!?" Marius' frustrations rose. "I'm a veteran of the last war!"

"Look, I'm a father too, I know what it's like." The officer sighed with a sympathetic gaze. "I would ''gladly'' take you in exchange, if you weren't so injured you can barely even run. But my orders are to conscript one able-bodied man from every family for the defense of this town. We're about to come under siege and there is no exception for you refugees."

"But he's only seventeen!" Marius exclaimed as his voice almost cracked with desperation.

"Father," it was his son Pau who interjected next with a forced smile. "I'll be fine." He tried to embolden himself as much as he reassured his father.

"Didn't you tell me just yesterday?" Pau continued. "The Imperial campaign in Garona is on its last legs. It won't be long before Emperor Geoffroi's main Lotharin army arrives. We only need to hold out for a few days."

The young man squeezed his fist as his eyes and voice hardened with steadfast resolve. "Besides, it's my duty as a man to protect my family -- isn't that what you've always taught me?"

Marius' jaw trembled as he didn't know if he should cry or smile at that moment. To see his second child march off to war -- the son whom his wife had named in their traditional Lengadoc tongue's word for 'peace'. It brought tears to his eyes even as he felt pride in his son's maturity and courage.

Before Marius stood the culmination of every quality he had spent years instilling into his children. To see Pau face the challenges of adulthood with a resolute gaze determined to overcome all fear and doubt, Marius could not be more proud as a father.

But why did it have to come to this? Why couldn't he protect his own children? Why did he have to injure his leg during their flight here?

"Big bro!" Pau's four year-old little sister cried out as she ran to him while he knelt down to hug her.

"Don't worry, Mireia, I'll be back with you and Ma and Pa before you even miss me," he said with a broad grin. "And together, we'll go back home and await our older brother's return."

"Promise?" The little girl asked as she hugged her stuffed bunny with one arm and reached out her tiny hand with the other.

Her brother answered with his own hand and interweaved his fingers through hers. "I promise," he added with a nod and a beaming smile.

Pau then gave his sister one last all-embracing hug before he stood up and did the same for his father.

"Remember that I'm proud of you, son," Marius felt his voice shake as he squeezed his son's broad chest. He then pulled away and grasped Pau by the shoulders with a stern gaze. "And remember -- fight well with your comrades, but no heroics. Come back in one piece."

"I know, father," Pau responded with another bravely forced smile. "And I'll be sure to bring this back to you," he said before raising the steel sling staff and winged mace that Marius once soldiered with. "I promise."

...

''Why is it always the young who are sent to die?''

Marius considered as his thoughts returned to the present once more. He stared at his youngest companion for another moment as he realized that Arnau was the same age as his son Pau had been. A part of Marius wanted to tell Arnau to go back and return to his family. But another part of him also knew -- even had Arnau any family left, the three of them were already too far gone to live a peaceful life.

It's why they all volunteered for this...

Raman was driving their ox to pull the wagon forward once more. The three men followed as they made their way down the city's increasingly-crowded main street. They had to stop several times at intersections to allow other vehicles to cross first. Compared to the others, their extremely overloaded wagon moved at a snail's pace across the cobblestone road.

Thankfully, the Imperium's cities had wide boulevards which allowed three or even four wagons to pass side by side.

The road even had stone ditches to both sides which drained wastewater away into the sewers. Meanwhile above them, smaller branches of the city's main aqueduct carried water to the local bathhouses which allowed the crowded city to maintain sanitation and hygiene. It was a sign of the Holy Imperium's wealth that their cities could afford such luxurious infrastructure. All of it lay in stark contrast to the narrow, winding, and filthy streets that dominated the towns and cities inside Marius' home country of Rhin-Lotharingie.

The old man thought he heard a noise behind him before he turned about to look back. His gaze caught sight of another rope falling from one of the sky-barges parked by the aerodrome. The colossal airship was slowly pulling away from the docking tower. A strong gust blew from behind them as the vehicle's enchantments altered the local weather for its movement.

The ox-drawn cart sped up slightly as they neared the canal that separated the northwestern third of the city from its central plaza. A Trinitian Cathedral with its three towering spires and the dome of a governor's palace could also be seen on the other side of the marketplace. Yet here, in the commercial and administrative heart of the city, the cacophony of hawking merchants and working tradesmen had dropped significantly.

In their place, a large man with exotic ebony-black skin stood atop a raised marble platform. The man wore a striped toga in the Arcadian fashion as he spoke with a magically-enhanced deep voice that resounded clearly across the air.

"--''from Arcadia,''" he made a dramatic gesture towards the south as he proclaimed the Imperium's capital. "Imperator Augustus Skantarios decrees the mobilization of all furloughed thematic legions from the northern and western provinces of our most Holy Imperium. Our brave soldiers are charged to ensure that the heresy and barbarism of war in Rhin-Lotharingie does not spill onto our lands. Renowned General Marcus Avilius Belisarius will arrive in our city in five days, bringing with him the Tagmata Legions Hikanatoi and Archontopoulai..."

"''Two'' Tagmata Legions," Ramón spoke in an awed voice as he considered the elite formations whose names struck fear across the continent.

Marius could still remember the sight of those demigryph super-heavy-cavalry charging the Lotharin center during the Battle of Montaiglin Gap. Their magic and armor impervious to the hailstorm of sling-bullets and runic-spells alike from the Lotharins. Their indomitable riders plowed straight into a wall of pikes like giants scything through wheat, and twelve lines of infantry crumbled before the Lotharin army broke and ran.

-- Even now, the old veteran could feel his hand shaking at the scene of frightful slaughter that followed on that tragic day.

"Complete overkill for 'border security'," Marius commented grimly as he clenched his fingers around the reins. "The Imperator is readying his armies for full scale conflict," he muttered in a low voice as he considered the inevitability of the war ahead.

Had he any reservations towards the actions that he was about to perpetrate, this dire news had just absolved him of them.

After all, Augusta Tanarus was not merely a trade port, but a fortress-city built as the Legions' main logistics hub in the western edge of their Empire north of the Inner Sea. Here, sky-barges and cargo-galleys would be offloaded and wagon-trains packed to supply the armies that would march into Garona and Rhin-Lotharingie. Within the walls of the Imperium's military infrastructure, every man and woman living here was a participant in the economy that fueled the Imperial war machine.

-- And to Marius, that made the whole city a legitimate military target.

Yet, as the trio drew near a busy stone bridge that crossed the canal, Marius's jaded eyes spotted a little girl who ran innocently across it. The child could not have been more than six years old and had wavy brunette locks that flowed freely in the morning breeze. Her hands clutched a stuffed rabbit beneath her beautiful green eyes and rosy red cheeks.

Marius didn't even notice his breathing pause as he couldn't help fixate upon her with his gaze. The girl looked so nostalgic that it felt like he had travelled backwards through time.

It was a sight that he had not seen for so long. A feeling of warmth and longing that his frigid chest had not experienced in a decade...

For several moments, the little girl who wore a beaming smile ran straight towards him as though she was about to leap into his embrace. Yet, before Marius could emerge from his frozen trance, the girl dashed past him and towards someone else instead.

"Mama!" The girl joyfully rushed into her parent's embrace.

The mother was young and pretty and wore an elegantly draped stola of fine lilac -- a long pleated dress that was more commonly seen among the wealthier citizens of the Holy Imperium. A delicate shawl of imported silk hung from the woman's head and over both shoulders to add modesty to her appearance.

Meanwhile, standing next to her was a broad-shouldered, middle-aged man dressed in the purple cloak of an Imperial Quaestor. He looked at least fifteen years older than the young mother, but laid a possessive hand upon her shoulders which clearly showed that they were married.

A scowl grew across Marius' countenance as he forced himself to look away. A gale of frozen anger swept through him from deep within him as he felt disturbed by his own mistake.

''How could I mistake an Imp child for my sweet Mireia.''

Meanwhile, a massive shadow steadily grew across the busy cobblestone street. The colossal sky-barge that Marius saw departing the tower earlier now flew directly over them to block out direct sunlight. The gargantuan elliptical airship was over three hundred paces long. Its twelve revolving propellers filled the air with a dull whirring as the chain-linked pairs repurposed the gale force winds that blew at the airship's back for steering.

A cheer of support resounded from the central plaza where the men gathered around the news crier. Marius had barely been paying attention, but it was not difficult to guess why the townsfolk were celebrating. Per the Arcadian tradition of 'bread and circuses', food and entertainment would usually be provided to celebrate the arrival of dignitaries. Chariot races would then be held in the city's hippodrome, with contestants from the military to help whip the public into a pro-war frenzy.

However, the cheers and applause were short lived this time, as the shadow cast by the colossal airship soon came to loom over the central plaza. Countless citizens looked skyward as they pointed and spoke to each other in hushed murmurs.

It reminded Marius that in all the times he was in this city while a sky-barge departed, this was the first time a massive vehicle passed directly over the heart of the city.

The old trader was still pondering the reason when a shrill cry pierced the air from high above:

"LOOK OUT!"

One of the seven heavy-duty cargo nets that carried goods beneath the dirigible had fallen loose. At least four cords of thick rope seemed to have snapped which left the net hanging to one side with an open gap. Over a dozen wooden barrels rolled out from the cargo hold and fell through the air. Several anxious screams could be heard from the market's residents as the huge barrels plunged down from above.

"Order!" Another shout came from the soldiers. "The city protects!"

Surely enough, before the falling objects could even come close to hitting ground, they struck a translucent dome-like barrier of cobalt blue that suddenly flared into existence around sixty paces above ground. The wooden barrels had shattered on contact as they crashed into the city's anti-air defense ward. The magical barrier was strong enough to break apart even giant boulders hurled from trebuchets. It was part of why Augusta Tanarus was considered an impregnable fortress.

However, while the ward could stop large objects, it was designed to allow lighter substances and liquids to pass through. The dozen barrels that burst open were full of a smooth, glossy, yet viscous liquid that looked like some kind of cooking oil. Hectojugs of this flammable fluid rained down from the sky which drenched entire shops in the marketplace beneath.

Worse yet, more ropes seemed to be breaking loose from the already spilling cargo net, which led to a steady stream of barrels to fall from the gargantuan airship.

"That can't be an accident," Marius muttered to his comrades as he stared up at the sky-barge.

The double-layered cargo nets those sky-barges used would have been inspected before departure. They were secured to the cargo deck by over two dozen heavy duty 'anchor' ropes. There was no way so many cords could have broken loose unless there had been deliberate sabotage.

"You think that's ''them?''" Ramón asked in a low voice.

"I'm positive," Marius added as he spotted another one of those tell-tale barrels that he had seen earlier.

It was marked with a red 'X' on the bottom, and so was the barrel next to it.

Those barrels' own cargo net swayed beneath the sky-barge as several ropes were cut. A gap to the side soon opened where one barrel after another rolled through before plummeting. The wooden containers were shattered by the warding barrier just like before. However, instead of breaking apart to rain oil down upon the ground below, the barrels released a black powdery substance that fell like a carpet of volcanic sand.

''Blast powder.''

Marius' eyes swelled as those X-marked barrels were indeed the same ones that he, among others, had smuggled into the city over the past few years.

He was not the only one to recognize it either as more cries and screams erupted from the marketplace. Residents and tradesmen alike looked up in horror as it began to dawn on them that this was no simple mistake.

One after another, the ropes securing the seven cargo nets beneath the sky-barge were cut. One after another, the barrels kept within those holds slipped, rolled, and bounced into the air before plummeting towards the ground. The speed of the disaster hastened as dozens of barrels began to rain down from the airship at a time.

-- And every one of these barrels shattered to spill forth a flammable substance, be it oil, powder, grease, tar, and even spirits.

"Terrorist!" A terrified shrill cry resounded from among the civilians in the crowded marketplace.

More and more screams followed in its wake as panic quickly began to spread. Even the soldiers had lost control as many of them turned to run from the airship's eastbound flight. Throngs of civilians began to flee the downpour of powder, liquids, and other debris. They pushed and shoved aside others in their path with little regard for anything but their own lives.

"This is our chance," Marius declared as he looked back at his companions. "Light the fuse."

The old veteran moved behind the ox where he grasped the animal's tail with his hand. A dozen strips of tar-coated linen had been wrapped around the ox's tail which ended with a small tube. Marius took the bell that disguised the tube's true purpose in hand and yanked hard to break the strings. The attached flint rod created a series of sparks inside, which ignited the oiled paper within and then the tarred tail.

The oxen cried out in pain as it began to push forward with all the strength it could muster in an attempt to escape the flames. The animal's hooves gripped and slipped across the stone-paved ground as it pulled against the overloaded wagon that struggled to move faster than a snail's pace. The beast was successful in drawing the wagon onto the gentle arc of the stone bridge while Ramón leapt down from the vehicle's side. Within his hand was the flint core to a similar tube which had been used to spark a five-minute timed fuse.

"STOP!" A soldier who stood guard on the other side of the canal bridge yelled. "STOP THAT WAGON AT ONCE!"

"Don't you see what's happening!?" His companion also cried out as he gestured towards the tide of panic-stricken civilians surging toward their direction.

Yet, before any of the soldiers could take even three steps, a loud voice shouted from the airship above drew all of their attention skywards:

''"THE DEAD DEMAND JUSTICE!"''

The airship had already cut all of its large nets and dropped the majority of its cargo. Now, the hijackers completed their mission by detonating the entire vessel. An earthrending explosion which seemed to tear the heavens asunder shook through the city. And in the blink of an eye, the colossal dirigible which had loomed over much of the marketplace plaza went up in a massive inferno.

A torrent of hot air followed which almost knocked Marius off his feet. The old veteran dug in his heels as he felt the searing heat of the blast expand. It was not entirely surprising to him, as decades ago -- back when he was a child saboteur in the Garona Liberation Army -- he had taken on a mission to plant several runestones on a smaller airship. The runes held an alchemy spell that steadily transmuted the squeak-inducing odorless gas inside those elliptical balloons to something far more flammable. And after that, a ''Lightning'' spell from their yeoman captain was all that it took to set the entire sky-barge ablaze.

Smoke filled the air and rose skyward in a mushroom-shaped column as burning embers and debris rained down upon the plaza. Fires spread in an instant through the oil-soaked peddler booths and the pools of tar and powder that blanketed the cobblestone ground.

At the same time, the colossal flaming wreck of the sky-barge drifted down towards the city's southeastern districts. The air above the city flared with cobalt-blue mana once more as the air defense ward tried to resist the falling skyship's metallic frame. However, the sheer mass of the burning vessel proved too much and the entire magical barrier shattered like a glass dome breaking into a million shards. The searing carcass of the dirigible then crashed into the dense blocks of crowded residential homes to the city's southeast, which almost instantly set the entire area ablaze in a sea of flames.

Countless fires were spreading out of control inside the fortress-city that was claimed to be 'impregnable'. Meanwhile, the hundreds of civilians who had been knocked off their feet scrambled to climb over each other to get away from the growing holocaust of flames.

"The Dead Demand Justice!" Marius heard another shout in the Lotharin tongue from the far side of the marketplace plaza.

The explosion that followed revealed that yet another infiltration squad, like the trio formed by him, Ramón, and Arnau, had gone into action. The detonation came from the entrance to the cathedral where the city's residents no doubt sought shelter. The destruction shook the ground with such force that one of the limestone spires cracked and began to topple.

Marius knelt and reached to his boots where he unsheathed a concealed dagger. The blade was within reason for what could pass as a 'self-defense weapon' should a soldier discover it. He watched as Ramón and Arnau opened the wagon's side storage to pull out a lumber axe and a steel mallet. The three men all looked at each other with grim faces as they nodded wordlessly to one another.

There was no need for final farewells, for all of them had already accepted their coming fate. Each of them was haunted by a past that they could not escape. And their mission was the only end that could bring them peace.

Their ox cried out in pain as its burning tail forced the animal to pull the overloaded wagon over the slightly-arched canal bridge. The soldiers on the far side however had caught on as they stood up and formed a half-wedge to one side of the passage. The disciplined legionaries leveled their spears in preparation to impale the animal that struggled to charge forward in pain. But before the beast could pull its heavy burden past the crest of the bridge, the young Arnaud dashed past the wagon to assault them with his raised steel mallet.

Nevertheless, the untrained teen was no match against professional soldiers. Three spears thrust forth and two of them impaled his unprotected torso before the young man could even land a single swing.

Yet, despite a shaft that ran through his gut, Arnau continued to push himself forward as he stared upon the soldiers with gritted teeth. The young man dropped his hammer before raising his right arm with all of his remaining strength. Marius could see the glint of a brooch that Arnau said belonged to his late mother in his fingers as young man croaked out one last cry before he slammed the hand into the center of his chest:

"THE DEAD DEMAND JUSTICE!"

His body then exploded in a blast of flames that not only tore his limbs apart. The sonic burst that came with it also shattered the stone bridge railing and broke every bone in all three Imperial soldiers who stood before him.

There were several fleeing civilians who had been caught in the explosion as well. However, more residents who had been running towards the bridge froze in shock as they could no longer tell which direction safety was. Nevertheless, dozens if not hundreds of others continued to push and shove from behind them as people sought to flee the inferno that consumed the marketplace. Countless people were pushed under and trampled upon even as others hastily changed the direction of their flight.

"THE DEAD DEMAND JUSTICE!"

Another cry came from a bridge to the north just as a wave of panic-stricken residents rushed onto it. The explosion that followed destroyed not only the bridge but sent a shower of blood and limbs flying into the air in every direction.

Meanwhile, Raman had jogged ahead of him and raised his lumber axe against the side of their still-moving wagon. The man cried out as he swung with all of his strength, which forced the axe head to cut straight through one of the wooden sideboards that projected upwards from the wagon bed. The thin wooden plank snapped in half which opened up a wide gap into the filled wagon hold. Their cargo of muskmelons rolled out in a torrent and scattered onto the cobblestone-paved plaza.

Ramón pulled back his axe but its head had become stuck in a muskmelon's rind. Oil leaked from the fruit's interior which showed that the melon had been hollowed out. Almost their entire cargo of muskmelons had their innards replaced with either oil or blast powder. Only a surface layer of real fruits were placed on top to fool inspections.

Marius watched as the melons bounced and rolled into a confused crowd that ran from one side of the plaza to another in a mindless panic. One of the powder-filled fruits ran into a piece of burning debris and promptly exploded. Two tradesmen were caught in the blast and one of them fell clutching their leg where only a bloody stump remained. Several nearby women screamed and turned to run in the opposite direction before they were shoved onto the ground and trampled under by others running the opposite way.

The residents were caught between the burning marketplace and the 'assault' of the ground infiltration teams. Dozens of civilians leapt into the canal, only for some of them to catch fire as the burning oil spread across the water's surface as well. The injured who had been trampled upon crawled over the ground begging for help while the children sat and wailed in terror for their parents to come.

It was the very image of hell -- the sight of a city, with its buildings, its market, its streets, and even its canals all awash with growing flames. Desperate screams and cries came abound from every direction, and corpses both deceased and half-dead littered the streets as more explosions resounded.

Yet, it was not the first time that Marius lay witness to such a grisly sight. The old veteran felt no pity for those who laid dead and dying before him, for the sight of the burning city only steeled his resolve as it uncovered the half-buried agony of a life lost in his memories.

...

"LAIA! MIREIA!"

Marius cried out the names of his wife and daughter as he limped through the streets of the town that they had taken refuge in. He looked frantically from the blazing tavern to his left to the burning houses on his right as he searched for the silhouette of a mother and her four-year-old child in the fire-lit night.

A trio of stones ablaze soared overhead as the besieging Imperial trebuchets let loose another volley. One of the boulders crashed into the side of the already burning tavern before its imbued spell burst. A low bass sonic shockwave shattered the boulder and the building's timber supports alike. The detonation created a hail of jagged rock and wooden splinters that shredded a row of women who had been passing buckets to fight the flames.

"AAHhhhh!"

A teenage girl and her ailing mother screamed as they had just emerged from the tavern's side entrance before the boulder smashed into it. The blazing second floor of the building collapsed on top of them even before the rock could turn them into pincushions for its deadly fragments.

Even Marius felt a sharp pain as several rock splinters struck him. He had reflexively raised his arms to protect his face just in time to avoid worse injuries. Nevertheless, the aging father didn't even pause to examine his wounds before he continued his limp walk down the streets. His parched throat was already hoarse yet he continued to cry out:

"LAIA! MIREIA!"

Marius knew he needed to calm down and not allow desperation to cloud his judgment. However, he could not stop the increasingly frantic emotions running through his mind. He had returned from his meeting with the town's magistrate as a representative for the refugees, only to find their encampment near the city's walls in flames. The place had been struck by an incendiary barrel flung out from the besieger's catapults. And the only survivor who remained told him that everyone had fled into the center of town to seek shelter after the Imperial forces began a full-scale assault against the southern walls.

The old veteran with a crippled leg forced himself to trot as fast as he could. He scanned his gaze in every direction as he spotted small groups of women and children huddled in narrow alleys and behind stone buildings. Others formed long lines to pass buckets from nearby wells to burning buildings. But every once in a while, a boulder launched by the siege engines would land among those brave women to leave a strung out line of corpses.

Several such bodies laid ahead on the road in a grim reminder. A home to their left had been completely pulverized by what must have been a direct hit by those boulders. The ruins of the building remained aflame while more embers burned from a blast crater on the left side of the dirt road. The old veteran immediately recognized it as the result of an explosive bomb fired from a heavy mortar which plunged down from a high above.

Then, about two dozen paces away from the crater, Marius felt his blood chill as he spotted a familiar figure on the ground.

"LAIA!"

The body which lay in the middle of the street was half-wrapped in a bloodied green cloak. A silver leaf-shaped buckle that he had gifted his wife as a wedding gift was attached to the torn garment. The left rear of the cloak and her body was visibly shredded as dozens of jagged rock splinters could be seen lodged into the dirt road all around her.

"No, no! Laia! ''Laia!''"

Marius cried out as he scrambled forward and fell to his knees beside the body. However, part of him knew that she was already dead even before he turned her over to gaze into her bloodied and lifeless expression. He could tell from her body's posture that she had partially turned her back towards the bursting boulder. It was as though she was using her own body to protect someone.

It was not difficult to guess who that someone was. Yet, there was no sign of his daughter Mireia. For a moment, as Marius cradled the lifeless body of his wife, he hoped that at least the frightened four-year-old had run off after her mother's gruesome death. But as he looked around, he spotted the torn-off head of a stuffed rabbit which had been his daughter's favorite a mere thirty paces away.

"Mireia?"

The aging father spoke in a stunned voice as his eyes noticed a small pool of blood by the rabbit's head. A red droplet fell into it from above and another drop followed seconds later. The father felt his chest constrict in terror as for the first time since the Battle of Montaiglin Gap. Fear took hold of his body as he was almost too afraid to look up.

Time itself seemed to slow to a crawl as the already grieving father could do nothing else. His eyes gradually raised upwards where he saw a reality that surpassed his worst nightmares. He saw the body of a young girl hanging off an iron post that had once hung a shop sign. Her small dress had been ripped to shreds and her face was too bloody to recognize, yet Marius could instantly recognize from the silhouette that she was his daughter.

...

Marius could only remember the events that took place afterwards like images from a passing dream. He had survived the siege only to receive back-to-back news that his two sons had been killed in combat. Now, a father bereft of his family and purpose, he enlisted in the Garona Liberation Army once more and joined the ranks of the Mòrt-Vivent -- the 'living dead' who had nothing remaining in life to live for.

He remembered attending his own funeral, where he laid down upon his empty grave to let the Albigense priestess to inscribe a rune upon his chest. It was a combination spell that would be triggered by pounding into it with his own fist as his final action in life. The priestess claimed that it would bring salvation as his angelic spirit would finally shed its sinful flesh and be released. But truth be told, Marius had never seriously cared for the Church's religious disputes and preferred for the Holy Father's truth to remain mysterious.

The old veteran looked towards Ramón as the middle-aged man bore the same rune upon his body. The same applied to Arnau, whose immortal soul had gone on ahead of them to reunite with his own lost family. Every infiltrator and saboteur in the Garona Liberation Army had joined the Mòrt-Vivent willingly. The runes inscribed into their flesh cut their remaining lifespan to no more than ten years, for after that the magic would unravel and destroy them regardless.

Not far away, Marius saw a crying girl sitting on the ground. It made him think back to the child he saw earlier who reminded him so much of his own daughter. The old veteran knew that these children all had parents and what he was about to do would inflict the same gut-wrenching pain that he felt upon them.

The grieving father reached absentmindedly into a pocket with his left hand. His fingers wrapped around a soft item before pulling it out. The old man opened his palm and felt tears pool into his gaze once more. Within his hand was the severed head of the stuffed rabbit the Mireia always clutched, its white fabric still stained with her blood from that fateful night.

''How can there be justice when my sweet Mireia is dead while these Imp spawn remain alive?''

Ramón was still trying to remove his axe from the melon rind that it was stuck in. But just as he used his feet to hold the fruit down and pull, a thrown pilum impaled him through his chest and pushed his body into the canal. Two other javelins flew at Marius but both missed as the veteran stepped aside. The four legionaries then drew their swords and charged forward toward him and the moving wagon that continued to spill muskmelons.

There were still minutes before the timed fuse would set the wagon off. Marius would not risk these soldiers finding and defusing it. He squeezed the furry memento in his palm before sprinting towards the moving wagon. His right arm reached out and prepared for his final action.

"THE DEAD DEMAND JUSTICE!" He heard another cry in the distance followed by another explosion. Dozens of people screamed as yet another comrade martyred himself in the middle of a crowd.

Within seconds, Marius reached the side of the wagon that had its wooden board broken. He stabbed his dagger into one of the muskmelons that had yet to roll out. He used the handle to pull the fruit out of the wagon and turned to face his assailants. The soldiers were mere steps away from him when he screamed and pounded his left hand -- still grasping the severed head of his daughter's favorite toy -- into his chest.

"AND WE SHALL BRING VENGEANCE!"

It took but an instant for the rune to activate and for Marius' body to be ripped asunder. But in that final split-second of his life, Marius' thoughts were filled with an image of his wife Laia, their two sons Lois and Pau, and his little girl Mireia. All of them stood together in front of the house that he had built and the farm behind them, a picturesque afterlife which he had always sought.

And he could finally retire to it in peace, for he could tell his family that their deaths had been avenged.

<nowiki>----- * * * -----</nowiki>

Needless to say, Marius' infiltration squad wasn't the only one who acted. Nor was the city of Augusta Tanarus the only city struck by the Mòrt-Vivent that day. Instead, a simultaneous attack by over thirty infiltration and saboteur squads of the Garona Liberation Army had struck over a dozen towns, cities, and ports of the Holy Imperium of the Inner Sea. And by the day's end, most of those settlements lay in trembling terror and blazing ruins.

It would go down in Imperial history as 'Unholy Friday' -- the day that marked Hyperion the Dragonlord's ritualistic sacrifice for the people of this world was corrupted into a gratuitous revelry of destruction and death.

Yet despite its name, the Garona Liberation Army was more of a paramilitary militia group than the official army of the Kingdom of Garona. Nevertheless, the Imperium held the Kingdom, and by extension, its overlord, the Empire of Rhin-Lotharingie, as responsible for the terror attacks. And on that night, Imperator Augustus Skantarios issued a formal declaration of war against the Empire, which Pope Vigilius, in a show of obedience to his caesar, promptly sanctified as the 4th Trinitian Crusade.

And thus, the stage had been set for the most destructive conflict the continent of Hyperion had seen since the departure of the Dragonlords.

===Author's History Notes===

Albigensians: Based on the Cathar Heresy which took place in 12-14th century Southern France, which the Catholics wiped out during the Albigensian Crusade and its aftermath through mass genocide. The Cathars believed in Dualism - that there is both a good and an evil God - and that the Old Testament (including the creation of the world) was the work of the evil god. Thus, they considered the entire material world evil, and that humans were angels trapped in sinful flesh.

Acacius' Marriage: Roman Legionaires were famously not allowed to start families while in service (with a service period of 25 years). However, many of them often entered unofficial marriages before retirement, which were recognized as soon as they retired, including the legitimacy of any children. This practice became so standard that the Roman bureaucracy came to readily accept it.

Thematic Legions: Based on the Eastern Roman (Byzantine) Thematic administration/mobilization system, which replaced Diocletian's Provincial Defense System in the Late Roman era. This split the Empire into administrative districts (themes), where soldiers were settled and given farming land, in exchange for their agreement that their descendants would also serve in the army. However unlike feudalism, the soldiers did not own the land, and they remained part of active military units in peacetime. The allowed the Empire to both reduce the cost of standing armies and minimize the need for unpopular conscription.

Tagmata Legions: Based on the elite Tagmata units of the Eastern Roman (Byzantine) Empire, which would form the core of Imperial field armies. Hikanatoi and Archontopoulai are two historical unit name, meaning the 'able ones' and 'sons of leaders'.

'Bread and Circuses': A phrase from Roman times which referred to the idea that rulers can keep the public distracted and docile from sociopolitical problems by providing basic food and entertainment.

Daybreak:Volume 5 Chapter 1

2025-10-01T14:45:54Z

Aorii:

===Chapter 1 - A Friendly Recall===

"''Between the peaks of the North and South Lotharin Mountains lay the plains of Lotharingie. Here the heartland of the Lotharin peoples lay bound but unbroken despite centuries of 'Pax Arcadia'. The legions and merchants of our Holy Imperium who roam these lands are seen as little more than foreign occupiers whose blood shall be spilled in the next uprising. Three rebellions have quenched the land in red iron, yet it shall only be a matter of time until a fourth, a fifth, until the Lotharins claim independence, uncaring of the blood toll they pay in its efforts.''

"''Why, one might ask, must we hold onto such territory and people who abhor us? Whose pacification necessitates an endless drain upon our Imperium?''"

- Livia, Drusilla Tranquillus, ''The Greatest Empire No Longer'', written a century before the Lotharin Independence War which gave birth to the Empire of Rhin-Lotharingie

Reynaud took a deep breath before opening his eyes.

As a mage who had been training to be a Wayfarer since seventeen years of age, he had long learned that teleportation magic remained disorienting no matter how many times one experienced it. The sight of reality being flushed into a hole so minuscule it was imperceptible to the naked eye simply wasn't something human apperception could comprehend. It was far better to close his eyes, empty his lungs, and hold his breath for the brief seconds it took for one to vanish from existence on one side and reappear in a distant land.

The fact he had cast a low-power ''Electrify'' spell on himself also helped. It distracted his senses with a tingly, prickly sensation across his skin -- a feeling that his brain could actually comprehend. Meanwhile, his body defied the laws of conventional physics in leaping across thirty kilopaces in an instant.

Regardless, the ''Astral Teleport'' spell had been completed. Reynaud found himself standing atop a small grassy ridge on the southern slopes of the North Lotharin Mountains, which stretched from east to west for as far as the eye could see.

A steep incline ran down from the ridge into a small and winding valley no more than a thousand paces across. A narrow river barely larger than a stream had cut the ravine into the mountain slopes. Birch and ash trees in Spring bloom dotted both sides of the running water. And across the river laid the wooden buildings of a new settlement built at the river's gentle bend.

Reynaud turned around and gazed southward from his vantage point halfway up the mountain range. The sky was partly cloudy but otherwise offered a clear and unobstructed view into the distance. Several folds of lesser peaks and rolling hills could be seen downslope from where he stood. Beyond that stretched the wooded plains of the Lotharin Heartlands, which would run for over a thousand kilopaces -- far further than the eye could see -- before it met the southern mountain range.

''What an idyllic view.''

The short young man who had just passed his twenty-fifth birthday beamed as he reached out his arms to both sides. A cool breeze blew in from the south as he closed his eyes and soaked in the sunlight. The wind lifted the hem of his white cloak and brushed across his flaming-red hair in a soothing caress. And he enjoyed it to the fullest as he playfully spun twice on his heels like a child dancing in the wind.

''No wonder why she likes this place,'' Reynaud reopened his eyes as he considered the girl whom he had journeyed here to meet.

''But... it's still far too early for her to retire.''

The young man turned his back on the magnificent view. He touched the recently erected stone obelisk which housed the teleportation beacon that his spell had locked onto. Inscribed upon it was the name of the new settlement being built:

Lithia.

Reynaud smiled to himself as he strode past the stone and began a quick descent into the ravine. His footsteps were swift but careful as the steep and winding dirt trail offered neither steps nor railings. The young man tilted his head as he made his way down the slope and onto a small stone bridge. He had anticipated hearing the sounds of people and work in progress: the chatter of construction crews erecting new buildings, the noise of fresh timber being sawed into wooden planks.

Yet, aside from the chirping of birds from the nearby woods, the entire settlement stood as quiet as the night.

''Where is everyone?'' Reynaud pondered to himself as something didn't feel right.

''It's almost halfway to noon on a Saturday morning. Why isn't anyone working?''

The redhead strode across the bridge and into the village. He noticed that most of the newly erected homes still had their windows and doors shut, instead of being left open to air as most rural folk did. There were only eleven homes, which meant the villagers probably numbered thirty to forty. The buildings also included a blacksmith, a cookhouse, and a modest church with an incomplete bell tower and a Trinitian Cross on top.

That was all that could fit onto the available flat land. Even the Church had to be built on an incline with its foundation dug into the slope. Yet, as Reynaud's feet began to trek uphill once more, he also heard the quiet murmurs of people and the excited cry of a small child on the far side of the Church.

The young man made his way around the building, and sure enough, he found a dozen people gathered in a small crowd. They were mostly women and children, who congregated around a two-target archery range -- a facility as necessary to any Lotharin village as a cookhouse or church.

Beyond the dozen onlookers stood a single petite girl with snowy-white long hair. Standing sideways with her pink eyes trained on the target, she raised a strange-looking metallic greatbow with asymmetric limbs above her head. Then, after a brief pause and without a single wasted motion, she lowered the bow to chest level while her arms used the downward motion to pull the silvery bowstring to its full draw.

''Never seen anyone else pull a bow the way she does,'' Reynaud thought as he eyed how she gripped the bowstring with her thumb. There's also the girl's lack of muscle mass which meant she had to be using magic to pull that incredible draw weight.

Several nearby villagers noticed Reynaud as he trekked up the dirt trail. The young man raised an open hand in a friendly gesture and smiled. He might not have been wearing his hood and his blades remained hidden beneath his outerwear. But the small community would have undoubtedly felt wary towards the approach of a cloaked stranger.

Nevertheless, the onlookers seemed nervous as another party of four descended down the dirt trail that went further up the mountain. Three of the men wore brigandine and kettle helms as they flanked a rather flamboyantly dressed young man. The group's leader wore a silver-trimmed doublet in sky-blue and had a trio of brightly dyed feathers in his cap. It did not take any guessing for Reynaud to discern that the men were a local noble and his entourage.

"Dame Kaede!"

The nobleman called out without waiting for the girl to finish shooting -- an act which was downright rude in Lotharin etiquette. However, the girl's attention never wavered from the target as she released the notched war arrow. The heavy missile soared a hundred paces before striking the tail of a shaft already lodged into the dead center of the bullseye. But rather than piercing into the wood, the newly shot arrow skimmed off and landed in the dirt behind the straw target.

"Oooh, so close yet so far. Talk about unlucky," the young noble commented with a snide grin.

''Not unlucky,'' Reynaud observed.

''She's trying to split her own arrows again.''

Meanwhile, the petite girl who had shot the arrow closed her eyes before inhaling long and deep. She then held her breath for three seconds, before exhaling over the same interval. The nobleman called again but she was completely non-responsive. Her arm slowly lowered her asymmetric greatbow which glowed with a turquoise light as it quickly shrank, disappearing into her gloved hand.

It was as though the girl was in a trance, oblivious to everything else around her as she finished her archery practice. It was only after her bow fully vanished into the extradimensional storage of her three-fingered archery glove, when she finally reopened her eyes and turned to look uphill.

"May I help you, Milord?"

The petite girl addressed the noble in a soft, wispy voice. Her short stature and small build gave the impression of a fragile girl no older than sixteen. Her straight, snowy-white hair gleamed in the sunlight as it hung loose past her hips. She had large brilliant eyes the color of rose-quartz and dainty features that gave her an almost doll-like appearance. Meanwhile, her flawless white skin shone like fine porcelain tinted pink by the morning chill.

Yet, in stark contrast to her adolescent appearance, the girl also wore a white jacket with the straight trim of a military uniform. Underneath it was a short skirt and leggings in a style that only women in armed service donned.

"I'm Count Adrien Kenneth de Puy, Lord of Stratum Gap."

The youthful noble declared without even a nod of courtesy. He merely raised his hand and gestured backwards in the direction of his castle estate.

In response, the snowy-haired girl looked down, grasped the sides of her skirt, and dipped down in an elegant curtsy. Then, with a smile that looked slightly forced but genuinely free of any hostility, she met the Count's gaze and introduced herself:

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Milord. My name is Kaede Nikita Konstantinovna Suvorskaya, the new barone--"

"Yes, I know who you are, Dame Kaede," Adrien interrupted with a scowl before she could even finish. "I hear they call you a hero of the Battle of Gwilen River."

''More like the Bloodbath of Gwilen River,'' Reynaud scowled as he thought of the heaps of corpses that they had to climb out of.

"--Yet, here you are, encroaching upon lands that had been passed down the de Puy family for generations, like naught but a common bandit," the Count accused. "Lands which rightfully belong to my cousin Albert, whose noble father, ''and mine,'' gave their lives in the previous war!"

"Milord Adrien," Kaede's smile grew sympathetic as she replied. "Lord Albert Neacel de Puy was relieved of these lands for siding with the traitor Gabriel during the recent civil war. Her Highness, the Crown Princess, has generously allowed him to keep his main estate, in recognition of his family's service and in exchange for his oath -- that he would continue to serve in the armies of Rhin-Lotharingie in defense of the realm during this time of conflict."

However, her steady voice and even tone only seemed to annoy Adrien further as the Count's sardonic smile slipped into a condescending scowl. He raised two fingers into the air and made a swiping gesture to his entourage. His three soldiers raised their polearm shafts off the ground and fanned out threateningly around the petite baroness.

The atmosphere grew tense, the villagers collectively backing away from the brewing conflict. All of them except two: a woman in her forties whose long dress and stays wouldn't look out of place behind a loom, and a man in his fifties with a hideous scar exposed just beneath his neck.

"And you think you deserve them?" Adrien raised a pointed hand as he glared down at the girl from his high ground. "You are but a commoner without a past, a ''Samaran strumpet'' and love toy of that foreign princeling!"

"How dare he..."

Reynaud barely heard the woman in front mutter. The other adult villagers looked similarly angry -- one of them even reached deep into a pocket slit in her long skirt. It was said that all adult Lotharin women learned to carry a concealed dagger. However, before any of the civilians could reveal bared steel, their liege Kaede raised a hand to stop them.

Even Reynaud could also feel his temple twitch and his teeth clench in that moment. His gloved fingers were touching the handles of his dual blades before he even noticed. Yet, the girl who was the target of the gratuitous and grave insult, who stood unarmed with her flanks exposed to brandished steel, barely furrowed her eyebrows in response.

"You may call me a 'commoner without a past', for that is the truth," she shrugged with her soft voice barely rising. "You may even call me a 'Samaran strumpet', despite the fact that anyone who knows the nature of Samarans could tell you that is an oxymoron."

The redhead whose hands remained on his weapons blinked with astonishment. To be called a prostitute was the greatest insult for any decent girl, for it attacked their character in a manner that society most unforgivingly judged. Yet, the young baroness before him had shrugged it off as though the words barely mattered.

"However, the prince whom you speak of is my master, Landgrave Pascal of Nordkreuz, and your future Emperor Consort," Kaede continued as her soft voice took on a serious note. "Surely, Milord, you are not insinuating that Her Highness, the 'Cerulean Princess' who led the charge during the climactic battle of the civil war, is so helpless that she would ennoble a mistress of her betrothed?"

Reynaud watched the youthful Count carefully as the nobleman's slate-blue eyes narrowed with hostility. His scowl twisted into a snarl with bared teeth while his face darkened with contempt. Then, as the nobleman opened his lips to shout, Reynaud cried out in a loud voice to interrupt:

"That would be truly insulting, Milord, and a criminal offense to so blatantly slander the crown."

At that moment, every pair of eyes assembled near the archery range pivoted towards him. The Count's gaze almost flashed in anger as he gripped the handle of his arming sword.

"Who the devil are you?" Adrien snarled as his voice hardened into an authoritative demand. "To speak to a nobleman like we're equals!?"

Reynaud's hands parted from his weapons as he unbuttoned the clasp holding his outerwear closed. He removed his white cloak to reveal the gambeson he wore underneath and a short cerulean cape that reached just past his hips. The redheaded armiger stretched his neck, the unusual medal that he wore between his folded collars swaying from the motion. The black cross laying against a shattered 'snowflake' was an accolade that he had earned from the King of Weichsel.

"I'm Sir Reynaud Moreau, Royal Oriflamme Armiger to Her Highness, Crown Princess Sylviane Etiennette de Gaetane," he nonchalantly introduced himself as his hands neatly folded the white cloak. "I am here to recall and escort Grand Squire Kaede to an emergency conference at the capital on Her Highness' orders."

The armiger watched as the Count looked taken aback. He wondered if Adrien even knew who Kaede truly was. It wasn't exactly common knowledge that she was the new Grand Squire. And the girl was often looked down upon due to her commoner background, meek demeanor, and delicate appearance, which made others think she was easy to push around.

Meanwhile, an audible mutter came from one of Adrien's guards to the side:

"The ''Winterslayer.''"

The huge man who would tower over Reynaud even without the advantage of elevation lowered his polearm shaft back onto the ground. He did not take a step back like his compatriots, but all signs of aggression had vanished from his posture.

"I'm glad to see that my reputation is not unknown to even a backwater hamlet like yours, Milord."

Reynaud smirked as he placed the folded cloak into a storage pouch that hung from his belt. Meanwhile, his left hand returned to the handle of a sheathed kukri as he flexed his fingers across it.

"Now, as Your Lordship was saying before I interrupted?" He asked in a chilled voice that almost dared the Count to hurl another insult.

"I..."

The young Count looked taken aback as he paused for a brief moment before straightening his gaze. His countenance was still filled with a disgruntled expression as he forced the words from his lips:

"I apologize for my careless words, for it was not my intention to imply any insult upon Her Highness and our future Empress," he said before forcing himself into a slight bow.

"Well, in that case, if Dame Kaede does not object, I am willing to put this episode behind us," Reynaud added as he pressed his right hand against his hip and stared at Adrien with a tilted grin.

"I don't mind," the young dame answered almost immediately as she waved a small hand.

''You're supposed to wait until he apologizes to you!'' Reynaud's smiling lips twitched before he exhaled a faint sigh.

"Then I'm glad we managed to put that misunderstanding behind us," Count Adrien remained a bit nervous as he replied. "And Sir Reynaud, Dame Kaede, as you have official business at hand to attend to, I shall bid you both farewell for today and offer my welcome at another time."

"Good day then, Lord Adrien," Kaede answered as she dipped a slight curtsy once more. "I hope next time we shall have a chance to talk on more friendly terms," she added with a pleasant smile.

"Good day, Milord."

Reynaud decided to follow the younger girl's lead. However, as Count Adrien turned about with his soldiers in tow, the redhead armiger couldn't resist getting one last word in:

"And Milord, the proper way to address the Grand Squire of the realm is 'Your Excellency'. Dame Kaede might only be a baroness, but her position as one of the Six Great Officers of the Crown means her position supersedes yours."

The Count replied with only a half-turned nod before walking away. Nevertheless, Reynaud could feel a sense of righteous victory as he noticed Adrien's arms shaking with suppressed anger, and how the noble's hands had clenched into fists as they parted.

...

"Good morning, Your Ladyship."

"Good morning, Dame Kaede."

The villagers greeted their liege with friendly smiles as Reynaud followed Kaede back to the village center from the unfinished church. Several more men had also emerged from their cabins and were washing themselves in the water barrels left outside. All of the men were in their fifties and most of them looked visibly hungover as they intermittently groaned or cradled their foreheads.

"Good morning, Giselle. Good morning, Mairi"

Kaede replied with a friendly smile as she addressed each passing resident by name. She then steered Reynaud to another dirt path that traversed uphill towards a large but incomplete wooden building nested into the steep mountainside.

"Shouldn't they be calling you Dame Suvok... Suvorsk..." Reynaud asked as he struggled to pronounce Kaede's foreign surname.

"Suvorskaya. And that's exactly why they don't address me so." The girl chuckled in response. "Though, why do people call you Sir Reynaud and not Sir Moreau?" She looked at him with curiosity. "You were born a yeoman after all."

"Because my father is Sir Moreau." Reynaud shrugged. "Surnames are only used to address the first person in a household to be ennobled, even if it's a mere chevalier title and not an inheritable rank. Sometimes it's also used for the oldest and head-of-house. The only reason this tradition exists at all is to avoid confusion when there's too many nobles in one family."

After all, the average mage could expect to live a natural life of up to one-hundred-fifty years. Therefore, it was commonplace to find aristocratic families of four or even five generations.

"And speaking of rank," he then pivoted to meet her gaze. "I'm surprised you accepted the title of Baroness. I still remember you turning down Her Highness when she first offered you a fief -- which might be a first in Lotharin history." He chuckled as even now he couldn't help shaking his head at it.

"You said back then that you didn't think you could fulfill your obligations as a liege. What changed?" The short armiger stopped as he looked at the Samaran girl who, in her high wedge boots, actually stood a hint taller than him.

"Do you remember the letter that the late Sir Robert left me?" Kaede's smile grew nostalgic and mournful.

Reynaud felt a pain in his chest as he heard the name. His expression faltered as he thought of the young knight who died doing what he had failed to do, as Reynaud had been absent in that confrontation where the Princess' entire guard had almost been wiped out.

A moment of silence passed between the two as Reynaud clenched his fist where his companion could not see. The young man then forced a stiff smile back onto his face as he met the girl's gaze.

"Yes." He nodded. "If memory serves, he told you about a spring with lithium salts in the water, which could be used to stabilize the Princess' mood swings."

"It also helps with veterans suffering from war trauma, which our country has far too many of," Kaede added with a sour expression. "The spring that Sir Robert spoke of is actually down-mountain about three kilopaces from here, near a village settled by veterans of the last war. However, when Gerard went to investigate, he discovered that the spring was fed through an underground conduit which ran down from several hot springs over there." She pointed in the direction of the dirt trail as it ran past the unfinished building.

"When Gerard told me about this place, I suggested that he be the one to develop it for public use," Kaede continued. "But Her Highness told me that as much as she approved of the idea, Gerard's contributions during the war did not warrant granting him a rank of landed nobility. However, if I was the one who asked instead..."

The petite girl raised her palms and shrugged with a wry smile.

"Her Highness played you like a fiddle." Reynaud laughed. "I take it she recruited some families from her crown lands to help you get started?"

"All retired soldiers, every one of the men and several of the women as well." Kaede looked back to the village with a wistful gaze. "Every veteran here bears the scars of war, seen or unseen."

''That explains the woman earlier,'' Reynaud thought of the one who was brave enough to reach for a dagger against fully-kitted soldiers.

"Is that why you let them all get sloshed last night and spend today lazing around?" Reynaud looked back to the village where several of the families were congregating at the tables outside the cookhouse for a late breakfast.

"No," Kaede shook her head. "I gave them Saturdays off. It's the weekend," she said like it's the most obvious thing in the world.

"''Week-end?''" Reynaud's eyebrows tilted as he looked at her quizzically.

"Work five days, take two off," Kaede explained. "That's how it works where I come from."

"I've been to almost every country in Western Hyperion and I've never heard of such a thing," Reynaud replied with a frown. "Our traditions are to take only Sundays off."

"Well, I'll start a new tradition then," the girl shrugged. "Maybe once the word starts spreading it'll catch on."

"You're going to make every other noble throw a fit," Reynaud commented with a shake of his head even as he felt a smirk tugging at his lips.

A deep sense of satisfaction welled up inside him at the thought of annoying the aristocracy to grant the commons some extra privileges. However, the cheerful thought soon ended with how blatantly the Count from earlier disrespected the petite baroness standing before him.

"Which reminds me to ask, Kaede, why do you let people insult you like that back there?" The redheaded armiger scowled as he gestured towards the archery range.

"What do you propose then? That I shoot him?" Kaede answered with a jesting smile before she started leading him uphill once more.

"I don't have any armed soldiers at hand. And even if I did, Count Adrien is the lord of one of the fortresses that guard the mountain passes to the north. He has the military muscle to out-escalate me."

"Well, you could at least offer him a few choice words," Reynaud responded before he wondered when was the last time he actually saw the mild mannered girl insult someone.

"Insulting him back might feel good at the moment, but it doesn't bring any more security to my position and only creates enemies for both my subjects and my liege," Kaede commented. "Besides, anyone who believes in the phrase 'Samaran strumpet' is clearly too ignorant for me to seriously consider their opinion."

"I see Pascal's condescending attitude did rub off on you a little." The redhead chuckled. "In a good way, of course."

"I certainly hope that I'll never be as bad as he is," Kaede feigned a look of being offended before it vanished into a smile. "And speaking of Pascal, you said something earlier about an emergency..."

"Reynaud! Fancy meeting you here," a deep masculine voice called out from the incomplete building ahead of them. "And good mooooorrrning, Kaede," it went on with a huge yawn.

Standing in the doorway was Sir Gerard Fournier, whose figure towered over Reynaud as the latter barely came up to his shoulders. The man wore a simple brown tunic which hardly concealed his broad shoulders and muscular chest. His hands were large, his arms brawny, and his height could compare to even the giant northern Highlanders. He wiped the ash-blue eyes beneath his black hair, before looking down with a huge toothy grin that parted his prominent nose and his chiselled chin.

"Morning, Gerard," Reynaud reached up and patted his old friend on the shoulders. "I see you still refuse to dress to your title."

"Her Highness made me a chevalier, not a gold merchant." Gerard yawned again before shrugging. "I've got plenty of higher priority things to buy than fancy clothes, especially in this war economy where the prices keep inflating."

"Yeah, but you could at least dress better in front of a lady," Reynaud scowled as he looked down at Gerard's linen hose. The garment had several old stains which simply screamed 'peasant'. "I take it you're here to help with the construction?"

"Inspecting the works and making plans for Her Ladyship's new mansion," the tall engineer beamed. "Can't have a noblewoman keep sleeping in a boarding house like this," he gestured to the incomplete building behind him. "The Holy Father might disapprove."

"...Or so the aristocracy likes to tell us," Reynaud raised his palms as he appended what Gerard was unwilling to say.

"Please don't start again," Kaede said, looking a bit miffed. "You two have been making fun of me ever since I accepted this title."

"Awww, don't let a little lowbrow humor get to you," Reynaud wrapped one arm around Kaede's back as he leaned into her side with a beaming grin. "We're teasing you because we're both glad to see you getting the recognition that you deserve!"

Yet, even as he said that, Reynaud was slowly moving his hand up Kaede's torso.

''She really is soft. It's no wonder why the Princess calls her 'huggable'.''

"Reynaud, if you wiggle those fingers any closer to my breasts, I'm going to snap them off," the girl glanced towards him with a warning in her pink eyes.

"Not that you have much breast to speak of," Reynaud jabbed back before he noticed Kaede's lips tilt. "I'm kidding!"

The redhead immediately let go and stepped back while the girl rolled her eyes. Meanwhile, Gerard gave him a look like he should know better.

"You're lucky Kaede isn't like most girls," he added. "If it had been any of my sisters, you would have been smacked already."

"If I flirted with your little sisters, I'd have to run away before you break both my arms," Reynaud joked as he leaned back and swayed nonchalantly with his hands behind his head.

"''And'' both legs," Gerard added. "But I'm glad you at least know where the line is drawn."

"He just toes it constantly."

Kaede sighed as she sent one last annoyed look at the redhead, to which Reynaud playfully stuck out his tongue at her in reply.

...

The three former comrades took some time catching up before Reynaud and Gerard sat down at a log table around a kilopace away from the village. Their spot was situated atop a barren hill with the hot springs to one side and the river dropping into several small waterfalls on the other.

Reynaud gazed upon the flooded chasm to the north that was surrounded by stony cliffs on three sides. The water that filled the ravine was sparkling clear and occasionally emitted bubbles. Its surface had a slight sheen and deposited a faint white crust on the rocks around the water's edge.

"Have you tried the water already?" He asked Gerard in a distant voice as he thought of their fallen comrade whose final wish led them to this place.

"Yes. It's quite comfortable. Hot enough to be soothing, but I can stay inside for hours without feeling overwhelmed," the tall engineer answered with a relaxed smile. "Kaede and I are still discussing which of the springs would be best collected for drinking."

"Do you think... Sir Robert would approve of developing it like this?" Reynaud pondered aloud as he remembered the young knight with an infectious smile.

"Well, I didn't know him as well as you and Kaede did," Gerard mulled. "But she wants to create an affordable retreat for veterans to relax, meet each other, and find support for the unseen scars that we all bear."

''It's such a Samaran thing to do,'' Reynaud felt a smile tug at his lips. ''To prioritize mental trauma over physical wounds.''

The men shut up as they saw Kaede returning from the village with another petite girl in her late teens. The two brought food on wooden trays. It consisted of whole loaf bread soup with lentils, mushrooms, herbs, and salted pork. There was also an eighth of a wheel of cheese.

"Thank you, Marina, that'll be all," Kaede spoke to the maid. "I'll come get you if I need anything else."

"Of course, Your Ladyship," Marina curtsied before she departed back towards the village.

"Is that...?" Reynaud stared at the girl who had brown hair tied in a single braid over her shoulders.

"My Lady's Maid, yes," Kaede smiled proudly.

"She looks familiar," Reynaud added.

"She was at Alisia Academy when you two were still attending before the war started." The Samaran girl frowned slightly, as though she'd rather not discuss this further.

"Please, help yourselves," she then gestured with an open palm. "And sorry I don't have anything better to offer," she added sheepishly as she sat down.

"What're you talking about?" Gerard joyfully remarked. "This is perfect -- it's just like what we ate back on campaign."

"Assuming you paid coin for the herbs," Reynaud nodded with beaming agreement.

"True, those field kitchens were stingy," Gerard commented before examining the ingredients in the soup, which was thick enough to be considered a stew.

"Do you even grow any food here?"

"There are terraces being built further downstream," Kaede answered as she pulled a furry waterskin from her pockets. "We've also got plenty of wild herbs and mushrooms thanks to the mountains. Two of my people are retired rangers who have been teaching the kids."

"Oh good," Gerard feigned a sign of relief. "At least I don't have to worry about being poisoned like that one time Reynaud pretended he knew how to forage."

"Those were mountains in ''Weichsel''," Reynaud protested. "It doesn't count!"

"What were you doing hiking in the Kingdom of Weichsel?" Kaede asked in curiosity before she took a drink.

"Trying to find an edelweiss flower for Perceval to court his girl with," Reynaud beamed. "My idea," he proudly pointed at himself.

The petite girl nearly choked as she started coughing. She had to wipe some lavender and chamomile off her lips from that tea Reynaud often saw her drink.

"Those flowers only grow in the Dead Mountains!"

"Probably why a single bite of that mushroom made me so sick I thought I was gonna die," Gerard shot another accusatory glare towards Reynaud. "Still, considering that Perceval and Ariadne are betrothed now, I'd say the three-day trip -- only one where we had to brave that toxic, murderous mist -- was well worth it."

"Perceval really is lucky he has friends like you two," Kaede beamed.

"Not at all." Gerard smiled humbly as he looked down. "You forgot how much he's done for me. Without his patronage, I'd still be a yeoman baker," he said before looking at the redhead. "Reynaud, however..."

"True brothers are forged in adversity!" The short armiger puffed up his chest before pounding a fist into it. "Sisters too," he then grinned at Kaede.

The Samaran girl looked taken aback before a faint blush came over her cheeks.

''She's cute when she's embarrassed,'' Reynaud couldn't help thinking.

"But to return to the food topic," Kaede pulled the discussion back. "The soil here is poor and must be sifted first to remove rocks and break up chunks before we can grow crops. That requires a lot of work in addition to building terraces. So I doubt we'll achieve food self-sufficiency in the first two to three years. We missed most of the planting season this year already and I doubt we'll have anything more than a vegetable garden ready in time."

"A lot of places failed to get a full crop planted this year." Gerard scowled as he stirred his stew in its bread loaf. "The Empire will need to carefully manage its food supply, or there might be famines by next year."

"Even with the partial demobilization?" Reynaud asked before eating a mouthful.

After all, the entire Wayfarer network, as well as individual Wayfarers like him, had been working overtime to help bring as many soldiers back home as possible in time for the planting season. Their ''Astral Teleport'' spells might have only ferried up to a dozen people at a time. But even that was a godsend for villages who have lost most of their able-bodied men to the war effort.

"Had Her Highness not demobilized more than half of our armies, we'd probably be starving by winter," Gerard declared in a grave voice. "The Caliphate's invasion late last year overran far too many grain silos in the south. The army was only able to hold together by drawing on the civilian food reserves. However, that placed a tremendous burden on food supplies across the countryside, especially after the failed harvest in the south last year."

Reynaud frowned as he thought about the numbers that he had heard from the Princess' meetings. More than 250,000 soldiers had been mobilized for the three fronts fighting the 3rd Tauheed Holy War -- the invasion of Rhin-Lotharingie by the Cataliyan Caliphate which began five months ago. Another 100,000 were recruited to run supply trains and guard logistic hubs.

-- And that didn't even include a brief, three-month-long civil war between the Crown Princess and her traitorous uncle over the throne.

The Empire of Rhin-Lotharingie had never been particularly populous to begin with. Centuries of bloody conflicts to throw off the Imperial yoke had left most of the country sparsely populated. Mobilization for the war effort then called up most men of fighting age which left many towns and villages with a noticeable gender imbalance.

The situation was the worst in the southern Kingdom of Garona, which bordered both the Holy Imperium and the Cataliyan Caliphate. They had enacted their famous 'Total Mobilization' decree to call up every man between the ages of sixteen to sixty.

"Things were bad enough before the Imperium's declaration of war." Kaede stared at her untouched stew with a scowl before she looked at Reynaud. "Which is, of course, why you're here."

"Declaration?" Gerard grew alarmed as he halted the rising spoon in his hand.

"Yes." Reynaud nodded. "The Imps formally declared war against our Empire last night. I'm here to recall Kaede for an emergency council meeting," he said before looking at Kaede. "Though I think you probably already knew."

"Pascal told me about it during our ''Farspeak'' call this morning." Kaede spoke of the spell that allowed for long-distance communications. "I haven't had a chance to tell you before now," she said to Gerard who then exhaled a deep sigh.

"I guess it was bound to happen sooner or later, considering their role in provoking both the Caliphate's invasion and the recent civil war," the engineer commented.

"Yes. But it happened in the worst possible manner," Kaede added grimly. "The Garona ''Liberation Army''," the girl said with sarcasm dripping in her soft voice, "struck a dozen cities and ports across the Imperium yesterday with a massive terrorist attack."

"'Terrorist' is what the Imps call them," Reynaud interjected despite his mouth being still stuffed with food. "Those people are ''heroes''," he insisted with a pointed spoon as his eyes hardened to meet Kaede's gaze.

"Heroes don't butcher civilians, women and children, in cold blood," Kaede countered as she stared back.

"And how many women and children did the Imps butcher over the centuries of their 'Pax Arcadia' occupation!?" Reynaud's voice rose sharply before he even noticed.

"This isn't a contest about who can commit the most war crimes," Kaede replied. "Yes, the Imperium is our enemy. They've invaded, occupied, and exploited Lotharins for the past ''eight centuries''," she said agreeably, reminding him they were on the same side. "And in standing up against the oppressor, those men certainly are freedom fighters and martyrs."

For a moment, the redheaded armiger felt vindicated as Kaede seemed to admit the truth. However, the Samaran girl also wasn't finished:

"But children are children regardless of who their parents are. And you cannot tell me that those who commit mass murder against the innocent and the helpless aren't also villains and terrorists!"

Reynaud bit down on his lips as he struggled to come up with a retort that didn't sound illogical to even himself.

After all, the Holy Imperium has been the predominant military, economic, and technological superpower in the West for more than a thousand years. For the Lotharin peoples, and especially the impoverished Garonans who lived on the rocky slopes of the South Lotharin Mountains, a direct confrontation with the Imperium spelled certain defeat. Therefore, they had been forced to rely on ambushes, raids, sabotage, and other forms of guerilla tactics -- all of which were labelled as 'terrorism' by the Imperial propaganda machine.

"For what it's worth, I do agree with Kaede," Gerard said with a deep scowl of his own. "It's one thing to sabotage Imperial Legion outposts and raid their supply convoys. But to attack population centers with indiscriminate slaughter? That's not just ''wrong'', it also plays straight into our opponents' hands."

"Which is exactly what happened," Kaede spoke next in a fuming voice that, had the circumstances been different, Reynaud might have considered cute. "The terror attacks gave the Imperator Augustus the perfect ''casus belli'' to declare war with overwhelming popular support.

"Worse yet, the attacks took place just two days before Resurrection Day," Kaede continued. "And the perpetrators were mostly Garonans of the Albigese Sect, whom the Trinitian Church view as heretics. This gave the Pope the ideal excuse to declare the 4th Trinitian Crusade."

"So we're now the target of both a Tauheed Holy War and a Trinitian Crusade!?" Gerard looked up from his bread bowl in horror. "''Fuck!''" He pounded the table with one fist while his other threw the wooden spoon back into the stew.

"We've survived worse," Reynaud muttered even as he resisted the depressive urge to agree with Gerard. "We Lotharins will ''never'' bend knee to a foreign occupier."

"And how many Lotharins will be ''left'' after this!?" Kaede retorted. "You were both with me when we travelled to the Kingdom of Garona back in February. Tell me -- did you see any healthy men of fighting age in the villages and towns that we passed? I've even heard of calls to legalize polygamy among the Garonans, which might just actually pass since the Albigese don't hold the institution of marriage in high regard to begin with."

"Clearly, I should convert," Reynaud commented dryly.

It made Gerard snort a little, but only drew a gaze of ire from Kaede.

"That's not funny," the girl remarked.

"Sorry," Reynaud said sheepishly. "Humor is all I have at moments like these."

Kaede's eyes softened as she looked back down to her own soup and finally lifted a spoonful.

"I think I know what Her Highness has planned," she said as her voice fell quiet and wispy. "She probably wants me to go to our allies to seek assistance. Desperate times call for desperate measures, and the Empire needs whatever help it can gather in this darkest hour."

Yet even as the petite girl spoke, her expression betrayed neither enthusiasm nor the slightest confidence.

"Holy Father knows we could use another ''Leslie's Blessing''," Reynaud nodded.

"When is the conference that you mentioned?" Kaede stared at the armiger before stuffing her cheeks with a wooden spoon that was clearly too large for her.

"In two days," Reynaud answered. "Her Highness has recalled the commanders of every war front and summoned all the monarchs and heads of the major aristocratic houses."

"So we leave tomorrow then?"

"Her Highness has asked that I bring you back today," the redhead added with a frown.

Reynaud wasn't exactly a fan of making a round trip in a single day. The dozens of ''Astral Teleport'' jumps it required were exhausting, especially as he would be bringing at least two passengers on the way back.

"For what?"

"Well..." The armiger trailed off into silence.

"I'm not leaving unless you tell me," Kaede said in that soft yet firm tone which Reynaud knew as putting her foot down.

"There's a feast and a dance scheduled for tonight, and Her Highness wants you to attend," Reynaud admitted.

"A ''feast?'' Now?" Gerard remarked with an incredulous gaze.

"It was originally scheduled to thank the lesser nobles who supported her during the civil war," Reynaud shrugged. "She could hardly cancel it at the last minute after many of them had already made their way to the capital."

"Why does the Princess need me for that?" Kaede asked with a frown. "Her supporters want gratitude and accolades from ''her'', not empty words from a nobody like me."

"I think you've long graduated from being a 'nobody'," Reynaud pointed out. "But you're right on the first."

"Maybe she just wants to see you at a dance," Gerard shrugged. "You've never attended one, have you?"

"I don't even know ''how'' to dance," Kaede replied as her eyes gazed away. Her expression seemed to steadily darken before she gave a morose sigh.

"I think she just wants to play dressup."

The two men looked at each other. Neither quite understood what the girl meant or why she looked even more depressed from the thought.

"I can teach you if you'd like," Reynaud offered. "Though we only have a few hours at most."

"And Reynaud is an excellent dancer," Gerard added. "Terrible teacher though."

"Oh sod off!"

"Thank you, but no, I won't be going back today," Kaede declared as though the decision was already made.

"If I'm right and the Princess wants to send me on a diplomatic mission, it might be a while before I come back to this village," she continued. "I need to get my affairs in order and ensure my people have everything they need in case I take months to return. I'm sure the Princess will understand when I tell her that."

Yet, even as Kaede explained, her eyes remained downcast and refused to meet his gaze. Then, as she stood up from her seat and looked away, Reynaud couldn't help feeling that the girl was just coming up with excuses.

"We'll leave tomorrow," she then added before picking up her loaf of bread stew. "And I'm not hungry enough to eat this right now. I'll see if someone else wants it."

She then left the table and the two men to themselves.

"Do you think...?" Gerard asked in a quiet voice as he watched Kaede march off into the distance.

"Yeah."

''She ran away.''

"Knowing Kaede, she's already made arrangements this morning after hearing the news from Pascal," Reynaud commented.

The armiger considered the girl's unusually keen hearing, which could hear murmurs long past the range of conventional earshot, before opting to say anyway:

"She's ducking out because she hates crowds and gatherings, especially those full of pomp and ceremony."

Meanwhile, Gerard exhaled a deep sigh in turn as he stared blankly at the direction Kaede went.

"You know I don't like to second guess our illustrious Princess..." he remarked. "But is it ''truly'' a good idea to have a Grand Squire, our Empire's foremost diplomat, be someone with social anxiety?"

===Author's History Notes===

Rhin-Lotharingie - Named after the Kingdom of Lotharingia during the Frankish Carolingian era, with its lands and people caught between West Frankia (France) and East Frankia (Germany). Rhin-Lotharingie basically means Rhine (river) + Lotharingia (area). The Lotharin people are based on Celtic cultures in our history, which had dominated this region before the Romans committed their 'Celtic Holocaust'.

Thumb Draw - Kaede's archery is based on Japanese kyudo, which uses the thumb to pull the bowstring with two fingers to stabilize the arrow, similar to that of many Asian nomadic cultures. This is very different from the 'Mediterranean draw' used commonly in the West, which uses three fingers to pull the bow.

'Pax Arcadia' - Based on 'Pax Romana', a centuries-long period of 'Roman Peace' which marked the highwater mark of Roman Imperialism. Widely associated with the prosperity, strength, and relative peace of the Empire during its time, such periods would nevertheless feature many internal revolts and border conflicts which would be squashed by the Empire through its domineering strength.

Oriflamme - Named after the Oriflamme 'golden flame' battle standard traditionally used by the Kings of France, until its loss and replacement by Joan of Arc's fleur-de-lis banner.

Six Great Officers - The Six Great Officers of the Empire of Rhin-Lotharingie is based on the Great Officers of the Crown of France, which included the position of the Grand Squire of France.

Edelweiss Flowers - An alpine flower that famously grows in rocky places at high altitudes, often on cliffs. Thus, they become the symbol of German/Austrian alpinism and are often recognized as a symbol of courage.

Albigese and Marriage - The Cathars that the Albigese are based on didn't view marriage with high regard, as they viewed material world as sinful and sex as spiritually harmful. Reproduction itself was often frowned upon as children meant 'trapping more souls in corrupt physical bodies', not that Kaede would entirely grasp their theology here.

Daybreak:Volume 5 Prologue

2025-10-01T14:44:50Z

Aorii:

===Prologue===

"One, two, ''PUUUUSH!''"

Marius slammed his shoulders against the thick wooden end board of the wagon. His companion did the same to his right as the two rammed their bodies against the ponderous vehicle. The two men gritted their teeth as they mustered all their strength while their worn leather shoes slipped against wet cobblestones. Their efforts paid off as the iron-rimmed wheel which had been stuck in a cavity in the road finally climbed back onto the stone-paved bridge.

An audible breath of relief came from his youthful partner on the side. But the older Marius looked up and took a nervous glance at the wide wooden planks that projected upwards from the wagon bed. The vertical boards had lurched backwards as the ponderous cargo inside his extremely overloaded wagon resisted the sudden movement. Marius was sure he had heard a crack earlier, but the wooden planks nevertheless held up and kept their precious cargo safe inside the makeshift container that was packed to the brim.

"Boss," Marius heard Ramón address him as the latter strode back from the front of the wagon and offered him the reins. "Let's switch. You're exhausted."

"I'm not as young... as I used to be..." Marius admitted through his heavy breathing.

He accepted the reins with a nod while his companion clasped him on his heaving shoulders.

To be fair, Marius was still quite fit, or at least he'd like to think so. But he had crossed the half-century milestone just a few weeks back, and age was quickly catching up to him. Nevertheless, he had been insistent on replacing Ramón, as the middle-aged member of their crew had a bad shoulder -- an injury from the chaos of the last war which never properly healed.

"The gates aren't far ahead," he spoke to his two companions as he pointed towards the other end of the long bridge. "We're almost there," he said before striding towards the front of the wagon to take the lead.

With a grim look, Marius took another deep breath of the cool morning air before he gazed upriver towards the northeast. It was just past daybreak and the sun had yet to even emerge halfway from its cozy bed beyond the horizon. The sky was still dominated by a gigantic indigo moon which took up over a third of the heavens. Its massive bulk also hid the tiny silvery orb which his late wife once half-jested could be used to determine when she would be most willing.

Leading their ox by the reins once more, Marius strode towards the imposing fortified gates that overlooked the bridge which crossed the Tanarus river. The long bridge was over a kilopace across and featured both a double-drawbridge which could be raised to allow civilian ships to pass, as well as a removable pontoon segment behind them for military use.

He heard the wagon wheels roll onto the thick wooden beams of the drawbridge and towards the well-guarded gatehouse that loomed ahead. The stern-faced Marius practiced raising the corners of his lips and his eyes once more to form what passed for a smile. The borders of the Imperium were only thirty kilopaces to their northwest. Considering the escalating political tensions of late, it was all the more important for him to show that he was a friendly trader, even if he had long forgotten what it felt like to truly smile.

The trio of burly men and their ox-drawn wagon approached the first gatehouse just as two figures garbed in forest-green cloaks neared its entrance. A soldier clad in mail and plate armor shouted "HALT!" before he approached the other two with his spear raised beside his towering shield.

"Remove those cloaks at once!" The soldier demanded in the Imperial tongue as he pointed his spear menacingly.

The dull garments were uniform in color except for the white threads that wove embroidered patterns lining the edges. They had holes on each side where two pairs of thin arms emerged from. Their designs marked them as Lotharin in origin without any doubt. And it was those Lotharins, from the Empire of Rhin-Lotharingie, whom the soldiers of the Holy Imperium of the Inner Sea had a long and bloodied history with.

"Y-yes Sir."

A frightened feminine voice responded as the two women removed their outerwear as ordered. Their clothes underneath were frayed and filthy, with torn gaps in their long skirts that exposed their emaciated legs. Neither of them carried any packs and it was clear that they were refugees with little more than the clothing on their backs.

"The city has no room for beggars and whores the likes of you!" The soldier yelled. "Get out of here!" He ordered with a wave of his spear.

"P-please Sir, we've nowhere else to go..." The other woman pleaded weakly.

"Not my problem," the soldier growled.

Marius glanced at the two women as his wagon passed them by from the other side of the wide bridge. The younger couldn't have been older than twenty years old and was likely the daughter of the older woman. Her worn and ragged clothing, her bony and tired body, her pleading gaze which held onto a spark of hope as she turned to look at him...

-- She reminded him so much of his late wife when they had first met along a mountainous road, when he was still a soldier and she was a refugee fleeing the chaos of conflict.

It felt a lifetime ago, during another age when war and turmoil ravaged the land, bringing death and suffering to those least able to defend themselves.

"Now leave, before I throw you both into the river," the soldier threatened.

For a moment, Marius almost felt something stirring in his heartstrings. It was a sliver of pity and sympathy, but without any warmth to carry it throughout his body. The emotion was soon deadened by the haunting image of a dark night lit by a city's burning buildings...

Marius had long learned that the world did not care for the weak and defenseless -- and with that in mind, neither should he. Certainly not while he still had a goal to accomplish and helping these women would only attract the wrong kind of attention.

''With any luck, death will relieve them of life's burdens shortly,'' he thought grimly.

As the man pulled his eyes away, he noticed a glint of silver from the grimy cross that the young girl wore around her neck. It had probably been muddied to deter others from robbing her of her last precious belonging. The cross also hinted that the two women were Trinitian refugees.

Marius had seen plenty of their kind in the past few years, ever since the Albigensians splintered off the Trinitian Church in the Kingdom of Garona -- the southernmost of the four vassal kingdoms inside the Empire of Rhin-Lotharingie. The Albigensians had denounced the Trinitian Church as corrupt and faithless. In response, the Pope in Arcadia had declared them a heresy to be cleansed.

The religious conflict that followed had seen numerous churches destroyed and priests burned alive. Countless residents were given the choice of either conversion or exile from the dukedoms that the Albigensians won.

There was a time during his life when Marius wondered why they couldn't just all live peacefully and get along. Why did humans have to allow nations, culture, and religion to divide them into perpetual conflict?

But those were days long past...

Marius turned his head to face the raised steel portcullis once more. He saw the other guard look warily at his overloaded wagon before meeting his gaze. The merchant put on his best smile and raised an open hand in gesture before the young soldier nodded back in recognition. After all, Marius had been coming in and out of these gates for more than five years now, and most of the soldiers had at least seen him before.

The outer gate was large enough to allow two of his wagons to pass through side by side. Beyond it was a paved courtyard surrounded by walls on all four sides. An even taller inner gatehouse loomed ahead, surrounded by soldiers who checked the belongings of every individual who wished to pass through. A short line of a dozen people waited outside for their turn.

Marius could hear the faint sound of a bell tolling from the city center which was reciprocated by another inside the inner gatehouse. As he led his ox-drawn cart to line up behind the others, the sound of a clatter drew his attention towards the side of the courtyard where five men and women materialized out of thin air.

The newcomers held each others' hands in a circle around the stone pedestal that housed the city's teleportation beacon. It was the daily morning Wayfarer transit from the border town of Caiarellus which had arrived exactly on time. Among the travellers were two soldiers who wore back-strapped round shields over their burgundy-red capes. Their equipment and colors marked them as Imperial Akritae, the border troops of the Holy Imperium's legions.

The older of the two soldiers double-paced to the gatehouse in swift strides. He pulled out a bronze messenger tube and raised it into the air with a shout.

"Priority communique from Caiarellus!"

"Is there an attack?" The officer in charge of the gate's security asked tensely as he stepped up.

"No," the messenger answered calmly. "The borders remain quiet but uneasy. Ever since the Lotharins were invaded by the Caliphate, their brigands have stopped harassing us. I think this is a report from our informants across the border," the soldier added before shrugging to signal that he didn't actually know. "Must be maps or something, or our signifer would have sent it by ''Farspeak''."

"Well, let's hope those Tauheed infidels and Lotharin heretics all rip each other to pieces." The officer who looked past his prime smirked as he reached his hand out towards the tube. "Holy Father willing, we'll take that land back just in time for my retirement."

Marius felt an unnatural chill gather inside him as he heard the two soldiers talk casually about the conflict that was ravaging his homeland. Perhaps it was because he had always known these Imperials were bastards. Perhaps it was due to his own aloofness towards what he could not change. But their callous words no longer triggered any visible response from him.

However, the same could not be said of his youngest colleague Arnau, who took a step from behind the wagon before Ramón yanked him back into place.

''Don't blow our cover,'' Marius thought to himself as he willed for the brash young man to keep calm. Meanwhile, his eyes looked upon the officer's outstretched hand with an interested gaze.

Marius wasn't born with any affinity for magic, but he had long learned to recognize the signs of a spell being cast. The officer must have used a scanning spell to verify the messenger tube. It was simple enough that most mages didn't even need to recite the words for mnemonic spellcasting. The lack of any visible manifestation meant that a simple gesture was the only tell Marius could use to discern its practice.

"Mana signature matches," the officer confirmed before gesturing toward the gate and his men. "LET THEM THROUGH!"

"Salve, brothers."

The messenger extended his arm in an Imperial salute before gesturing to the other soldier who followed him.

Marius watched as the younger soldier, who was a teen barely old enough to join, scurried forward to match steps with his senior. The sight of his youthful determination passing through elicited a pang of bitter nostalgia that left Marius taken aback.

Perhaps it was the way they turned their armored shoulders. Perhaps it was their purposeful stride beneath a distant sun that reflected off their steel plate. But the sight of their departure made memories swirl inside Marius as he felt a tremble from his weathered hand.

And in that moment, the years peeled away like autumn leaves in the wind, returning him to that one morning which still felt raw and bleeding:

...

"I'm sorry, Father. It's time."

The young man before Marius turned to follow the armored recruitment officer out. He was halfway through the door when Marius grabbed him by the forearm.

Marius did not wish to see his firstborn depart the house this way -- the house that he had built by hand all those years ago, when he could still look proudly down upon his wife's first pregnancy.

"Lois, you can't do this!" He added in a half-pleading voice before it hardened to half-scolding. "I...I forbid it!"

"I'm an adult now, Father," the tall young man replied calmly before he sighed once more. He turned his face one last time to meet his parent with an imploring but also determined gaze.

"It's my decision. And I won't be stopped."

"But why?" Marius asked as he stared into his son's faded-green eyes and rounded face. It felt almost like he was looking at a younger version of himself.

"Why must you join the rangers as soon as you're of age? Why can't you ''live life'' for a few years first to understand what it ''means''? Don't you know that the rangers have been fighting an undeclared war for decades!?"

"''Why?''" Lois responded with a frown as his gaze grew clouded by disappointment. "Father, I thought that you, of all people, would understand! You! Who had joined the Garona Liberation Army when you were only ''fourteen!''"

It wasn't that Marius didn't understand his son's motives. His old war buddies had always said that Lois was the spitting image of him, not just in looks but also in personality. Yet Marius always wished that Lois wouldn't take after him in this regard -- to indulge in that youthful romanticism and bravado which led him to fight in one of the cruelest and bloodiest wars in Hyperion history.

There were many stories that he had told to his children with pride. Stories of courage, of camaraderie, of fighting against impossible odds and pulling through by the edge of his teeth. But there were also other stories that he was not proud of and said nothing of -- for Marius had seen the worst of humanity in all of its gratuitous hate and violence, and not just in others but also in himself.

"Those were different times!" Marius' pitch steadily rose as his own buried shame transformed into rejection and anger. "I had been born into a land under Imperial occupation. My parents ''died'' during the First Garona Independence War when the legion burned down my home village with their 'reprisals'!" He almost shouted. "I joined to create a peaceful world for my family and my children!"

The father then gestured towards the house that he had built, towards Lois' young brother and a crying baby sister whom his mother was trying to calm despite her own tears.

"We ''have'' that peace now," he stressed. "So why must you tear this family apart to continue the conflict?"

''Why must you bloody your hands just as I did?'' Marius could not bring himself to say his final thought out loud.

"Because while we selfishly bask in our peaceful lives, our Lotharin brethren south of the border continue to live under Imperial tyranny!" Lois answered as he pointed through the doorway towards the south -- the direction that every Lotharin home was built to face.

"There shall be no peace with the Imperium until there is peace for all Lotharins!"

Marius froze as it was a quote so often repeated by his comrades. Even he himself had worn it with familiarity upon his lips when he was young -- a phrase which he had even woven into many of his stories to his kids.

And in that moment, Marius knew he could not win. For Lois had become exactly the man whom he had raised.

...

''There shall be no peace...''

Marius felt his chest tighten as he continued to stare through the gateway towards the rising sun. He could not help but reflect upon those heavy words, which carried such a different meaning for him today than it did back then.

''How we all change, even at my age.''

The soldiers who bore the message had already disappeared from view, yet his nostalgic gaze remained transfixed on the empty archway.

"Marius, you old smudge, it's good seeing you again," the officer in charge of the gatehouse pulled Marius' thoughts back to the present as he clasped the aging man's shoulders with a wide grin.

"Did you bring the wine you promised me last time?"

For a moment, Marius only blinked as he struggled to bury the emotions of his past. A half-depreciating chortle left his lips as he couldn't help but wonder what his son would say to him today -- to see him 'consort with the enemy' like this.

"Is that all you think about when you see me, Acacius?" Marius answered in jest as his lips stretched into a fake smile.

Regardless, the old trader turned towards his wagon where he pulled out a large box tucked into the vehicle's front frame. From it, he took out a clay amphorae which he presented to the officer in both hands as a gift.

"Twenty years aged by its previous owners. I hope you enjoy and share it with your men."

"Don't worry, I ain't a pig," Acacius accepted the wine with a beaming grin. "I'll be sure to let my boys know whom this ambrosia is from," he added before looking at the overloaded wagon and tapping it with his knuckle. "So what's the cargo this time?"

"Harvest of muskmelons from the border villages," Marius answered.

"This early? It's still mid-spring!" Acacius' brows rose in amazement.

"Muskmelons are planted indoors before the last frost and transplanted outside as soon as spring begins," Marius explained. "Give it six weeks after that and you have an early crop."

"That so? Good thing I'm learning now. Will be handy when I become a landlord after retiring from service," the officer joked.

"How much longer do you have?" Marius asked with feigned curiosity.

"Little more than six months, at which point I'll have finished a double tour of fifty years."

Acacius' words reminded Marius of the officer's yeomen status. As a man of the 'middle-class' who was born with magical affinity, Acacius could expect to live for well over a hundred years. Even now, for a man nearly eighty years of age, Acacius had the appearance of someone who was merely thirty.

"I heard you've already secured yourself a good woman?" Marius asked next.

"She's expecting in a month, actually," the officer beamed. "But don't worry. Soon as I retire, she'll be recognized as my proper wife and our son legitimized," Acacius said as though hinting that they were already secretly married, as such unions were officially forbidden for active members of the legion. "It's all standard practice in the army."

"Well, congratulations on becoming a father soon. I wish you peace for these last six months and a smooth road to retirement."

Marius tried his best to keep the irony out of his tone and smile. He already knew that the days ahead would be anything but peaceful.

"Same to you, and thanks again," the officer said before raising the tall wine jug and tapping it with his gauntlet.

It was a polite signal for him to pass and stop blocking the gateway. Meanwhile, Ramón and Arnau were already pushing their wagon forward towards the city's main street.

Marius and his companions moved past the double portcullis and emerged from the fortified gatehouse into the bustling city of Augusta Tanarus. A wide, stone-paved thoroughfare stretches before him, flanked by multi-storied buildings with shops occupying their ground floors. A cacophony of sounds, smells, and movement along the main streets immediately assaulted his senses, as the distinct smells of fresh bread, roasting meat, tanned leather, and the less pleasant odors of waste mingled in the morning air.

Yet despite the early hour, the merchants had already started setting up their wooden awnings and were now beginning to hawk their wares -- everything from pottery and textiles to exotic spices and fresh produce. Water splashed from a nearby public fountain where citizens gathered with clay amphorae to fill their jugs. Meanwhile, porters push past with loaded carts, yielding only to a wealthy woman who was carried past in a litter by slaves.

It was hardly surprising, as the city of Augusta Tanarus was built at the tip of where the Tanarus river formed a delta that flowed into the Inner Sea. It was the site of not only a historic victory for the Imperium, but also a ley line junction where magic could be used to power the city's wards and industry. Surrounded by river estuaries and protected by layered enchantments, the fortress-city was considered an impregnable bastion.

Furthermore, today was the Friday before Resurrection Day, the most Holy of all holidays in Trinitian tradition. It marked the day when Hyperion the Dragonlord sacrificed his life in the 'Ritual of the True Cross', a grand sorcery which sealed the demons back in their Abyss and ended the millenia-long Dragon-Demon Wars that ravaged two continents.

Finally, the city was widely considered the last stronghold of 'true civilization' before one entered the half-civilized, half-barbarous lands of Rhin-Lotharingie... or so it was said by the maritime traders of the Imperium.

As such, Augusta Tanarus was also one of the main trading hubs of the Holy Imperium of the Inner Sea. Here, cargo galleys and sky-barges picked up goods from the northwest to be transported to the rest of the thalassocracy. Merchants could rest assured that their businesses would be kept safe by the formidable legionary garrison. The city even had a citadel headquarters which was in charge of all thematic legionary forces in the northwestern borderlands of the Imperium.

"It's hard to believe how peaceful it is here." Marius heard Arnau, the youngest of his companions, mutter with half-amazement and half-bitterness beneath his breath.

Turning back to face Arnau, Marius saw the young man gawking up towards the skies with his slack-jawed mouth hanging agape. The lad couldn't stop staring at the towering structure near the northern entrance. His eyes moved between the building and the two massive floating airships anchored next to it.

It wasn't exactly surprising, for Marius had reacted much the same way the first time he saw Augusta Tanarus' aerodrome tower.

The blocky stone and concrete structure jutting up from the ground rose a good ten stories into the sky. Four windlass cranes projected from its corners where dock workers busied themselves raising cargo up to the airships. Two ramps -- one for cargo and one for personnel -- connected the tower to each of the two gargantuan sky-barges with their giant elliptical balloons. Dozens of ropes were used to anchor each humongous vehicle and keep it from being blown away by the wind. Meanwhile, seven cargo nets, a fortuitous number in Arcadian culture, hung from the gondola strapped to the underside of each skyship.

"Holy Father be blessed," Arnau whispered with a childish sense of wonder. "How do those giants stay aloft?"

"The elliptical hulls of those sky-barges are filled with a lighter-than-air gas which keeps them afloat," Marius answered with the best of his knowledge.

He had heard an alchemist explain it once but couldn't remember the names of those gases. All he remembered was that it was colorless, odorless, and had the odd effect of making his voice squeak.

"They travel through the use of wind magic," Ramón then added. "However, their attuned crystals are bound to specific ley lines, and as a result they can only transport goods along a preset path. But occasionally one of them will get blown off course, at which point they'll need a proper stormcaller mage to push them back."

"I thought you said that ley line crystals were bound to a single location?" The young man then asked.

"The Imperium's technology exceeds Rhin-Lotharingie's in every respect," Marius answered as a matter of fact. His words made Ramón open his lips before closing them in a scowl as though the latter wanted to yet couldn't refute.

Meanwhile, Marius narrowed his eyes and frowned as he noticed that one of the barges' cargo nets was fully loaded with thousands of barrels that looked familiar even from a distance. At least three of them were marked with a red 'X' on the bottom, which seemed to hint that they were the same barrels that he had once smuggled into the city.

''Is that the target of the saboteur team that the commander mentioned?'' It made him wonder as he watched the crew secure the cargo nets to the lower deck as they prepared for departure.

Once again, Marius thought of the nature of their mission ahead. It was completely antithetical to Arnau's youthful, innocent stare as the young man gazed up towards the sky.

It reminded the older man that he had never asked for young Arnau's age. After all, it was easier on his conscience to not know.

But Ramón did not have such concerns as he queried:

"How old are you, Arnau?"

Marius had anticipated twenty. He had hoped for twenty. But the answer that came back from Arnau was "seventeen."

"Why are you here?" The group's leader scowled as he almost wanted to tell Arnau to turn back.

But Arnau met the older man's gaze directly. Something shifted in the boy's countenance -- the youthful exuberance that had animated his features just moments before vanished in an instant, like a candle snuffed by a bone-chilling gale that cast the air around them into a blizzard.

His reply came in a deadened voice that belonged to a much older soul: "why are we all here?"

The apathetic tone sent a faint stabbing pain through Marius' chest. He'd heard those same words before. It came from another time, through a different voice, and under different circumstances. Yet, the haunting memory of it rose through Marius' thoughts as though the wound had been freshly made:

...

"Why are we all here? Because our duty is to protect our families from what's out there!" The conscription officer pointed towards the town's southern walls even as he kept his other hand on the shoulders of Pau, Marius' second born son.

"But why would you take him and not me!?" Marius' frustrations rose. "I'm a veteran of the last war!"

"Look, I'm a father too, I know what it's like." The officer sighed with a sympathetic gaze. "I would ''gladly'' take you in exchange, if you weren't so injured you can barely even run. But my orders are to conscript one able-bodied man from every family for the defense of this town. We're about to come under siege and there is no exception for you refugees."

"But he's only seventeen!" Marius exclaimed as his voice almost cracked with desperation.

"Father," it was his son Pau who interjected next with a forced smile. "I'll be fine." He tried to embolden himself as much as he reassured his father.

"Didn't you tell me just yesterday?" Pau continued. "The Imperial campaign in Garona is on its last legs. It won't be long before Emperor Geoffroi's main Lotharin army arrives. We only need to hold out for a few days."

The young man squeezed his fist as his eyes and voice hardened with steadfast resolve. "Besides, it's my duty as a man to protect my family -- isn't that what you've always taught me?"

Marius' jaw trembled as he didn't know if he should cry or smile at that moment. To see his second child march off to war -- the son whom his wife had named in their traditional Lengadoc tongue's word for 'peace'. It brought tears to his eyes even as he felt pride in his son's maturity and courage.

Before Marius stood the culmination of every quality he had spent years instilling into his children. To see Pau face the challenges of adulthood with a resolute gaze determined to overcome all fear and doubt, Marius could not be more proud as a father.

But why did it have to come to this? Why couldn't he protect his own children? Why did he have to injure his leg during their flight here?

"Big bro!" Pau's four year-old little sister cried out as she ran to him while he knelt down to hug her.

"Don't worry, Mireia, I'll be back with you and Ma and Pa before you even miss me," he said with a broad grin. "And together, we'll go back home and await our older brother's return."

"Promise?" The little girl asked as she hugged her stuffed bunny with one arm and reached out her tiny hand with the other.

Her brother answered with his own hand and interweaved his fingers through hers. "I promise," he added with a nod and a beaming smile.

Pau then gave his sister one last all-embracing hug before he stood up and did the same for his father.

"Remember that I'm proud of you, son," Marius felt his voice shake as he squeezed his son's broad chest. He then pulled away and grasped Pau by the shoulders with a stern gaze. "And remember -- fight well with your comrades, but no heroics. Come back in one piece."

"I know, father," Pau responded with another bravely forced smile. "And I'll be sure to bring this back to you," he said before raising the steel sling staff and winged mace that Marius once soldiered with. "I promise."

...

''Why is it always the young who are sent to die?''

Marius considered as his thoughts returned to the present once more. He stared at his youngest companion for another moment as he realized that Arnau was the same age as his son Pau had been. A part of Marius wanted to tell Arnau to go back and return to his family. But another part of him also knew -- even had Arnau any family left, the three of them were already too far gone to live a peaceful life.

It's why they all volunteered for this...

Raman was driving their ox to pull the wagon forward once more. The three men followed as they made their way down the city's increasingly-crowded main street. They had to stop several times at intersections to allow other vehicles to cross first. Compared to the others, their extremely overloaded wagon moved at a snail's pace across the cobblestone road.

Thankfully, the Imperium's cities had wide boulevards which allowed three or even four wagons to pass side by side.

The road even had stone ditches to both sides which drained wastewater away into the sewers. Meanwhile above them, smaller branches of the city's main aqueduct carried water to the local bathhouses which allowed the crowded city to maintain sanitation and hygiene. It was a sign of the Holy Imperium's wealth that their cities could afford such luxurious infrastructure. All of it lay in stark contrast to the narrow, winding, and filthy streets that dominated the towns and cities inside Marius' home country of Rhin-Lotharingie.

The old man thought he heard a noise behind him before he turned about to look back. His gaze caught sight of another rope falling from one of the sky-barges parked by the aerodrome. The colossal airship was slowly pulling away from the docking tower. A strong gust blew from behind them as the vehicle's enchantments altered the local weather for its movement.

The ox-drawn cart sped up slightly as they neared the canal that separated the northwestern third of the city from its central plaza. A Trinitian Cathedral with its three towering spires and the dome of a governor's palace could also be seen on the other side of the marketplace. Yet here, in the commercial and administrative heart of the city, the cacophony of hawking merchants and working tradesmen had dropped significantly.

In their place, a large man with exotic ebony-black skin stood atop a raised marble platform. The man wore a striped toga in the Arcadian fashion as he spoke with a magically-enhanced deep voice that resounded clearly across the air.

"--''from Arcadia,''" he made a dramatic gesture towards the south as he proclaimed the Imperium's capital. "Imperator Augustus Skantarios decrees the mobilization of all furloughed thematic legions from the northern and western provinces of our most Holy Imperium. Our brave soldiers are charged to ensure that the heresy and barbarism of war in Rhin-Lotharingie does not spill onto our lands. Renowned General Marcus Avilius Belisarius will arrive in our city in five days, bringing with him the Tagmata Legions Hikanatoi and Archontopoulai..."

"''Two'' Tagmata Legions," Ramón spoke in an awed voice as he considered the elite formations whose names struck fear across the continent.

Marius could still remember the sight of those demigryph super-heavy-cavalry charging the Lotharin center during the Battle of Montaiglin Gap. Their magic and armor impervious to the hailstorm of sling-bullets and runic-spells alike from the Lotharins. Their indomitable riders plowed straight into a wall of pikes like giants scything through wheat, and twelve lines of infantry crumbled before the Lotharin army broke and ran.

-- Even now, the old veteran could feel his hand shaking at the scene of frightful slaughter that followed on that tragic day.

"Complete overkill for 'border security'," Marius commented grimly as he clenched his fingers around the reins. "The Imperator is readying his armies for full scale conflict," he muttered in a low voice as he considered the inevitability of the war ahead.

Had he any reservations towards the actions that he was about to perpetrate, this dire news had just absolved him of them.

After all, Augusta Tanarus was not merely a trade port, but a fortress-city built as the Legions' main logistics hub in the western edge of their Empire north of the Inner Sea. Here, sky-barges and cargo-galleys would be offloaded and wagon-trains packed to supply the armies that would march into Garona and Rhin-Lotharingie. Within the walls of the Imperium's military infrastructure, every man and woman living here was a participant in the economy that fueled the Imperial war machine.

-- And to Marius, that made the whole city a legitimate military target.

Yet, as the trio drew near a busy stone bridge that crossed the canal, Marius's jaded eyes spotted a little girl who ran innocently across it. The child could not have been more than six years old and had wavy brunette locks that flowed freely in the morning breeze. Her hands clutched a stuffed rabbit beneath her beautiful green eyes and rosy red cheeks.

Marius didn't even notice his breathing pause as he couldn't help fixate upon her with his gaze. The girl looked so nostalgic that it felt like he had travelled backwards through time.

It was a sight that he had not seen for so long. A feeling of warmth and longing that his frigid chest had not experienced in a decade...

For several moments, the little girl who wore a beaming smile ran straight towards him as though she was about to leap into his embrace. Yet, before Marius could emerge from his frozen trance, the girl dashed past him and towards someone else instead.

"Mama!" The girl joyfully rushed into her parent's embrace.

The mother was young and pretty and wore an elegantly draped stola of fine lilac -- a long pleated dress that was more commonly seen among the wealthier citizens of the Holy Imperium. A delicate shawl of imported silk hung from the woman's head and over both shoulders to add modesty to her appearance.

Meanwhile, standing next to her was a broad-shouldered, middle-aged man dressed in the purple cloak of an Imperial Quaestor. He looked at least fifteen years older than the young mother, but laid a possessive hand upon her shoulders which clearly showed that they were married.

A scowl grew across Marius' countenance as he forced himself to look away. A gale of frozen anger swept through him from deep within him as he felt disturbed by his own mistake.

''How could I mistake an Imp child for my sweet Mireia.''

Meanwhile, a massive shadow steadily grew across the busy cobblestone street. The colossal sky-barge that Marius saw departing the tower earlier now flew directly over them to block out direct sunlight. The gargantuan elliptical airship was over three hundred paces long. Its twelve revolving propellers filled the air with a dull whirring as the chain-linked pairs repurposed the gale force winds that blew at the airship's back for steering.

A cheer of support resounded from the central plaza where the men gathered around the news crier. Marius had barely been paying attention, but it was not difficult to guess why the townsfolk were celebrating. Per the Arcadian tradition of 'bread and circuses', food and entertainment would usually be provided to celebrate the arrival of dignitaries. Chariot races would then be held in the city's hippodrome, with contestants from the military to help whip the public into a pro-war frenzy.

However, the cheers and applause were short lived this time, as the shadow cast by the colossal airship soon came to loom over the central plaza. Countless citizens looked skyward as they pointed and spoke to each other in hushed murmurs.

It reminded Marius that in all the times he was in this city while a sky-barge departed, this was the first time a massive vehicle passed directly over the heart of the city.

The old trader was still pondering the reason when a shrill cry pierced the air from high above:

"LOOK OUT!"

One of the seven heavy-duty cargo nets that carried goods beneath the dirigible had fallen loose. At least four cords of thick rope seemed to have snapped which left the net hanging to one side with an open gap. Over a dozen wooden barrels rolled out from the cargo hold and fell through the air. Several anxious screams could be heard from the market's residents as the huge barrels plunged down from above.

"Order!" Another shout came from the soldiers. "The city protects!"

Surely enough, before the falling objects could even come close to hitting ground, they struck a translucent dome-like barrier of cobalt blue that suddenly flared into existence around sixty paces above ground. The wooden barrels had shattered on contact as they crashed into the city's anti-air defense ward. The magical barrier was strong enough to break apart even giant boulders hurled from trebuchets. It was part of why Augusta Tanarus was considered an impregnable fortress.

However, while the ward could stop large objects, it was designed to allow lighter substances and liquids to pass through. The dozen barrels that burst open were full of a smooth, glossy, yet viscous liquid that looked like some kind of cooking oil. Hectojugs of this flammable fluid rained down from the sky which drenched entire shops in the marketplace beneath.

Worse yet, more ropes seemed to be breaking loose from the already spilling cargo net, which led to a steady stream of barrels to fall from the gargantuan airship.

"That can't be an accident," Marius muttered to his comrades as he stared up at the sky-barge.

The double-layered cargo nets those sky-barges used would have been inspected before departure. They were secured to the cargo deck by over two dozen heavy duty 'anchor' ropes. There was no way so many cords could have broken loose unless there had been deliberate sabotage.

"You think that's ''them?''" Ramón asked in a low voice.

"I'm positive," Marius added as he spotted another one of those tell-tale barrels that he had seen earlier.

It was marked with a red 'X' on the bottom, and so was the barrel next to it.

Those barrels' own cargo net swayed beneath the sky-barge as several ropes were cut. A gap to the side soon opened where one barrel after another rolled through before plummeting. The wooden containers were shattered by the warding barrier just like before. However, instead of breaking apart to rain oil down upon the ground below, the barrels released a black powdery substance that fell like a carpet of volcanic sand.

''Blast powder.''

Marius' eyes swelled as those X-marked barrels were indeed the same ones that he, among others, had smuggled into the city over the past few years.

He was not the only one to recognize it either as more cries and screams erupted from the marketplace. Residents and tradesmen alike looked up in horror as it began to dawn on them that this was no simple mistake.

One after another, the ropes securing the seven cargo nets beneath the sky-barge were cut. One after another, the barrels kept within those holds slipped, rolled, and bounced into the air before plummeting towards the ground. The speed of the disaster hastened as dozens of barrels began to rain down from the airship at a time.

-- And every one of these barrels shattered to spill forth a flammable substance, be it oil, powder, grease, tar, and even spirits.

"Terrorist!" A terrified shrill cry resounded from among the civilians in the crowded marketplace.

More and more screams followed in its wake as panic quickly began to spread. Even the soldiers had lost control as many of them turned to run from the airship's eastbound flight. Throngs of civilians began to flee the downpour of powder, liquids, and other debris. They pushed and shoved aside others in their path with little regard for anything but their own lives.

"This is our chance," Marius declared as he looked back at his companions. "Light the fuse."

The old veteran moved behind the ox where he grasped the animal's tail with his hand. A dozen strips of tar-coated linen had been wrapped around the ox's tail which ended with a small tube. Marius took the bell that disguised the tube's true purpose in hand and yanked hard to break the strings. The attached flint rod created a series of sparks inside, which ignited the oiled paper within and then the tarred tail.

The oxen cried out in pain as it began to push forward with all the strength it could muster in an attempt to escape the flames. The animal's hooves gripped and slipped across the stone-paved ground as it pulled against the overloaded wagon that struggled to move faster than a snail's pace. The beast was successful in drawing the wagon onto the gentle arc of the stone bridge while Ramón leapt down from the vehicle's side. Within his hand was the flint core to a similar tube which had been used to spark a five-minute timed fuse.

"STOP!" A soldier who stood guard on the other side of the canal bridge yelled. "STOP THAT WAGON AT ONCE!"

"Don't you see what's happening!?" His companion also cried out as he gestured towards the tide of panic-stricken civilians surging toward their direction.

Yet, before any of the soldiers could take even three steps, a loud voice shouted from the airship above drew all of their attention skywards:

''"THE DEAD DEMAND JUSTICE!"''

The airship had already cut all of its large nets and dropped the majority of its cargo. Now, the hijackers completed their mission by detonating the entire vessel. An earthrending explosion which seemed to tear the heavens asunder shook through the city. And in the blink of an eye, the colossal dirigible which had loomed over much of the marketplace plaza went up in a massive inferno.

A torrent of hot air followed which almost knocked Marius off his feet. The old veteran dug in his heels as he felt the searing heat of the blast expand. It was not entirely surprising to him, as decades ago -- back when he was a child saboteur in the Garona Liberation Army -- he had taken on a mission to plant several runestones on a smaller airship. The runes held an alchemy spell that steadily transmuted the squeak-inducing odorless gas inside those elliptical balloons to something far more flammable. And after that, a ''Lightning'' spell from their yeoman captain was all that it took to set the entire sky-barge ablaze.

Smoke filled the air and rose skyward in a mushroom-shaped column as burning embers and debris rained down upon the plaza. Fires spread in an instant through the oil-soaked peddler booths and the pools of tar and powder that blanketed the cobblestone ground.

At the same time, the colossal flaming wreck of the sky-barge drifted down towards the city's southeastern districts. The air above the city flared with cobalt-blue mana once more as the air defense ward tried to resist the falling skyship's metallic frame. However, the sheer mass of the burning vessel proved too much and the entire magical barrier shattered like a glass dome breaking into a million shards. The searing carcass of the dirigible then crashed into the dense blocks of crowded residential homes to the city's southeast, which almost instantly set the entire area ablaze in a sea of flames.

Countless fires were spreading out of control inside the fortress-city that was claimed to be 'impregnable'. Meanwhile, the hundreds of civilians who had been knocked off their feet scrambled to climb over each other to get away from the growing holocaust of flames.

"The Dead Demand Justice!" Marius heard another shout in the Lotharin tongue from the far side of the marketplace plaza.

The explosion that followed revealed that yet another infiltration squad, like the trio formed by him, Ramón, and Arnau, had gone into action. The detonation came from the entrance to the cathedral where the city's residents no doubt sought shelter. The destruction shook the ground with such force that one of the limestone spires cracked and began to topple.

Marius knelt and reached to his boots where he unsheathed a concealed dagger. The blade was within reason for what could pass as a 'self-defense weapon' should a soldier discover it. He watched as Ramón and Arnau opened the wagon's side storage to pull out a lumber axe and a steel mallet. The three men all looked at each other with grim faces as they nodded wordlessly to one another.

There was no need for final farewells, for all of them had already accepted their coming fate. Each of them was haunted by a past that they could not escape. And their mission was the only end that could bring them peace.

Their ox cried out in pain as its burning tail forced the animal to pull the overloaded wagon over the slightly-arched canal bridge. The soldiers on the far side however had caught on as they stood up and formed a half-wedge to one side of the passage. The disciplined legionaries leveled their spears in preparation to impale the animal that struggled to charge forward in pain. But before the beast could pull its heavy burden past the crest of the bridge, the young Arnaud dashed past the wagon to assault them with his raised steel mallet.

Nevertheless, the untrained teen was no match against professional soldiers. Three spears thrust forth and two of them impaled his unprotected torso before the young man could even land a single swing.

Yet, despite a shaft that ran through his gut, Arnau continued to push himself forward as he stared upon the soldiers with gritted teeth. The young man dropped his hammer before raising his right arm with all of his remaining strength. Marius could see the glint of a brooch that Arnau said belonged to his late mother in his fingers as young man croaked out one last cry before he slammed the hand into the center of his chest:

"THE DEAD DEMAND JUSTICE!"

His body then exploded in a blast of flames that not only tore his limbs apart. The sonic burst that came with it also shattered the stone bridge railing and broke every bone in all three Imperial soldiers who stood before him.

There were several fleeing civilians who had been caught in the explosion as well. However, more residents who had been running towards the bridge froze in shock as they could no longer tell which direction safety was. Nevertheless, dozens if not hundreds of others continued to push and shove from behind them as people sought to flee the inferno that consumed the marketplace. Countless people were pushed under and trampled upon even as others hastily changed the direction of their flight.

"THE DEAD DEMAND JUSTICE!"

Another cry came from a bridge to the north just as a wave of panic-stricken residents rushed onto it. The explosion that followed destroyed not only the bridge but sent a shower of blood and limbs flying into the air in every direction.

Meanwhile, Raman had jogged ahead of him and raised his lumber axe against the side of their still-moving wagon. The man cried out as he swung with all of his strength, which forced the axe head to cut straight through one of the wooden sideboards that projected upwards from the wagon bed. The thin wooden plank snapped in half which opened up a wide gap into the filled wagon hold. Their cargo of muskmelons rolled out in a torrent and scattered onto the cobblestone-paved plaza.

Ramón pulled back his axe but its head had become stuck in a muskmelon's rind. Oil leaked from the fruit's interior which showed that the melon had been hollowed out. Almost their entire cargo of muskmelons had their innards replaced with either oil or blast powder. Only a surface layer of real fruits were placed on top to fool inspections.

Marius watched as the melons bounced and rolled into a confused crowd that ran from one side of the plaza to another in a mindless panic. One of the powder-filled fruits ran into a piece of burning debris and promptly exploded. Two tradesmen were caught in the blast and one of them fell clutching their leg where only a bloody stump remained. Several nearby women screamed and turned to run in the opposite direction before they were shoved onto the ground and trampled under by others running the opposite way.

The residents were caught between the burning marketplace and the 'assault' of the ground infiltration teams. Dozens of civilians leapt into the canal, only for some of them to catch fire as the burning oil spread across the water's surface as well. The injured who had been trampled upon crawled over the ground begging for help while the children sat and wailed in terror for their parents to come.

It was the very image of hell -- the sight of a city, with its buildings, its market, its streets, and even its canals all awash with growing flames. Desperate screams and cries came abound from every direction, and corpses both deceased and half-dead littered the streets as more explosions resounded.

Yet, it was not the first time that Marius lay witness to such a grisly sight. The old veteran felt no pity for those who laid dead and dying before him, for the sight of the burning city only steeled his resolve as it uncovered the half-buried agony of a life lost in his memories.

...

"LAIA! MIREIA!"

Marius cried out the names of his wife and daughter as he limped through the streets of the town that they had taken refuge in. He looked frantically from the blazing tavern to his left to the burning houses on his right as he searched for the silhouette of a mother and her four-year-old child in the fire-lit night.

A trio of stones ablaze soared overhead as the besieging Imperial trebuchets let loose another volley. One of the boulders crashed into the side of the already burning tavern before its imbued spell burst. A low bass sonic shockwave shattered the boulder and the building's timber supports alike. The detonation created a hail of jagged rock and wooden splinters that shredded a row of women who had been passing buckets to fight the flames.

"AAHhhhh!"

A teenage girl and her ailing mother screamed as they had just emerged from the tavern's side entrance before the boulder smashed into it. The blazing second floor of the building collapsed on top of them even before the rock could turn them into pincushions for its deadly fragments.

Even Marius felt a sharp pain as several rock splinters struck him. He had reflexively raised his arms to protect his face just in time to avoid worse injuries. Nevertheless, the aging father didn't even pause to examine his wounds before he continued his limp walk down the streets. His parched throat was already hoarse yet he continued to cry out:

"LAIA! MIREIA!"

Marius knew he needed to calm down and not allow desperation to cloud his judgment. However, he could not stop the increasingly frantic emotions running through his mind. He had returned from his meeting with the town's magistrate as a representative for the refugees, only to find their encampment near the city's walls in flames. The place had been struck by an incendiary barrel flung out from the besieger's catapults. And the only survivor who remained told him that everyone had fled into the center of town to seek shelter after the Imperial forces began a full-scale assault against the southern walls.

The old veteran with a crippled leg forced himself to trot as fast as he could. He scanned his gaze in every direction as he spotted small groups of women and children huddled in narrow alleys and behind stone buildings. Others formed long lines to pass buckets from nearby wells to burning buildings. But every once in a while, a boulder launched by the siege engines would land among those brave women to leave a strung out line of corpses.

Several such bodies laid ahead on the road in a grim reminder. A home to their left had been completely pulverized by what must have been a direct hit by those boulders. The ruins of the building remained aflame while more embers burned from a blast crater on the left side of the dirt road. The old veteran immediately recognized it as the result of an explosive bomb fired from a heavy mortar which plunged down from a high above.

Then, about two dozen paces away from the crater, Marius felt his blood chill as he spotted a familiar figure on the ground.

"LAIA!"

The body which lay in the middle of the street was half-wrapped in a bloodied green cloak. A silver leaf-shaped buckle that he had gifted his wife as a wedding gift was attached to the torn garment. The left rear of the cloak and her body was visibly shredded as dozens of jagged rock splinters could be seen lodged into the dirt road all around her.

"No, no! Laia! ''Laia!''"

Marius cried out as he scrambled forward and fell to his knees beside the body. However, part of him knew that she was already dead even before he turned her over to gaze into her bloodied and lifeless expression. He could tell from her body's posture that she had partially turned her back towards the bursting boulder. It was as though she was using her own body to protect someone.

It was not difficult to guess who that someone was. Yet, there was no sign of his daughter Mireia. For a moment, as Marius cradled the lifeless body of his wife, he hoped that at least the frightened four-year-old had run off after her mother's gruesome death. But as he looked around, he spotted the torn-off head of a stuffed rabbit which had been his daughter's favorite a mere thirty paces away.

"Mireia?"

The aging father spoke in a stunned voice as his eyes noticed a small pool of blood by the rabbit's head. A red droplet fell into it from above and another drop followed seconds later. The father felt his chest constrict in terror as for the first time since the Battle of Montaiglin Gap. Fear took hold of his body as he was almost too afraid to look up.

Time itself seemed to slow to a crawl as the already grieving father could do nothing else. His eyes gradually raised upwards where he saw a reality that surpassed his worst nightmares. He saw the body of a young girl hanging off an iron post that had once hung a shop sign. Her small dress had been ripped to shreds and her face was too bloody to recognize, yet Marius could instantly recognize from the silhouette that she was his daughter.

...

Marius could only remember the events that took place afterwards like images from a passing dream. He had survived the siege only to receive back-to-back news that his two sons had been killed in combat. Now, a father bereft of his family and purpose, he enlisted in the Garona Liberation Army once more and joined the ranks of the Mòrt-Vivent -- the 'living dead' who had nothing remaining in life to live for.

He remembered attending his own funeral, where he laid down upon his empty grave to let the Albigense priestess to inscribe a rune upon his chest. It was a combination spell that would be triggered by pounding into it with his own fist as his final action in life. The priestess claimed that it would bring salvation as his angelic spirit would finally shed its sinful flesh and be released. But truth be told, Marius had never seriously cared for the Church's religious disputes and preferred for the Holy Father's truth to remain mysterious.

The old veteran looked towards Ramón as the middle-aged man bore the same rune upon his body. The same applied to Arnau, whose immortal soul had gone on ahead of them to reunite with his own lost family. Every infiltrator and saboteur in the Garona Liberation Army had joined the Mòrt-Vivent willingly. The runes inscribed into their flesh cut their remaining lifespan to no more than ten years, for after that the magic would unravel and destroy them regardless.

Not far away, Marius saw a crying girl sitting on the ground. It made him think back to the child he saw earlier who reminded him so much of his own daughter. The old veteran knew that these children all had parents and what he was about to do would inflict the same gut-wrenching pain that he felt upon them.

The grieving father reached absentmindedly into a pocket with his left hand. His fingers wrapped around a soft item before pulling it out. The old man opened his palm and felt tears pool into his gaze once more. Within his hand was the severed head of the stuffed rabbit the Mireia always clutched, its white fabric still stained with her blood from that fateful night.

''How can there be justice when my sweet Mireia is dead while these Imp spawn remain alive?''

Ramón was still trying to remove his axe from the melon rind that it was stuck in. But just as he used his feet to hold the fruit down and pull, a thrown pilum impaled him through his chest and pushed his body into the canal. Two other javelins flew at Marius but both missed as the veteran stepped aside. The four legionaries then drew their swords and charged forward toward him and the moving wagon that continued to spill muskmelons.

There were still minutes before the timed fuse would set the wagon off. Marius would not risk these soldiers finding and defusing it. He squeezed the furry memento in his palm before sprinting towards the moving wagon. His right arm reached out and prepared for his final action.

"THE DEAD DEMAND JUSTICE!" He heard another cry in the distance followed by another explosion. Dozens of people screamed as yet another comrade martyred himself in the middle of a crowd.

Within seconds, Marius reached the side of the wagon that had its wooden board broken. He stabbed his dagger into one of the muskmelons that had yet to roll out. He used the handle to pull the fruit out of the wagon and turned to face his assailants. The soldiers were mere steps away from him when he screamed and pounded his left hand -- still grasping the severed head of his daughter's favorite toy -- into his chest.

"AND WE SHALL BRING VENGEANCE!"

It took but an instant for the rune to activate and for Marius' body to be ripped asunder. But in that final split-second of his life, Marius' thoughts were filled with an image of his wife Laia, their two sons Lois and Pau, and his little girl Mireia. All of them stood together in front of the house that he had built and the farm behind them, a picturesque afterlife which he had always sought.

And he could finally retire to it in peace, for he could tell his family that their deaths had been avenged.

<nowiki>----- * * * -----</nowiki>

Needless to say, Marius' infiltration squad wasn't the only one who acted. Nor was the city of Augusta Tanarus the only city struck by the Mòrt-Vivent that day. Instead, a simultaneous attack by over thirty infiltration and saboteur squads of the Garona Liberation Army had struck over a dozen towns, cities, and ports of the Holy Imperium of the Inner Sea. And by the day's end, most of those settlements lay in trembling terror and blazing ruins.

It would go down in Imperial history as 'Unholy Friday' -- the day that marked Hyperion the Dragonlord's ritualistic sacrifice for the people of this world was corrupted into a gratuitous revelry of destruction and death.

Yet despite its name, the Garona Liberation Army was more of a paramilitary militia group than the official army of the Kingdom of Garona. Nevertheless, the Imperium held the Kingdom, and by extension, its overlord, the Empire of Rhin-Lotharingie, as responsible for the terror attacks. And on that night, Imperator Augustus Skantarios issued a formal declaration of war against the Empire, which Pope Vigilius, in a show of obedience to his caesar, promptly sanctified as the 4th Trinitian Crusade.

And thus, the stage had been set for the most destructive conflict the continent of Hyperion had seen since the departure of the Dragonlords.

===Author's History Notes===

Albigensians: Based on the Cathar Heresy which took place in 12-14th century Southern France, which the Catholics wiped out during the Albigensian Crusade and its aftermath through mass genocide. The Cathars believed in Dualism - that there is both a good and an evil God - and that the Old Testament (including the creation of the world) was the work of the evil god. Thus, they considered the entire material world evil, and that humans were angels trapped in sinful flesh.

Acacius' Marriage: Roman Legionaires were famously not allowed to start families while in service (with a service period of 25 years). However, many of them often entered unofficial marriages before retirement, which were recognized as soon as they retired, including the legitimacy of any children. This practice became so standard that the Roman bureacracy came to readily accept it.

Thematic Legions: Based on the Eastern Roman (Byzantine) Thematic administration/mobilization system, which replaced Diocletian's Provincial Defense System in Late Roman era. This split the Empire into administrative districts (themes), where soldiers were settled and given farming land, in exchange for their agreement that their descendants would also serve in the army. However unlike feudalism, the soldiers did not own the land, and they remained part of active military units in peacetime. The allowed the Empire to both reduce the cost of standing armies and minimize the need for unpopular conscription.

Tagmata Legions: Based on the elite Tagmata units of the Eastern Roman (Byzantine) Empire, which would form the core of Imperial field armies. Hikanatoi and Archontopoulai are two historical unit name, meaning the 'able ones' and 'sons of leaders'.

'Bread and Circuses': A phrase from Roman times which referred to the idea that rulers can keep the public distracted and docile from sociopolitical problems by providing basic food and entertainment.

Daybreak:Volume 2 Chapter 12

2025-09-28T22:36:54Z

Aorii:

===Chapter 12 - Late Night Confidence===

Kaede couldn't stop feeling nervous as she sat at the same table as a King, two generals, four brigadiers, two colonels, a landgrave, plus the crown princess and her bodyguard. The fact she was one of only two people not wearing a uniform didn't help her anxiety, especially as the other was Princess Sylviane who sat on the far side of the table from her.

Despite the Keep's austere exterior, Pascal's father had the public areas inside built and decorated with no expenses spared. The opulent dining room exemplified this with its huge crystal chandeliers and life-sized paintings. It was fit to host state banquets -- something Kaede would never have imagined attending, let alone as a girl.

The Samaran girl fidgeted as she pulled on the soft velvet that clung to the top of her arms. Her bared shoulders and half-exposed back made her feel uneasy, especially as she sat in the presence of royalty.

''What do womens' dresses have against shoulders anyway?''

The evening dress she wore was a deep, garnet-red over white and looked somewhat victorian in design. It left everything above her breasts exposed, except for her neck which was hidden beneath a wide choker. Pascal must have used her measurements to order the dress in advance for it to fit her so perfectly. Sylviane had forced Kaede to change into it before dinner when the Princess herself switched into her own starry, deep-violet gown.

It also made Kaede realize that even Weichsel's formalwear for ladies involved a leather corset, only it was hidden underneath.

The one bit of good news was that Pascal had at least seated her directly to his left. Meanwhile King Leopold sat on the far side of the table from his host, with Princess Sylviane playing the role of the hostess as she sat left of the King. The arrangement seemed almost natural, given that everybody knew Pascal and Sylviane were betrothed. But it was also convenient, as it offered the Princess plenty of opportunity to talk to His Majesty. At the same time, Cecylia's father General Wiktor sat to the King's right and could help promote the continued Weichsel-Lotharin Alliance.

However at the current moment, King Leopold was eyeing the snowy-haired familiar as he asked Pascal with an amused grin:

"So you really did summon a Samaran girl for a familiar. I could scarcely believe it when I first heard the report from Gerhard."

The King's question across the length of the table seized everyone's attention with ease. Kaede froze in her seat as she felt most of the attendees' eyes fall upon her.

"Yes, and she has been worth every effort," Pascal grinned and he declared with staunch pride in his voice.

"It's certainly not every day when a familiar sets an ambush for professional assassins and succeeds at it," the King acknowledged. "Tell me, Miss Familiar, what other talents did you bring from your former life?"

''Does the King know I'm not from this world?'' Kaede thought. He should, considering that Cecylia knew about it and she worked as an agent of the King. Yet the King made no mention of it.

...And unless he did, Kaede wouldn't either, as she wasn't keen on disclosing it to any more people and having to explain through it all.

"I-I-I w-was a student, Your Majesty," she stuttered as nervousness filled her wispy voice. "H-history and cultural studies, mostly. I'm a-afraid my role against the assassins was a l-lucky coincidence due to their misinformation on me."

"I see the Samaran reputation for humbleness continues to hold true," King Leopold smiled with amusement. "Opportunity may arise by luck, but the ability to recognize and exploit it requires both acuity and skill. I'd say you've learned well from your history lessons, Miss Familiar."

"T-thank you, Your Majesty," Kaede returned an awkward smile but she was too skittish to think of anything else to say.

Unfortunately, the King wasn't done with her yet.

"Tell me, Miss Familiar, what is your thought on the Trans-Hyperion Polarity Rail that the Grand Republic is currently building? I've heard the project was much debated within the Grand Republic."

The King then looked towards one of his colonels, a particularly beautiful officer with straight, light-blonde that reached down to his thin shoulders. In fact, had it not been for Pascal telling her, Kaede wouldn't even be able to tell if Colonel Hannes von Falkenberg -- commander of the Black Eagles -- was a man.

He was also a dhampir, as revealed by the sapphire-blue crosses in his ocean-blue gaze.

"The project was approved by the State Duma and the Grand Prince six year ago," Hannes nodded to his king. "Construction began after three years of preparations, with the first tracks laid westward from the capital city of Ilmen." The dhampir then turned his attention towards Kaede: "the project is certainly of great interest to all neighboring countries, considering the sheer scope and tremendous expense of such a mega-infrastructure undertaking."

''Polarity Rail?'' Kaede almost voiced her confusion out loud when the King asked. Her anxiety shot skyward and her mind almost blanked out as the King questioned her over something she knew ''nothing'' about.

Thankfully, her thoughts had echoed it over her familiar bond instead.

"<nowiki><</nowiki>It is similar to the 'high-speed rail' network you mentioned from your home country of Japan, except its speed is anything but 'high' as even a horse could run faster,>" Pascal helpfully explained over their private link. Both his voice and the recognizable topic went a long way to help calm Kaede's nerves.

"<Nevertheless, the polarity rail represents the cutting-edge of geomancy. It is built along ley-lines and utilizes the inexhaustible ether source to transport bulk cargo by means of lodestone repulsion.>"

''Lodestones?'' Kaede puzzled as she took a deep breath. She remembered that they were the term used for naturally-magnetized magnetite, which had been used by the ancient Chinese to create the first compass. To build a 'rail' system based on lodestones implied that the 'polarity rail' ran on magnetic repulsion. The reliance on ley-lines and its ether hinted that the magnetic forces were amplified by magic. This somehow gave it enough strength that made it viable to carry freight over long distances.

''It sounds like Samara already began on this world's equivalent of the 'Trans-Siberian Railroad','' Kaede pondered in awe as her composure slowly returned. Unlike Earth, both the Europe and Asia of this world were grouped under the single supercontinent 'Hyperion'.

"I-I think the expense is worth the undertaking, Your Majesty," Kaede reflected. "A transcontinental freight line between eastern and western Hyperion would cement Samara's dominance over the sil..."

She almost said 'silk road' before correcting herself.

"--Over the east-west trade between the cultural spheres of the two Imperiums. This is especially important for the Grand Republic to maintain its trade dominance while advancements in seafaring technology continues to improve the efficiency of maritime trade, which the Grand Republic lacks access compared to other states. Furthermore, given Samara's sheer size and the distances between its cities, any improvements in infrastructure to reduce transport costs would be a great asset in stimulating both commerce and industry."

Kaede didn't forget that one of the reasons for the decline of Imperial Russia in 19th century Earth was its failure to keep up in railroad construction, which was exacerbated by the vast distances between Russian cities. The inability to transport materials and goods efficiently created a downward spiral which made Russia lag behind the other great powers in industrialization and trade.

The Samaran girl also didn't notice that she had stopped her occasional stutter, and was now speaking almost naturally before the King.

"Is the Grand Republic not worried that such a megaproject would bankrupt the state?" General Neithard asked from the opposite side of the table. His expression was a poker face as always, but there was a hint in his tone that gave Kaede the impression that he disapproved of it. "At the very least, such a heavy burden on state finances for years if not decades would leave it vulnerable -- neither able to respond effectively to crisis, nor able to exploit opportunities."

It reminded Kaede that the elderly Manteuffel was the leader of Weichsel's conservative faction, and 'conservative' in internal affairs meant they wished to preserve the socioeconomic status quo.

"That's why it's important for the rail to be built in segments," Kaede stated, hoping that the Samarans of this world were just as smart as project planners back on Earth. "The existing cities and trade hubs of the Grand Republic should be connected, one at a time, with priority given to cities that show the highest projected benefits. As each segment of rail becomes operational, the linked cities can immediately start profiting from the investment while the next phase of construction begins. This breaks even a most daunting megaproject into manageable, bite-sized chunks with steady payoffs.

"A war or other 'black swan' event might disrupt this endeavor and bring a temporary halt to the project," she continued. "But as the country becomes more interconnected thanks to improved infrastructure, it also enhances the ability of the state to respond to such events."

"'Black swan?'" The King raised an eyebrow.

"Sorry, Your Majesty. It's a metaphor from my homeland," Kaede explained sheepishly. "It means an unexpected if not unforeseeable event that creates a ripple effect, leading to a chain of consequences that significantly affects macroeconomics and geopolitics."

"Charming expression," King Leopold beamed with an impressed nod. "It seems to me that you are not just a student of history, but also in economics and geopolitical strategy."

"I've... dabbled in it," Kaede replied with an awkward smile, as she thought of the countless discussions she had with her father on the topic, or the many papers and articles he shared with her over the years.

"Tell me, what do you think would be Weichsel's optimal response to such a megaproject?" King Leopold asked next.

"Uhhhh, I-I'm not sure my knowledge of Weichsel is s-sufficient enough to offer a good reply, Your Majesty," Kaede began to stutter again, as her nervousness from prior returned upon her entry into unfamiliar territory.

"Try anyway," the King smiled encouragingly.

Kaede was about to look towards Pascal when she heard her master's confidence as well. "<You can do it.>"

"Ummmm, I-I think... t-the best course that I can see Weichsel embarking on... is to c-construct its own rail system," Kaede thought aloud. "Weichsel occupies a strategic location in the Saale Corridor, which -- thanks to the impassable Dead Mountains and the dangerous North Sea -- forms the only land link between Western Hyperion and the Grand Republic of Samara. If a rail line could be built from the Weichsel-Samara border all the way to Nordkreuz, Weichsel could cement itself as the nexus of trade and exchange between four major cultures: the Imperium in the south through the Albis river, the Lotharins in the west through the twin Lotharingie rivers, the Hyperboreans to the north through the the North Sea, and Samarans in the east as well as through it, the Dawn Imperium to the far east."

"And such a position would provide us a tremendous boost in trade income, a great boon to the coffers and development of Weichsel," General Wiktor pitched in from the far end. His voice was one of clear approval, making it obvious that he was in support of such a project.

However the same could be not said for General Neithard, who interceded as the devil's advocate again:

"But what about security?" He asked with a concerned look. "Wealth spurs envy, and wealthy lands entice the gaze of would-be conquerors. If Weichsel links itself by polarity rail to the Grand Republic, how could we guarantee that the next train which comes through is not carrying goods for trade, but supply and ammunition to accompany an invasion force?"

''Not this drivel again,'' Kaede scowled with instinctive annoyance, before remembering that this wasn't Earth and the general wasn't alluding to the 'Russian Menace'. She also recalled that Tsar Nicolas I of Russia decided to make the Russian rail gauge different from the rest of Europe, which precisely addressed the concern that the elderly Manteuffel spoke of.

After all, from Poland-Lithuania to Carolean Sweden to Napoleonic France to Nazi Germany, Russia had found itself invaded and ravaged by European powers roughly once every century. The ensuing cultural trauma made Russians downright paranoid about their national security. This pushed them pursue an 'aggressive defense' policy that sought to create buffer states and limit their exposure to future invasions. Yet, this defensive paranoia would always look like imperialistic aggression to its neighbors thanks to the 'Security Dilemma', thus creating a negative feedback loop that played straight into its adversaries' propaganda.

Thankfully, the same did not apply to the Grand Republic of Samara, since the accursed Dead Mountains created a natural barrier that shielded it from Western Hyperion. This allowed the Russians of this world to focus on what their ancestors did best -- long-distance trade and taming the wilderness.

"In that case, why not use part of the new tax revenues to build additional fortresses?" Kaede suggested. "The Saale Corridor is already narrow and easy to defend. Trying to conquer a fortified pass is like trying to catch a porcupine. We Samarans are a peaceful people. And even if the Grand Republic suddenly became militaristic, the prospect of throwing away profitable trade links just to bite down on a rock simply isn't worth the shattered teeth."

By the time Kaede finished and focused back on the King, she noticed that Leopold was giving Pascal an odd, knowing look.

"I swear I did not tell her any of that, Your Majesty," Pascal declared with pride.

"I guess even your familiar takes after your father," Leopold's lips formed a bemused smirk. "Her arguments are roughly similar to Karl's from the economic angle. Of course, Karl also did not miss the ''military'' benefits of having our country connected by Polarity Rail." He added before looking to his 'Accountant General'.

"It would certainly make my job a great deal easier," General Wiktor chuckled. "The Polarity Rail's overland speed is comparable to encumbered horses. However trains need neither rest nor fodder whereas animals do. Transporting troops and equipment around the country would be significantly faster, and..."

The dhampir general trailed off as the door to the dining room opened and in marched a line of Pascal's household servants, each carrying a tray of food. Like the others, Kaede immediately found her gaze drawn in by the delicious aroma of spanferkel. Two roasted suckling pigs were cooked to a luscious golden brown and sliced in a way that maintained their shape. Along with it came roasted beet and soused herring salad, honey mustard chicken salad, white asparagus in hollandaise, and many other dishes.

''A proper holiday feast at last!'' Kaede rejoiced.

She had missed the Winter Solstice feast back at the academy, and their New Year's Eve dinner had been largely occupied by discussions of logistics. She had never imagined herself spending a holiday travelling and attending conferences, but the state dinner was a welcomed reward.

Kaede didn't even mind that she was more than a hint famished as the potbellied majordomo began serving the guests, starting from the King. However, as her eyes examined the other dishes that were added straight to the table, her gaze fell upon a familiar figure while her mind froze.

''Marina.''

The maid wore a forced smile as she placed a bowl of salad on the table and backed away. However, before she departed the room, her eyes met Kaede's with a cold, distant stare.

''I really should have prepared for this,'' Kaede thought to herself. Between the royals, the politics, and all the generals, she had completely forgotten that she would be meeting Marina again.

Nevertheless, as the lieutenant-colonel who sat besides her leaned over to chat, the Samaran girl resolved herself to talk to Marina after dinner tonight. She wasn't sure what face she should put on to confront her one-time friend. But she knew that she had to at least ''try'' to salvage their relationship.

...

Despite Kaede's apprehension towards meeting Marina again, it was inevitable that the long meal and its dinner chatter would pull her in. There were simply too many interesting people seated around the table. This included one balding, late-forties intelligence officer who sat next to her.

"You can't cast? At all?" The familiar remarked in astonishment as she stared with open lips.

"Believe me I've tried. Even pretended I could, back in my younger days," Lieutenant-Colonel Hans Ostergalen chuckled at himself. "But no, not even a spark. All it did was make me look silly."

"I did tell you that the lieutenant-colonel was a commoner, not a yeoman," Pascal commented from her right before taking another mouthful of his own dinner, which as always came with a bowl of cheesy beer soup. He then nudged her over telepathy, "<and you are being rude.>"

"Sorry, I didn't mean..." Kaede broke off her stare and looked back down, before realizing that she had forgotten about the sliced spanferkel on her fork.

"That's quite alright," Hans grinned back with a natural smile that foretold his future life as a jolly old grandpa. "I've met plenty of others who were just as surprised. It's certainly very unusual for an officer without any magical ability to advance beyond captain."

"And doubly rare to be promoted past major. That is the career ceiling for most officers: anyone without special talent," Pascal added. Clearly, Hans was someone competent enough to earn his respect.

"You must have worked ''really'' hard to get here," Kaede looked back up in admiration.

"It certainly wasn't easy," Hans' smile turned wry as he shrugged. "Commanding officers from platoon to battalion level are all expected to fight alongside frontline troops and raise defensive wards. It's why they're called MCOs, or Magic-Capable Officers. I can't cast any, so I've had to climb the ladder without a single battlefield command experience."

Kaede nodded back as she ate. Career building in the military expected a broad range of experiences across different roles, with combat leadership being the most important. To rise through the ranks without ever being a frontline commander was like trying to run a marathon in crutches.

"It also doesn't help that I can only stay in the military for fifty years at most, while the mages have well over a century before they reach retirement age," Hans scowled, with a slow sigh that exposed the lingering bitterness underneath his begrudging acceptance. "Still, complaining about it isn't going to change my birth. I got over what I don't have, and focused on what I do."

''Make the best of a situation. He's just like me,'' Kaede thought with a smile. "You must be one of Weichsel's best analysts if you rose this high on staff experience alone."

"Father used to compare you to Marshal Mittermeyer." Pascal expressed next as he casually stirred his soup. His compliment, however, almost made the lieutenant-colonel choke on his food.

"I'm flattered, but I'm nowhere near that level!" Hans replied as he wiped his lips with a napkin. "My forte lies in analyzing our adversaries' actions and predicting their next moves, but it still falls upon others to translate that into a proper operational plan. That's a longshot from Hermann von Mittermeyer. After all, his strategic acumen was crucial in King Ferdinand's campaign against the Great Heathen Army."

The name was renowned enough for even Kaede to recognize. Hermann Mittermeyer began his career as a mere stable boy to the young Ferdinand I von Drachenlanzen, the founding King of Weichsel. After saving the King's life in an ambush, he became one of Ferdinand's aides, where his keen military insight would propel him through the ranks to eventually become a general and marshal -- the only commoner to do so in Western Hyperion history.

His legacy also cemented the nation's meritocratic military traditions. Furthermore, he established a precedent in the west for being the first non-yeoman commoner to be given a hereditary rank of nobility. Though it was only after he married a noblewoman to ensure that his descendants had magical affinity.

"Perhaps not marshal, but Father thought you had the making of a general in you," Pascal then added with a bittersweet smile. "It was why he suggested that I talk to you more back during the autumn campaign, so I could absorb more of your insight. Though he laughed when I told him that I would surely catch up to you with a decade or two of experience."

"As an analyst? You'll need more than just a decade," Hans smirked back as he tilted his head and propped it casually with his left arm, his filled plate already miraculously emptied. "Remember, my biggest lacking also gives me an advantage in focus: unlike you, I don't have to spend thousands of hours learning to cast spells and maintaining that expertise."

"And that's a lot of time you can focus on studying Weichsel's enemies," Kaede realized, prompting a pleased, almost-smug nod from the lieutenant-colonel.

"For an analyst, it's important to keep up to date with news from around the world, and not just the big headline items either," Hans explained. "It helps to understand countries and people, particularly leaders, when you have a long-term view of their character established over years if not decades. Knowing their behavior patterns and core values can provide an in-depth understanding of how they view any situation and prioritize goals. However, scouring through that much news also takes a lot of time. The Black Eagles generate a tremendous amount of intelligence, and not all of it useful."

''In other words, he's been info-stalking everyone important and building character profiles on them for decades.'' Kaede thought. She could certainly appreciate how it worked, considering her own father often discussed the politics of national leaders on Earth by citing their long career history and how it shaped their worldview.

"So do you know what makes Pascal tick then?" Kaede joked with a beaming smile.

"Talk to me afterwards," Hans whispered openly with a playful wink.

"Sir, I must protest: conspiring against me with my familiar is ''not'' a good way of maintaining my support," Pascal grinned a little himself. "Though I am surprised that you did not request a vice-brigadier position for this campaign. Brigade command hardly cares about one's capacity in spellcraft. And while the position normally expects a full colonel, I am sure there are opportunities now that the King has invoked the ''Writ of Universal Conscription''."

Hans smiled a little before sitting back upright. However Kaede could also see that a shade of caution had crept into his brown eyes.

"This campaign will make or break General Neithard's candidacy for Marshal. I owe the general everything I am today. I'm not about to abandon him in his hour of need."

Kaede found herself almost astonished. It was hard to imagine the stone-faced elderly Manteuffel -- who had excused himself from the room earlier, possibly to visit the latrines -- being a gracious superior, especially to a commoner given that his conservative faction was dominated by the old noble families. But clearly, he had some virtues to gain the staunch loyalty of his subordinates, enough to make Pascal worried about his growing influence within the army.

"And of course, if he manages that, you would have a better chance of achieving generalship yourself in the future," Pascal added with a knowing smirk.

"I never said it was ''entirely'' selflessness on my part," Hans chuckled.

<nowiki>------ * * * ------</nowiki>

The room Kaede received as her own had recently been furnished. Its size was modest and comparable to modern bedrooms, but the contents were far more opulent than she was used to. A queen-size four-poster bed layered in rich fabrics took the center, its sides lined by long, intricate rugs. A small writing desk and bookshelf stayed against the wall on one side, while a large dressing table flanked by mahogany wardrobes occupied the other.

There was also a closet in the corner that camouflaged itself as a small wardrobe, but actually hid the chamber pot that she hated to be reminded of.

The bedcovers and window curtains all came in a gentle floral-pink, then adorned with a vine-like green pattern that gave it the semblance of a flowerbed. Their overabundance of ruffles and laces projected an air of extreme girlishness. Combined with the large wardrobes that devoted way too much space for clothing -- including another dress that Pascal had already prepared for her -- it made Kaede wonder:

''Is Pascal deliberately trying to feminize me?''

She definitely needed to have a talk with Pascal about this. Nevertheless, Kaede did appreciate the fact that Pascal at least kept her interests in mind. This was most noticeable in how he left several books on Weichsel in her room, as well as a huge map of Western Hyperion which hung from the wall.

Most meaningful of all -- her room was in the same corridor as Pascal's own, just down the hall that was meant for only the lord's immediate family. It certainly explained the attitude of the maids, who politely addressed Kaede as 'Milady' when they met, only to whisper quietly once she was out of ordinary earshot.

Kaede scowled as she remembered hearing the word 'whore' at least once.

They were partially right though: Kaede wasn't a 'lady' by any means. She had neither the upbringing nor the refinement, and certainly not the noble blood. Furthermore, familiars were meant to be servants for their mage masters, and Kaede's unusual relationship with Pascal certainly seemed to have become a topic of much gossip.

In hindsight, Princess Sylviane had been perfectly reasonable when she arranged for Kaede to stay in the servants' quarters of Oriflamme Palace. But even that did little to quell the rumor mongering.

''Give me a break already.'' Kaede thought as she fell back into her soft bed. ''Can't a girl just fit in without being judged?''

She rather doubted she would have any of these troubles if she was still a boy.

Nevertheless, as Kaede looked to the ceiling of her four-poster bed, she couldn't help feel touched by Pascal's gesture. His summoning had ripped Kaede from her family back on Earth. In exchange, he was offering her the chance to join a new one.

Kaede felt a hint of moisture gather in her eyes as she thought of it that way.

There was never any doubt on whether Kaede would accept. After everything she promised on the roof of Alisia Academy's dormitory keep, she wasn't about to leave Pascal to occupy this hallway by himself. The fact he refused to move into the master bedroom showed that he still wasn't over his father's death, despite the brave front he put on to show the world.

In the meantime though, she had another concern -- and it was one that she needed to tackle now.

"Marina, please take a seat," Kaede said as she sat back upright on the velvet bedcovers. Then, when the maid looked hesitant, her pink eyes almost pleaded: "''Please''."

The petite maid sat down on the cushy chair at Kaede's reading desk. An uncomfortable silence fell upon the two once more. Even Kaede had trouble starting the conversation as she eyed the shade of black under Marina's reddened eyes. The maid had clearly been crying a lot over the past few weeks.

"How are they treating you here?" Kaede asked before glancing down. Her words were more wispy than usual.

"It's a life." Marina shrugged. Her voice wasn't hateful, but neither did it contain any other emotion. "Majordomo Karsten judges us on a purely professional basis, so he's cordial as long as my work is done proper."

"How are they forcing you to stay?"

Kaede was curious, but now that she asked she felt like a block of insensitivity. Marina's life had been reduced to one of slavery, and here all she could think of was ask more questions.

"They don't need to..." The maid's tone stayed bland even as she pulled up one sleeve and revealed a faintly-glowing tattoo inscribed just above her wrist. It featured two links of chains crossed with what looked like a broom. The symbol seemed to mark Marina as an indentured domestic servant. The word 'law' written just beneath made it obvious that it had been done so on judicial grounds.

"It's a ''Geas'' brand," Marina's eyes teared as she explained in a whisper, as though her words might set it off had they rang any louder. "It forbids me from leaving the estate's premises without permission, and will shock me if I attempt to. It also makes it impossible for me to lie when activated, which Majordomo Karsten did before he let me come with you."

Kaede had wondered why Pascal trusted Marina to attend her -- because there wasn't any actual 'trust' involved.

Ever since Marina had been sent away from the academy, Kaede had began reading about the institution of slavery on Hyperion. The practice had been outlawed centuries ago by the Dawn Imperium in the east and the Grand Republic in the north. Even the Holy Imperium, with its historic economy built on slave labor, recognized that slaves were persons and offered them limited rights.

In other words, slavery in Hyperion was much closer to the practices of the late Romans -- especially after the Code of Justinian which guaranteed them basic protections -- than the more infamous Atlantic Slave Trade which treated black slaves as pure property.

The countries of Weichsel and Rhin-Lotharingie both abandoned slavery in its traditional form. However both continued to use 'indentured servitude' as a means of debt collection and punishment. The practice was widely seen as an effective means of 'justice', as it forced the criminal to provide recompense for their crimes by working off a timed contract for the wronged party. However just like the Imperium did for slaves, both nations also gave indentured servants certain rights -- for example Marina could own private property, and received legal protection from murder or even crippling punishments.

"Can it be removed?"

Marina shook her head.

"They said that while any spell can be dispelled with enough power, this mark will detect any attempt and activate at max intensity. So sure, it's removable. But whether I survive the attempt or not..." She finished before she pulled down her sleeves and covered the mark once more. "The same thing will happen if the brand runs out of mana, which Majordomo Karsten fills periodically as long as I serve here."

"Then... how long do they expect you to stay... an indentured servant?"

Just forcing out those two words burned Kaede's tongue. It might be common in a traditional, eye-for-an-eye legal system. But being synonymous to slavery still gave it a barbaric edge in her worldview. After all, the last society on Earth that practiced systemic slavery was brought to an end when the Dalai Lama's caste-based theocracy in Tibet was overthrown.

"For assisting the attempted murder of a high noble? Life for a life." Marina stated. Then, the maid finally unveiled her acidic disdain as she added: "What did your naive little head think it was going to be? Maybe I would be quietly hung with a sack over my face?"

Kaede winced. Perhaps the activated brand was making Marina a little ''too honest.''

"I'm sorry, Marina, but ''please'' believe me. I didn't want anything this bad for you..."

Yet even as she said that, Kaede couldn't look Marina in the eyes. It wasn't even naivety. Kaede simply didn't ''think'' about it much back then. Sure, she had voiced objections, but she also allowed herself to be silenced the moment Pascal grew insistent. Though at the same time Marina was also right -- any punishment feudal law would have handed down for her role in the assassination attempt would be far worse than this.

The Samaran girl then took a deep breath and tried again:

"You paid loyalty to a master for raising you. I can understand that. I even respect it. But my own life is tied to Pascal's. So just as you saw no other choice, neither did I."

"W-why do you ''care'' if I believe you?" Marina retorted in a standoffish tone. "I mean, if that's what you believe, then why are you even being nice to me? I could have killed you in connection to him."

"Because I know you were candid in your offer," Kaede answered as she forced her sincere gaze to stay on Marina's swollen sea-green eyes. "And because if you hadn't said anything, that assassin's arrow would have shot straight through my neck."

"Isn't that why you had my punishment reduced to this?" The maid interrupted, though her tone softened mid-sentence. It was a faint sign that behind the barbed wires of pride, there was also a shadow of gratitude.

Clearly, the maid had conflicts of her own when it came to Kaede. There was no doubt that Marina blamed Kaede for her current predicament. After all, Kaede did trick Marina and used her to bait the assassins into a trap. But at the same time, Marina also seemed to recognize that Kaede did ''help'' her -- even if this help didn't actually leave her with much of a life.

"I had wanted to go further but... Pascal wouldn't budge." Kaede explained. "However I don't think this is the right treatment for you, not for what you did. And... there is one more reason..." The familiar girl noted as her wispy voice fell to barely a whisper. "You were my first friend in this world, Marina, and I really didn't want to let go."

"Well that's impossible now," Marina's sour retort came as a matter of fact.

A brief silence returned, followed by a deep, heartfelt sigh from Kaede.

"I know... I'm occasionally idealistic, not spontaneously idiotic."

The Samaran girl wondered if she would ever again see that angelic smile -- the one that lifted her spirits during her gloomy initial week in this world. An idea then struck her and Kaede pursed her lips in deep thought as she struggled to consider its details. Pascal's intentions for her standing did seem quite obvious, which meant she needed a servant she could rely on.

She only wished that her 'trust' wasn't founded on a penal curse.

"Marina, I think... I can still offer you something," Kaede gently tested the waters. "Since Pascal will probably assign me a servant, would you be willing to become my maid? I promise I'll treat you as kindly as I can. And I welcome you to voice your objections when I do misstep."

Marina's eyes swelled in surprise. Yet within those rounded, glassy orbs also clashed a conflict between disbelief and suspicion. If there were any appreciation at all, they were very faint traces.

''It's going to take a looooong time for her to trust me again.'' Kaede sighed. "Would it help if I let you hit me?"

The maid's eyebrows went up further. Of all things, she clearly wasn't expecting that.

"I'm told the spell will also activate if I try to physically harm another person," she muttered.

Though one point was clear: she did want to hit Kaede, or give the familiar a hard slap, or some other medium of venting anger and frustration upon the Samaran girl who tricked her back at the academy.

''That's... probably a good sign, actually,'' Kaede thought. The desire to vent was both more direct and less extreme than the alternative -- when anger transformed into hatred and buried itself as a scheming desire for revenge. ''Maybe there's a slim chance after all.''

"You won't always have his favor like now, you know," Marina warned as she wiped her eyes. "Especially once he becomes the Lotharins' king consort. There will be more people around him then, powerful figures far more ''interesting'' than just a novelty familiar."

It was an odd way to agree, however tentative it was. But at this point Kaede simply sagged with relief to hear an opportunity.

"Then I just have to keep up," she answered, a faint smile finally returning to her expression.

It was easier said than done. However Pascal had summoned her for a companion in his long journey, and Kaede promised that she would do her best to support him. Besides, knowing what she did about Pascal, Kaede doubted that the young lord was the fickle type. He had promised her that she would become part of his household, and Pascal took his promises very seriously.

She also didn't forget Marina's former occupation for a second.

"Although... that does lead me to a request for you, Marina," Kaede began. "Since you were an observer for an Imperial lord before this..."

Marina blinked several times, her expression suddenly blank and lost.

"I won't ask about your former master's identity," Kaede reassured with a wave. "But could you keep a tab on as many happenings within this keep as you can? Inconspicuously? And tell me if you find anything that I may find of interest, especially anything that feels out of place or suspicious."

After all, there was no better counterespionage than the eyes of a former spy.

"You want me to ''spy'' on the staff and visitors for you?" the maid whispered with incredulity, as if the list of surprises would never end.

"I'm not sure if 'spying' is the best word. More like, 'looking out for spies'," Kaede returned an awkward smile. "Heaven knows that a landgrave has his foes. I don't think Pascal underestimates most opponents, but arrogance certainly leaves chinks in the armor. And it's part of my job to watch out for his back."

"What makes this any different from my last mission then?"

Marina struck Kaede with one last hammer for the night, but the latter made almost an immediate recovery this time:

"Because you can just leave any info with me," she smiled back with tired eyes, "and I'll handle the reckless parts this time."

...

The next morning, when Kaede inquired Pascal about her idea at breakfast, the latter replied with an incredulous tone:

"You want to make her a ''lady's maid?''"

"I don't know how much of a 'lady' I am, but why not?" Kaede asked. "I know her well. She's trained, in more ways than one. It seems a good fit."

Pascal shook his head in disbelief.

"Marina is qualified. That I have no doubt. But a lady's maid -- and you are a lady, as far as this household is concerned -- is a considerable step up from just an average housemaid, let alone an ''indentured'' maid."

Pascal then met her stiff gaze and finally seemed to realize ''why'' she was doing this.

"You are being way too easy on her." He sighed.

"'In war, resolution; in defeat, defiance; in victory, magnanimity'... doubly so since she did try to help me," Kaede stated with a faint smile. "Besides, I still like her."

Pascal looked thoughtful for a moment, then:

"Is that another quote from your world?"

"Winston Churchill. Some consider him a great leader," Kaede added with a sarcastic tone. "I thought he was a racist warmongerer who committed crimes against humanity." She thought of Churchill's attempt to stop decolonization, as well as his role in causing the Bengal Famine which killed millions, before shrugging. "But even people like him have at least ''some'' kindness."

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| Forward to [[Daybreak:Volume_2_Chapter_13|Chapter 13]]
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Daybreak:Volume 5 Chapter 1

2025-09-28T04:07:41Z

Aorii:

===Chapter 1 - A Friendly Recall===

"''Between the peaks of the North and South Lotharin Mountains lay the plains of Lotharingie. Here the heartland of the Lotharin peoples lay bound but unbroken despite centuries of 'Pax Arcadia'. The legions and merchants of our Holy Imperium who roam these lands are seen as little more than foreign occupiers whose blood shall be spilled in the next uprising. Three rebellions have quenched the land in red iron, yet it shall only be a matter of time until a fourth, a fifth, until the Lotharins claim independence, uncaring of the blood toll they pay in its efforts.''

"''Why, one might ask, must we hold onto such territory and people who abhor us? Whose pacification necessitates an endless drain upon our Imperium?''"

- Livia, Drusilla Tranquillus, ''The Greatest Empire No Longer'', written a century before the Lotharin Independence War which gave birth to the Empire of Rhin-Lotharingie

Reynaud took a deep breath before opening his eyes.

As a mage who had been training to be a Wayfarer since seventeen years of age, he had long learned that teleportation magic remained disorienting no matter how many times one experienced it. The sight of reality being flushed into a hole so minuscule it was imperceptible to the naked eye simply wasn't something human apperception could comprehend. It was far better to close his eyes, empty his lungs, and hold his breath for the brief seconds it took for one to vanish from existence on one side and reappear in a distant land.

The fact he had cast a low-power ''Electrify'' spell on himself also helped. It distracted his senses with a tingly, prickly sensation across his skin -- a feeling that his brain could actually comprehend. Meanwhile, his body defied the laws of conventional physics in leaping across thirty kilopaces in an instant.

Regardless, the ''Astral Teleport'' spell had been completed. Reynaud found himself standing atop a small grassy ridge on the southern slopes of the North Lotharin Mountains, which stretched from east to west for as far as the eye could see.

A steep incline ran down from the ridge into a small and winding valley no more than a thousand paces across. A narrow river barely larger than a stream had cut the ravine into the mountain slopes. Birch and ash trees in Spring bloom dotted both sides of the running water. And across the river laid the wooden buildings of a new settlement built at the river's gentle bend.

Reynaud turned around and gazed southward from his vantage point halfway up the mountain range. The sky was partly cloudy but otherwise offered a clear and unobstructed view into the distance. Several folds of lesser peaks and rolling hills could be seen downslope from where he stood. Beyond that stretched the wooded plains of the Lotharin Heartlands, which would run for over a thousand kilopaces -- far further than the eye could see -- before it met the southern mountain range.

''What an idyllic view.''

The short young man who had just passed his twenty-fifth birthday beamed as he reached out his arms to both sides. A cool breeze blew in from the south as he closed his eyes and soaked in the sunlight. The wind lifted the hem of his white cloak and brushed across his flaming-red hair in a soothing caress. And he enjoyed it to the fullest as he playfully spun twice on his heels like a child dancing in the wind.

''No wonder why she likes this place,'' Reynaud reopened his eyes as he considered the girl whom he had journeyed here to meet.

''But... it's still far too early for her to retire.''

The young man turned his back on the magnificent view. He touched the recently erected stone obelisk which housed the teleportation beacon that his spell had locked onto. Inscribed upon it was the name of the new settlement being built:

Lithia.

Reynaud smiled to himself as he strode past the stone and began a quick descent into the ravine. His footsteps were swift but careful as the steep and winding dirt trail offered neither steps nor railings. The young man tilted his head as he made his way down the slope and onto a small stone bridge. He had anticipated hearing the sounds of people and work in progress: the chatter of construction crews erecting new buildings, the noise of fresh timber being sawed into wooden planks.

Yet, aside from the chirping of birds from the nearby woods, the entire settlement stood as quiet as the night.

''Where is everyone?'' Reynaud pondered to himself as something didn't feel right.

''It's almost halfway to noon on a Saturday morning. Why isn't anyone working?''

The redhead strode across the bridge and into the village. He noticed that most of the newly erected homes still had their windows and doors shut, instead of being left open to air as most rural folk did. There were only eleven homes, which meant the villagers probably numbered thirty to forty. The buildings also included a blacksmith, a cookhouse, and a modest church with an incomplete bell tower and a Trinitian Cross on top.

That was all that could fit onto the available flat land. Even the Church had to be built on an incline with its foundation dug into the slope. Yet, as Reynaud's feet began to trek uphill once more, he also heard the quiet murmurs of people and the excited cry of a small child on the far side of the Church.

The young man made his way around the building, and sure enough, he found a dozen people gathered in a small crowd. They were mostly women and children, who congregated around a two-target archery range -- a facility as necessary to any Lotharin village as a cookhouse or church.

Beyond the dozen onlookers stood a single petite girl with snowy-white long hair. Standing sideways with her pink eyes trained on the target, she raised a strange-looking metallic greatbow with asymmetric limbs above her head. Then, after a brief pause and without a single wasted motion, she lowered the bow to chest level while her arms used the downward motion to pull the silvery bowstring to its full draw.

''Never seen anyone else pull a bow the way she does,'' Reynaud thought as he eyed how she gripped the bowstring with her thumb.

Several nearby villagers noticed Reynaud as he trekked up the dirt trail. The young man raised an open hand in a friendly gesture and smiled. He might not have been wearing his hood and his blades remained hidden beneath his outerwear. But the small community would have undoubtedly felt wary towards the approach of a cloaked stranger.

Nevertheless, the onlookers seemed nervous as another party of four descended down the dirt trail that went further up the mountain. Three of the men wore brigandine and kettle helms as they flanked a rather flamboyantly dressed young man. The group's leader wore a silver-trimmed doublet in sky-blue and had a trio of brightly dyed feathers in his cap. It did not take any guessing for Reynaud to discern that the men were a local noble and his entourage.

"Dame Kaede!"

The nobleman called out without waiting for the girl to finish shooting -- an act which was downright rude in Lotharin etiquette. However, the girl's attention never wavered from the target as she released the notched war arrow. The heavy missile soared a hundred paces before striking the tail of a shaft already lodged into the dead center of the bullseye. But rather than piercing into the wood, the newly shot arrow skimmed off and landed in the dirt behind the straw target.

"Oooh, so close yet so far. Talk about unlucky," the young noble commented with a snide grin.

''Not unlucky,'' Reynaud observed.

''She's trying to split her own arrows again.''

Meanwhile, the petite girl who had shot the arrow closed her eyes before inhaling long and deep. She then held her breath for three seconds, before exhaling over the same interval. The nobleman called again but she was completely non-responsive. Her arm slowly lowered her asymmetric greatbow which glowed with a turquoise light as it quickly shrank, disappearing into her gloved hand.

It was as though the girl was in a trance, oblivious to everything else around her as she finished her archery practice. It was only after her bow fully vanished into the extradimensional storage of her three-fingered archery glove, when she finally reopened her eyes and turned to look uphill.

"May I help you, Milord?"

The petite girl addressed the noble in a soft, wispy voice. Her short stature and small build gave the impression of a fragile girl no older than sixteen. Her straight, snowy-white hair gleamed in the sunlight as it hung loose past her hips. She had large brilliant eyes the color of rose-quartz and dainty features that gave her an almost doll-like appearance. Meanwhile, her flawless white skin shone like fine porcelain tinted by pink from the morning chill.

Yet, in stark contrast to her adolescent appearance, the girl also wore a white jacket with the straight trim of a military uniform. Underneath it was a short skirt and leggings in a style that only women in armed service donned.

"I'm Count Adrien Kenneth de Puy, Lord of Stratum Gap."

The youthful noble declared without even a nod of courtesy. He merely raised his hand and gestured backwards in the direction of his castle estate.

In response, the snowy-haired girl looked down, grasped the sides of her skirt, and dipped down in an elegant curtsy. Then, with a smile that looked slightly forced but genuinely free of any hostility, she met the Count's gaze and introduced herself:

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Milord. My name is Kaede Nikita Konstantinovna Suvorskaya, the new barone--"

"Yes, I know who you are, Dame Kaede," Adrien interrupted with a scowl before she could even finish. "I hear they call you a hero of the Battle of Gwilen River."

''More like the Bloodbath of Gwilen River,'' Reynaud scowled as he thought of the heaps of corpses that they had to climb out of.

"--Yet, here you are, encroaching upon lands that had been passed down the de Puy family for generations, like naught but a common bandit," the Count accused. "Lands which rightfully belong to my cousin Albert, whose noble father, ''and mine,'' gave their lives in the previous war!"

"Milord Adrien," Kaede's smile grew sympathetic as she replied. "Lord Albert Neacel de Puy was relieved of these lands for siding with the traitor Gabriel during the recent civil war. Her Highness, the Crown Princess, has generously allowed him to keep his main estate, in recognition of his family's service and in exchange for his oath -- that he would continue to serve in the armies of Rhin-Lotharingie in defense of the realm during this time of conflict."

However, her steady voice and even tone only seemed to annoy Adrien further as the Count's sardonic smile slipped into a condescending scowl. He raised two fingers into the air and made a swiping gesture to his entourage. His three soldiers raised their polearm shafts off the ground and fanned out threateningly around the petite baroness.

The atmosphere grew tense, the villagers collectively backing away from the brewing conflict. All of them except two: a woman in her forties whose long dress and stays wouldn't look out of place behind a loom, and a man in his fifties with a hideous scar exposed just beneath his neck.

"And you think you deserve them?" Adrien raised a pointed hand as he glared down at the girl from his high ground. "You are but a commoner without a past, a ''Samaran strumpet'' and love toy of that foreign princeling!"

"How dare he..."

Reynaud barely heard the woman in front mutter. The other adult villagers looked similarly angry -- one of them even reached deep into a pocket slit in her long skirt. It was said that all adult Lotharin women learned to carry a concealed dagger. However, before any of the civilians could reveal bared steel, their liege Kaede raised a hand to stop them.

Even Reynaud could also feel his temple twitch and his teeth clench in that moment. His gloved fingers were touching the handles of his dual blades before he even noticed. Yet, the girl who was the target of the gratuitous and grave insult, who stood unarmed with her flanks exposed to brandished steel, barely furrowed her eyebrows in response.

"You may call me a 'commoner without a past', for that is the truth," she shrugged with her soft voice barely rising. "You may even call me a 'Samaran strumpet', despite the fact that anyone who knows the nature of Samarans could tell you that is an oxymoron."

The redhead whose hands remained on his weapons blinked with astonishment. To be called a prostitute was the greatest insult for any decent girl, for it attacked their character in a manner that society most unforgivingly judged. Yet, the young baroness before him had shrugged it off as though the words barely mattered.

"However, the prince whom you speak of is my master, Landgrave Pascal of Nordkreuz, and your future Emperor Consort," Kaede continued as her soft voice took on a serious note. "Surely, Milord, you are not insinuating that Her Highness, the 'Cerulean Princess' who led the charge during the climactic battle of the civil war, is so helpless that she would ennoble a mistress of her betrothed?"

Reynaud watched the youthful Count carefully as the nobleman's slate-blue eyes narrowed with hostility. His scowl twisted into a snarl with bared teeth while his face darkened with contempt. Then, as the nobleman opened his lips to shout, Reynaud cried out in a loud voice to interrupt:

"That would be truly insulting, Milord, and a criminal offense to so blatantly slander the crown."

At that moment, every pair of eyes assembled near the archery range pivoted towards him. The Count's gaze almost flashed in anger as he gripped the handle of his arming sword.

"Who the devil are you?" Adrien snarled as his voice hardened into an authoritative demand. "To speak to a nobleman like we're equals!?"

Reynaud's hands parted from his weapons as he unbuttoned the clasp holding his outerwear closed. He removed his white cloak to reveal the gambeson he wore underneath and a short cerulean cape that reached just past his hips. The redheaded armiger stretched his neck, the unusual medal that he wore between his folded collars swaying from the motion. The black cross laying against a shattered 'snowflake' was an accolade that he had earned from the King of Weichsel.

"I'm Sir Reynaud Moreau, Royal Oriflamme Armiger to Her Highness, Crown Princess Sylviane Etiennette de Gaetane," he nonchalantly introduced himself as his hands neatly folded the white cloak. "I am here to recall and escort Grand Squire Kaede to an emergency conference at the capital on Her Highness' orders."

The armiger watched as the Count looked taken aback. He wondered if Adrien even knew who Kaede truly was. It wasn't exactly common knowledge that she was the new Grand Squire. And the girl was often looked down upon due to her commoner background, meek demeanor, and delicate appearance, which made others think she was easy to push around.

Meanwhile, an audible mutter came from one of Adrien's guards to the side:

"The ''Winterslayer.''"

The huge man who would tower over Reynaud even without the advantage of elevation lowered his polearm shaft back onto the ground. He did not take a step back like his compatriots, but all signs of aggression had vanished from his posture.

"I'm glad to see that my reputation is not unknown to even a backwater hamlet like yours, Milord."

Reynaud smirked as he placed the folded cloak into a storage pouch that hung from his belt. Meanwhile, his left hand returned to the handle of a sheathed kukri as he flexed his fingers across it.

"Now, as Your Lordship was saying before I interrupted?" He asked in a chilled voice that almost dared the Count to hurl another insult.

"I..."

The young Count looked taken aback as he paused for a brief moment before straightening his gaze. His countenance was still filled with a disgruntled expression as he forced the words from his lips:

"I apologize for my careless words, for it was not my intention to imply any insult upon Her Highness and our future Empress," he said before forcing himself into a slight bow.

"Well, in that case, if Dame Kaede does not object, I am willing to put this episode behind us," Reynaud added as he pressed his right hand against his hip and stared at Adrien with a tilted grin.

"I don't mind," the young dame answered almost immediately as she waved a small hand.

''You're supposed to wait until he apologizes to you!'' Reynaud's smiling lips twitched before he exhaled a faint sigh.

"Then I'm glad we managed to put that misunderstanding behind us," Count Adrien remained a bit nervous as he replied. "And Sir Reynaud, Dame Kaede, as you have official business at hand to attend to, I shall bid you both farewell for today and offer my welcome at another time."

"Good day then, Lord Adrien," Kaede answered as she dipped a slight curtsy once more. "I hope next time we shall have a chance to talk on more friendly terms," she added with a pleasant smile.

"Good day, Milord."

Reynaud decided to follow the younger girl's lead. However, as Count Adrien turned about with his soldiers in tow, the redhead armiger couldn't resist getting one last word in:

"And Milord, the proper way to address the Grand Squire of the realm is 'Your Excellency'. Dame Kaede might only be a baroness, but her position as one of the Six Great Officers of the Crown means her position supersedes yours."

The Count replied with only a half-turned nod before walking away. Nevertheless, Reynaud could feel a sense of righteous victory as he noticed Adrien's arms shaking with suppressed anger, and how the noble's hands had clenched into fists as they parted.

...

"Good morning, Your Ladyship."

"Good morning, Dame Kaede."

The villagers greeted their liege with friendly smiles as Reynaud followed Kaede back to the village center from the unfinished church. Several more men had also emerged from their cabins and were washing themselves in the water barrels left outside. All of the men were in their fifties and most of them looked visibly hungover as they intermittently groaned or cradled their foreheads.

"Good morning, Giselle. Good morning, Mairi"

Kaede replied with a friendly smile as she addressed each passing resident by name. She then steered Reynaud to another dirt path that traversed uphill towards a large but incomplete wooden building nested into the steep mountainside.

"Shouldn't they be calling you Dame Suvok... Suvorsk..." Reynaud asked as he struggled to pronounce Kaede's foreign surname.

"Suvorskaya. And that's exactly why they don't address me so." The girl chuckled in response. "Though, why do people call you Sir Reynaud and not Sir Moreau?" She looked at him with curiosity. "You were born a yeoman after all."

"Because my father is Sir Moreau." Reynaud shrugged. "Surnames are only used to address the first person in a household to be ennobled, even if it's a mere chevalier title and not an inheritable rank. Sometimes it's also used for the oldest and head-of-house. The only reason this tradition exists at all is to avoid confusion when there's too many nobles in one family."

After all, the average mage could expect to live a natural life of up to one-hundred-fifty years. Therefore, it was commonplace to find aristocratic families of four or even five generations.

"And speaking of rank," he then pivoted to meet her gaze. "I'm surprised you accepted the title of Baroness. I still remember you turning down Her Highness when she first offered you a fief -- which might be a first in Lotharin history." He chuckled as even now he couldn't help shaking his head at it.

"You said back then that you didn't think you could fulfill your obligations as a liege. What changed?" The short armiger stopped as he looked at the Samaran girl who, in her high wedge boots, actually stood a hint taller than him.

"Do you remember the letter that the late Sir Robert left me?" Kaede's smile grew nostalgic and mournful.

Reynaud felt a pain in his chest as he heard the name. His expression faltered as he thought of the young knight who died doing what he had failed to do, as Reynaud had been absent in that confrontation where the Princess' entire guard had almost been wiped out.

A moment of silence passed between the two as Reynaud clenched his fist where his companion could not see. The young man then forced a stiff smile back onto his face as he met the girl's gaze.

"Yes." He nodded. "If memory serves, he told you about a spring with lithium salts in the water, which could be used to stabilize the Princess' mood swings."

"It also helps with veterans suffering from war trauma, which our country has far too many of," Kaede added with a sour expression. "The spring that Sir Robert spoke of is actually down-mountain about three kilopaces from here, near a village settled by veterans of the last war. However, when Gerard went to investigate, he discovered that the spring was fed through an underground conduit which ran down from several hot springs over there." She pointed in the direction of the dirt trail as it ran past the unfinished building.

"When Gerard told me about this place, I suggested that he be the one to develop it for public use," Kaede continued. "But Her Highness told me that as much as she approved of the idea, Gerard's contributions during the war did not warrant granting him a rank of landed nobility. However, if I was the one who asked instead..."

The petite girl raised her palms and shrugged with a wry smile.

"Her Highness played you like a fiddle." Reynaud laughed. "I take it she recruited some families from her crown lands to help you get started?"

"All retired soldiers, every one of the men and several of the women as well." Kaede looked back to the village with a wistful gaze. "Every veteran here bears the scars of war, seen or unseen."

''That explains the woman earlier,'' Reynaud thought of the one who was brave enough to reach for a dagger against fully-kitted soldiers.

"Is that why you let them all get sloshed last night and spend today lazing around?" Reynaud looked back to the village where several of the families were congregating at the tables outside the cookhouse for a late breakfast.

"No," Kaede shook her head. "I gave them Saturdays off. It's the weekend," she said like it's the most obvious thing in the world.

"''Week-end?''" Reynaud's eyebrows tilted as he looked at her quizzically.

"Work five days, take two off," Kaede explained. "That's how it works where I come from."

"I've been to almost every country in Western Hyperion and I've never heard of such a thing," Reynaud replied with a frown. "Our traditions are to take only Sundays off."

"Well, I'll start a new tradition then," the girl shrugged. "Maybe once the word starts spreading it'll catch on."

"You're going to make every other noble throw a fit," Reynaud commented with a shake of his head even as he felt a smirk tugging at his lips.

A deep sense of satisfaction welled up inside him at the thought of annoying the aristocracy to grant the commons some extra privileges. However, the cheerful thought soon ended with how blatantly the Count from earlier disrespected the petite baroness standing before him.

"Which reminds me to ask, Kaede, why do you let people insult you like that back there?" The redheaded armiger scowled as he gestured towards the archery range.

"What do you propose then? That I shoot him?" Kaede answered with a jesting smile before she started leading him uphill once more.

"I don't have any armed soldiers at hand. And even if I did, Count Adrien is the lord of one of the fortresses that guard the mountain passes to the north. He has the military muscle to out-escalate me."

"Well, you could at least offer him a few choice words," Reynaud responded before he wondered when was the last time he actually saw the mild mannered girl insult someone.

"Insulting him back might feel good at the moment, but it doesn't bring any more security to my position and only creates enemies for both my subjects and my liege," Kaede commented. "Besides, anyone who believes in the phrase 'Samaran strumpet' is clearly too ignorant for me to seriously consider their opinion."

"I see Pascal's condescending attitude did rub off on you a little." The redhead chuckled. "In a good way, of course."

"I certainly hope that I'll never be as bad as he is," Kaede feigned a look of being offended before it vanished into a smile. "And speaking of Pascal, you said something earlier about an emergency..."

"Reynaud! Fancy meeting you here," a deep masculine voice called out from the incomplete building ahead of them. "And good mooooorrrning, Kaede," it went on with a huge yawn.

Standing in the doorway was Sir Gerard Fournier, whose figure towered over Reynaud as the latter barely came up to his shoulders. The man wore a simple brown tunic which hardly concealed his broad shoulders and muscular chest. His hands were large, his arms brawny, and his height could compare to even the giant northern Highlanders. He wiped the ash-blue eyes beneath his black hair, before looking down with a huge toothy grin that parted his prominent nose and his chiselled chin.

"Morning, Gerard," Reynaud reached up and patted his old friend on the shoulders. "I see you still refuse to dress to your title."

"Her Highness made me a chevalier, not a gold merchant." Gerard yawned again before shrugging. "I've got plenty of higher priority things to buy than fancy clothes, especially in this war economy where the prices keep inflating."

"Yeah, but you could at least dress better in front of a lady," Reynaud scowled as he looked down at Gerard's linen hose. The garment had several old stains which simply screamed 'peasant'. "I take it you're here to help with the construction?"

"Inspecting the works and making plans for Her Ladyship's new mansion," the tall engineer beamed. "Can't have a noblewoman keep sleeping in a boarding house like this," he gestured to the incomplete building behind him. "The Holy Father might disapprove."

"...Or so the aristocracy likes to tell us," Reynaud raised his palms as he appended what Gerard was unwilling to say.

"Please don't start again," Kaede said, looking a bit miffed. "You two have been making fun of me ever since I accepted this title."

"Awww, don't let a little lowbrow humor get to you," Reynaud wrapped one arm around Kaede's back as he leaned into her side with a beaming grin. "We're teasing you because we're both glad to see you getting the recognition that you deserve!"

Yet, even as he said that, Reynaud was slowly moving his hand up Kaede's torso.

''She really is soft. It's no wonder why the Princess calls her 'huggable'.''

"Reynaud, if you wiggle those fingers any closer to my breasts, I'm going to snap them off," the girl glanced towards him with a warning in her pink eyes.

"Not that you have much breast to speak of," Reynaud jabbed back before he noticed Kaede's lips tilt. "I'm kidding!"

The redhead immediately let go and stepped back while the girl rolled her eyes. Meanwhile, Gerard gave him a look like he should know better.

"You're lucky Kaede isn't like most girls," he added. "If it had been any of my sisters, you would have been smacked already."

"If I flirted with your little sisters, I'd have to run away before you break both my arms," Reynaud joked as he leaned back and swayed nonchalantly with his hands behind his head.

"''And'' both legs," Gerard added. "But I'm glad you at least know where the line is drawn."

"He just toes it constantly."

Kaede sighed as she sent one last annoyed look at the redhead, to which Reynaud playfully stuck out his tongue at her in reply.

...

The three former comrades took some time catching up before Reynaud and Gerard sat down at a log table around a kilopace away from the village. Their spot was situated atop a barren hill with the hot springs to one side and the river dropping into several small waterfalls on the other.

Reynaud gazed upon the flooded chasm to the north that was surrounded by stony cliffs on three sides. The water that filled the ravine was sparkling clear and occasionally emitted bubbles. Its surface had a slight sheen and deposited a faint white crust on the rocks around the water's edge.

"Have you tried the water already?" He asked Gerard in a distant voice as he thought of their fallen comrade who led them to this place.

"Yes. It's quite comfortable. Hot enough to be soothing, but I can stay inside for hours without feeling overwhelmed," the tall engineer answered with a relaxed smile. "Kaede and I are still discussing which of the springs would be best collected for drinking."

"Do you think... Sir Robert would approve of developing it like this?" Reynaud pondered aloud as he remembered the young knight with an infectious smile.

"Well, I didn't know him as well as you and Kaede did," Gerard mulled. "But she wants to create an affordable retreat for veterans to relax, meet each other, and find support for the unseen scars that we all bear."

''It's such a Samaran thing to do,'' Reynaud felt a smile tug at his lips. ''To prioritize mental trauma over physical wounds.''

The men shut up as they saw Kaede returning from the village with another petite girl in her late teens. The two brought food on wooden trays. It consisted of whole loaf bread soup with lentils, mushrooms, herbs, and salted pork. There was also an eighth of a wheel of cheese.

"Thank you, Marina, that'll be all," Kaede spoke to the maid. "I'll come get you if I need anything else."

"Of course, Your Ladyship," Marina curtsied before she departed back towards the village.

"Is that...?" Reynaud stared at the girl who had brown hair tied in a single braid over her shoulders.

"My Lady's Maid, yes," Kaede smiled proudly.

"She looks familiar," Reynaud added.

"She was at Alisia Academy when you two were still attending before the war started." The Samaran girl frowned slightly, as though she'd rather not discuss this further.

"Please, help yourselves," she then gestured with an open palm. "And sorry I don't have anything better to offer," she added sheepishly as she sat down.

"What're you talking about?" Gerard joyfully remarked. "This is perfect -- it's just like what we ate back on campaign."

"Assuming you paid coin for the herbs," Reynaud nodded with beaming agreement.

"True, those field kitchens were stingy," Gerard commented before examining the ingredients in the soup, which was thick enough to be considered a stew.

"Do you even grow any food here?"

"There are terraces being built further downstream," Kaede answered as she pulled a furry waterskin from her pockets. "We've also got plenty of wild herbs and mushrooms thanks to the mountains. Two of my people are retired rangers who have been teaching the kids."

"Oh good," Gerard feigned a sign of relief. "At least I don't have to worry about being poisoned like that one time Reynaud pretended he knew how to forage."

"Those were mountains in ''Weichsel''," Reynaud protested. "It doesn't count!"

"What were you doing hiking in the Kingdom of Weichsel?" Kaede asked in curiosity before she took a drink.

"Trying to find an edelweiss flower for Perceval to court his girl with," Reynaud beamed. "My idea," he proudly pointed at himself.

The petite girl nearly choked as she started coughing. She had to wipe some lavender and chamomile off her lips from that tea Reynaud often saw her drink.

"Those flowers only grow in the Dead Mountains!"

"Probably why a single bite of that mushroom made me so sick I thought I was gonna die," Gerard shot another accusatory glare towards Reynaud. "Still, considering that Perceval and Ariadne are betrothed now, I'd say the three-day trip -- only one where we had to brave that toxic, murderous mist -- was well worth it."

"Perceval really is lucky he has friends like you two," Kaede beamed.

"Not at all." Gerard smiled humbly as he looked down. "You forgot how much he's done for me. Without his patronage, I'd still be a yeoman baker," he said before looking at the redhead. "Reynaud, however..."

"True brothers are forged in adversity!" The short armiger puffed up his chest before pounding a fist into it. "Sisters too," he then grinned at Kaede.

The Samaran girl looked taken aback before a faint blush came over her cheeks.

''She's cute when she's embarrassed,'' Reynaud couldn't help thinking.

"But to return to the food topic," Kaede pulled the discussion back. "The soil here is poor and must be sifted first to remove rocks and break up chunks before we can grow crops. That requires a lot of work in addition to building terraces. So I doubt we'll achieve food self-sufficiency in the first two to three years. We missed most of the planting season this year already and I doubt we'll have anything more than a vegetable garden ready in time."

"A lot of places failed to get a full crop planted this year." Gerard scowled as he stirred his stew in its bread loaf. "The Empire will need to carefully manage its food supply, or there might be famines by next year."

"Even with the partial demobilization?" Reynaud asked before eating a mouthful.

After all, the entire Wayfarer network, as well as individual Wayfarers like him, had been working overtime to help bring as many soldiers back home as possible in time for the planting season. Their ''Astral Teleport'' spells might have only ferried up to a dozen people at a time. But even that was a godsend for villages who have lost most of their able-bodied men to the war effort.

"Had Her Highness not demobilized more than half of our armies, we'd probably be starving by winter," Gerard declared in a grave voice. "The Caliphate's invasion late last year overran far too many grain silos in the south. The army was only able to hold together by drawing on the civilian food reserves. However, that placed a tremendous burden on food supplies across the countryside, especially after the failed harvest in the south last year."

Reynaud frowned as he thought about the numbers that he had heard from the Princess' meetings. More than 250,000 soldiers had been mobilized for the three fronts fighting the 3rd Tauheed Holy War -- the invasion of Rhin-Lotharingie by the Cataliyan Caliphate which began five months ago. Another 100,000 were recruited to run supply trains and guard logistic hubs.

-- And that didn't even include a brief, three-month-long civil war between the Crown Princess and her traitorous uncle over the throne.

The Empire of Rhin-Lotharingie had never been particularly populous to begin with. Centuries of bloody conflicts to throw off the Imperial yoke had left most of the country sparsely populated. Mobilization for the war effort then called up most men of fighting age which left many towns and villages with a noticeable gender imbalance.

The situation was the worst in the southern Kingdom of Garona, which bordered both the Holy Imperium and the Cataliyan Caliphate. They had enacted their famous 'Total Mobilization' decree to call up every man between the ages of sixteen to sixty.

"Things were bad enough before the Imperium's declaration of war." Kaede stared at her untouched stew with a scowl before she looked at Reynaud. "Which is, of course, why you're here."

"Declaration?" Gerard grew alarmed as he halted the rising spoon in his hand.

"Yes." Reynaud nodded. "The Imps formally declared war against our Empire last night. I'm here to recall Kaede for an emergency council meeting," he said before looking at Kaede. "Though I think you probably already knew."

"Pascal told me about it during our ''Farspeak'' call this morning." Kaede spoke of the spell that allowed for long-distance communications. "I haven't had a chance to tell you before now," she said to Gerard who then exhaled a deep sigh.

"I guess it was bound to happen sooner or later, considering their role in provoking both the Caliphate's invasion and the recent civil war," the engineer commented.

"Yes. But it happened in the worst possible manner," Kaede added grimly. "The Garona ''Liberation Army''," the girl said with sarcasm dripping in her soft voice, "struck a dozen cities and ports across the Imperium yesterday with a massive terrorist attack."

"'Terrorist' is what the Imps call them," Reynaud interjected despite his mouth being still stuffed with food. "Those people are ''heroes''," he insisted with a pointed spoon as his eyes hardened to meet Kaede's gaze.

"Heroes don't butcher civilians, women and children, in cold blood," Kaede countered as she stared back.

"And how many women and children did the Imps butcher over the centuries of their 'Pax Arcadia' occupation!?" Reynaud's voice rose sharply before he even noticed.

"This isn't a contest about who can commit the most war crimes," Kaede replied. "Yes, the Imperium is our enemy. They've invaded, occupied, and exploited Lotharins for the past ''eight centuries''," she said agreeably, reminding him they were on the same side. "And in standing up against the oppressor, those men certainly are freedom fighters and martyrs."

For a moment, the redheaded armiger felt vindicated as Kaede seemed to admit the truth. However, the Samaran girl also wasn't finished:

"But children are children regardless of who their parents are. And you cannot tell me that those who commit mass murder against the innocent and the helpless aren't also villains and terrorists!"

Reynaud bit down on his lips as he struggled to come up with a retort that didn't sound illogical to even himself.

After all, the Holy Imperium has been the predominant military, economic, and technological superpower in the West for more than a thousand years. For the Lotharin peoples, and especially the impoverished Garonans who lived on the rocky slopes of the South Lotharin Mountains, a direct confrontation with the Imperium spelled certain defeat. Therefore, they had been forced to rely on ambushes, raids, sabotage, and other forms of guerilla tactics -- all of which were labelled as 'terrorism' by the Imperial propaganda machine.

"For what it's worth, I do agree with Kaede," Gerard said with a deep scowl of his own. "It's one thing to sabotage Imperial Legion outposts and raid their supply convoys. But to attack population centers with indiscriminate slaughter? That's not just ''wrong'', it also plays straight into our opponents' hands."

"Which is exactly what happened," Kaede spoke next in a fuming voice that, had the circumstances been different, Reynaud might have considered cute. "The terror attacks gave the Imperator Augustus the perfect ''casus belli'' to declare war with overwhelming popular support.

"Worse yet, the attacks took place just two days before Resurrection Day," Kaede continued. "And the perpetrators were mostly Garonans of the Albigese Sect, whom the Trinitian Church view as heretics. This gave the Pope the ideal excuse to declare the 4th Trinitian Crusade."

"So we're now the target of both a Tauheed Holy War and a Trinitian Crusade!?" Gerard looked up from his bread bowl in horror. "''Fuck!''" He pounded the table with one fist while his other threw the wooden spoon back into the stew.

"We've survived worse," Reynaud muttered even as he resisted the depressive urge to agree with Gerard. "We Lotharins will ''never'' bend knee to a foreign occupier."

"And how many Lotharins will be ''left'' after this!?" Kaede retorted. "You were both with me when we travelled to the Kingdom of Garona back in February. Tell me -- did you see any men of fighting age in the villages and towns that we passed? I've even heard of calls to legalize polygamy among the Garonans, which might just actually pass since the Albigese don't hold the institution of marriage in high regard to begin with."

"Clearly, I should convert," Reynaud commented dryly.

It made Gerard snort a little, but only drew a gaze of ire from Kaede.

"That's not funny," the girl remarked.

"Sorry," Reynaud said sheepishly. "Humor is all I have at moments like these."

Kaede's eyes softened as she looked back down to her own soup and finally lifted a spoonful.

"I think I know what Her Highness has planned for me," she said as her voice fell quiet and wispy. "She likely wants me to go to our current and historic allies to seek assistance. Desperate times call for desperate measures, and the Empire needs help no matter what it costs us."

Yet even as the petite girl spoke, her expression betrayed neither enthusiasm nor the slightest confidence.

"Holy Father knows we could use another ''Leslie's Blessing''," Reynaud nodded.

"When is the conference that you mentioned?" Kaede stared at the armiger before stuffing her cheeks with a wooden spoon that was clearly too large for her.

"In two days," Reynaud answered. "Her Highness has recalled the commanders of every war front and summoned all the monarchs and heads of the major aristocratic houses."

"So we leave tomorrow then?"

"Her Highness has asked that I bring you back today," the redhead added with a frown.

Reynaud wasn't exactly a fan of making a round trip in a single day. The dozens of ''Astral Teleport'' jumps it required were exhausting, especially as he would be bringing at least two passengers on the way back.

"For what?"

"Well..." The armiger trailed off into silence.

"I'm not leaving unless you tell me," Kaede said in that soft yet firm tone which Reynaud knew as putting her foot down.

"There's a feast and a dance scheduled for tonight, and Her Highness wants you to attend," Reynaud admitted.

"A ''feast?'' Now?" Gerard remarked with an incredulous gaze.

"It was originally scheduled to thank the lesser nobles who supported her during the civil war," Reynaud shrugged. "She could hardly cancel it at the last minute after many of them had already made their way to the capital."

"Why does the Princess need me for that?" Kaede asked with a frown. "Her supporters want gratitude and accolades from ''her'', not empty words from a nobody like me."

"I think you've long graduated from being a 'nobody'," Reynaud pointed out. "But you're right on the first."

"Maybe she just wants to see you at a dance," Gerard shrugged. "You've never attended one, have you?"

"I don't even know ''how'' to dance," Kaede replied as her eyes gazed away. Her expression seemed to steadily darken before she gave a morose sigh.

"I think she just wants to play dressup."

The two men looked at each other. Neither quite understood what the girl meant or why she looked even more depressed from the thought.

"I can teach you if you'd like," Reynaud offered. "Though we only have a few hours at most."

"And Reynaud is an excellent dancer," Gerard added. "Terrible teacher though."

"Oh sod off!"

"Thank you, but no, I won't be going back today," Kaede declared as though the decision was already made.

"If I'm right and the Princess is going to send me on a diplomatic mission, it'll be a while before I come back to this village," she continued. "I need to get my affairs in order and ensure my people have everything they need in case I take months to return. I'm sure the Princess will understand when I tell her that."

Yet, even as Kaede explained, her eyes remained downcast and refused to meet his gaze. Then, as she stood up from her seat and looked away, Reynaud couldn't help feeling that the girl was just coming up with excuses.

"We'll leave tomorrow," she then added before picking up her loaf of bread stew. "And I'm not hungry enough to eat this right now. I'll see if someone else wants it."

She then left the table and the two men to themselves.

"Do you think...?" Gerard asked in a quiet voice as he watched Kaede march off into the distance.

"Yeah."

''She ran away.''

"Knowing Kaede, she's already made arrangements this morning after hearing the news from Pascal," Reynaud commented.

The armiger considered the girl's unusually keen hearing, which could hear murmurs long past the range of conventional earshot, before opting to say anyway:

"She's ducking out because she hates crowds and gatherings, especially those full of pomp and ceremony."

Meanwhile, Gerard exhaled a deep sigh in turn as he stared blankly at the direction Kaede went.

"You know I don't like to second guess our illustrious Princess..." he remarked. "But is it ''truly'' a good idea to have a Grand Squire, our Empire's top diplomat, be someone with social anxiety?"

===Author's History Notes===

Rhin-Lotharingie - Named after the Kingdom of Lotharingia during the Frankish Carolingian era, with its lands and people caught between West Frankia (France) and East Frankia (Germany). Rhin-Lotharingie basically means Rhine (river) + Lotharingia (area). The Lotharin people are based on Celtic cultures in our history, which had dominated this region before the Romans committed their 'Celtic Holocaust'.

Thumb Draw - Kaede's archery is based on Japanese kyudo, which uses the thumb to pull the bowstring with two fingers to stabilize the arrow, similar to that of many Asian nomadic cultures. This is very different from the 'Mediterranean draw' used commonly in the West, which uses three fingers to pull the bow.

'Pax Arcadia' - Based on 'Pax Romana', a centuries-long period of 'Roman Peace' which marked the highwater mark of Roman Imperialism. Widely associated with the prosperity, strength, and relative peace of the Empire during its time, such periods would nevertheless feature many internal revolts and border conflicts which would be squashed by the Empire through its domineering strength.

Oriflamme - Named after the Oriflamme 'golden flame' battle standard traditionally used by the Kings of France, until its loss and replacement by Joan of Arc's fleur-de-lis banner.

Six Great Officers - The Six Great Officers of the Empire of Rhin-Lotharingie is based on the Great Officers of the Crown of France, which included the position of the Grand Squire of France.

Edelweiss Flowers - An alpine flower that famously grows in rocky places at high altitudes, often on cliffs. Thus, they become the symbol of the German/Austrian alpinism and are often recognized as a symbol of courage.

Albigese and Marriage - The Cathars that the Albigese are based on didn't view marriage with high regard, as they viewed material world as sinful and sex as spiritually harmful. Reproduction itself was often frowned upon as children meant 'trapping more souls in corrupt physical bodies', not that Kaede would entirely grasp their theology here.

Daybreak:Volume 4 Chapter 11

2025-09-28T04:06:54Z

Aorii:

===Chapter 11 - True Acceptance===

"You look beautiful!" Kaede heard Sylviane remark as the Princess placed her palms together beside a beaming grin.

The Samaran girl smiled back a little as she turned towards the large, silvered-glass mirror that stood in the corner of the bedroom. She turned to the left and right as she watched the flowing long skirt and its crinoline sway beneath her slim waist.

The new dress was classy and cute while retaining a stylish, formal appearance. It began with a white 'blouse' with stiff lines which hugged her narrow shoulders almost like a uniform. A tight, folded collar wrapped around her neck which was held closed by a wisteria ribbon and a star-sapphire brooch -- both of which signaled that she was a personal representative of the princess.

She also wore a bright-cerulean bolero jacket with tight sleeves running down to her lacy wrist cuffs. A pink-and-blue underbust corset with floral patterns emphasized her thin waist. It connected her 'blouse' to her lower dress in a single garment despite a layered appearance.

Extending out from below was a long A-line skirt propped up by a crinoline. The skirt reached down to her lower calf where its wide rim stretched from elbow-to-elbow. A bright-cerulean outer skirt split along three panels presented the Empire's phoenix heraldry in front. Meanwhile, a tiered, pink-and-white ruffled underskirt lay exposed between the gaps.

"How's your flexibility at the waist?" Sylviane asked next, which prompted Kaede to do a few stretches.

The Samaran girl turned her torso left and right. She then tried bending forward and to the sides. There was some resistance each time. But apart from being unable to touch her toes, the overall impairment to her mobility was minimal. It was rather surprising considering that her midriff was being squeezed by a boned corset.

The corset was held closed in the back by wisteria laces which had been pulled tight and knotted off personally by the Princess. Sylviane had some rather high standards for lacing and Kaede had complained during the process. Yet, despite the constriction that squeezed her narrow midriff and pressed her ribs from all around, the boned corset rested with unexpected comfort around Kaede's waist.

"This is... surprising," Kaede muttered as she felt astonished by how comfortable the evenly distributed pressure was.

It felt completely different from the tight-laced corset she wore back in the Oriflamme Palace at Alis Avern. The Samaran girl might even consider the sensation more pleasant than strange once she grew accustomed. The garment certainly made her more aware of her posture and movements which was a plus for her mindfulness. And the support it provided her back could certainly help if she had to stand and sit straight in meetings all day, as she was likely to do in her new role.

"Remember a week ago when I had Queen Katell's personal tailor come measure you?" Sylviane happily explained. "This corset is built to your exact measurements, with help from a mold to imitate your waist. Furthermore, they tightened this corset around the heated mold over the past few days so that the whalebone structure could adjust. One of the advantages of baleen over steel is that the boning adapts to your shape over time. In other words, the corset has already been 'broken in'."

''Like leather boots after a few weeks of wear,'' Kaede thought as she flexed her waist once more. ''The custom tailoring really does make a huge difference.''

It reminded Kaede of the complaint she once read regarding modern clothing. Sure, male expectations toward clothing were generally more lax, and Kaede benefitted from that as a young man growing up. However, women -- with their pronounced curves and tight-fitting garments -- often complained that the 'factory default' proportions simply didn't fit their unique body measurements. As a result, while the average individual could afford ''more'' clothing, they were often less comfortable compared to pre-industrial times.

"Well, what do you think of your new 'uniform'?" Sylviane asked as she beamed with an expectant gaze.

"It's a lot more comfy than I imagined." Kaede said as she smiled back through the mirror. "It wasn't hard to put on either, aside from the laces."

"You can ''technically'' lace a corset by yourself, but it just won't have quite the same results," the Princess commented as if loose corsets were a sin. "Though that shouldn't be an issue, as you certainly ''should'' travel with a Lady's Maid as the Grand Squire of Rhin-Lotharingie. It would reflect poorly on your status without one, and she could also serve as your aide and confidante."

Sylviane turned towards Pascal with a knowing look, while the latter leaned against a pillar of the four poster bed as he watched the two girls. The young lord chuckled as his familiar was already ahead of the Princess in this regard.

"She already took one into her service," he answered before meeting Kaede's eyes in the mirror. "Though are you sure you want a former Imperial spy to take the role?"

"Whom better?" Kaede's smile grew. "Marina is far more astute and observant than most maids could ever be. And I have faith that I can earn and retain her loyalty."

"Very well," Pascal responded in a tone that hinted at his lingering misgivings. Nevertheless, the slight smirk he wore expressed his confidence and pride in his familiar's abilities. "I will work with Majordomo Karsten to make arrangements so that Marina can travel with you in the future then."

It was a reminder that Marina was an indentured servant bound by a magical curse. And while Kaede could offer Marina a better life as a Lady's Maid, she couldn't change the fundamental status of the girl's lifetime servitude.

Before the familiar could ruminate further about the topic, her familiar-enhanced hearing picked up several sets of footsteps from outside the bedroom. Two men walked up to the door before one of them knocked on the thick, mahogany wood.

"Unfortunately, she's not with us now, so you won't be able to bring her for the coming trip," Sylviane commented as she nodded affirmatively to Elspeth, who stood silently next to the entrance. "Cecylia can more than make up for any Lady's Maid in function though. And I don't think I need to tell you to not treat her like a servant."

The Princess was still speaking as the royal bodyguard opened the door. It revealed Reynaud and Cecylia just outside, while the tall Gerard stood behind them looking a bit nervous.

"No need to worry about that, Your Highness," the dhampir strode in with a wide smile she spun around in her wide dress. She then pressed her hands to her narrow waist before giving them all a tilt of her head. "''Cecylia'' will be treating Kaede as a servant for most of the trip."

Instead of her usual black-and-red uniform, the intelligence officer from Weichsel wore an extravagant 'traveling dress' that screamed status and wealth. The gown was made entirely from burgundy-red velvet with gold brocade. It ran from a tight bodice that hugged her figure from her shoulders and torso down to a tiered A-line skirt that stretched wide like Kaede's.

The Princess's gloved hand immediately rose to hide her laughter. "Cecylia, you look like an eccentric noblewoman."

"Indeed I am! Countess Maelle d'Rhianwen de Rochemar, at your service, Your Highness," Cecylia answered before grasping the sides of the skirt and dipping down in a perfect curtsy. "Cecylia's information says that I'm known to be a bit of a showoff."

"Would it not be more prudent to travel... ''inconspicuously?''" Pascal asked with a frown.

"Traveling during wartime always raises suspicions," Cecylia explained. "Better to head it off with misleading information than to leave blanks that invite others to fill. Maelle is a bit frivolous but otherwise isn't known to harbor any ambitions. She also has a sister in Eastern Garona which creates the perfect pretext."

"And what if the real Countess Maelle learns about this?" Kaede's question followed.

"We would have long made it to our goal by then, hehe," Cecylia grinned. "The plan is that I shall be Her Ladyship. Kaede will be my Lady's Maid. Reynaud will be my armiger bodyguard. And Gerard will be another armed guard as well as my chauffeur."

"Sir Gerard?" Kaede turned to look up at the engineer whom she befriended back at Alisia Academy. "You're coming too?"

"Yes, in lieu of Perceval." The tall and muscular yeomen-turned-chevalier whose build towered over everyone else in the room nodded. However, he also looked the most uncomfortable as he stood stiffly facing the Princess with his hands behind his back. His normally chiseled grin a shallow line as he tried to gulp down his nerves.

-- It was clear that he wasn't accustomed to being in the presence of royalty in such a private, informal setting.

"Perceval thought it would be beneficial to Her Highness' cause if he helped to persuade Duke Hugh de La Tours de Lorraine, who is, after all, the leader of his house." Gerard hid his nerves behind a tone of formality as he spoke, though it felt more like he was reporting to the Princess than answering a friend's curiosity. "But he still has his duties as a healer to attend to, not to mention serving as liaison and representative for Duke Mathias. Therefore, he is sending me with a letter instead."

"Why a letter?" Kaede asked. "You have ''Farspeak'' spells."

"Because a letter would arrive ''with you'', while a spell would come independent of you," Sylviane responded. "It's important to make not just a logical, but ''emotional'' connection between these two."

"Besides, sending two of his closest friends would show just how determined Perceval is in siding with Her Highness," Reynaud added with his typical grin as he referred to not only Gerard but also himself. "Between Perceval being a close advisor and Duke Mathias joining the Weichsen Expedition with his men in Baguette, we've already involved the La Tours family in the retaking of the throne. Duke Hugh will be faced with the choice of either accepting the path taken by his own relatives, or creating a fissure within his own family."

It was a reminder that despite his usual facade of being a hothead and flirt, Reynaud was anything but ignorant in social affairs.

''If only it was that simple though,'' Kaede thought before she voiced her concerns. "Isn't it also possible for Duke Hugh to be angered that we're trying to force his hand? After all, he is the patriarch of the La Tours family. And for Perceval to have taken sides without his approval..."

"Unfortunately, Kaede is correct, especially when you consider how petty and shortsighted Duke Hugh can often be." Sylviane scowled before she met the Samaran girl's gaze with a troubled frown. "It's also why I opted to send you, Kaede, as persuading Duke Hugh will primarily be one of pulling. Convince him that his relatives have taken the smart path, and seduce him with offers and future prospects as opportunities arise. But do not push unless you have no other options remaining."

The Princess then sighed before she sat down next to Pascal on the edge of the bed. "Duke Hugh might cow before my father, but I certainly hold no such leverage. Far better to flatter his ego and appeal to his greed, than to risk his anger by trying to awe or force him."

It was a clear indication that despite recent victories and outward appearances, Sylviane knew fully well that her position in the ongoing civil war was anything but secure. A single big mistake could still turn the tide against her. And as such, it was imperative that they tread lightly.

"I'll be careful," Kaede nodded. "Though what can I offer him? He's not exactly lacking in wealth or influence, which means that his appetite will not be cheap to satisfy."

"Of course not, Huge the Rotund will keep swallowing until he turns into a balloon and floats to Midas' throne," Cecylia joked, which elicited a chuckle from Kaede and others in the room.

"I still have half of the funds I brought," Pascal interjected to point out.

"Not if we keep spending it at this rate," Sylviane countered. "You're already paying for a third of the army's wages, seeing as Katell is pleading poverty and I cannot afford to be more indebted to King Llywelyn. Not to mention the 'death gratuity' that you're distributing to help the families of those who died at Glywysing," Sylviane added with a slight tone of disapproval.

Pascal's previous amusement vanished in an instant as he put his proverbial foot down. "We have already talked about that."

"Yes." Sylviane sighed before she nodded in acceptance. "I understand your reasons, as it is tradition for Weichsens. I just want to remind you that money is a valuable commodity to keep spare in a time of war. You never know when you might need to give people an extra incentive. And buying supplies or offering it to the soldiers will give far better value than further stuffing an already fattened pig."

"Too bad we can't just roast the fat pig," Elspeth casually added from the room's corner. "Gag his hoity-toity mouth and watch him squeal over some real flames."

"Aww come on! I did NOT need that image!" Reynaud cried in mock anguish as he looked like he was going to be sick.

Kaede smiled as Reynaud's habit of imagining girls naked clearly backfired on him in this case. Though more importantly, his remark cleared any lingering tension between the Princess and her betrothed. It brought levity back into the conversation as an amused smile returned to both Pascal and Sylviane's expressions.

"Maybe I can offer him some seasoning," the familiar added before Pascal and Gerard simultaneously snorted and began to laugh.

"As long as it's not gold. I don't want Reynaud to break his teeth." Sylviane chuckled, which elicited a regurgitation sound from the redhead as though he was about to vomit.

With her face beaming, the Princess straightened her tone before continuing: "I think the best offer I can make him would be to elevate his favored son. Henri is, by all accounts, quite brilliant, which means I can give him real power and not just an honorary rank. If an opportunity presents itself, you may tell Duke Hugh that Henri may have his choice of either being the Grand Master, or take charge of any ministry which he chooses. And should he do well at it, I will even consider him for the position of Grand Chancellor."

Kaede's eyes swelled as Sylviane's offer went far beyond what she had expected. The Grand Master was one of the 'Six Great Officers' of the Crown, who would be in charge of the Empress' household -- which meant running the royal court and its finances. Meanwhile, the Grand Chancellor was the highest authority in the realm outside the sovereign herself when it came to civil affairs.

"''That'' will surely tempt even his lofty ambitions," Cecylia considered aloud. "The La Tours family hasn't seen someone rise to the rank of 'Great Officer' since Marshal Roland. It will be seen as a tremendous honor for Duke Hugh, as Henri is his chosen successor whom he groomed with no expenses spared. I heard he even hired a philosopher from the Imperium to tutor Henri when the young man was still a boy."

"I've heard that also," Sylviane remarked as she pursed her lips. "Though I'm not sure being tutored by a renowned Skeptic so early in life is necessarily a blessing."

"A Skeptic?" Kaede asked.

"Skepticism is one of the philosophical schools." Pascal explained. "Its adherents believe that all knowledge is uncertain and all 'truths' are but limited perspectives."

"I can understand their reasons, but their beliefs stir up way too much trouble," Sylviane added with a scowl. "Skeptics reject the concept of faith entirely and claim that the true nature of reality is impossible to know or understand. And because of that, they often end up making an enemy of the Church as they challenge even the most fundamental tenets of Trinitian faith."

"They do make fantastic researchers and investigators though," Cecylia then countered as though speaking from personal experience. "However, their unwillingness to take people's word can make them... frustratingly difficult to deal with at times."

''The translation spell had it right then.'' Kaede realized it was essentially the same school of thought as Academic Skepticism, which had been made famous by historical figures such as the great orator Cicero.

It was a reminder to Kaede that diplomacy was more about preparation than raw charisma. To negotiate with Duke Hugh, it was not only important to understand his personality and temperament, but also to grasp his interests, his needs, the people around him, and the desires that tempted him.

''I should talk with Major Ostergalen before I leave.'' The Samaran girl considered Pascal's intelligence officer who often endorsed the importance of character. Then, as she remembered another shortcut standing before her, she turned towards the dhampir agent with a hopeful, beseeching smile:

"Cecylia, would you be willing to share your dossier on Duke Hugh and his family from the Black Eagles?"

"Ahhh, you remembered!" Cecylia beamed as Kaede recalled their conversation during that 'girl's night' before the war began. The dhampir girl reached into an extradimensional pocket slung over her waist, before she pulled out what looked to be a frilly, black-and-white dress that had an unusual amount of padding over the breasts.

"Of course I'd be happy to share information with my ''maid''," She said with a grin that ran from ear to ear, which she exchanged with the Princess.

''You're as bad as Elder Sister.'' Kaede's smile faltered as she barely stifled a groan.

...

Their discussion continued in the same playful tone for nearly two hours. However, before the group left Pascal and Kaede's guest room for lunch in the castle halls, Sylviane redirected her attention towards the one man who had barely spoken the entire time:

"One last thing -- Gerard, in addition to accompanying Kaede in her primary mission to meet with Duke Hugh, I also have a secondary task for you."

"Me, Your Highness?" The tall engineer's eyes swelled as though he could scarcely believe his ears.

It was to be expected, as Gerard came from a yeomen baker's family. He only came to know Pascal and other high nobles thanks to Perceval's patronage. And although the Princess awarded him the rank of Chevalier for his role in escorting Elspeth after the coup, the engineer had never done anything that brought recognition to his own name.

"Yes," Sylviane nodded. "As an engineer and someone from the Ministry of Land and Resources, I want you to inspect the lands of Southern Rhin-Lotharingie as you travel across them. I'd like to know more about the state of the Empire's infrastructure in the south, especially its fields, roads, waterworks, and bridges."

"Of course, Your Highness," Gerard answered at once as his head dipped down in a slight bow. "Though... surely there must be a better candidate than me? I was just an intern."

"Pascal told me that you did an outstanding job working with Weichsel's pioneers to plan out the fortifications prior to the Battle of Gwilen River." The Princess gave him an encouraging smile, which her fiancé tried to match as he added:

"It was not your fault that the enemy discovered the ruse and destroyed our dam."

Gerard couldn't help but break a wry smile as he nodded appreciatively. The muscular young man had thought he failed during the battle, as the trap entrusted to him had been discovered by the enemy before it could be sprung. Injured during the retreat, the engineer had thought that he had lost the one chance in his life to truly earn respect.

Yet, as it turned out, Pascal did not blame him for the debacle at all, as so many other superiors would in such circumstances.

"Wars are not only a contest of military strength, Gerard," Sylviane continued on to explain. "They are even more a clash between the economic backbone of empires. And if I am to lead this war against the Caliphate and, most likely, the Imperium once they join, then I must have a clear understanding of our own situation. I ''need'' to hear an honest appraisal from someone I can trust, and not merely the filtered words of ministers in the capital."

The young man blinked as he felt taken aback by the Princess' words. To be included as someone whom she could trust was not merely an honor. It was a sign that Lady Luck had not yet abandoned him, and that he hadn't already spent all the opportunities of his life to come this far.

"It would be my honor, Your Highness." Gerard brought his fist before his chest in a knightly salute. "I promise I will bring a thorough report upon my return."

<nowiki>----- * * * -----</nowiki>

Most of the group had other business to attend to after lunch. And as they split apart, Kaede decided to take a trip out to the city with Pascal for her last day in Roazhon. The young lord had needed some persuading as he was still unsteady on his feet. However, with both Sylviane and his healer Perceval -- whom they had met at lunch -- backing Kaede, Pascal reluctantly agreed to set aside his military organizational work for one day.

"So, what do you have in mind?" The Landgrave asked as he walked across the royal castle's drawbridge with a limp. His right arm was still weak, but he nevertheless used it to hold the cane that supported his recovering right leg.

"Honestly? I didn't have anywhere specific in mind." Kaede casually replied. "I just wanted to come out to take a walk with you, only the two of us."

She had offered to help support him earlier. However, Pascal reasoned that since he was coming out for exercise, it would be best for him to practice walking on his own. So instead Kaede walked to his right side in close proximity, ready to assist if he did misstep with his bad leg.

"All right, who are you and what have you done with Kaede?" Pascal jested as he stopped before the main street and looked down at his familiar with a smirk. "It almost sounded like you were ''courting'' me."

Even his old drawl had returned somewhat as his mood seemed to have significantly improved over the previous few days.

"Anyone trying to court you would have to do it in a library and over some maps," Kaede commented dryly before she raised an eyebrow. "Actually, don't tell me that's how the Princess earned your love and respect."

Facing the main street and the bustling city plaza beyond it, Kaede decided to steer Pascal east in a clockwise direction around the moat of Roazhon Castle. The street ahead should take them towards the bridge crossing the Hafren River. She remembered seeing a row of restaurants by the river from the gardens behind the citadel. Perhaps they could have a more leisurely walk there compared to a journey through the rowdy city center.

"I was definitely the initiator that time. Though what you say is not too far from the truth, considering that Sylv and I spent our first meeting staring at Cross Lake while discussing its strategic value," Pascal answered with a chuckle.

"Nevertheless, that still leaves the question of why you wanted to come out with me?" He added just as a train of several wagons, all of them filled with boxes and wares, rolled past them on the cobblestone main street.

"I wanted a change of scenery, and a chance to talk to you, without interruptions, before I leave," Kaede said as she looked up at him with a gentle smile. Meanwhile Pascal wore a curious look as he turned enough to his right so Kaede would not just see his eyepatch, but also his remaining good eye.

"Ever since my coming to Hyperion almost four months ago, we've been together almost every day," Kaede went on. "The only exception was my detour to Lysardh Point when we were in Ceredigion, and that was only for a single day."

The Samaran girl took a brief pause. Her chest felt slightly squeezed as an odd sense of nostalgia ran through her thoughts. Images drifted across her mind of all the memories she shared with Pascal, from Alisia to Nordkreuz to Avorica and Ceredigion. They had experienced more ups and downs together in these past few months than most people did for entire years if not decades.

"However, that won't be the case starting tomorrow," Kaede continued wistfully. "This will be my first extended trip away from you... and I probably won't see you again for several weeks at least..." The Samaran girl trailed off in her wispy voice.

Kaede never had a chance to say goodbye to her parents and depart for college back on Earth. But she had an inkling that this was what it would have felt like to leave home for the first time. And while she never stayed in one location for more than a month since arriving on Hyperion, she had come to realize that in her mind -- 'home' had become wherever Pascal was.

Furthermore, she was leaving at a time when Pascal was still recovering from his injuries. And truth be told, part of her felt uneasy and guilty about her departure. Sure, both Perceval and Sylviane had promised that they would look out for Pascal in her absence. But both of them were also busy with their own responsibilities.

...Yet, Kaede herself also now had other duties to attend to. It was part of the deal in accepting her new life in this world. Her journey as the Princess' emissary to Duke Hugh would also be her first ever job –- and a rather substantial task at that. Therefore, the anxious Samaran not only wanted to avoid any sense of shirking responsibilities, but also to perform her task with utmost effort.

With her gaze still pensive, Kaede turned towards Pascal and gave him an apologetic smile. She was still struggling to think of what to say next when the young man returned an unabashed beam:

"I really will miss you, that is for certain."

His declaration instantly derailed her previous train of thought. Whatever she was considering saying before was lost as the color of her cheeks deepened to a bright scarlet. The familiar opened and closed her lips twice before turning away to hide her embarrassment. Not even her father had ever been this upfront about displaying his affections.

Her reactions elicited a brief chuckle from the young lord.

"You have been a tremendous help to me, Kaede," Pascal said next with a peaceful smile. His sincere words could be heard clearly over the background noise that came from across the street. "Not just in my work and duties, but also to me as an individual. You have brought so much into my life, as well as those of my friends and family. You even saved my life on multiple occasions. I really cannot fathom where I would be today without you."

For a moment Pascal's earnest expression left Kaede almost stunned. It was all the girl could do to keep walking at his side while she felt not just her face, but even her ears burning.

"N-now who is trying to court whom?" The girl muttered beneath her breath. ''You sound like you're about to make a marriage proposal.''

She glanced back at Pascal, and caught only a glimpse of his magnificent grin before turning away once more. The young man's willingness to share his heartfelt adoration toward others had always caught Kaede off guard, especially when one considered how he also bottled up negative emotions to an unhealthy degree. Furthermore, Pascal didn't even try to make any jokes to lighten the conversation this time, and his complete honesty -- which Kaede could sense through the pride that trickled across their familiar bond -- only made her embarrassment worse.

A prolonged silence fell between the two as Kaede turned off the main street and onto a quiet road that headed to the bridge. The noise coming from the city's main plaza, combined with Pascal's words, left her in an overstimulated state that scattered her focus and scrambled her thoughts. She couldn't even think with composure for long enough to formulate a response.

The Samaran girl had crossed the road without even realizing it before walking near to the limestone wall of a building. There, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She repeated the box breathing technique twice more before she turned around once more.

"Want a free hug?" Pascal asked from where he stood from an arm's length away. A caring light shone in his turquoise gaze as he looked upon her with a beaming smile.

Kaede laughed this time.

"I'm surprised you didn't just give me one."

"It felt like you needed a moment to yourself," Pascal commented. "My time in bed has made me notice several things about you that I never paid attention to before. And one of them is that you need frequent 'breaks' to calm and collect your thoughts.

"I get overwhelmed easily, yes," Kaede replied sheepishly. "It's the main reason I dislike crowds, or being the center of attention, or loud noises, and certainly battles."

"Yet, you are remarkably good at doing what needs to be done when the moment arrives," Pascal said with an amused look. "It is a surprising combination."

''Only when the course of action is clear to my conscience,'' Kaede silently appended. Otherwise she just became flustered and indecisive, as she was right now.

"Stop flattering me already," The familiar retorted shyly as she turned towards the river once more and began to walk.

"It is not flattery if it is true," Pascal declared as he moved to her side with a proud, shameless grin. "I meant what I said, Kaede. I have the best familiar in this world, who has also become one of my closest friends. From that perspective, I honestly do not regret summoning you for a single moment, as you are the best thing that has happened to my life in years."

However, as he finished, the young lord also began to look sheepish and apologetic. The glowing pride that radiated across their familiar bond receded to a growing sense of guilt as he added: "though I do realize how unfair this exchange has been to you."

Kaede couldn't help but smile wistfully as she heard those words. It certainly had been an unequal deal, as Kaede had lost everything in her past life, including everyone whom she cherished and everything that she knew. She had a loving family, good friends, and bright prospects for her future, yet all of that ended prematurely as she was summoned into this world to be the familiar of a pompous lordling.

Yet... what if all of that would have been lost anyway?

The familiar walked past one last building before a riverfront street to her left came into view just in front of the bridge. The stone-paved road was too narrow for wagons and carriages. A row of upper class restaurants and inns were lined up on the prime real estate that was by the castle. Though only a few people sat in the outdoors seating as the wind from the river still held a late winter chill.

"That's actually something I've been meaning to talk to you about, Pascal," Kaede said as she walked up to a stone parapet by the water and leaned against it. The same cold breeze that kept diners away also cleared her mind as it blew across her cheeks.

"I don't blame you for summoning me to Hyperion, Pascal. Not anymore," the Samaran girl began earnestly as she heard his footsteps come up from behind. "That's not to say that it wasn't a thoughtless action on your part. Nor did I enjoy those first few sleepless weeks, when I did not have even the basic rights of citizens in this world. But you had done your utmost to make up for those things. The only loss you couldn't make up for was the life on Earth that I had lost."

Kaede then turned around to face a solemn Pascal before with a brave smile. She leaned back comfortably against the parapet while reaching up with one hand to hold back her long loose hair in the wintry breeze.

"Yet in hindsight, Pascal, I don't think that was your fault. Having spoken to several people on the topic of Samarans since, I've come to accept the most likely scenario. The Samarans' cycle of rebirth is, after all, called 'reincarnation' and not 'resurrection' or 'transmogrification'," She repeated the line despite not remembering whom she had heard it from. "Occam's Razor dictates that the simplest explanation is also the most probable. And therefore, I think... I'm ''fairly certain''... that I had died back in my old world."

The familiar felt like her voice was being choked as she uttered those last few words. Yet at the same time, it seemed a relief to finally say it out loud. It would have been better if she could clearly remember the person who had finally convinced her to accept this reality. Her memories of the encounter, where she learned so much about the life and fate of Samarans, always grew fuzzy whenever she tried to bring up this topic with Pascal -- only to remember later when she quietly contemplated it herself.

"I don't know what it was that I had died from, or even when," Kaede spoke as she took a deep exhale and her shoulders sagged. "All I know is that my old life would have been forfeit anyway, so it wasn't you who ripped me away." Her wistful smile then returned with a voice of acceptance. "I wanted to tell you this, both for my own closure, and to ease your conscience. I have forced you to bear the guilt of that for long enough. And I have to stop blaming others if I am to truly find acceptance for my new life."

A soft smile grew across Pascal's own expression as he heard Kaede's words. He limped up to the parapet on her right and, for a long moment, leaned against it to gaze across the river. Then, with a long sigh, he turned to his side and his turquoise left eye met hers once more.

"I am glad that you told me this, Kaede. Though it does not dispel me of my responsibilities," Pascal replied with conviction. "In hindsight, perhaps only my ego convinced us both that my magic was powerful enough to reach across worlds. Even a part of me has always been skeptical of that particular feat." He chuckled at himself.

"Nevertheless, it was I who pulled you into this life, away from the peaceful existence that you, as a reborn Samaran, would have likely had, and would have likely preferred," the young man added. "And to that end, I fully intend to create a warm family for you."

The young lord paused briefly before he chuckled at himself once more. "Though perhaps that is my ego speaking as well, as you have done far more for my social bonds than I have for you."

"Real friends and families don't keep track of who owes whom. We help each other however we can." Kaede beamed as she responded in the same manner her mother once did to her father.

Yet, her smile quickly faltered as she thought about the loved ones whom she dearly missed -- her parents in Japan, her grandparents in Russia, her friends at school...

''The Samarans' recollection truly is both a blessing and a curse,'' the familiar thought as she wiped the tears from her eyes. But no matter how much she tried to clear her cheeks of their wetness, the tears just kept on coming.

Kaede's final acceptance to the loss of her old life had neither come easy, nor willingly at first. She had spent the past two weeks trying not to think much about it. There had been so much to distract her as well, from Pascal's physical rehabilitation to preparing for her new role. But now, as the floodgates had been pulled open and a tide of nostalgic memories swept in, the Samaran girl couldn't help but cry once more over everything she had lost.

"I'm sorry..." The short girl spoke in a barely audible voice. "This wasn't supposed to... be like this..."

Stepping over to his crying familiar, Pascal leaned his cane against the parapet before bowing down and wrapping both of his arms tightly around Kaede's shoulders.

"The hugs are always free. All you need is to ask," he spoke in a warm voice.

A quiet giggle came to Kaede's lips as she appreciated his attempt to lighten the moment. Though his weight upon her shoulders felt the exact opposite as it felt much ''heavier'' than any hug she had ever received. A significant portion of the pressure then lifted as Pascal shifted slightly. Nevertheless, it quickly grew apparent just what had happened.

"Pascal?"

"Yes?" The young man replied casually.

"Did you just lose your balance when you hugged me?"

"Only briefly," he answered.

Kaede laughed as she turned about and wrapped her own arms around Pascal's waist.

This was truly her life now, and she would make the best of it.

<noinclude>
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| Back to [[Daybreak:Volume_4_Chapter_10|Chapter 10]]
| Return to [[Daybreak_on_Hyperion|Main Page]]
| Forward to [[Daybreak:Volume_4_Chapter_12|Chapter 12]]
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</noinclude>

Daybreak on Hyperion

2025-09-21T22:18:20Z

Aorii: /* Volume 5 */

== Daybreak on Hyperion ==

This is the writer's work site. The story is posted on [http://krytykal.org/daybreak/ Krytyk's Translations] and [http://www.baka-tsuki.org/project/index.php?title=Daybreak_on_Hyperion Baka-Tsuki].

===Story Synopsis===

Born into noble prestige and gifted with extraordinary talent, Pascal was a promising officer cadet whose deeds caught even the King's gaze. At the mere age of twenty, he had everything a young, ambitious man could need.

Except his habitual arrogance had destroyed every opportunity of a close friendship outside his political marriage.

Seeking a companion who meets his protracted list of requirements, Pascal decided to craft the 'perfect spell' for the upcoming familiar ceremony. If those around him were not fit to accompany his genius, then he would summon a best friend through his own hands -- one that was mature, intelligent, knowledgeable, bright, and cute as well.

He received far more than he bargained for... and in turn, so did the shifting geopolitical power balance of his world.

Disclaimer: This story focuses on heavy topics and doesn't shy away from politics, war, and societal themes. Reader discretion is adviced for those who are easily triggered by real-world topics.

===Volume 1 - Daybreak on Hyperion ([[Daybreak:Volume_1_Full|Merged]])===

*[[Daybreak:Volume_1_Chapter_1|Chapter 1 - The Curse of Prodigy]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_1_Chapter_2|Chapter 2 - By the Runelord's Will]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_1_Chapter_3|Chapter 3 - Master and Familiar]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_1_Chapter_4|Chapter 4 - Regressions of Time]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_1_Chapter_5|Chapter 5 - Status of Life]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_1_Chapter_6|Chapter 6 - A Peaceful Day]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_1_Chapter_7|Chapter 7 - The Perfect Contrast]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_1_Chapter_8|Chapter 8 - Inquisitive Hope]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_1_Chapter_9|Chapter 9 - Bonds of Faith]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_1_Chapter_10|Chapter 10 - Critical Appeal]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_1_Chapter_11|Chapter 11 - For Weichsel, Not You]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_1_Chapter_12|Chapter 12 - Better Late Than Never]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_1_Chapter_13|Chapter 13 - A World of Difference]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_1_Chapter_14|Chapter 14 - Outbreak of War]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_1_Epilogue|Epilogue]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_1_Extra_1|Extra 1 - Switched Perspectives]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_1_Extra_2|Extra 2 - Magic and Hierarchy]]

===Volume 2 - ???===

*[[Daybreak:Volume_2_Chapter_1|Chapter 1 - By the Crossroad Shores]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_2_Chapter_2|Chapter 2 - Gendered Recollections]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_2_Chapter_3|Chapter 3 - The Oriflamme Princess]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_2_Chapter_4|Chapter 4 - Council of War]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_2_Chapter_5|Chapter 5 - A Royal Eccentricity]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_2_Chapter_6|Chapter 6 - The Third Wheel]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_2_Chapter_7|Chapter 7 - Pecking Order]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_2_Chapter_8|Chapter 8 - Logistics Wizardry]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_2_Chapter_9|Chapter 9 - Strategic Ambition]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_2_Chapter_10|Chapter 10 - Homecoming in Nordkreuz ]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_2_Chapter_11|Chapter 11 - Realigning Interests]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_2_Chapter_11_Interlude|Chapter 11.5 Interlude - The Coming Storm]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_2_Chapter_12|Chapter 12 - Late Night Confidence]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_2_Chapter_13|Chapter 13 - Heroic Legacy]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_2_Chapter_13_Interlude|Chapter 13.5 Interlude - Chaos Rising]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_2_Chapter_14|Chapter 14 - The Storm Front]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_2_Chapter_15|Chapter 15 - Massive Strike]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_2_Chapter_16|Chapter 16 - Decisive Action]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_2_Chapter_17|Chapter 17 - Desperate Assault]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_2_Chapter_18|Chapter 18 - Baptism in Fire]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_2_Chapter_19|Chapter 19 - Hail the Black Dragon]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_2_Chapter_20|Chapter 20 - What A General Needs]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_2_Epilogue|Epilogue]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_2_Extra_1|Extra 1 - Bathhouse Cultural Exchange]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_2_Extra_2|Extra 2]]

===Volume 3 - Polarizing Struggle===

*[[Daybreak:Volume_3_Chapter_1|Chapter 1 - Irrational Facade]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_3_Chapter_2|Chapter 2 - Conscientious Choice]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_3_Chapter_3|Chapter 3 - Strategy for Legitimacy]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_3_Chapter_4|Chapter 4 - Budding Familiarity]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_3_Chapter_5|Chapter 5 - Arsenal of Faith]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_3_Chapter_6|Chapter 6 - Unquestioned Authority]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_3_Chapter_7|Chapter 7 - The Polar Cross]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_3_Chapter_8|Chapter 8 - Extreme Turbulence]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_3_Chapter_9|Chapter 9 - Fundamental Bias]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_3_Chapter_10|Chapter 10 - Benign Interference]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_3_Chapter_11|Chapter 11 - As God Wills It]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_3_Chapter_12|Chapter 12 - Never Leave Regrets]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_3_Chapter_13|Chapter 13 - Ten Thousand A Day]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_3_Chapter_14|Chapter 14 - Desperate Authority]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_3_Chapter_15|Chapter 15 - Breaking Point]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_3_Chapter_16|Chapter 16 - Reason to Be]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_3_Chapter_17|Chapter 17 - Judgment at Dawn]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_3_Chapter_18|Chapter 18 - A Knight's Oath]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_3_Chapter_19|Chapter 19 - Didactic Reckoning]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_3_Chapter_20|Chapter 20 - The Perfect Flaw]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_3_Epilogue|Epilogue-Interlude - The Stage Is Set]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_3_Extra_1|Extra 1]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_3_Extra_2|Extra 2 - Meeting with a Samaran]]

===Volume 4 - The Burning Throne===

*[[Daybreak:Volume_4_Chapter_1|Chapter 1 - Answers from the Past]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_4_Chapter_2|Chapter 2 - Playing with Fire]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_4_Chapter_3|Chapter 3 - Surrogate Leadership]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_4_Chapter_4|Chapter 4 - A Familiar Duty]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_4_Chapter_5|Chapter 5 - The Path Ahead]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_4_Chapter_6|Chapter 6 - In the Interest of State]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_4_Chapter_7|Chapter 7 - The Price of Audacity]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_4_Chapter_8|Chapter 8 - Crisis of Confidence]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_4_Chapter_9|Chapter 9 - Unity of Command]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_4_Chapter_10|Chapter 10 - Dread Motivation]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_4_Chapter_11|Chapter 11 - True Acceptance]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_4_Chapter_12|Chapter 12 - Foundation on Trust]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_4_Chapter_13|Chapter 13 - On the Road]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_4_Chapter_14|Chapter 14 - The Scion of La Tours]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_4_Chapter_15|Chapter 15 - Tangled Alliances]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_4_Chapter_15_Interlude|Chapter 15 Interlude - Concessions of Faith]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_4_Chapter_16|Chapter 16 - Triangle Strategy]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_4_Chapter_17|Chapter 17 - Fog of War]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_4_Chapter_18|Chapter 18 - Unspeakable Intent]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_4_Chapter_19|Chapter 19 - Dysphoric Pyre]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_4_Chapter_20|Chapter 20 - Unpardonable Truth]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_4_Chapter_21|Chapter 21 - An End and a Beginning]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_4_Epilogue|Epilogue]]

===Volume 5 / Journey Towards Daybreak ===

*[[Daybreak:Volume_5_Prologue|Prologue]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_5_Chapter_1|Chapter 1]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_5_Chapter_2|Chapter 2]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_5_Chapter_3|Chapter 3]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_5_Chapter_4|Chapter 4]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_5_Chapter_5|Chapter 5]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_5_Chapter_6|Chapter 6]]

===Resources===

*[[Daybreak:Character List|Character List]]

*[[Daybreak:Setting|Setting]]

*[[Daybreak:Spelllist|Spells]]

[[Daybreak:Alpha_Chapter|.]]

Daybreak:Volume 5 Chapter 1

2025-09-21T21:32:23Z

Aorii: Created page with "===Chapter 1 - A Friendly Recall=== "''Between the peaks of the North and South Lotharin Mountains lay the plains of Lotharingie. Here the heartland of the Lotharin peoples l..."

===Chapter 1 - A Friendly Recall===

"''Between the peaks of the North and South Lotharin Mountains lay the plains of Lotharingie. Here the heartland of the Lotharin peoples lay bound but unbroken despite centuries of 'Pax Arcadia'. The legions and merchants of our Holy Imperium who roam these lands are seen as little more than foreign occupiers whose blood shall be spilled in the next uprising. Three rebellions have quenched the land in red iron, yet it shall only be a matter of time until a fourth, a fifth, until the Lotharins claim independence, uncaring of the blood toll they pay in its efforts.''

"''Why, one might ask, must we hold onto such territory and people who abhor us? Whose pacification necessitates an endless drain upon our Imperium?''"

- Livia, Drusilla Tranquillus, ''The Greatest Empire No Longer'', written a century before the Lotharin Independence War which gave birth to the Empire of Rhin-Lotharingie

Reynaud took a deep breath before opening his eyes.

As a mage who had been training to be a Wayfarer since seventeen years of age, he had long learned that teleportation magic remained disorienting no matter how many times one experienced it. The sight of reality being flushed into a hole so minuscule it was imperceptible to the naked eye simply wasn't something human apperception could comprehend. It was far better to close his eyes, empty his lungs, and hold his breath for the brief seconds it took for one to vanish from existence on one side and reappear in a distant land.

The fact he had cast a low-power ''Electrify'' spell on himself also helped. It distracted his senses with a tingly, prickly sensation across his skin -- a feeling that his brain could actually comprehend. Meanwhile, his body defied the laws of conventional physics in leaping across thirty kilopaces in an instant.

Regardless, the ''Astral Teleport'' spell had been completed. Reynaud found himself standing atop a small grassy ridge on the southern slopes of the North Lotharin Mountains, which stretched from east to west for as far as the eye could see.

A steep incline ran down from the ridge into a small and winding valley no more than a thousand paces across. A narrow river barely larger than a stream had cut the ravine into the mountain slopes. Birch and ash trees in Spring bloom dotted both sides of the running water. And across the river laid the wooden buildings of a new settlement built at the river's gentle bend.

Reynaud turned around and gazed southward from his vantage point halfway up the mountain range. The sky was partly cloudy but otherwise offered a clear and unobstructed view into the distance. Several folds of lesser peaks and rolling hills could be seen downslope from where he stood. Beyond that stretched the wooded plains of the Lotharin Heartlands, which would run for over a thousand kilopaces -- far further than the eye could see -- before it met the southern mountain range.

''What an idyllic view.''

The short young man who had just passed his twenty-fifth birthday beamed as he reached out his arms to both sides. A cool breeze blew in from the south as he closed his eyes and soaked in the sunlight. The wind lifted the hem of his white cloak and brushed across his flaming-red hair in a soothing caress. And he enjoyed it to the fullest as he playfully spun twice on his heels like a child dancing in the wind.

''No wonder why she likes this place,'' Reynaud reopened his eyes as he considered the girl whom he had journeyed here to meet.

''But... it's still far too early for her to retire.''

The young man turned his back on the magnificent view. He touched the recently erected stone obelisk which housed the teleportation beacon that his spell had locked onto. Inscribed upon it was the name of the new settlement being built:

Lithia.

Reynaud smiled to himself as he strode past the stone and began a quick descent into the ravine. His footsteps were swift but careful as the steep and winding dirt trail offered neither steps nor railings. The young man tilted his head as he made his way down the slope and onto a small stone bridge. He had anticipated hearing the sounds of people and work in progress: the chatter of construction crews erecting new buildings, the noise of fresh timber being sawed into wooden planks.

Yet, aside from the chirping of birds from the nearby woods, the entire settlement stood as quiet as the night.

''Where is everyone?'' Reynaud pondered to himself as something didn't feel right.

''It's almost halfway to noon on a Saturday morning. Why isn't anyone working?''

The redhead strode across the bridge and into the village. He noticed that most of the newly erected homes still had their windows and doors shut, instead of being left open to air as most rural folk did. There were only eleven homes, which meant the villagers probably numbered thirty to forty. The buildings also included a blacksmith, a cookhouse, and a modest church with an incomplete bell tower and a Trinitian Cross on top.

That was all that could fit onto the available flat land. Even the Church had to be built on an incline with its foundation dug into the slope. Yet, as Reynaud's feet began to trek uphill once more, he also heard the quiet murmurs of people and the excited cry of a small child on the far side of the Church.

The young man made his way around the building, and sure enough, he found a dozen people gathered in a small crowd. They were mostly women and children, who congregated around a two-target archery range -- a facility as necessary to any Lotharin village as a cookhouse or church.

Beyond the dozen onlookers stood a single petite girl with snowy-white long hair. Standing sideways with her pink eyes trained on the target, she raised a strange-looking metallic greatbow with asymmetric limbs above her head. Then, after a brief pause and without a single wasted motion, she lowered the bow to chest level while her arms used the downward motion to pull the silvery bowstring to its full draw.

''Never seen anyone else pull a bow the way she does,'' Reynaud thought as he eyed how she gripped the bowstring with her thumb.

Several nearby villagers noticed Reynaud as he trekked up the dirt trail. The young man raised an open hand in a friendly gesture and smiled. He might not have been wearing his hood and his blades remained hidden beneath his outerwear. But the small community would have undoubtedly felt wary towards the approach of a cloaked stranger.

Nevertheless, the onlookers seemed nervous as another party of four descended down the dirt trail that went further up the mountain. Three of the men wore brigandine and kettle helms as they flanked a rather flamboyantly dressed young man. The group's leader wore a silver-trimmed doublet in sky-blue and had a trio of brightly dyed feathers in his cap. It did not take any guessing for Reynaud to discern that the men were a local noble and his entourage.

"Dame Kaede!"

The nobleman called out without waiting for the girl to finish shooting -- an act which was downright rude in Lotharin etiquette. However, the girl's attention never wavered from the target as she released the notched war arrow. The heavy missile soared a hundred paces before striking the tail of a shaft already lodged into the dead center of the bullseye. But rather than piercing into the wood, the newly shot arrow skimmed off and landed in the dirt behind the straw target.

"Oooh, so close yet so far. Talk about unlucky," the young noble commented with a snide grin.

''Not unlucky,'' Reynaud observed.

''She's trying to split her own arrows again.''

Meanwhile, the petite girl who had shot the arrow closed her eyes before inhaling long and deep. She then held her breath for three seconds, before exhaling over the same interval. The nobleman called again but she was completely non-responsive. Her arm slowly lowered her asymmetric greatbow which glowed with a turquoise light as it quickly shrank, disappearing into her gloved hand.

It was as though the girl was in a trance, oblivious to everything else around her as she finished her archery practice. It was only after her bow fully vanished into the extradimensional storage of her three-fingered archery glove, when she finally reopened her eyes and turned to look uphill.

"May I help you, Milord?"

The petite girl addressed the noble in a soft, wispy voice. Her short stature and small build gave the impression of a fragile girl no older than sixteen. Her straight, snowy-white hair gleamed in the sunlight as it hung loose past her hips. She had large brilliant eyes the color of rose-quartz and dainty features that gave her an almost doll-like appearance. Meanwhile, her flawless white skin shone like fine porcelain tinted by pink from the morning chill.

Yet, in stark contrast to her adolescent appearance, the girl also wore a white jacket with the straight trim of a military uniform. Underneath it was a short skirt and leggings in a style that only women in armed service donned.

"I'm Count Adrien Kenneth de Puy, Lord of Stratum Gap."

The youthful noble declared without even a nod of courtesy. He merely raised his hand and gestured backwards in the direction of his castle estate.

In response, the snowy-haired girl looked down, grasped the sides of her skirt, and dipped down in an elegant curtsy. Then, with a smile that looked slightly forced but genuinely free of any hostility, she met the Count's gaze and introduced herself:

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Milord. My name is Kaede Nikita Konstantinovna Suvorskaya, the new barone--"

"Yes, I know who you are, Dame Kaede," Adrien interrupted with a scowl before she could even finish. "I hear they call you a hero of the Battle of Gwilen River."

''More like the Bloodbath of Gwilen River,'' Reynaud scowled as he thought of the heaps of corpses that they had to climb out of.

"--Yet, here you are, encroaching upon lands that had been passed down the de Puy family for generations, like naught but a common bandit," the Count accused. "Lands which rightfully belong to my cousin Albert, whose noble father, ''and mine,'' gave their lives in the previous war!"

"Milord Adrien," Kaede's smile grew sympathetic as she replied. "Lord Albert Neacel de Puy was relieved of these lands for siding with the traitor Gabriel during the recent civil war. Her Highness, the Crown Princess, has generously allowed him to keep his main estate, in recognition of his family's service and in exchange for his oath -- that he would continue to serve in the armies of Rhin-Lotharingie in defense of the realm during this time of conflict."

However, her steady voice and even tone only seemed to annoy Adrien further as the Count's sardonic smile slipped into a condescending scowl. He raised two fingers into the air and made a swiping gesture to his entourage. His three soldiers raised their polearm shafts off the ground and fanned out threateningly around the petite baroness.

The atmosphere grew tense, the villagers collectively backing away from the brewing conflict. All of them except two: a woman in her forties whose long dress and stays wouldn't look out of place behind a loom, and a man in his fifties with a hideous scar exposed just beneath his neck.

"And you think you deserve them?" Adrien raised a pointed hand as he glared down at the girl from his high ground. "You are but a commoner without a past, a ''Samaran strumpet'' and love toy of that foreign princeling!"

"How dare he..."

Reynaud barely heard the woman in front mutter. The other adult villagers looked similarly angry -- one of them even reached deep into a pocket slit in her long skirt. It was said that all adult Lotharin women learned to carry a concealed dagger. However, before any of the civilians could reveal bared steel, their liege Kaede raised a hand to stop them.

Even Reynaud could also feel his temple twitch and his teeth clench in that moment. His gloved fingers were touching the handles of his dual blades before he even noticed. Yet, the girl who was the target of the gratuitous and grave insult, who stood unarmed with her flanks exposed to brandished steel, barely furrowed her eyebrows in response.

"You may call me a 'commoner without a past', for that is the truth," she shrugged with her soft voice barely rising. "You may even call me a 'Samaran strumpet', despite the fact that anyone who knows the nature of Samarans could tell you that is an oxymoron."

The redhead whose hands remained on his weapons blinked with astonishment. To be called a prostitute was the greatest insult for any decent girl, for it attacked their character in a manner that society most unforgivingly judged. Yet, the young baroness before him had shrugged it off as though the words barely mattered.

"However, the prince whom you speak of is my master, Landgrave Pascal of Nordkreuz, and your future Emperor Consort," Kaede continued as her soft voice took on a serious note. "Surely, Milord, you are not insinuating that Her Highness, the 'Cerulean Princess' who led the charge during the climactic battle of the civil war, is so helpless that she would ennoble a mistress of her betrothed?"

Reynaud watched the youthful Count carefully as the nobleman's slate-blue eyes narrowed with hostility. His scowl twisted into a snarl with bared teeth while his face darkened with contempt. Then, as the nobleman opened his lips to shout, Reynaud cried out in a loud voice to interrupt:

"That would be truly insulting, Milord, and a criminal offense to so blatantly slander the crown."

At that moment, every pair of eyes assembled near the archery range pivoted towards him. The Count's gaze almost flashed in anger as he gripped the handle of his arming sword.

"Who the devil are you?" Adrien snarled as his voice hardened into an authoritative demand. "To speak to a nobleman like we're equals!?"

Reynaud's hands parted from his weapons as he unbuttoned the clasp holding his outerwear closed. He removed his white cloak to reveal the gambeson he wore underneath and a short cerulean cape that reached just past his hips. The redheaded armiger stretched his neck, the unusual medal that he wore between his folded collars swaying from the motion. The black cross laying against a shattered 'snowflake' was an accolade that he had earned from the King of Weichsel.

"I'm Sir Reynaud Moreau, Royal Oriflamme Armiger to Her Highness, Crown Princess Sylviane Etiennette de Gaetane," he nonchalantly introduced himself as his hands neatly folded the white cloak. "I am here to recall and escort Grand Squire Kaede to an emergency conference at the capital on Her Highness' orders."

The armiger watched as the Count looked taken aback. He wondered if Adrien even knew who Kaede truly was. It wasn't exactly common knowledge that she was the new Grand Squire. And the girl was often looked down upon due to her commoner background, meek demeanor, and delicate appearance.

Meanwhile, an audible mutter came from one of Adrien's guards to the side:

"The ''Winterslayer.''"

The huge man who would tower over Reynaud even without the advantage of elevation lowered his polearm shaft back onto the ground. He did not take a step back like his compatriots, but all signs of aggression had vanished from his posture.

"I'm glad to see that my reputation is not unknown to even a backwater hamlet like yours, Milord."

Reynaud smirked as he placed the folded cloak into a storage pouch that hung from his belt. Meanwhile, his left hand returned to the handle of a sheathed kukri as he flexed his fingers across it.

"Now, as Your Lordship was saying before I interrupted?" He asked in a chilled voice that almost dared the Count to hurl another insult.

"I..."

The young Count looked taken aback as he paused for a brief moment before straightening his gaze. His countenance was still filled with a disgruntled expression as he forced the words from his lips:

"I apologize for my careless words, for it was not my intention to imply any insult upon Her Highness and our future Empress," he said before forcing himself into a slight bow.

"Well, in that case, if Dame Kaede does not object, I am willing to put this episode behind us," Reynaud added as he pressed his right hand against his hip and stared at Adrien with a tilted grin.

"I don't mind," the young dame answered almost immediately as she waved a small hand.

''You're supposed to wait until he apologizes to you!'' Reynaud's smiling lips twitched as he thought to himself.

The redheaded armiger could only exhale a faint sigh.

"Then I'm glad we managed to put that misunderstanding behind us," Count Adrien remained a bit nervous as he replied. "And Sir Reynaud, Dame Kaede, as you have official business at hand to attend to, I shall bid you both farewell for today and offer my welcome at another time."

"Good day then, Lord Adrien," Kaede answered as she dipped a slight curtsy once more. "I hope next time we shall have a chance to talk on more friendly terms," she added with a pleasant smile.

"Good day, Milord."

Reynaud decided to follow the younger girl's lead. However, as Count Adrien turned about with his soldiers in tow, the redhead armiger couldn't resist getting one last word in:

"And Milord, the proper way to address the Grand Squire of the realm is 'Your Excellency'. Dame Kaede might only be a baroness, but her position as one of the Six Great Officers of the Crown means her position supersedes yours."

The Count replied with only a half-turned nod before walking away. Nevertheless, Reynaud could feel a sense of righteous victory as he noticed Adrien's arms shaking with suppressed anger, and how the noble's hands had clenched into fists as they parted.

...

"Good morning, Your Ladyship."

"Good morning, Dame Kaede."

The villagers greeted their liege with friendly smiles as Reynaud followed Kaede back to the village center from the unfinished church. Several more men had also emerged from their cabins and were washing themselves in the water barrels left outside. All of the men were in their fifties and most of them looked visibly hungover as they intermittently groaned or cradled their foreheads.

"Good morning, Giselle. Good morning, Mairi"

Kaede replied with a friendly smile as she addressed each passing resident by name. She then steered Reynaud to another dirt path that traversed uphill towards a large but incomplete wooden building nested into the steep mountainside.

"Shouldn't they be calling you Dame Suvok... Suvorsk..." Reynaud asked as he struggled to pronounce Kaede's foreign surname.

"Suvorskaya. And that's exactly why they don't address me so." The girl chuckled in response. "Though, why do people call you Sir Reynaud and not Sir Moreau?" She looked at him with curiosity. "You were born a yeoman after all."

"Because my father is Sir Moreau." Reynaud shrugged. "Surnames are only used to address the first person in a household to be ennobled, even if it's a mere chevalier title and not an inheritable rank. Sometimes it's also used for the oldest and head-of-house. The only reason this tradition exists at all is to avoid confusion when there's too many nobles in one family."

After all, the average mage could expect to live a natural life of up to one-hundred-fifty years. Therefore, it was commonplace to find aristocratic families of four or even five generations.

"And speaking of rank," he then pivoted to meet her gaze. "I'm surprised you accepted the title of Baroness. I still remember you turning down Her Highness when she first offered you a fief -- which might be a first in Lotharin history." He chuckled as even now he couldn't help shaking his head at it.

"You said back then that you didn't think you could fulfill your obligations as a liege. What changed?" The short armiger stopped as he looked at the Samaran girl who, in her high wedge boots, actually stood a hint taller than him.

"Do you remember the letter that the late Sir Robert left me?" Kaede's smile grew nostalgic and mournful.

Reynaud felt a pain in his chest as he heard the name. His expression faltered as he thought of the young knight who died doing what he had failed to do, as Reynaud had been absent in that confrontation where the Princess' entire guard had almost been wiped out.

A moment of silence passed between the two as Reynaud clenched his fist where his companion could not see. The young man then forced a stiff smile back onto his face as he met the girl's gaze.

"Yes." He nodded. "If memory serves, he told you about a spring with lithium salts in the water, which could be used to stabilize the Princess' mood swings."

"It also helps with veterans suffering from war trauma, which our country has far too many of," Kaede added with a sour expression. "The spring that Sir Robert spoke of is actually down-mountain about three kilopaces from here, near a village settled by veterans of the last war. However, when Gerard went to investigate, he discovered that the spring was fed through an underground conduit which ran down from several hot springs over there." She pointed in the direction of the dirt trail as it ran past the unfinished building.

"When Gerard told me about this place, I suggested that he be the one to develop it for public use," Kaede continued. "But Her Highness told me that as much as she approved of the idea, Gerard's contributions during the war did not warrant granting him a rank of landed nobility. However, if I was the one who asked instead..."

The petite girl raised her palms and shrugged with a wry smile.

"Her Highness played you like a fiddle." Reynaud laughed. "I take it she recruited some families from her crown lands to help you get started?"

"All retired soldiers, every one of the men and several of the women as well." Kaede looked back to the village with a wistful gaze. "Every veteran here bears the scars of war, seen or unseen."

''That explains the woman earlier,'' Reynaud thought of the one who was brave enough to reach for a dagger against fully-kitted soldiers.

"Is that why you let them all get sloshed last night and spend today lazing around?" Reynaud looked back to the village where several of the families were congregating at the tables outside the cookhouse for a late breakfast.

"No," Kaede shook her head. "I gave them Saturdays off. It's the weekend," she said like it's the most obvious thing in the world.

"''Week-end?''" Reynaud's eyebrows tilted as he looked at her quizzically.

"Work five days, take two off," Kaede explained. "That's how it works where I come from."

"I've been to almost every country in Western Hyperion and I've never heard of such a thing," Reynaud replied with a frown. "Our traditions are to take only Sundays off."

"Well, I'll start a new tradition then," the girl shrugged. "Maybe once the word starts spreading it'll catch on."

"You're going to make every other noble throw a fit," Reynaud commented with a shake of his head even as he felt a smirk tugging at his lips.

A deep sense of satisfaction welled up inside him at the thought of annoying the aristocracy to grant the commons some extra privileges. However, the cheerful thought soon ended with how blatantly the Count from earlier disrespected the petite baroness standing before him.

"Which reminds me to ask, Kaede, why do you let people insult you like that back there?" The redheaded armiger scowled as he gestured towards the archery range.

"What do you propose then? That I shoot him?" Kaede answered with a jesting smile before she started leading him uphill once more.

"I don't have any armed soldiers at hand. And even if I did, Count Adrien is the lord of one of the fortresses that guard the mountain passes to the north. He has the military muscle to out-escalate me."

"Well, you could at least offer him a few choice words," Reynaud responded before he wondered when was the last time he actually saw the mild mannered girl insult someone.

"Insulting him back might feel good at the moment, but it doesn't bring any more security to my position and only creates enemies for both my subjects and my liege," Kaede commented. "Besides, anyone who believes in the phrase 'Samaran strumpet' is clearly too ignorant for me to seriously consider their opinion."

"I see Pascal's condescending attitude did rub off on you a little." The redhead chuckled. "In a good way, of course."

"I certainly hope that I'll never be as bad as he is," Kaede feigned a look of being offended before it vanished into a smile. "And speaking of Pascal, you said something earlier about an emergency..."

"Reynaud! Fancy meeting you here," a deep masculine voice called out from the incomplete building ahead of them. "And good mooooorrrning, Kaede," it went on with a huge yawn.

Standing in the doorway was Sir Gerard Fournier, whose figure towered over Reynaud as the latter barely came up to his shoulders. The man wore a simple brown tunic which hardly concealed his broad shoulders and muscular chest. His hands were large, his arms brawny, and his height could compare to even the giant northern Highlanders. He wiped the ash-blue eyes beneath his black hair, before looking down with a huge toothy grin that parted his prominent nose and his chiselled chin.

"Morning, Gerard," Reynaud reached up and patted his old friend on the shoulders. "I see you still refuse to dress to your title."

"Her Highness made me a chevalier, not a gold merchant." Gerard yawned again before shrugging. "I've got plenty of higher priority things to buy than fancy clothes, especially in this war economy where the prices keep inflating."

"Yeah, but you could at least dress better in front of a lady," Reynaud scowled as he looked down at Gerard's linen hose. The garment had several old stains which simply screamed 'peasant'. "I take it you're here to help with the construction?"

"Inspecting the works and making plans for Her Ladyship's new mansion," the tall engineer beamed. "Can't have a noblewoman keep sleeping in a boarding house like this," he gestured to the incomplete building behind him. "The Holy Father might disapprove."

"...Or so the aristocracy likes to tell us," Reynaud raised his palms as he appended what Gerard was unwilling to say.

"Please don't start again," Kaede said, looking a bit miffed. "You two have been making fun of me ever since I accepted this title."

"Awww, don't let a little lowbrow humor get to you," Reynaud wrapped one arm around Kaede's back as he leaned into her side with a beaming grin. "We're teasing you because we're both glad to see you getting the recognition that you deserve!"

Yet, even as he said that, Reynaud was slowly moving his hand up Kaede's torso.

''She really is soft. It's no wonder why the Princess calls her 'huggable'.''

"Reynaud, if you wiggle those fingers any closer to my breasts, I'm going to snap them off," the girl glanced towards him with a warning in her pink eyes.

"Not that you have much breast to speak of," Reynaud jabbed back before he noticed Kaede's lips tilt. "I'm kidding!"

The redhead immediately let go and stepped back while the girl rolled her eyes. Meanwhile, Gerard gave him a look like he should know better.

"You're lucky Kaede isn't like most girls," he added. "If it had been any of my sisters, you would have been smacked already."

"If I flirted with your little sisters, I'd have to run away before you break both my arms," Reynaud joked as he leaned back and swayed nonchalantly with his hands behind his head.

"''And'' both legs," Gerard added. "But I'm glad you at least know where the line is drawn."

"He just toes it constantly."

Kaede sighed as she sent one last annoyed look at the redhead, to which Reynaud playfully stuck out his tongue at her in reply.

...

The three former comrades took some time catching up before Reynaud and Gerard sat down at a log table around a kilopace away from the village. Their spot was situated atop a barren hill with the hot springs to one side and the river dropping into several small waterfalls on the other.

Reynaud gazed upon the flooded chasm to the north that was surrounded by stony cliffs on three sides. The water that filled the ravine was sparkling clear and occasionally emitted bubbles. Its surface had a slight sheen and deposited a faint white crust on the rocks around the water's edge.

"Have you tried the water already?" He asked Gerard in a distant voice as he thought of their fallen comrade who led them to this place.

"Yes. It's quite comfortable. Hot enough to be soothing, but I can stay inside for hours without feeling overwhelmed," the tall engineer answered with a relaxed smile. "Kaede and I are still discussing which of the springs would be best collected for drinking."

"Do you think... Sir Robert would approve of developing it like this?" Reynaud pondered aloud as he remembered the young knight with an infectious smile.

"Well, I didn't know him as well as you and Kaede did," Gerard mulled. "But she wants to create an affordable retreat for veterans to relax, meet each other, and find support for the unseen scars that we all bear."

''It's such a Samaran thing to do,'' Reynaud felt a smile tug at his lips. ''To prioritize mental trauma over physical wounds.''

The men shut up as they saw Kaede returning from the village with another petite girl in her late teens. The two brought food on wooden trays. It consisted of whole loaf bread soup with lentils, mushrooms, herbs, and salted pork. There was also an eighth of a wheel of cheese.

"Thank you, Marina, that'll be all," Kaede spoke to the maid. "I'll come get you if I need anything else."

"Of course, Your Ladyship," Marina curtsied before she departed back towards the village.

"Is that...?" Reynaud stared at the girl who had brown hair tied in a single braid over her shoulders.

"My Lady's Maid, yes," Kaede smiled proudly.

"She looks familiar," Reynaud added.

"She was at Alisia Academy when you two were still attending before the war started." The Samaran girl frowned slightly, as though she'd rather not discuss this further.

"Please, help yourselves," she then gestured with an open palm. "And sorry I don't have anything better to offer," she added sheepishly as she sat down.

"What're you talking about?" Gerard joyfully remarked. "This is perfect -- it's just like what we ate back on campaign."

"Assuming you paid coin for the herbs," Reynaud nodded with beaming agreement.

"True, those field kitchens were stingy," Gerard commented before examining the ingredients in the soup, which was thick enough to be considered a stew.

"Do you even grow any food here?"

"There are terraces being built further downstream," Kaede answered as she pulled a furry waterskin from her pockets. "We've also got plenty of wild herbs and mushrooms thanks to the mountains. Two of my people are retired rangers who have been teaching the kids."

"Oh good," Gerard feigned a sign of relief. "At least I don't have to worry about being poisoned like that one time Reynaud pretended he knew how to forage."

"Those were mountains in ''Weichsel''," Reynaud protested. "It doesn't count!"

"What were you doing hiking in the Kingdom of Weichsel?" Kaede asked in curiosity before she took a drink.

"Trying to find an edelweiss flower for Perceval to court his girl with," Reynaud beamed. "My idea," he proudly pointed at himself.

The petite girl nearly choked as she started coughing. She had to wipe some lavender and chamomile off her lips from that tea Reynaud often saw her drink.

"Those flowers only grow in the Dead Mountains!"

"Probably why a single bite of that mushroom made me so sick I thought I was gonna die," Gerard shot another accusatory glare towards Reynaud. "Still, considering that Perceval and Ariadne are betrothed now, I'd say the three-day trip -- only one where we had to brave that toxic, murderous mist -- was well worth it."

"Perceval really is lucky he has friends like you two," Kaede beamed.

"Not at all." Gerard smiled humbly as he looked down. "You forgot how much he's done for me. Without his patronage, I'd still be a yeoman baker," he said before looking at the redhead. "Reynaud, however..."

"True brothers are forged in adversity!" The short armiger puffed up his chest before pounding a fist into it. "Sisters too," he then grinned at Kaede.

The Samaran girl looked taken aback before a faint blush came over her cheeks.

''She's cute when she's embarrassed,'' Reynaud couldn't help thinking.

"But to return to the food topic," Kaede pulled the discussion back. "The soil here is poor and must be sifted first to remove rocks and break up chunks before we can grow crops. That requires a lot of work in addition to building terraces. So I doubt we'll achieve food self-sufficiency in the first two to three years. We missed most of the planting season this year already and I doubt we'll have anything more than a vegetable garden ready in time."

"A lot of places failed to get a full crop planted this year." Gerard scowled as he stirred his stew in its bread loaf. "The Empire will need to carefully manage its food supply, or there might be famines by next year."

"Even with the partial demobilization?" Reynaud asked before eating a mouthful.

After all, the entire Wayfarer network, as well as individual Wayfarers like him, had been working overtime to help bring as many soldiers back home as possible in time for the planting season. Their ''Astral Teleport'' spells might have only ferried up to a dozen people at a time. But even that was a godsend for villages who have lost most of their able-bodied men to the war effort.

"Had Her Highness not demobilized more than half of our armies, we'd probably be starving by winter," Gerard declared in a grave voice. "The Caliphate's invasion late last year overran far too many grain silos in the south. The army was only able to hold together by drawing on the civilian food reserves. However, that placed a tremendous burden on food supplies across the countryside, especially after the failed harvest in the south last year."

Reynaud frowned as he thought about the numbers that he had heard from the Princess' meetings. More than 250,000 soldiers had been mobilized for the three fronts fighting the 3rd Tauheed Holy War -- the invasion of Rhin-Lotharingie by the Cataliyan Caliphate which began five months ago. Another 100,000 were recruited to run supply trains and guard logistic hubs.

-- And that didn't even include a brief, three-month-long civil war between the Crown Princess and her traitorous uncle over the throne.

The Empire of Rhin-Lotharingie had never been particularly populous to begin with. Centuries of bloody conflicts to throw off the Imperial yoke had left most of the country sparsely populated. Mobilization for the war effort then called up most men of fighting age which left many towns and villages with a noticeable gender imbalance.

The situation was the worst in the southern Kingdom of Garona, which bordered both the Holy Imperium and the Cataliyan Caliphate. They had enacted their famous 'Total Mobilization' decree to call up every man between the ages of sixteen to sixty.

"Things were bad enough before the Imperium's declaration of war." Kaede stared at her untouched stew with a scowl before she looked at Reynaud. "Which is, of course, why you're here."

"Declaration?" Gerard grew alarmed as he halted the rising spoon in his hand.

"Yes." Reynaud nodded. "The Imps formally declared war against our Empire last night. I'm here to recall Kaede for an emergency council meeting," he said before looking at Kaede. "Though I think you probably already knew."

"Pascal told me about it during our ''Farspeak'' call this morning." Kaede spoke of the spell that allowed for long-distance communications. "I haven't had a chance to tell you before now," she said to Gerard who then exhaled a deep sigh.

"I guess it was bound to happen sooner or later, considering their role in provoking both the Caliphate's invasion and the recent civil war," the engineer commented.

"Yes. But it happened in the worst possible manner," Kaede added grimly. "The Garona ''Liberation Army''," the girl said with sarcasm dripping in her soft voice, "struck a dozen cities and ports across the Imperium yesterday with a massive terrorist attack."

"'Terrorist' is what the Imps call them," Reynaud interjected despite his mouth being still stuffed with food. "Those people are ''heroes''," he insisted with a pointed spoon as his eyes hardened to meet Kaede's gaze.

"Heroes don't butcher civilians, women and children, in cold blood," Kaede countered as she stared back.

"And how many women and children did the Imps butcher over the centuries of their 'Pax Arcadia' occupation!?" Reynaud's voice rose sharply before he even noticed.

"This isn't a contest about who can commit the most war crimes," Kaede replied. "Yes, the Imperium is our enemy. They've invaded, occupied, and exploited Lotharins for the past ''eight centuries''," she said agreeably, reminding him they were on the same side. "And in standing up against the oppressor, those men certainly are freedom fighters and martyrs."

For a moment, the redheaded armiger felt vindicated as Kaede seemed to admit the truth. However, the Samaran girl also wasn't finished:

"But children are children regardless of who their parents are. And you cannot tell me that those who commit mass murder against the innocent and the helpless aren't also villains and terrorists!"

Reynaud bit down on his lips as he struggled to come up with a retort that didn't sound illogical to even himself.

After all, the Holy Imperium has been the predominant military, economic, and technological superpower in the West for more than a thousand years. For the Lotharin peoples, and especially the impoverished Garonans who lived on the rocky slopes of the South Lotharin Mountains, a direct confrontation with the Imperium spelled certain defeat. Therefore, they had been forced to rely on ambushes, raids, sabotage, and other forms of guerilla tactics -- all of which were labelled as 'terrorism' by the Imperial propaganda machine.

"For what it's worth, I do agree with Kaede," Gerard said with a deep scowl of his own. "It's one thing to sabotage Imperial Legion outposts and raid their supply convoys. But to attack population centers with indiscriminate slaughter? That's not just ''wrong'', it also plays straight into our opponents' hands."

"Which is exactly what happened," Kaede spoke next in a fuming voice that, had the circumstances been different, Reynaud might have considered cute. "The terror attacks gave the Imperator Augustus the perfect ''casus belli'' to declare war with overwhelming popular support.

"Worse yet, the attacks took place just two days before Resurrection Day," Kaede continued. "And the perpetrators were mostly Garonans of the Albigese Sect, whom the Trinitian Church view as heretics. This gave the Pope the ideal excuse to declare the 4th Trinitian Crusade."

"So we're now the target of both a Tauheed Holy War and a Trinitian Crusade!?" Gerard looked up from his bread bowl in horror. "''Fuck!''" He pounded the table with one fist while his other threw the wooden spoon back into the stew.

"We've survived worse," Reynaud muttered even as he resisted the depressive urge to agree with Gerard. "We Lotharins will ''never'' bend knee to a foreign occupier."

"And how many Lotharins will be ''left'' after this!?" Kaede retorted. "You were both with me when we travelled to the Kingdom of Garona back in February. Tell me -- did you see any men of fighting age in the villages and towns that we passed? I've even heard of calls to legalize polygamy among the Garonans, which might just actually pass since the Albigese don't hold the institution of marriage in high regard to begin with."

"Clearly, I should convert," Reynaud commented dryly.

It made Gerard snort a little, but only drew a gaze of ire from Kaede.

"That's not funny," the girl remarked.

"Sorry," Reynaud said sheepishly. "Humor is all I have at moments like these."

Kaede's eyes softened as she looked back down to her own soup and finally lifted a spoonful.

"I think I know what Her Highness has planned for me," she said as her tone returned to her calm and gentle voice. "Desperate times call for desperate measures, and I'm the Grand Squire of the Empire. I ''must'' go to our historic and current allies for help and seek assistance, beg on my knees if I have to, no matter what it costs us."

"Holy Father knows we could use another ''Leslie's Blessing''," Reynaud responded.

"When is the conference that you mentioned?" Kaede stared at Reynaud before stuffing her cheeks with a wooden spoon that was clearly too large for her.

"In two days," Reynaud answered. "Her Highness has recalled the commanders of every war front and summoned all the monarchs and heads of the major aristocratic houses."

"So we leave tomorrow then?"

"Her Highness has asked that I bring you back today," the redhead added with a frown.

Reynaud wasn't exactly a fan of making a round trip in a single day. The dozens of ''Astral Teleport'' jumps it required were exhausting, especially as he would be bringing at least two passengers on the way back.

"For what?"

"Well..." The armiger trailed off into silence.

"I'm not leaving unless you tell me," Kaede said in that soft yet firm tone which Reynaud knew as putting her foot down.

"There's a feast and a dance scheduled for tonight, and Her Highness wants you to attend," Reynaud admitted.

"A ''feast?'' Now?" Gerard remarked with an incredulous gaze.

"It was originally scheduled to thank the lesser nobles who supported her during the civil war," Reynaud shrugged. "She could hardly cancel it at the last minute after many of them had already made their way to the capital."

"Why does the Princess need me for that?" Kaede asked with a frown. "Her supporters want gratitude and accolades from ''her'', not empty words from a nobody like me."

"I think you've long graduated from being a 'nobody'," Reynaud pointed out. "But you're right on the first."

"Maybe she just wants to see you at a dance," Gerard shrugged. "You've never attended one, have you?"

"I don't even know ''how'' to dance," Kaede replied as her eyes gazed away. Her expression seemed to steadily darken before she gave a morose sigh.

"I think she just wants to play dressup."

The two men looked at each other. Neither quite understood what the girl meant or why she looked even more depressed from the thought.

"I can teach you if you'd like," Reynaud offered. "Though we only have a few hours at most."

"And Reynaud is an excellent dancer," Gerard added. "Terrible teacher though."

"Oh sod off!"

"Thank you, but no, I won't be going back today," Kaede declared as though the decision was already made.

"If I'm right and the Princess is going to send me on a diplomatic mission, it'll be a while before I come back to this village," she continued. "I need to get my affairs in order and ensure my people have everything they need in case I take months to return. I'm sure the Princess will understand when I tell her that."

Yet, even as Kaede explained, her eyes remained downcast and refused to meet his gaze. Then, as she stood up from her seat and looked away, Reynaud couldn't help feeling that the girl was just coming up with excuses.

"We'll leave tomorrow," she then added before picking up her loaf of bread stew. "And I'm not hungry enough to eat this right now. I'll see if someone else wants it."

She then left the table and the two men to themselves.

"Do you think...?" Gerard asked in a quiet voice as he watched Kaede march off into the distance.

"Yeah."

''She ran away.''

"Knowing Kaede, she's already made arrangements this morning after hearing the news from Pascal," Reynaud commented.

The armiger considered the girl's unusually keen hearing, which could hear murmurs long past the range of conventional earshot, before opting to say anyway:

"She's ducking out because she hates crowds and gatherings, especially those full of pomp and ceremony."

Meanwhile, Gerard exhaled a deep sigh in turn as he stared blankly at the direction Kaede went.

"You know I don't like to second guess our illustrious Princess..." he remarked. "But is it ''truly'' a good idea to have a Grand Squire, our Empire's top diplomat, be someone with social anxiety?"

===Author's History Notes===

Rhin-Lotharingie - Named after the Kingdom of Lotharingia during the Frankish Carolingian era, with its lands and people caught between West Frankia (France) and East Frankia (Germany). Rhin-Lotharingie basically means Rhine (river) + Lotharingia (area). The Lotharin people are based on Celtic cultures in our history, which had dominated this region before the Romans committed their 'Celtic Holocaust'.

Thumb Draw - Kaede's archery is based on Japanese kyudo, which uses the thumb to pull the bowstring with two fingers to stabilize the arrow, similar to that of many Asian nomadic cultures. This is very different from the 'Mediterranean draw' used commonly in the West, which uses three fingers to pull the bow.

'Pax Arcadia' - Based on 'Pax Romana', a centuries-long period of 'Roman Peace' which marked the highwater mark of Roman Imperialism. Widely associated with the prosperity, strength, and relative peace of the Empire during its time, such periods would nevertheless feature many internal revolts and border conflicts which would be squashed by the Empire through its domineering strength.

Oriflamme - Named after the Oriflamme 'golden flame' battle standard traditionally used by the Kings of France, until its loss and replacement by Joan of Arc's fleur-de-lis banner.

Six Great Officers - The Six Great Officers of the Empire of Rhin-Lotharingie is based on the Great Officers of the Crown of France, which included the position of the Grand Squire of France.

Edelweiss Flowers - An alpine flower that famously grows in rocky places at high altitudes, often on cliffs. Thus, they become the symbol of the German/Austrian alpinism and are often recognized as a symbol of courage.

Albigese and Marriage - The Cathars that the Albigese are based on didn't view marriage with high regard, as they viewed material world as sinful and sex as spiritually harmful. Reproduction itself was often frowned upon as children meant 'trapping more souls in corrupt physical bodies', not that Kaede would entirely grasp their theology here.

Daybreak on Hyperion

2025-09-21T21:31:58Z

Aorii: /* Volume 5 */

== Daybreak on Hyperion ==

This is the writer's work site. The story is posted on [http://krytykal.org/daybreak/ Krytyk's Translations] and [http://www.baka-tsuki.org/project/index.php?title=Daybreak_on_Hyperion Baka-Tsuki].

===Story Synopsis===

Born into noble prestige and gifted with extraordinary talent, Pascal was a promising officer cadet whose deeds caught even the King's gaze. At the mere age of twenty, he had everything a young, ambitious man could need.

Except his habitual arrogance had destroyed every opportunity of a close friendship outside his political marriage.

Seeking a companion who meets his protracted list of requirements, Pascal decided to craft the 'perfect spell' for the upcoming familiar ceremony. If those around him were not fit to accompany his genius, then he would summon a best friend through his own hands -- one that was mature, intelligent, knowledgeable, bright, and cute as well.

He received far more than he bargained for... and in turn, so did the shifting geopolitical power balance of his world.

Disclaimer: This story focuses on heavy topics and doesn't shy away from politics, war, and societal themes. Reader discretion is adviced for those who are easily triggered by real-world topics.

===Volume 1 - Daybreak on Hyperion ([[Daybreak:Volume_1_Full|Merged]])===

*[[Daybreak:Volume_1_Chapter_1|Chapter 1 - The Curse of Prodigy]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_1_Chapter_2|Chapter 2 - By the Runelord's Will]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_1_Chapter_3|Chapter 3 - Master and Familiar]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_1_Chapter_4|Chapter 4 - Regressions of Time]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_1_Chapter_5|Chapter 5 - Status of Life]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_1_Chapter_6|Chapter 6 - A Peaceful Day]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_1_Chapter_7|Chapter 7 - The Perfect Contrast]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_1_Chapter_8|Chapter 8 - Inquisitive Hope]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_1_Chapter_9|Chapter 9 - Bonds of Faith]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_1_Chapter_10|Chapter 10 - Critical Appeal]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_1_Chapter_11|Chapter 11 - For Weichsel, Not You]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_1_Chapter_12|Chapter 12 - Better Late Than Never]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_1_Chapter_13|Chapter 13 - A World of Difference]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_1_Chapter_14|Chapter 14 - Outbreak of War]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_1_Epilogue|Epilogue]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_1_Extra_1|Extra 1 - Switched Perspectives]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_1_Extra_2|Extra 2 - Magic and Hierarchy]]

===Volume 2 - ???===

*[[Daybreak:Volume_2_Chapter_1|Chapter 1 - By the Crossroad Shores]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_2_Chapter_2|Chapter 2 - Gendered Recollections]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_2_Chapter_3|Chapter 3 - The Oriflamme Princess]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_2_Chapter_4|Chapter 4 - Council of War]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_2_Chapter_5|Chapter 5 - A Royal Eccentricity]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_2_Chapter_6|Chapter 6 - The Third Wheel]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_2_Chapter_7|Chapter 7 - Pecking Order]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_2_Chapter_8|Chapter 8 - Logistics Wizardry]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_2_Chapter_9|Chapter 9 - Strategic Ambition]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_2_Chapter_10|Chapter 10 - Homecoming in Nordkreuz ]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_2_Chapter_11|Chapter 11 - Realigning Interests]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_2_Chapter_11_Interlude|Chapter 11.5 Interlude - The Coming Storm]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_2_Chapter_12|Chapter 12 - Late Night Confidence]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_2_Chapter_13|Chapter 13 - Heroic Legacy]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_2_Chapter_13_Interlude|Chapter 13.5 Interlude - Chaos Rising]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_2_Chapter_14|Chapter 14 - The Storm Front]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_2_Chapter_15|Chapter 15 - Massive Strike]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_2_Chapter_16|Chapter 16 - Decisive Action]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_2_Chapter_17|Chapter 17 - Desperate Assault]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_2_Chapter_18|Chapter 18 - Baptism in Fire]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_2_Chapter_19|Chapter 19 - Hail the Black Dragon]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_2_Chapter_20|Chapter 20 - What A General Needs]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_2_Epilogue|Epilogue]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_2_Extra_1|Extra 1 - Bathhouse Cultural Exchange]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_2_Extra_2|Extra 2]]

===Volume 3 - Polarizing Struggle===

*[[Daybreak:Volume_3_Chapter_1|Chapter 1 - Irrational Facade]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_3_Chapter_2|Chapter 2 - Conscientious Choice]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_3_Chapter_3|Chapter 3 - Strategy for Legitimacy]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_3_Chapter_4|Chapter 4 - Budding Familiarity]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_3_Chapter_5|Chapter 5 - Arsenal of Faith]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_3_Chapter_6|Chapter 6 - Unquestioned Authority]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_3_Chapter_7|Chapter 7 - The Polar Cross]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_3_Chapter_8|Chapter 8 - Extreme Turbulence]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_3_Chapter_9|Chapter 9 - Fundamental Bias]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_3_Chapter_10|Chapter 10 - Benign Interference]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_3_Chapter_11|Chapter 11 - As God Wills It]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_3_Chapter_12|Chapter 12 - Never Leave Regrets]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_3_Chapter_13|Chapter 13 - Ten Thousand A Day]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_3_Chapter_14|Chapter 14 - Desperate Authority]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_3_Chapter_15|Chapter 15 - Breaking Point]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_3_Chapter_16|Chapter 16 - Reason to Be]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_3_Chapter_17|Chapter 17 - Judgment at Dawn]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_3_Chapter_18|Chapter 18 - A Knight's Oath]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_3_Chapter_19|Chapter 19 - Didactic Reckoning]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_3_Chapter_20|Chapter 20 - The Perfect Flaw]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_3_Epilogue|Epilogue-Interlude - The Stage Is Set]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_3_Extra_1|Extra 1]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_3_Extra_2|Extra 2 - Meeting with a Samaran]]

===Volume 4 - The Burning Throne===

*[[Daybreak:Volume_4_Chapter_1|Chapter 1 - Answers from the Past]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_4_Chapter_2|Chapter 2 - Playing with Fire]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_4_Chapter_3|Chapter 3 - Surrogate Leadership]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_4_Chapter_4|Chapter 4 - A Familiar Duty]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_4_Chapter_5|Chapter 5 - The Path Ahead]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_4_Chapter_6|Chapter 6 - In the Interest of State]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_4_Chapter_7|Chapter 7 - The Price of Audacity]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_4_Chapter_8|Chapter 8 - Crisis of Confidence]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_4_Chapter_9|Chapter 9 - Unity of Command]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_4_Chapter_10|Chapter 10 - Dread Motivation]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_4_Chapter_11|Chapter 11 - True Acceptance]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_4_Chapter_12|Chapter 12 - Foundation on Trust]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_4_Chapter_13|Chapter 13 - On the Road]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_4_Chapter_14|Chapter 14 - The Scion of La Tours]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_4_Chapter_15|Chapter 15 - Tangled Alliances]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_4_Chapter_15_Interlude|Chapter 15 Interlude - Concessions of Faith]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_4_Chapter_16|Chapter 16 - Triangle Strategy]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_4_Chapter_17|Chapter 17 - Fog of War]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_4_Chapter_18|Chapter 18 - Unspeakable Intent]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_4_Chapter_19|Chapter 19 - Dysphoric Pyre]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_4_Chapter_20|Chapter 20 - Unpardonable Truth]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_4_Chapter_21|Chapter 21 - An End and a Beginning]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_4_Epilogue|Epilogue]]

===Volume 5 ===

*[[Daybreak:Volume_5_Prologue|Prologue]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_5_Chapter_1|Chapter 1]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_5_Chapter_2|Chapter 2]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_5_Chapter_3|Chapter 3]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_5_Chapter_4|Chapter 4]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_5_Chapter_5|Chapter 5]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_5_Chapter_6|Chapter 6]]

===Resources===

*[[Daybreak:Character List|Character List]]

*[[Daybreak:Setting|Setting]]

*[[Daybreak:Spelllist|Spells]]

[[Daybreak:Alpha_Chapter|.]]

Daybreak:Volume 5 Prologue

2025-09-12T15:03:39Z

Aorii:

===Prologue===

"One, two, ''PUUUUSH!''"

Marius slammed his shoulders against the thick wooden end board of the wagon. His companion did the same to his right as the two rammed their bodies against the ponderous vehicle. The two men gritted their teeth as they mustered all their strength while their worn leather shoes slipped against wet cobblestones. Their efforts paid off as the iron-rimmed wheel which had been stuck in a cavity in the road finally climbed back onto the stone-paved bridge.

An audible breath of relief came from his youthful partner on the side. But the older Marius looked up and took a nervous glance at the wide wooden planks that projected upwards from the wagon bed. The vertical boards had lurched backwards as the ponderous cargo inside his extremely overloaded wagon resisted the sudden movement. Marius was sure he had heard a crack earlier, but the wooden planks nevertheless held up and kept their precious cargo safe inside the makeshift container that was packed to the brim.

"Boss," Marius heard Ramón address him as the latter strode back from the front of the wagon and offered him the reins. "Let's switch. You're exhausted."

"I'm not as young... as I used to be..." Marius admitted through his heavy breathing.

He accepted the reins with a nod while his companion clasped him on his heaving shoulders.

To be fair, Marius was still quite fit, or at least he'd like to think so. But he had crossed the half-century milestone just a few weeks back, and age was quickly catching up to him. Nevertheless, he had been insistent on replacing Ramón, as the middle-aged member of their crew had a bad shoulder -- an injury from the chaos of the last war which never properly healed.

"The gates aren't far ahead," he spoke to his two companions as he pointed towards the other end of the long bridge. "We're almost there," he said before striding towards the front of the wagon to take the lead.

With a grim look, Marius took another deep breath of the cool morning air before he gazed upriver towards the northeast. It was just past daybreak and the sun had yet to even emerge halfway from its cozy bed beyond the horizon. The sky was still dominated by a gigantic indigo moon which took up over a third of the heavens. Its massive bulk also hid the tiny silvery orb which his late wife once half-jested could be used to determine when she would be most willing.

Leading their ox by the reins once more, Marius strode towards the imposing fortified gates that overlooked the bridge which crossed the Tanarus river. The long bridge was over a kilopace across and featured both a double-drawbridge which could be raised to allow civilian ships to pass, as well as a removable pontoon segment behind them for military use.

He heard the wagon wheels roll onto the thick wooden beams of the drawbridge and towards the well-guarded gatehouse that loomed ahead. The stern-faced Marius practiced raising the corners of his lips and his eyes once more to form what passed for a smile. The borders of the Imperium were only thirty kilopaces to their northwest. Considering the escalating political tensions of late, it was all the more important for him to show that he was a friendly trader, even if he had long forgotten what it felt like to truly smile.

The trio of burly men and their ox-drawn wagon approached the first gatehouse just as two figures garbed in forest-green cloaks neared its entrance. A soldier clad in mail and plate armor shouted "HALT!" before he approached the other two with his spear raised beside his towering shield.

"Remove those cloaks at once!" The soldier demanded in the Imperial tongue as he pointed his spear menacingly.

The dull garments were uniform in color except for the white threads that wove embroidered patterns lining the edges. They had holes on each side where two pairs of thin arms emerged from. Their designs marked them as Lotharin in origin without any doubt. And it was those Lotharins, from the Empire of Rhin-Lotharingie, whom the soldiers of the Holy Imperium of the Inner Sea had a long and bloodied history with.

"Y-yes Sir."

A frightened feminine voice responded as the two women removed their outerwear as ordered. Their clothes underneath were frayed and filthy, with torn gaps in their long skirts that exposed their emaciated legs. Neither of them carried any packs and it was clear that they were refugees with little more than the clothing on their backs.

"The city has no room for beggars and whores the likes of you!" The soldier yelled. "Get out of here!" He ordered with a wave of his spear.

"P-please Sir, we've nowhere else to go..." The other woman pleaded weakly.

"Not my problem," the soldier growled.

Marius glanced at the two women as his wagon passed them by from the other side of the wide bridge. The younger couldn't have been older than twenty years old and was likely the daughter of the older woman. Her worn and ragged clothing, her bony and tired body, her pleading gaze which held onto a spark of hope as she turned to look at him...

-- She reminded him so much of his late wife when they had first met along a mountainous road, when he was still a soldier and she was a refugee fleeing the chaos of conflict.

It felt a lifetime ago, during another age when war and turmoil ravaged the land, bringing death and suffering to those least able to defend themselves.

"Now leave, before I throw you both into the river," the soldier threatened.

For a moment, Marius almost felt something stirring in his heartstrings. It was a sliver of pity and sympathy, but without any warmth to carry it throughout his body. The emotion was soon deadened by the haunting image of a dark night lit by a city's burning buildings...

Marius had long learned that the world did not care for the weak and defenseless -- and with that in mind, neither should he. Certainly not while he still had a goal to accomplish and helping these women would only attract the wrong kind of attention.

''With any luck, death will relieve them of life's burdens shortly,'' he thought grimly.

As the man pulled his eyes away, he noticed a glint of silver from the grimy cross that the young girl wore around her neck. It had probably been muddied to deter others from robbing her of her last precious belonging. The cross also hinted that the two women were Trinitian refugees.

Marius had seen plenty of their kind in the past few years, ever since the Albigensians splintered off the Trinitian Church in the Kingdom of Garona -- the southernmost of the four vassal kingdoms inside the Empire of Rhin-Lotharingie. The Albigensians had denounced the Trinitian Church as corrupt and faithless. In response, the Pope in Arcadia had declared them a heresy to be cleansed.

The religious conflict that followed had seen numerous churches destroyed and priests burned alive. Countless residents were given the choice of either conversion or exile from the dukedoms that the Albigensians won.

There was a time during his life when Marius wondered why they couldn't just all live peacefully and get along. Why did humans have to allow nations, culture, and religion to divide them into perpetual conflict?

But those were days long past...

Marius turned his head to face the raised steel portcullis once more. He saw the other guard look warily at his overloaded wagon before meeting his gaze. The merchant put on his best smile and raised an open hand in gesture before the young soldier nodded back in recognition. After all, Marius had been coming in and out of these gates for more than five years now, and most of the soldiers had at least seen him before.

The outer gate was large enough to allow two of his wagons to pass through side by side. Beyond it was a paved courtyard surrounded by walls on all four sides. An even taller inner gatehouse loomed ahead, surrounded by soldiers who checked the belongings of every individual who wished to pass through. A short line of a dozen people waited outside for their turn.

Marius could hear the faint sound of a bell tolling from the city center which was reciprocated by another inside the inner gatehouse. As he led his ox-drawn cart to line up behind the others, the sound of a clatter drew his attention towards the side of the courtyard where five men and women materialized out of thin air.

The newcomers held each others' hands in a circle around the stone pedestal that housed the city's teleportation beacon. It was the daily morning Wayfarer transit from the border town of Caiarellus which had arrived exactly on time. Among the travellers were two soldiers who wore back-strapped round shields over their burgundy-red capes. Their equipment and colors marked them as Imperial Akritae, the border troops of the Holy Imperium's legions.

The older of the two soldiers double-paced to the gatehouse in swift strides. He pulled out a bronze messenger tube and raised it into the air with a shout.

"Priority communique from Caiarellus!"

"Is there an attack?" The officer in charge of the gate's security asked tensely as he stepped up.

"No," the messenger answered calmly. "The borders remain quiet but uneasy. Ever since the Lotharins were invaded by the Caliphate, their brigands have stopped harassing us. I think this is a report from our informants across the border," the soldier added before shrugging to signal that he didn't actually know. "Must be maps or something, or our signifer would have sent it by ''Farspeak''."

"Well, let's hope those Tauheed infidels and Lotharin heretics all rip each other to pieces." The officer who looked past his prime smirked as he reached his hand out towards the tube. "Holy Father willing, we'll take that land back just in time for my retirement."

Marius felt an unnatural chill gather inside him as he heard the two soldiers talk casually about the conflict that was ravaging his homeland. Perhaps it was because he had always known these Imperials were bastards. Perhaps it was due to his own aloofness towards what he could not change. But their callous words no longer triggered any visible response from him.

However, the same could not be said of his youngest colleague Arnau, who took a step from behind the wagon before Ramón yanked him back into place.

''Don't blow our cover,'' Marius thought to himself as he willed for the brash young man to keep calm. Meanwhile, his eyes looked upon the officer's outstretched hand with an interested gaze.

Marius wasn't born with any affinity for magic, but he had long learned to recognize the signs of a spell being cast. The officer must have used a scanning spell to verify the messenger tube. It was simple enough that most mages didn't even need to recite the words for mnemonic spellcasting. The lack of any visible manifestation meant that a simple gesture was the only tell Marius could use to discern its practice.

"Mana signature matches," the officer confirmed before gesturing toward the gate and his men. "LET THEM THROUGH!"

"Salve, brothers."

The messenger extended his arm in an Imperial salute before gesturing to the other soldier who followed him.

Marius watched as the younger soldier, who was a teen barely old enough to join, scurried forward to match steps with his senior. The sight of his youthful determination passing through elicited a pang of bitter nostalgia that left Marius taken aback.

Perhaps it was the way they turned their armored shoulders. Perhaps it was their purposeful stride beneath a distant sun that reflected off their steel plate. But the sight of their departure made memories swirl inside Marius as he felt a tremble from his weathered hand.

And in that moment, the years peeled away like autumn leaves in the wind, returning him to that one morning which still felt raw and bleeding:

...

"I'm sorry, Father. It's time."

The young man before Marius turned to follow the armored recruitment officer out. He was halfway through the door when Marius grabbed him by the forearm.

Marius did not wish to see his firstborn depart the house this way -- the house that he had built by hand all those years ago, when he could still look proudly down upon his wife's first pregnancy.

"Lois, you can't do this!" He added in a half-pleading voice before it hardened to half-scolding. "I...I forbid it!"

"I'm an adult now, Father," the tall young man replied calmly before he sighed once more. He turned his face one last time to meet his parent with an imploring but also determined gaze.

"It's my decision. And I won't be stopped."

"But why?" Marius asked as he stared into his son's faded-green eyes and rounded face. It felt almost like he was looking at a younger version of himself.

"Why must you join the rangers as soon as you're of age? Why can't you ''live life'' for a few years first to understand what it ''means''? Don't you know that the rangers have been fighting an undeclared war for decades!?"

"''Why?''" Lois responded with a frown as his gaze grew clouded by disappointment. "Father, I thought that you, of all people, would understand! You! Who had joined the Garona Liberation Army when you were only ''fourteen!''"

It wasn't that Marius didn't understand his son's motives. His old war buddies had always said that Lois was the spitting image of him, not just in looks but also in personality. Yet Marius always wished that Lois wouldn't take after him in this regard -- to indulge in that youthful romanticism and bravado which led him to fight in one of the cruelest and bloodiest wars in Hyperion history.

There were many stories that he had told to his children with pride. Stories of courage, of camaraderie, of fighting against impossible odds and pulling through by the edge of his teeth. But there were also other stories that he was not proud of and said nothing of -- for Marius had seen the worst of humanity in all of its gratuitous hate and violence, and not just in others but also in himself.

"Those were different times!" Marius' pitch steadily rose as his own buried shame transformed into rejection and anger. "I had been born into a land under Imperial occupation. My parents ''died'' during the First Garona Independence War when the legion burned down my home village with their 'reprisals'!" He almost shouted. "I joined to create a peaceful world for my family and my children!"

The father then gestured towards the house that he had built, towards Lois' young brother and a crying baby sister whom his mother was trying to calm despite her own tears.

"We ''have'' that peace now," he stressed. "So why must you tear this family apart to continue the conflict?"

''Why must you bloody your hands just as I did?'' Marius could not bring himself to say his final thought out loud.

"Because while we selfishly bask in our peaceful lives, our Lotharin brethren south of the border continue to live under Imperial tyranny!" Lois answered as he pointed through the doorway towards the south -- the direction that every Lotharin home was built to face.

"There shall be no peace with the Imperium until there is peace for all Lotharins!"

Marius froze as it was a quote so often repeated by his comrades. Even he himself had worn it with familiarity upon his lips when he was young -- a phrase which he had even woven into many of his stories to his kids.

And in that moment, Marius knew he could not win. For Lois had become exactly the man whom he had raised.

...

''There shall be no peace...''

Marius felt his chest tighten as he continued to stare through the gateway towards the rising sun. He could not help but reflect upon those heavy words, which carried such a different meaning for him today than it did back then.

''How we all change, even at my age.''

The soldiers who bore the message had already disappeared from view, yet his nostalgic gaze remained transfixed on the empty archway.

"Marius, you old smudge, it's good seeing you again," the officer in charge of the gatehouse pulled Marius' thoughts back to the present as he clasped the aging man's shoulders with a wide grin.

"Did you bring the wine you promised me last time?"

For a moment, Marius only blinked as he struggled to bury the emotions of his past. A half-depreciating chortle left his lips as he couldn't help but wonder what his son would say to him today -- to see him 'consort with the enemy' like this.

"Is that all you think about when you see me, Acacius?" Marius answered in jest as his lips stretched into a fake smile.

Regardless, the old trader turned towards his wagon where he pulled out a large box tucked into the vehicle's front frame. From it, he took out a clay amphorae which he presented to the officer in both hands as a gift.

"Twenty years aged by its previous owners. I hope you enjoy and share it with your men."

"Don't worry, I ain't a pig," Acacius accepted the wine with a beaming grin. "I'll be sure to let my boys know whom this ambrosia is from," he added before looking at the overloaded wagon and tapping it with his knuckle. "So what's the cargo this time?"

"Harvest of muskmelons from the border villages," Marius answered.

"This early? It's still mid-spring!" Acacius' brows rose in amazement.

"Muskmelons are planted indoors before the last frost and transplanted outside as soon as spring begins," Marius explained. "Give it six weeks after that and you have an early crop."

"That so? Good thing I'm learning now. Will be handy when I become a landlord after retiring from service," the officer joked.

"How much longer do you have?" Marius asked with feigned curiosity.

"Little more than six months, at which point I'll have finished a double tour of fifty years."

Acacius' words reminded Marius of the officer's yeomen status. As a man of the 'middle-class' who was born with magical affinity, Acacius could expect to live for well over a hundred years. Even now, for a man nearly eighty years of age, Acacius had the appearance of someone who was merely thirty.

"I heard you've already secured yourself a good woman?" Marius asked next.

"She's expecting in a month, actually," the officer beamed. "But don't worry. Soon as I retire, she'll be recognized as my proper wife and our son legitimized," Acacius said as though hinting that they were already secretly married, as such unions were officially forbidden for active members of the legion. "It's all standard practice in the army."

"Well, congratulations on becoming a father soon. I wish you peace for these last six months and a smooth road to retirement."

Marius tried his best to keep the irony out of his tone and smile. He already knew that the days ahead would be anything but peaceful.

"Same to you, and thanks again," the officer said before raising the tall wine jug and tapping it with his gauntlet.

It was a polite signal for him to pass and stop blocking the gateway. Meanwhile, Ramón and Arnau were already pushing their wagon forward towards the city's main street.

Marius and his companions moved past the double portcullis and emerged from the fortified gatehouse into the bustling city of Augusta Tanarus. A wide, stone-paved thoroughfare stretches before him, flanked by multi-storied buildings with shops occupying their ground floors. A cacophony of sounds, smells, and movement along the main streets immediately assaulted his senses, as the distinct smells of fresh bread, roasting meat, tanned leather, and the less pleasant odors of waste mingled in the morning air.

Yet despite the early hour, the merchants had already started setting up their wooden awnings and were now beginning to hawk their wares -- everything from pottery and textiles to exotic spices and fresh produce. Water splashed from a nearby public fountain where citizens gathered with clay amphorae to fill their jugs. Meanwhile, porters push past with loaded carts, yielding only to a wealthy woman who was carried past in a litter by slaves.

It was hardly surprising, as the city of Augusta Tanarus was built at the tip of where the Tanarus river formed a delta that flowed into the Inner Sea. It was the site of not only a historic victory for the Imperium, but also a ley line junction where magic could be used to power the city's wards and industry. Surrounded by river estuaries and protected by layered enchantments, the fortress-city was considered an impregnable bastion.

Furthermore, today was the Friday before Resurrection Day, the most Holy of all holidays in Trinitian tradition. It marked the day when Hyperion the Dragonlord sacrificed his life in the 'Ritual of the True Cross', a grand sorcery which sealed the demons back in their Abyss and ended the millenia-long Dragon-Demon Wars that ravaged two continents.

Finally, the city was widely considered the last stronghold of 'true civilization' before one entered the half-civilized, half-barbarous lands of Rhin-Lotharingie... or so it was said by the maritime traders of the Imperium.

As such, Augusta Tanarus was also one of the main trading hubs of the Holy Imperium of the Inner Sea. Here, cargo galleys and sky-barges picked up goods from the northwest to be transported to the rest of the thalassocracy. Merchants could rest assured that their businesses would be kept safe by the formidable legionary garrison. The city even had a citadel headquarters which was in charge of all thematic legionary forces in the northwestern borderlands of the Imperium.

"It's hard to believe how peaceful it is here." Marius heard Arnau, the youngest of his companions, mutter with half-amazement and half-bitterness beneath his breath.

Turning back to face Arnau, Marius saw the young man gawking up towards the skies with his slack-jawed mouth hanging agape. The lad couldn't stop staring at the towering structure near the northern entrance. His eyes moved between the building and the two massive floating airships anchored next to it.

It wasn't exactly surprising, for Marius had reacted much the same way the first time he saw Augusta Tanarus' aerodrome tower.

The blocky stone and concrete structure jutting up from the ground rose a good ten stories into the sky. Four windlass cranes projected from its corners where dock workers busied themselves raising cargo up to the airships. Two ramps -- one for cargo and one for personnel -- connected the tower to each of the two gargantuan sky-barges with their giant elliptical balloons. Dozens of ropes were used to anchor each humongous vehicle and keep it from being blown away by the wind. Meanwhile, seven cargo nets, a fortuitous number in Arcadian culture, hung from the gondola strapped to the underside of each skyship.

"Holy Father be blessed," Arnau whispered with a childish sense of wonder. "How do those giants stay aloft?"

"The elliptical hulls of those sky-barges are filled with a lighter-than-air gas which keeps them afloat," Marius answered with the best of his knowledge.

He had heard an alchemist explain it once but couldn't remember the names of those gases. All he remembered was that it was colorless, odorless, and had the odd effect of making his voice squeak.

"They travel through the use of wind magic," Ramón then added. "However, their attuned crystals are bound to specific ley lines, and as a result they can only transport goods along a preset path. But occasionally one of them will get blown off course, at which point they'll need a proper stormcaller mage to push them back."

"I thought you said that ley line crystals were bound to a single location?" The young man then asked.

"The Imperium's technology exceeds Rhin-Lotharingie's in every respect," Marius answered as a matter of fact. His words made Ramón open his lips before closing them in a scowl as though the latter wanted to yet couldn't refute.

Meanwhile, Marius narrowed his eyes and frowned as he noticed that one of the barges' cargo nets was fully loaded with thousands of barrels that looked familiar even from a distance. At least three of them were marked with a red 'X' on the bottom, which seemed to hint that they were the same barrels that he had once smuggled into the city.

''Is that the target of the saboteur team that the commander mentioned?'' It made him wonder as he watched the crew secure the cargo nets to the lower deck as they prepared for departure.

Once again, Marius thought of the nature of their mission ahead. It was completely antithetical to Arnau's youthful, innocent stare as the young man gazed up towards the sky.

It reminded the older man that he had never asked for young Arnau's age. After all, it was easier on his conscience to not know.

But Ramón did not have such concerns as he queried:

"How old are you, Arnau?"

Marius had anticipated twenty. He had hoped for twenty. But the answer that came back from Arnau was "seventeen."

"Why are you here?" The group's leader scowled as he almost wanted to tell Arnau to turn back.

But Arnau met the older man's gaze directly. Something shifted in the boy's countenance -- the youthful exuberance that had animated his features just moments before vanished in an instant, like a candle snuffed by a bone-chilling gale that cast the air around them into a blizzard.

His reply came in a deadened voice that belonged to a much older soul: "why are we all here?"

The apathetic tone sent a faint stabbing pain through Marius' chest. He'd heard those same words before. It came from another time, through a different voice, and under different circumstances. Yet, the haunting memory of it rose through Marius' thoughts as though the wound had been freshly made:

...

"Why are we all here? Because our duty is to protect our families from what's out there!" The conscription officer pointed towards the town's southern walls even as he kept his other hand on the shoulders of Pau, Marius' second born son.

"But why would you take him and not me!?" Marius' frustrations rose. "I'm a veteran of the last war!"

"Look, I'm a father too, I know what it's like." The officer sighed with a sympathetic gaze. "I would ''gladly'' take you in exchange, if you weren't so injured you can barely even run. But my orders are to conscript one able-bodied man from every family for the defense of this town. We're about to come under siege and there is no exception for you refugees."

"But he's only seventeen!" Marius exclaimed as his voice almost cracked with desperation.

"Father," it was his son Pau who interjected next with a forced smile. "I'll be fine." He tried to embolden himself as much as he reassured his father.

"Didn't you tell me just yesterday?" Pau continued. "The Imperial campaign in Garona is on its last legs. It won't be long before Emperor Geoffroi's main Lotharin army arrives. We only need to hold out for a few days."

The young man squeezed his fist as his eyes and voice hardened with steadfast resolve. "Besides, it's my duty as a man to protect my family -- isn't that what you've always taught me?"

Marius' jaw trembled as he didn't know if he should cry or smile at that moment. To see his second child march off to war -- the son whom his wife had named in their traditional Lengadoc tongue's word for 'peace'. It brought tears to his eyes even as he felt pride in his son's maturity and courage.

Before Marius stood the culmination of every quality he had spent years instilling into his children. To see Pau face the challenges of adulthood with a resolute gaze determined to overcome all fear and doubt, Marius could not be more proud as a father.

But why did it have to come to this? Why couldn't he protect his own children? Why did he have to injure his leg during their flight here?

"Big bro!" Pau's four year-old little sister cried out as she ran to him while he knelt down to hug her.

"Don't worry, Mireia, I'll be back with you and Ma and Pa before you even miss me," he said with a broad grin. "And together, we'll go back home and await our older brother's return."

"Promise?" The little girl asked as she hugged her stuffed bunny with one arm and reached out her tiny hand with the other.

Her brother answered with his own hand and interweaved his fingers through hers. "I promise," he added with a nod and a beaming smile.

Pau then gave his sister one last all-embracing hug before he stood up and did the same for his father.

"Remember that I'm proud of you, son," Marius felt his voice shake as he squeezed his son's broad chest. He then pulled away and grasped Pau by the shoulders with a stern gaze. "And remember -- fight well with your comrades, but no heroics. Come back in one piece."

"I know, father," Pau responded with another bravely forced smile. "And I'll be sure to bring this back to you," he said before raising the steel sling staff and winged mace that Marius once soldiered with. "I promise."

...

''Why is it always the young who are sent to die?''

Marius considered as his thoughts returned to the present once more. He stared at his youngest companion for another moment as he realized that Arnau was the same age as his son Pau had been. A part of Marius wanted to tell Arnau to go back and return to his family. But another part of him also knew -- even had Arnau any family left, the three of them were already too far gone to live a peaceful life.

It's why they all volunteered for this...

Raman was driving their ox to pull the wagon forward once more. The three men followed as they made their way down the city's increasingly-crowded main street. They had to stop several times at intersections to allow other vehicles to cross first. Compared to the others, their extremely overloaded wagon moved at a snail's pace across the cobblestone road.

Thankfully, the Imperium's cities had wide boulevards which allowed three or even four wagons to pass side by side.

The road even had stone ditches to both sides which drained wastewater away into the sewers. Meanwhile above them, smaller branches of the city's main aqueduct carried water to the local bathhouses which allowed the crowded city to maintain sanitation and hygiene. It was a sign of the Holy Imperium's wealth that their cities could afford such luxurious infrastructure. All of it lay in stark contrast to the narrow, winding, and filthy streets that dominated the towns and cities inside Marius' home country of Rhin-Lotharingie.

The old man thought he heard a noise behind him before he turned about to look back. His gaze caught sight of another rope falling from one of the sky-barges parked by the aerodrome. The colossal airship was slowly pulling away from the docking tower. A strong gust blew from behind them as the vehicle's enchantments altered the local weather for its movement.

The ox-drawn cart sped up slightly as they neared the canal that separated the northwestern third of the city from its central plaza. A Trinitian Cathedral with its three towering spires and the dome of a governor's palace could also be seen on the other side of the marketplace. Yet here, in the commercial and administrative heart of the city, the cacophony of hawking merchants and working tradesmen had dropped significantly.

In their place, a large man with exotic ebony-black skin stood atop a raised marble platform. The man wore a striped toga in the Arcadian fashion as he spoke with a magically-enhanced deep voice that resounded clearly across the air.

"--''from Arcadia,''" he made a dramatic gesture towards the south as he proclaimed the Imperium's capital. "Imperator Augustus Skantarios decrees the mobilization of all furloughed thematic legions from the northern and western provinces of our most Holy Imperium. Our brave soldiers are charged to ensure that the heresy and barbarism of war in Rhin-Lotharingie does not spill onto our lands. Renowned General Marcus Avilius Belisarius will arrive in our city in five days, bringing with him the Tagmata Legions Hikanatoi and Archontopoulai..."

"''Two'' Tagmata Legions," Ramón spoke in an awed voice as he considered the elite formations whose names struck fear across the continent.

Marius could still remember the sight of those demigryph super-heavy-cavalry charging the Lotharin center during the Battle of Montaiglin Gap. Their magic and armor impervious to the hailstorm of sling-bullets and runic-spells alike from the Lotharins. Their indomitable riders plowed straight into a wall of pikes like giants scything through wheat, and twelve lines of infantry crumbled before the Lotharin army broke and ran.

-- Even now, the old veteran could feel his hand shaking at the scene of frightful slaughter that followed on that tragic day.

"Complete overkill for 'border security'," Marius commented grimly as he clenched his fingers around the reins. "The Imperator is readying his armies for full scale conflict," he muttered in a low voice as he considered the inevitability of the war ahead.

Had he any reservations towards the actions that he was about to perpetrate, this dire news had just absolved him of them.

After all, Augusta Tanarus was not merely a trade port, but a fortress-city built as the Legions' main logistics hub in the western edge of their Empire north of the Inner Sea. Here, sky-barges and cargo-galleys would be offloaded and wagon-trains packed to supply the armies that would march into Garona and Rhin-Lotharingie. Within the walls of the Imperium's military infrastructure, every man and woman living here was a participant in the economy that fueled the Imperial war machine.

-- And to Marius, that made the whole city a legitimate military target.

Yet, as the trio drew near a busy stone bridge that crossed the canal, Marius's jaded eyes spotted a little girl who ran innocently across it. The child could not have been more than six years old and had wavy brunette locks that flowed freely in the morning breeze. Her hands clutched a stuffed rabbit beneath her beautiful green eyes and rosy red cheeks.

Marius didn't even notice his breathing pause as he couldn't help fixate upon her with his gaze. The girl looked so nostalgic that it felt like he had travelled backwards through time.

It was a sight that he had not seen for so long. A feeling of warmth and longing that his frigid chest had not experienced in a decade...

For several moments, the little girl who wore a beaming smile ran straight towards him as though she was about to leap into his embrace. Yet, before Marius could emerge from his frozen trance, the girl dashed past him and towards someone else instead.

"Mama!" The girl joyfully rushed into her parent's embrace.

The mother was young and pretty and wore an elegantly draped stola of fine lilac -- a long pleated dress that was more commonly seen among the wealthier citizens of the Holy Imperium. A delicate shawl of imported silk hung from the woman's head and over both shoulders to add modesty to her appearance.

Meanwhile, standing next to her was a broad-shouldered, middle-aged man dressed in the purple cloak of an Imperial Quaestor. He looked at least fifteen years older than the young mother, but laid a possessive hand upon her shoulders which clearly showed that they were married.

A scowl grew across Marius' countenance as he forced himself to look away. A gale of frozen anger swept through him from deep within him as he felt disturbed by his own mistake.

''How could I mistake an Imp child for my sweet Mireia.''

Meanwhile, a massive shadow steadily grew across the busy cobblestone street. The colossal sky-barge that Marius saw departing the tower earlier now flew directly over them to block out direct sunlight. The gargantuan elliptical airship was over three hundred paces long. Its twelve revolving propellers filled the air with a dull whirring as the chain-linked pairs repurposed the gale force winds that blew at the airship's back for steering.

A cheer of support resounded from the central plaza where the men gathered around the news crier. Marius had barely been paying attention, but it was not difficult to guess why the townsfolk were celebrating. Per the Arcadian tradition of 'bread and circuses', food and entertainment would usually be provided to celebrate the arrival of dignitaries. Chariot races would then be held in the city's hippodrome, with contestants from the military to help whip the public into a pro-war frenzy.

However, the cheers and applause were short lived this time, as the shadow cast by the colossal airship soon came to loom over the central plaza. Countless citizens looked skyward as they pointed and spoke to each other in hushed murmurs.

It reminded Marius that in all the times he was in this city while a sky-barge departed, this was the first time a massive vehicle passed directly over the heart of the city.

The old trader was still pondering the reason when a shrill cry pierced the air from high above:

"LOOK OUT!"

One of the seven heavy-duty cargo nets that carried goods beneath the dirigible had fallen loose. At least four cords of thick rope seemed to have snapped which left the net hanging to one side with an open gap. Over a dozen wooden barrels rolled out from the cargo hold and fell through the air. Several anxious screams could be heard from the market's residents as the huge barrels plunged down from above.

"Order!" Another shout came from the soldiers. "The city protects!"

Surely enough, before the falling objects could even come close to hitting ground, they struck a translucent dome-like barrier of cobalt blue that suddenly flared into existence around sixty paces above ground. The wooden barrels had shattered on contact as they crashed into the city's anti-air defense ward. The magical barrier was strong enough to break apart even giant boulders hurled from trebuchets. It was part of why Augusta Tanarus was considered an impregnable fortress.

However, while the ward could stop large objects, it was designed to allow lighter substances and liquids to pass through. The dozen barrels that burst open were full of a smooth, glossy, yet viscous liquid that looked like some kind of cooking oil. Hectojugs of this flammable fluid rained down from the sky which drenched entire shops in the marketplace beneath.

Worse yet, more ropes seemed to be breaking loose from the already spilling cargo net, which led to a steady stream of barrels to fall from the gargantuan airship.

"That can't be an accident," Marius muttered to his comrades as he stared up at the sky-barge.

The double-layered cargo nets those sky-barges used would have been inspected before departure. They were secured to the cargo deck by over two dozen heavy duty 'anchor' ropes. There was no way so many cords could have broken loose unless there had been deliberate sabotage.

"You think that's ''them?''" Ramón asked in a low voice.

"I'm positive," Marius added as he spotted another one of those tell-tale barrels that he had seen earlier.

It was marked with a red 'X' on the bottom, and so was the barrel next to it.

Those barrels' own cargo net swayed beneath the sky-barge as several ropes were cut. A gap to the side soon opened where one barrel after another rolled through before plummeting. The wooden containers were shattered by the warding barrier just like before. However, instead of breaking apart to rain oil down upon the ground below, the barrels released a black powdery substance that fell like a carpet of volcanic sand.

''Blast powder.''

Marius' eyes swelled as those X-marked barrels were indeed the same ones that he, among others, had smuggled into the city over the past few years.

He was not the only one to recognize it either as more cries and screams erupted from the marketplace. Residents and tradesmen alike looked up in horror as it began to dawn on them that this was no simple mistake.

One after another, the ropes securing the seven cargo nets beneath the sky-barge were cut. One after another, the barrels kept within those holds slipped, rolled, and bounced into the air before plummeting towards the ground. The speed of the disaster hastened as dozens of barrels began to rain down from the airship at a time.

-- And every one of these barrels shattered to spill forth a flammable substance, be it oil, powder, grease, tar, and even spirits.

"Terrorist!" A terrified shrill cry resounded from among the civilians in the crowded marketplace.

More and more screams followed in its wake as panic quickly began to spread. Even the soldiers had lost control as many of them turned to run from the airship's eastbound flight. Throngs of civilians began to flee the downpour of powder, liquids, and other debris. They pushed and shoved aside others in their path with little regard for anything but their own lives.

"This is our chance," Marius declared as he looked back at his companions. "Light the fuse."

The old veteran moved behind the ox where he grasped the animal's tail with his hand. A dozen strips of tar-coated linen had been wrapped around the ox's tail which ended with a small tube. Marius took the bell that disguised the tube's true purpose in hand and yanked hard to break the strings. The attached flint rod created a series of sparks inside, which ignited the oiled paper within and then the tarred tail.

The oxen cried out in pain as it began to push forward with all the strength it could muster in an attempt to escape the flames. The animal's hooves gripped and slipped across the stone-paved ground as it pulled against the overloaded wagon that struggled to move faster than a snail's pace. The beast was successful in drawing the wagon onto the gentle arc of the stone bridge while Ramón leapt down from the vehicle's side. Within his hand was the flint core to a similar tube which had been used to spark a five-minute timed fuse.

"STOP!" A soldier who stood guard on the other side of the canal bridge yelled. "STOP THAT WAGON AT ONCE!"

"Don't you see what's happening!?" His companion also cried out as he gestured towards the tide of panic-stricken civilians surging toward their direction.

Yet, before any of the soldiers could take even three steps, a loud voice shouted from the airship above drew all of their attention skywards:

''"THE DEAD DEMAND JUSTICE!"''

The airship had already cut all of its large nets and dropped the majority of its cargo. Now, the hijackers completed their mission by detonating the entire vessel. An earthrending explosion which seemed to tear the heavens asunder shook through the city. And in the blink of an eye, the colossal dirigible which had loomed over much of the marketplace plaza went up in a massive inferno.

A torrent of hot air followed which almost knocked Marius off his feet. The old veteran dug in his heels as he felt the searing heat of the blast expand. It was not entirely surprising to him, as decades ago -- back when he was a child saboteur in the Garona Liberation Army -- he had taken on a mission to plant several runestones on a smaller airship. The runes held an alchemy spell that steadily transmuted the squeak-inducing odorless gas inside those elliptical balloons to something far more flammable. And after that, a ''Lightning'' spell from their yeoman captain was all that it took to set the entire sky-barge ablaze.

Smoke filled the air and rose skyward in a mushroom-shaped column as burning embers and debris rained down upon the plaza. Fires spread in an instant through the oil-soaked peddler booths and the pools of tar and powder that blanketed the cobblestone ground.

At the same time, the colossal flaming wreck of the sky-barge drifted down towards the city's southeastern districts. The air above the city flared with cobalt-blue mana once more as the air defense ward tried to resist the falling skyship's metallic frame. However, the sheer mass of the burning vessel proved too much and the entire magical barrier shattered like a glass dome breaking into a million shards. The searing carcass of the dirigible then crashed into the dense blocks of crowded residential homes to the city's southeast, which almost instantly set the entire area ablaze in a sea of flames.

Countless fires were spreading out of control inside the fortress-city that was claimed to be 'impregnable'. Meanwhile, the hundreds of civilians who had been knocked off their feet scrambled to climb over each other to get away from the growing holocaust of flames.

"The Dead Demand Justice!" Marius heard another shout in the Lotharin tongue from the far side of the marketplace plaza.

The explosion that followed revealed that yet another infiltration squad, like the trio formed by him, Ramón, and Arnau, had gone into action. The detonation came from the entrance to the cathedral where the city's residents no doubt sought shelter. The destruction shook the ground with such force that one of the limestone spires cracked and began to topple.

Marius knelt and reached to his boots where he unsheathed a concealed dagger. The blade was within reason for what could pass as a 'self-defense weapon' should a soldier discover it. He watched as Ramón and Arnau opened the wagon's side storage to pull out a lumber axe and a steel mallet. The three men all looked at each other with grim faces as they nodded wordlessly to one another.

There was no need for final farewells, for all of them had already accepted their coming fate. Each of them was haunted by a past that they could not escape. And their mission was the only end that could bring them peace.

Their ox cried out in pain as its burning tail forced the animal to pull the overloaded wagon over the slightly-arched canal bridge. The soldiers on the far side however had caught on as they stood up and formed a half-wedge to one side of the passage. The disciplined legionaries leveled their spears in preparation to impale the animal that struggled to charge forward in pain. But before the beast could pull its heavy burden past the crest of the bridge, the young Arnaud dashed past the wagon to assault them with his raised steel mallet.

Nevertheless, the untrained teen was no match against professional soldiers. Three spears thrust forth and two of them impaled his unprotected torso before the young man could even land a single swing.

Yet, despite a shaft that ran through his gut, Arnau continued to push himself forward as he stared upon the soldiers with gritted teeth. The young man dropped his hammer before raising his right arm with all of his remaining strength. Marius could see the glint of a brooch that Arnau said belonged to his late mother in his fingers as young man croaked out one last cry before he slammed the hand into the center of his chest:

"THE DEAD DEMAND JUSTICE!"

His body then exploded in a blast of flames that not only tore his limbs apart. The sonic burst that came with it also shattered the stone bridge railing and broke every bone in all three Imperial soldiers who stood before him.

There were several fleeing civilians who had been caught in the explosion as well. However, more residents who had been running towards the bridge froze in shock as they could no longer tell which direction safety was. Nevertheless, dozens if not hundreds of others continued to push and shove from behind them as people sought to flee the inferno that consumed the marketplace. Countless people were pushed under and trampled upon even as others hastily changed the direction of their flight.

"THE DEAD DEMAND JUSTICE!"

Another cry came from a bridge to the north just as a wave of panic-stricken residents rushed onto it. The explosion that followed destroyed not only the bridge but sent a shower of blood and limbs flying into the air in every direction.

Meanwhile, Raman had jogged ahead of him and raised his lumber axe against the side of their still-moving wagon. The man cried out as he swung with all of his strength, which forced the axe head to cut straight through one of the wooden sideboards that projected upwards from the wagon bed. The thin wooden plank snapped in half which opened up a wide gap into the filled wagon hold. Their cargo of muskmelons rolled out in a torrent and scattered onto the cobblestone-paved plaza.

Ramón pulled back his axe but its head had become stuck in a muskmelon's rind. Oil leaked from the fruit's interior which showed that the melon had been hollowed out. Almost their entire cargo of muskmelons had their innards replaced with either oil or blast powder. Only a surface layer of real fruits were placed on top to fool inspections.

Marius watched as the melons bounced and rolled into a confused crowd that ran from one side of the plaza to another in a mindless panic. One of the powder-filled fruits ran into a piece of burning debris and promptly exploded. Two tradesmen were caught in the blast and one of them fell clutching their leg where only a bloody stump remained. Several nearby women screamed and turned to run in the opposite direction before they were shoved onto the ground and trampled under by others running the opposite way.

The residents were caught between the burning marketplace and the 'assault' of the ground infiltration teams. Dozens of civilians leapt into the canal, only for some of them to catch fire as the burning oil spread across the water's surface as well. The injured who had been trampled upon crawled over the ground begging for help while the children sat and wailed in terror for their parents to come.

It was the very image of hell -- the sight of a city, with its buildings, its market, its streets, and even its canals all awash with growing flames. Desperate screams and cries came abound from every direction, and corpses both deceased and half-dead littered the streets as more explosions resounded.

Yet, it was not the first time that Marius lay witness to such a grisly sight. The old veteran felt no pity for those who laid dead and dying before him, for the sight of the burning city only steeled his resolve as it uncovered the half-buried agony of a life lost in his memories.

...

"LAIA! MIREIA!"

Marius cried out the names of his wife and daughter as he limped through the streets of the town that they had taken refuge in. He looked frantically from the blazing tavern to his left to the burning houses on his right as he searched for the silhouette of a mother and her four-year-old child in the fire-lit night.

A trio of stones ablaze soared overhead as the besieging Imperial trebuchets let loose another volley. One of the boulders crashed into the side of the already burning tavern before its imbued spell burst. A low bass sonic shockwave shattered the boulder and the building's timber supports alike. The detonation created a hail of jagged rock and wooden splinters that shredded a row of women who had been passing buckets to fight the flames.

"AAHhhhh!"

A teenage girl and her ailing mother screamed as they had just emerged from the tavern's side entrance before the boulder smashed into it. The blazing second floor of the building collapsed on top of them even before the rock could turn them into pincushions for its deadly fragments.

Even Marius felt a sharp pain as several rock splinters struck him. He had reflexively raised his arms to protect his face just in time to avoid worse injuries. Nevertheless, the aging father didn't even pause to examine his wounds before he continued his limp walk down the streets. His parched throat was already hoarse yet he continued to cry out:

"LAIA! MIREIA!"

Marius knew he needed to calm down and not allow desperation to cloud his judgment. However, he could not stop the increasingly frantic emotions running through his mind. He had returned from his meeting with the town's magistrate as a representative for the refugees, only to find their encampment near the city's walls in flames. The place had been struck by an incendiary barrel flung out from the besieger's catapults. And the only survivor who remained told him that everyone had fled into the center of town to seek shelter after the Imperial forces began a full-scale assault against the southern walls.

The old veteran with a crippled leg forced himself to trot as fast as he could. He scanned his gaze in every direction as he spotted small groups of women and children huddled in narrow alleys and behind stone buildings. Others formed long lines to pass buckets from nearby wells to burning buildings. But every once in a while, a boulder launched by the siege engines would land among those brave women to leave a strung out line of corpses.

Several such bodies laid ahead on the road in a grim reminder. A home to their left had been completely pulverized by what must have been a direct hit by those boulders. The ruins of the building remained aflame while more embers burned from a blast crater on the left side of the dirt road. The old veteran immediately recognized it as the result of an explosive bomb fired from a heavy mortar which plunged down from a high above.

Then, about two dozen paces away from the crater, Marius felt his blood chill as he spotted a familiar figure on the ground.

"LAIA!"

The body which lay in the middle of the street was half-wrapped in a bloodied green cloak. A silver leaf-shaped buckle that he had gifted his wife as a wedding gift was attached to the torn garment. The left rear of the cloak and her body was visibly shredded as dozens of jagged rock splinters could be seen lodged into the dirt road all around her.

"No, no! Laia! ''Laia!''"

Marius cried out as he scrambled forward and fell to his knees beside the body. However, part of him knew that she was already dead even before he turned her over to gaze into her bloodied and lifeless expression. He could tell from her body's posture that she had partially turned her back towards the bursting boulder. It was as though she was using her own body to protect someone.

It was not difficult to guess who that someone was. Yet, there was no sign of his daughter Mireia. For a moment, as Marius cradled the lifeless body of his wife, he hoped that at least the frightened four-year-old had run off after her mother's gruesome death. But as he looked around, he spotted the torn-off head of a stuffed rabbit which had been his daughter's favorite a mere thirty paces away.

"Mireia?"

The aging father spoke in a stunned voice as his eyes noticed a small pool of blood by the rabbit's head. A red droplet fell into it from above and another drop followed seconds later. The father felt his chest constrict in terror as for the first time since the Battle of Montaiglin Gap. Fear took hold of his body as he was almost too afraid to look up.

Time itself seemed to slow to a crawl as the already grieving father could do nothing else. His eyes gradually raised upwards where he saw a reality that surpassed his worst nightmares. He saw the body of a young girl hanging off an iron post that had once hung a shop sign. Her small dress had been ripped to shreds and her face was too bloody to recognize, yet Marius could instantly recognize from the silhouette that she was his daughter.

...

Marius could only remember the events that took place afterwards like images from a passing dream. He had survived the siege only to receive back-to-back news that his two sons had been killed in combat. Now, a father bereft of his family and purpose, he enlisted in the Garona Liberation Army once more and joined the ranks of the Mòrt-Vivent -- the 'living dead' who had nothing remaining in life to live for.

He remembered attending his own funeral, where he laid down upon his empty grave to let the Albigense priestess to inscribe a rune upon his chest. It was a combination spell that would be triggered by pounding into it with his own fist as his final action in life. The priestess claimed that it would bring salvation as his angelic spirit would finally shed its sinful flesh and be released. But truth be told, Marius had never seriously cared for the Church's religious disputes and preferred for the Holy Father's truth to remain mysterious.

The old veteran looked towards Ramón as the middle-aged man bore the same rune upon his body. The same applied to Arnau, whose immortal soul had gone on ahead of them to reunite with his own lost family. Every infiltrator and saboteur in the Garona Liberation Army had joined the Mòrt-Vivent willingly. The runes inscribed into their flesh cut their remaining lifespan to no more than ten years, for after that the magic would unravel and destroy them regardless.

Not far away, Marius saw a crying girl sitting on the ground. It made him think back to the child he saw earlier who reminded him so much of his own daughter. The old veteran knew that these children all had parents and what he was about to do would inflict the same gut-wrenching pain that he felt upon them.

The grieving father reached absentmindedly into a pocket with his left hand. His fingers wrapped around a soft item before pulling it out. The old man opened his palm and felt tears pool into his gaze once more. Within his hand was the severed head of the stuffed rabbit the Mireia always clutched, its white fabric still stained with her blood from that fateful night.

''How can there be justice when my sweet Mireia is dead while these Imp spawn remain alive?''

Ramón was still trying to remove his axe from the melon rind that it was stuck in. But just as he used his feet to hold the fruit down and pull, a thrown pilum impaled him through his chest and pushed his body into the canal. Two other javelins flew at Marius but both missed as the veteran stepped aside. The four legionaries then drew their swords and charged forward toward him and the moving wagon that continued to spill muskmelons.

There were still minutes before the timed fuse would set the wagon off. Marius would not risk these soldiers finding and defusing it. He squeezed the furry memento in his palm before sprinting towards the moving wagon. His right arm reached out and prepared for his final action.

"THE DEAD DEMAND JUSTICE!" He heard another cry in the distance followed by another explosion. Dozens of people screamed as yet another comrade martyred himself in the middle of a crowd.

Within seconds, Marius reached the side of the wagon that had its wooden board broken. He stabbed his dagger into one of the muskmelons that had yet to roll out. He used the handle to pull the fruit out of the wagon and turned to face his assailants. The soldiers were mere steps away from him when he screamed and pounded his left hand -- still grasping the severed head of his daughter's favorite toy -- into his chest.

"AND WE SHALL BRING VENGEANCE!"

It took but an instant for the rune to activate and for Marius' body to be ripped asunder. But in that final split-second of his life, Marius' thoughts were filled with an image of his wife Laia, their two sons Lois and Pau, and his little girl Mireia. All of them stood together in front of the house that he had built and the farm behind them, a picturesque afterlife which he had always sought.

And he could finally retire to it in peace, for he could tell his family that their deaths had been avenged.

<nowiki>----- * * * -----</nowiki>

Needless to say, Marius' infiltration squad wasn't the only one who acted. Nor was the city of Augusta Tanarus the only city struck by the Mòrt-Vivent that day. Instead, a simultaneous attack by over thirty infiltration and saboteur squads of the Garona Liberation Army had struck over a dozen towns, cities, and ports of the Holy Imperium of the Inner Sea. And by the day's end, most of those settlements lay in trembling terror and blazing ruins.

It would go down in Imperial history as 'Unholy Friday' -- the day that marked Hyperion the Dragonlord's ritualistic sacrifice for the people of this world was corrupted into a gratuitous revelry of destruction and death.

Yet despite its name, the Garona Liberation Army was more of a paramilitary militia group than the official army of the Kingdom of Garona. Nevertheless, the Imperium held the Kingdom, and by extension, its overlord, the Empire of Rhin-Lotharingie, as responsible for the terror attacks. And on that night, Imperator Augustus Skantarios issued a formal declaration of war against the Empire, which Pope Vigilius, in a show of obedience to his caesar, promptly sanctified as the 4th Trinitian Crusade.

And thus, the stage had been set for the most destructive conflict the continent of Hyperion had seen since the departure of the Dragonlords.

===Author's History Notes===

Etymology: Most of the names used in this chapter (Ramón, Arnau, Loi, Pau) are Basque or Occitan names, as Garona is based upon the regions of Catalonia (in Spain) and Occitania (in France). The two exceptions being Acacius and Marius, both of Latin origin. In Marius' case, it shows the fact he was born under Imperial occupation.

Albigensians: Based on the Cathar Heresy which took place in 12-14th century Southern France, which the Catholics wiped out during the Albigensian Crusade and its aftermath through mass genocide. The Cathars believed in Dualism - that there is both a good and an evil God - and that the Old Testament (including the creation of the world) was the work of the evil god. Thus, they considered the entire material world evil, and that humans were angels trapped in sinful flesh.

Acacius' Marriage: Roman Legionaires were famously not allowed to start families while in service (with a service period of 25 years). However, many of them often entered unofficial marriages before retirement, which were recognized as soon as they retired, including the legitimacy of any children. This practice became so standard that the Roman bureacracy came to readily accept it.

Thematic Legions: Based on the Eastern Roman (Byzantine) Thematic administration/mobilization system, which replaced Diocletian's Provincial Defense System in Late Roman era. This split the Empire into administrative districts (themes), where soldiers were settled and given farming land, in exchange for their agreement that their descendants would also serve in the army. However unlike feudalism, the soldiers did not own the land, and they remained part of active military units in peacetime. The allowed the Empire to both reduce the cost of standing armies and minimize the need for unpopular conscription.

Tagmata Legions: Based on the elite Tagmata units of the Eastern Roman (Byzantine) Empire, which would form the core of Imperial field armies. Hikanatoi and Archontopoulai means the 'able ones' and 'sons of leaders'.

'Bread and Circuses': A phrase from Roman times which referred to the idea that rulers can keep the public distracted and docile from sociopolitical problems by providing basic food and entertainment.

Daybreak:Volume 5 Prologue

2025-08-04T01:38:14Z

Aorii: Created page with "The Sunrise Chronicles ===Prologue=== "One, two, ''PUUUUSH!''" Marius slammed his shoulders against the thick wooden end board of the wagon. His companion did the same to h..."

The Sunrise Chronicles

===Prologue===

"One, two, ''PUUUUSH!''"

Marius slammed his shoulders against the thick wooden end board of the wagon. His companion did the same to his right as the two rammed their bodies against the ponderous vehicle. The two men gritted their teeth as they mustered all their strength while their worn leather shoes slipped against wet cobblestones. Their efforts paid off as the iron-rimmed wheel which had been stuck in a cavity in the road finally climbed back onto the stone-paved bridge.

An audible breath of relief came from his youthful partner on the side. But the older Marius looked up and took a nervous glance at the wide wooden planks that projected upwards from the wagon bed. The vertical boards had lurched backwards as the ponderous cargo inside his extremely overloaded wagon resisted the sudden movement. Marius was sure he had heard a crack earlier, but the wooden planks nevertheless held up and kept their precious cargo safe inside the makeshift container that was packed to the brim.

"Boss," Marius heard Ramón address him as the latter strode back from the front of the wagon and offered him the reins. "Let's switch. You're exhausted."

"I'm not as young... as I used to be..." Marius admitted through his heavy breathing.

He accepted the reins with a nod while his companion clasped him on his heaving shoulders.

To be fair, Marius was still quite fit, or at least he'd like to think so. But he had crossed the half-century milestone just a few weeks back, and age was quickly catching up to him. Nevertheless, he had been insistent on replacing Ramón, as the middle-aged member of their crew had a bad shoulder -- an injury from the chaos of the last war which never properly healed.

"The gates aren't far ahead," he spoke to his two companions as he pointed towards the other end of the long bridge. "We're almost there," he said before striding towards the front of the wagon to take the lead.

With a grim look, Marius took another deep breath of the cool morning air before he gazed upriver towards the northeast. It was just past daybreak and the sun had yet to even emerge halfway from its cozy bed beyond the horizon. The sky was still dominated by a gigantic indigo moon which took up over a third of the heavens. Its massive bulk also hid the tiny silvery orb which his late wife once half-jested could be used to determine when she would be most willing.

Leading their ox by the reins once more, Marius strode towards the imposing fortified gates that overlooked the bridge which crossed the Tanarus river. The long bridge was over a kilopace across and featured both a double-drawbridge which could be raised to allow civilian ships to pass, as well as a removable pontoon segment behind them for military use.

He heard the wagon wheels roll onto the thick wooden beams of the drawbridge and towards the well-guarded gatehouse that loomed ahead. The stern-faced Marius practiced raising the corners of his lips and his eyes once more to form what passed for a smile. The borders of the Imperium were only thirty kilopaces to their northwest. Considering the escalating political tensions of late, it was all the more important for him to show that he was a friendly trader, even if he had long forgotten what it felt like to truly smile.

The trio of burly men and their ox-drawn wagon approached the first gatehouse just as two figures garbed in forest-green cloaks neared its entrance. A soldier clad in mail and plate armor shouted "HALT!" before he approached the other two with his spear raised beside his towering shield.

"Remove those cloaks at once!" The soldier demanded in the Imperial tongue as he pointed his spear menacingly.

The dull garments were uniform in color except for the white threads that wove embroidered patterns lining the edges. They had holes on each side where two pairs of thin arms emerged from. Their designs marked them as Lotharin in origin without any doubt. And it was those Lotharins, from the Empire of Rhin-Lotharingie, whom the soldiers of the Holy Imperium of the Inner Sea had a long and bloodied history with.

"Y-yes Sir."

A frightened feminine voice responded as the two women removed their outerwear as ordered. Their clothes underneath were frayed and filthy, with torn gaps in their long skirts that exposed their emaciated legs. Neither of them carried any packs and it was clear that they were refugees with little more than the clothing on their backs.

"The city has no room for beggars and whores the likes of you!" The soldier yelled. "Get out of here!" He ordered with a wave of his spear.

"P-please Sir, we've nowhere else to go..." The other woman pleaded weakly.

"Not my problem," the soldier growled.

Marius glanced at the two women as his wagon passed them by from the other side of the wide bridge. The younger couldn't have been older than twenty years old and was likely the daughter of the older woman. Her worn and ragged clothing, her bony and tired body, her pleading gaze which held onto a spark of hope as she turned to look at him...

-- She reminded him so much of his late wife when they had first met along a mountainous road, when he was still a soldier and she was a refugee fleeing the chaos of conflict.

It felt a lifetime ago, during another age when war and turmoil ravaged the land, bringing death and suffering to those least able to defend themselves.

"Now leave, before I throw you both into the river," the soldier threatened.

For a moment, Marius almost felt something stirring in his heartstrings. It was a sliver of pity and sympathy, but without any warmth to carry it throughout his body. The emotion was soon deadened by the haunting image of a dark night lit by a city's burning buildings...

Marius had long learned that the world did not care for the weak and defenseless -- and with that in mind, neither should he. Certainly not while he still had a goal to accomplish and helping these women would only attract the wrong kind of attention.

''With any luck, death will relieve them of life's burdens shortly,'' he thought grimly.

As the man pulled his eyes away, he noticed a glint of silver from the grimy cross that the young girl wore around her neck. It had probably been muddied to deter others from robbing her of her last precious belonging. The cross also hinted that the two women were Trinitian refugees.

Marius had seen plenty of their kind in the past few years, ever since the Albigensians splintered off the Trinitian Church in the Kingdom of Garona -- the southernmost of the four vassal kingdoms inside the Empire of Rhin-Lotharingie. The Albigensians had denounced the Trinitian Church as corrupt and faithless. In response, the Pope in Arcadia had declared them a heresy to be cleansed.

The religious conflict that followed had seen numerous churches destroyed and priests burned alive. Countless residents were given the choice of either conversion or exile from the dukedoms that the Albigensians won.

There was a time during his life when Marius wondered why they couldn't just all live peacefully and get along. Why did humans have to allow nations, culture, and religion to divide them into perpetual conflict?

But those were days long past...

Marius turned his head to face the raised steel portcullis once more. He saw the other guard look warily at his overloaded wagon before meeting his gaze. The merchant put on his best smile and raised an open hand in gesture before the young soldier nodded back in recognition. After all, Marius had been coming in and out of these gates for more than five years now, and most of the soldiers had at least seen him before.

The outer gate was large enough to allow two of his wagons to pass through side by side. Beyond it was a paved courtyard surrounded by walls on all four sides. An even taller inner gatehouse loomed ahead, surrounded by soldiers who checked the belongings of every individual who wished to pass through. A short line of a dozen people waited outside for their turn.

Marius could hear the faint sound of a bell tolling from the city center which was reciprocated by another inside the inner gatehouse. As he led his ox-drawn cart to line up behind the others, the sound of a clatter drew his attention towards the side of the courtyard where five men and women materialized out of thin air.

The newcomers held each others' hands in a circle around the stone pedestal that housed the city's teleportation beacon. It was the daily morning Wayfarer transit from the border town of Caiarellus which had arrived exactly on time. Among the travellers were two soldiers who wore back-strapped round shields over their burgundy-red capes. Their equipment and colors marked them as Imperial Akritae, the border troops of the Holy Imperium's legions.

The older of the two soldiers double-paced to the gatehouse in swift strides. He pulled out a bronze messenger tube and raised it into the air with a shout.

"Priority communique from Caiarellus!"

"Is there an attack?" The officer in charge of the gate's security asked tensely as he stepped up.

"No," the messenger answered calmly. "The borders remain quiet but uneasy. Ever since the Lotharins were invaded by the Caliphate, their brigands have stopped harassing us. I think this is a report from our informants across the border," the soldier added before shrugging to signal that he didn't actually know. "Must be maps or something, or our signifer would have sent it by ''Farspeak''."

"Well, let's hope those Tauheed infidels and Lotharin heretics all rip each other to pieces." The officer who looked past his prime smirked as he reached his hand out towards the tube. "Holy Father willing, we'll take that land back just in time for my retirement."

Marius felt an unnatural chill gather inside him as he heard the two soldiers talk casually about the conflict that was ravaging his homeland. Perhaps it was because he had always known these Imperials were bastards. Perhaps it was due to his own aloofness towards what he could not change. But their callous words no longer triggered any visible response from him.

However, the same could not be said of his youngest colleague Arnau, who took a step from behind the wagon before Ramón yanked him back into place.

''Don't blow our cover,'' Marius thought to himself as he willed for the brash young man to keep calm. Meanwhile, his eyes looked upon the officer's outstretched hand with an interested gaze.

Marius wasn't born with any affinity for magic, but he had long learned to recognize the signs of a spell being cast. The officer must have used a scanning spell to verify the messenger tube. It was simple enough that most mages didn't even need to recite the words for mnemonic spellcasting. The lack of any visible manifestation meant that a simple gesture was the only tell Marius could use to discern its practice.

"Mana signature matches," the officer confirmed before gesturing toward the gate and his men. "LET THEM THROUGH!"

"Salve, brothers."

The messenger extended his arm in an Imperial salute before gesturing to the other soldier who followed him.

Marius watched as the younger soldier, who was a teen barely old enough to join, scurried forward to match steps with his senior. The sight of his youthful determination passing through elicited a pang of bitter nostalgia that left Marius taken aback.

Perhaps it was the way they turned their armored shoulders. Perhaps it was their purposeful stride beneath a distant sun that reflected off their steel plate. But the sight of their departure made memories swirl inside Marius as he felt a tremble from his weathered hand.

And in that moment, the years peeled away like autumn leaves in the wind, returning him to that one morning which still felt raw and bleeding:

...

"I'm sorry, Father. It's time."

The young man before Marius turned to follow the armored recruitment officer out. He was halfway through the door when Marius grabbed him by the forearm.

Marius did not wish to see his firstborn depart the house this way -- the house that he had built by hand all those years ago, when he could still look proudly down upon his wife's first pregnancy.

"Lois, you can't do this!" He added in a half-pleading voice before it hardened to half-scolding. "I...I forbid it!"

"I'm an adult now, Father," the tall young man replied calmly before he sighed once more. He turned his face one last time to meet his parent with an imploring but also determined gaze.

"It's my decision. And I won't be stopped."

"But why?" Marius asked as he stared into his son's faded-green eyes and rounded face. It felt almost like he was looking at a younger version of himself.

"Why must you join the rangers as soon as you're of age? Why can't you ''live life'' for a few years first to understand what it ''means''? Don't you know that the rangers have been fighting an undeclared war for decades!?"

"''Why?''" Lois responded with a frown as his gaze grew clouded by disappointment. "Father, I thought that you, of all people, would understand! You! Who had joined the Garona Liberation Army when you were only ''fourteen!''"

It wasn't that Marius didn't understand his son's motives. His old war buddies had always said that Lois was the spitting image of him, not just in looks but also in personality. Yet Marius always wished that Lois wouldn't take after him in this regard -- to indulge in that youthful romanticism and bravado which led him to fight in one of the cruelest and bloodiest wars in Hyperion history.

There were many stories that he had told to his children with pride. Stories of courage, of camaraderie, of fighting against impossible odds and pulling through by the edge of his teeth. But there were also other stories that he was not proud of and said nothing of -- for Marius had seen the worst of humanity in all of its gratuitous hate and violence, and not just in others but also in himself.

"Those were different times!" Marius' pitch steadily rose as his own buried shame transformed into rejection and anger. "I had been born into a land under Imperial occupation. My parents ''died'' during the First Garona Independence War when the legion burned down my home village with their 'reprisals'!" He almost shouted. "I joined to create a peaceful world for my family and my children!"

The father then gestured towards the house that he had built, towards Lois' young brother and a crying baby sister whom his mother was trying to calm despite her own tears.

"We ''have'' that peace now," he stressed. "So why must you tear this family apart to continue the conflict?"

''Why must you bloody your hands just as I did?'' Marius could not bring himself to say his final thought out loud.

"Because while we selfishly bask in our peaceful lives, our Lotharin brethren south of the border continue to live under Imperial tyranny!" Lois answered as he pointed through the doorway towards the south -- the direction that every Lotharin home was built to face.

"There shall be no peace with the Imperium until there is peace for all Lotharins!"

Marius froze as it was a quote so often repeated by his comrades. Even he himself had worn it with familiarity upon his lips when he was young -- a phrase which he had even woven into many of his stories to his kids.

And in that moment, Marius knew he could not win. For Lois had become exactly the man whom he had raised.

...

''There shall be no peace...''

Marius felt his chest tighten as he continued to stare through the gateway towards the rising sun. He could not help but reflect upon those heavy words, which carried such a different meaning for him today than it did back then.

''How we all change, even at my age.''

The soldiers who bore the message had already disappeared from view, yet his nostalgic gaze remained transfixed on the empty archway.

"Marius, you old smudge, it's good seeing you again," the officer in charge of the gatehouse pulled Marius' thoughts back to the present as he clasped the aging man's shoulders with a wide grin.

"Did you bring the wine you promised me last time?"

For a moment, Marius only blinked as he struggled to bury the emotions of his past. A half-depreciating chortle left his lips as he couldn't help but wonder what his son would say to him today -- to see him 'consort with the enemy' like this.

"Is that all you think about when you see me, Acacius?" Marius answered in jest as his lips stretched into a fake smile.

Regardless, the old trader turned towards his wagon where he pulled out a large box tucked into the vehicle's front frame. From it, he took out a clay amphorae which he presented to the officer in both hands as a gift.

"Twenty years aged by its previous owners. I hope you enjoy and share it with your men."

"Don't worry, I ain't a pig," Acacius accepted the wine with a beaming grin. "I'll be sure to let my boys know whom this ambrosia is from," he added before looking at the overloaded wagon and tapping it with his knuckle. "So what's the cargo this time?"

"Harvest of muskmelons from the border villages," Marius answered.

"This early? It's still mid-spring!" Acacius' brows rose in amazement.

"Muskmelons are planted indoors before the last frost and transplanted outside as soon as spring begins," Marius explained. "Give it six weeks after that and you have an early crop."

"That so? Good thing I'm learning now. Will be handy when I become a landlord after retiring from service," the officer joked.

"How much longer do you have?" Marius asked with feigned curiosity.

"Little more than six months, at which point I'll have finished a double tour of fifty years."

Acacius' words reminded Marius of the officer's yeomen status. As a man of the 'middle-class' who was born with magical affinity, Acacius could expect to live for well over a hundred years. Even now, for a man nearly eighty years of age, Acacius had the appearance of someone who was merely thirty.

"I heard you've already secured yourself a good woman?" Marius asked next.

"She's expecting in a month, actually," the officer beamed. "But don't worry. Soon as I retire, she'll be recognized as my proper wife and our son legitimized," Acacius said as though hinting that they were already secretly married, as such unions were officially forbidden for active members of the legion. "It's all standard practice in the army."

"Well, congratulations on becoming a father soon. I wish you peace for these last six months and a smooth road to retirement."

Marius tried his best to keep the irony out of his tone and smile. He already knew that the days ahead would be anything but peaceful.

"Same to you, and thanks again," the officer said before raising the tall wine jug and tapping it with his gauntlet.

It was a polite signal for him to pass and stop blocking the gateway. Meanwhile, Ramón and Arnau were already pushing their wagon forward towards the city's main street.

Marius and his companions moved past the double portcullis and emerged from the fortified gatehouse into the bustling city of Augusta Tanarus. A wide, stone-paved thoroughfare stretches before him, flanked by multi-storied buildings with shops occupying their ground floors. A cacophony of sounds, smells, and movement along the main streets immediately assaulted his senses, as the distinct smells of fresh bread, roasting meat, tanned leather, and the less pleasant odors of waste mingled in the morning air.

Yet despite the early hour, the merchants had already started setting up their wooden awnings and were now beginning to hawk their wares -- everything from pottery and textiles to exotic spices and fresh produce. Water splashed from a nearby public fountain where citizens gathered with clay amphorae to fill their jugs. Meanwhile, porters push past with loaded carts, yielding only to a wealthy woman who was carried past in a litter by slaves.

It was hardly surprising, as the city of Augusta Tanarus was built at the tip of where the Tanarus river formed a delta that flowed into the Inner Sea. It was the site of not only a historic victory for the Imperium, but also a ley line junction where magic could be used to power the city's wards and industry. Surrounded by river estuaries and protected by layered enchantments, the fortress-city was considered an impregnable bastion.

Furthermore, today was the Friday before Resurrection Day, the most Holy of all holidays in Trinitian tradition. It marked the day when Hyperion the Dragonlord sacrificed his life in the 'Ritual of the True Cross', a grand sorcery which sealed the demons back in their Abyss and ended the millenia-long Dragon-Demon Wars that ravaged three continents.

Finally, the city was widely considered the last stronghold of 'true civilization' before one entered the half-civilized, half-barbarous lands of Rhin-Lotharingie... or so it was said by the maritime traders of the Imperium.

As such, Augusta Tanarus was also one of the main trading hubs of the Holy Imperium of the Inner Sea. Here, cargo galleys and sky-barges picked up goods from the northwest to be transported to the rest of the thalassocracy. Merchants could rest assured that their businesses would be kept safe by the formidable legionary garrison. The city even had a citadel headquarters which was in charge of all thematic legionary forces in the northwestern borderlands of the Imperium.

"It's hard to believe how peaceful it is here." Marius heard Arnau, the youngest of his companions, mutter with half-amazement and half-bitterness beneath his breath.

Turning back to face Arnau, Marius saw the young man gawking up towards the skies with his slack-jawed mouth hanging agape. The lad couldn't stop staring at the towering structure near the northern entrance. His eyes moved between the building and the two massive floating airships anchored next to it.

It wasn't exactly surprising, for Marius had reacted much the same way the first time he saw Augusta Tanarus' aerodrome tower.

The blocky stone and concrete structure jutting up from the ground rose a good ten stories into the sky. Four windlass cranes projected from its corners where dock workers busied themselves raising cargo up to the airships. Two ramps -- one for cargo and one for personnel -- connected the tower to each of the two gargantuan sky-barges with their giant elliptical balloons. Dozens of ropes were used to anchor each humongous vehicle and keep it from being blown away by the wind. Meanwhile, seven cargo nets, a fortuitous number in Arcadian culture, hung from the gondola strapped to the underside of each skyship.

"Holy Father be blessed," Arnau whispered with a childish sense of wonder. "How do those giants stay aloft?"

"The elliptical hulls of those sky-barges are filled with a lighter-than-air gas which keeps them afloat," Marius answered with the best of his knowledge.

He had heard an alchemist explain it once but couldn't remember the names of those gases. All he remembered was that it was colorless, odorless, and had the odd effect of making his voice squeak.

"They travel through the use of wind magic," Ramón then added. "However, their attuned crystals are bound to specific ley lines, and as a result they can only transport goods along a preset path. But occasionally one of them will get blown off course, at which point they'll need a proper stormcaller mage to push them back."

"I thought you said that ley line crystals were bound to a single location?" The young man then asked.

"The Imperium's technology exceeds Rhin-Lotharingie's in every respect," Marius answered as a matter of fact. His words made Ramón open his lips before closing them in a scowl as though the latter wanted to yet couldn't refute.

Meanwhile, Marius narrowed his eyes and frowned as he noticed that one of the barges' cargo nets was fully loaded with thousands of barrels that looked familiar even from a distance. At least three of them were marked with a red 'X' on the bottom, which seemed to hint that they were the same barrels that he had once smuggled into the city.

''Is that the target of the saboteur team that the commander mentioned?'' It made him wonder as he watched the crew secure the cargo nets to the lower deck as they prepared for departure.

Once again, Marius thought of the nature of their mission ahead. It was completely antithetical to Arnau's youthful, innocent stare as the young man gazed up towards the sky.

It reminded the older man that he had never asked for young Arnau's age. After all, it was easier on his conscience to not know.

But Ramón did not have such concerns as he queried:

"How old are you, Arnau?"

Marius had anticipated twenty. He had hoped for twenty. But the answer that came back from Arnau was "seventeen."

"Why are you here?" The group's leader scowled as he almost wanted to tell Arnau to turn back.

But Arnau met the older man's gaze directly. Something shifted in the boy's countenance -- the youthful exuberance that had animated his features just moments before vanished in an instant, like a candle snuffed by a bone-chilling gale that cast the air around them into a blizzard.

His reply came in a deadened voice that belonged to a much older soul: "why are we all here?"

The apathetic tone sent a faint stabbing pain through Marius' chest. He'd heard those same words before. It came from another time, through a different voice, and under different circumstances. Yet, the haunting memory of it rose through Marius' thoughts as though the wound had been freshly made:

...

"Why are we all here? Because our duty is to protect our families from what's out there!" The conscription officer pointed towards the town's southern walls even as he kept his other hand on the shoulders of Pau, Marius' second born son.

"But why would you take him and not me!?" Marius' frustrations rose. "I'm a veteran of the last war!"

"Look, I'm a father too, I know what it's like." The officer sighed with a sympathetic gaze. "I would ''gladly'' take you in exchange, if you weren't so injured you can barely even run. But my orders are to conscript one able-bodied man from every family for the defense of this town. We're about to come under siege and there is no exception for you refugees."

"But he's only seventeen!" Marius exclaimed as his voice almost cracked with desperation.

"Father," it was his son Pau who interjected next with a forced smile. "I'll be fine." He tried to embolden himself as much as he reassured his father.

"Didn't you tell me just yesterday?" Pau continued. "The Imperial campaign in Garona is on its last legs. It won't be long before Emperor Geoffroi's main Lotharin army arrives. We only need to hold out for a few days."

The young man squeezed his fist as his eyes and voice hardened with steadfast resolve. "Besides, it's my duty as a man to protect my family -- isn't that what you've always taught me?"

Marius' jaw trembled as he didn't know if he should cry or smile at that moment. To see his second child march off to war -- the son whom his wife had named in their traditional Lengadoc tongue's word for 'peace'. It brought tears to his eyes even as he felt pride in his son's maturity and courage.

Before Marius stood the culmination of every quality he had spent years instilling into his children. To see Pau face the challenges of adulthood with a resolute gaze determined to overcome all fear and doubt, Marius could not be more proud as a father.

But why did it have to come to this? Why couldn't he protect his own children? Why did he have to injure his leg during their flight here?

"Big bro!" Pau's four year-old little sister cried out as she ran to him while he knelt down to hug her.

"Don't worry, Mireia, I'll be back with you and Ma and Pa before you even miss me," he said with a broad grin. "And together, we'll go back home and await our older brother's return."

"Promise?" The little girl asked as she hugged her stuffed bunny with one arm and reached out her tiny hand with the other.

Her brother answered with his own hand and interweaved his fingers through hers. "I promise," he added with a nod and a beaming smile.

Pau then gave his sister one last all-embracing hug before he stood up and did the same for his father.

"Remember that I'm proud of you, son," Marius felt his voice shake as he squeezed his son's broad chest. He then pulled away and grasped Pau by the shoulders with a stern gaze. "And remember -- fight well with your comrades, but no heroics. Come back in one piece."

"I know, father," Pau responded with another bravely forced smile. "And I'll be sure to bring this back to you," he said before raising the steel sling staff and winged mace that Marius once soldiered with. "I promise."

...

''Why is it always the young who are sent to die?''

Marius considered as his thoughts returned to the present once more. He stared at his youngest companion for another moment as he realized that Arnau was the same age as his son Pau had been. A part of Marius wanted to tell Arnau to go back and return to his family. But another part of him also knew -- even had Arnau any family left, the three of them were already too far gone to live a peaceful life.

It's why they all volunteered for this...

Raman was driving their ox to pull the wagon forward once more. The three men followed as they made their way down the city's increasingly-crowded main street. They had to stop several times at intersections to allow other vehicles to cross first. Compared to the others, their extremely overloaded wagon moved at a snail's pace across the cobblestone road.

Thankfully, the Imperium's cities had wide boulevards which allowed three or even four wagons to pass side by side.

The road even had stone ditches to both sides which drained wastewater away into the sewers. Meanwhile above them, smaller branches of the city's main aqueduct carried water to the local bathhouses which allowed the crowded city to maintain sanitation and hygiene. It was a sign of the Holy Imperium's wealth that their cities could afford such luxurious infrastructure. All of it lay in stark contrast to the narrow, winding, and filthy streets that dominated the towns and cities inside Marius' home country of Rhin-Lotharingie.

The old man thought he heard a noise behind him before he turned about to look back. His gaze caught sight of another rope falling from one of the sky-barges parked by the aerodrome. The colossal airship was slowly pulling away from the docking tower. A strong gust blew from behind them as the vehicle's enchantments altered the local weather for its movement.

The ox-drawn cart sped up slightly as they neared the canal that separated the northwestern third of the city from its central plaza. A Trinitian Cathedral with its three towering spires and the dome of a governor's palace could also be seen on the other side of the marketplace. Yet here, in the commercial and administrative heart of the city, the cacophony of hawking merchants and working tradesmen had dropped significantly.

In their place, a large man with exotic ebony-black skin stood atop a raised marble platform. The man wore a striped toga in the Arcadian fashion as he spoke with a magically-enhanced deep voice that resounded clearly across the air.

"--''from Arcadia,''" he made a dramatic gesture towards the south as he proclaimed the Imperium's capital. "Imperator Augustus Skantarios decrees the mobilization of all furloughed thematic legions from the northern and western provinces of our most Holy Imperium. Our brave soldiers are charged to ensure that the heresy and barbarism of war in Rhin-Lotharingie does not spill onto our lands. Renowned General Marcus Avilius Belisarius will arrive in our city in five days, bringing with him the Tagmata Legions Hikanatoi and Archontopoulai..."

"''Two'' Tagmata Legions," Ramón spoke in an awed voice as he considered the elite formations whose names struck fear across the continent.

Marius could still remember the sight of those demigryph super-heavy-cavalry charging the Lotharin center during the Battle of Montaiglin Gap. Their magic and armor impervious to the hailstorm of sling-bullets and runic-spells alike from the Lotharins. Their indomitable riders plowed straight into a wall of pikes like giants scything through wheat, and twelve lines of infantry crumbled before the Lotharin army broke and ran.

-- Even now, the old veteran could feel his hand shaking at the scene of frightful slaughter that followed on that tragic day.

"Complete overkill for 'border security'," Marius commented grimly as he clenched his fingers around the reins. "The Imperator is readying his armies for full scale conflict," he muttered in a low voice as he considered the inevitability of the war ahead.

Had he any reservations towards the actions that he was about to perpetrate, this dire news had just absolved him of them.

After all, Augusta Tanarus was not merely a trade port, but a fortress-city built as the Legions' main logistics hub in the western edge of their Empire north of the Inner Sea. Here, sky-barges and cargo-galleys would be offloaded and wagon-trains packed to supply the armies that would march into Garona and Rhin-Lotharingie. Within the walls of the Imperium's military infrastructure, every man and woman living here was a participant in the economy that fueled the Imperial war machine.

-- And to Marius, that made the whole city a legitimate military target.

Yet, as the trio drew near a busy stone bridge that crossed the canal, Marius's jaded eyes spotted a little girl who ran innocently across it. The child could not have been more than four years old and had wavy brunette locks that flowed freely in the morning breeze. Her hands clutched a stuffed rabbit beneath her beautiful green eyes and rosy red cheeks.

Marius didn't even notice his breathing pause as he couldn't help fixate upon her with his gaze. The girl looked so nostalgic that it felt like he had travelled backwards through time.

It was a sight that he had not seen for so long. A feeling of warmth and longing that his frigid chest had not experienced in a decade...

For several moments, the little girl who wore a beaming smile ran straight towards him as though she was about to leap into his embrace. Yet, before Marius could emerge from his frozen trance, the girl dashed past him and towards someone else instead.

"Mama!" The girl joyfully rushed into her parent's embrace.

The mother was young and pretty and wore an elegantly draped stola of fine lilac -- a long pleated dress that was more commonly seen among the wealthier citizens of the Holy Imperium. A delicate shawl of imported silk hung from the woman's head and over both shoulders to add modesty to her appearance.

Meanwhile, standing next to her was a broad-shouldered, middle-aged man dressed in the purple cloak of an Imperial Quaestor. He looked at least fifteen years older than the young mother, but laid a possessive hand upon her shoulders which clearly showed that they were married.

A scowl grew across Marius' countenance as he forced himself to look away. A gale of frozen anger swept through him from deep within him as he felt disturbed by his own mistake.

''How could I mistake an Imp child for my sweet Mireia.''

Meanwhile, a massive shadow steadily grew across the busy cobblestone street. The colossal sky-barge that Marius saw departing the tower earlier now flew directly over them to block out direct sunlight. The gargantuan elliptical airship was over three hundred paces long. Its twelve revolving propellers filled the air with a dull whirring as the chain-linked pairs repurposed the gale force winds that blew at the airship's back for steering.

A cheer of support resounded from the central plaza where the men gathered around the news crier. Marius had barely been paying attention, but it was not difficult to guess why the townsfolk were celebrating. Per the Arcadian tradition of 'bread and circuses', food and entertainment would usually be provided to celebrate the arrival of dignitaries. Chariot races would then be held in the city's hippodrome, with contestants from the military to help whip the public into a pro-war frenzy.

However, the cheers and applause were short lived this time, as the shadow cast by the colossal airship soon came to loom over the central plaza. Countless citizens looked skyward as they pointed and spoke to each other in hushed murmurs.

It reminded Marius that in all the times he was in this city while a sky-barge departed, this was the first time a massive vehicle passed directly over the heart of the city.

The old trader was still pondering the reason when a shrill cry pierced the air from high above:

"LOOK OUT!"

One of the seven heavy-duty cargo nets that carried goods beneath the dirigible had fallen loose. At least four cords of thick rope seemed to have snapped which left the net hanging to one side with an open gap. Over a dozen wooden barrels rolled out from the cargo hold and fell through the air. Several anxious screams could be heard from the market's residents as the huge barrels plunged down from above.

"Order!" Another shout came from the soldiers. "The city protects!"

Surely enough, before the falling objects could even come close to hitting ground, they struck a translucent dome-like barrier of cobalt blue that suddenly flared into existence around sixty paces above ground. The wooden barrels had shattered on contact as they crashed into the city's anti-air defense ward. The magical barrier was strong enough to break apart even giant boulders hurled from trebuchets. It was part of why Augusta Tanarus was considered an impregnable fortress.

However, while the ward could stop large objects, it was designed to allow lighter substances and liquids to pass through. The dozen barrels that burst open were full of a smooth, glossy, yet viscous liquid that looked like some kind of cooking oil. Hectojugs of this flammable fluid rained down from the sky which drenched entire shops in the marketplace beneath.

Worse yet, more ropes seemed to be breaking loose from the already spilling cargo net, which led to a steady stream of barrels to fall from the gargantuan airship.

"That can't be an accident," Marius muttered to his comrades as he stared up at the sky-barge.

The double-layered cargo nets those sky-barges used would have been inspected before departure. They were secured to the cargo deck by over two dozen heavy duty 'anchor' ropes. There was no way so many cords could have broken loose unless there had been deliberate sabotage.

"You think that's ''them?''" Ramón asked in a low voice.

"I'm positive," Marius added as he spotted another one of those tell-tale barrels that he had seen earlier.

It was marked with a red 'X' on the bottom, and so was the barrel next to it.

Those barrels' own cargo net swayed beneath the sky-barge as several ropes were cut. A gap to the side soon opened where one barrel after another rolled through before plummeting. The wooden containers were shattered by the warding barrier just like before. However, instead of breaking apart to rain oil down upon the ground below, the barrels released a black powdery substance that fell like a carpet of volcanic sand.

''Blast powder.''

Marius' eyes swelled as those X-marked barrels were indeed the same ones that he, among others, had smuggled into the city over the past few years.

He was not the only one to recognize it either as more cries and screams erupted from the marketplace. Residents and tradesmen alike looked up in horror as it began to dawn on them that this was no simple mistake.

One after another, the ropes securing the seven cargo nets beneath the sky-barge were cut. One after another, the barrels kept within those holds slipped, rolled, and bounced into the air before plummeting towards the ground. The speed of the disaster hastened as dozens of barrels began to rain down from the airship at a time.

-- And every one of these barrels shattered to spill forth a flammable substance, be it oil, powder, grease, tar, and even spirits.

"Terrorist!" A terrified shrill cry resounded from among the civilians in the crowded marketplace.

More and more screams followed in its wake as panic quickly began to spread. Even the soldiers had lost control as many of them turned to run from the airship's eastbound flight. Throngs of civilians began to flee the downpour of powder, liquids, and other debris. They pushed and shoved aside others in their path with little regard for anything but their own lives.

"This is our chance," Marius declared as he looked back at his companions. "Light the fuse."

The old veteran moved behind the ox where he grasped the animal's tail with his hand. A dozen strips of tar-coated linen had been wrapped around the ox's tail which ended with a small tube. Marius took the bell that disguised the tube's true purpose in hand and yanked hard to break the strings. The attached flint rod created a series of sparks inside, which ignited the oiled paper within and then the tarred tail.

The oxen cried out in pain as it began to push forward with all the strength it could muster an attempt to escape the flames. The animal's hooves gripped and slipped across the stone-paved ground as it pulled against the overloaded wagon that struggled to move faster than a snail's pace. The beast was successful in drawing the wagon onto the gentle arc of the stone bridge while Ramón leapt down from the vehicle's side. Within his hand was the flint core to a similar tube which had been used to spark a five-minute timed fuse.

"STOP!" A soldier who stood guard on the other side of the canal bridge yelled. "STOP THAT WAGON AT ONCE!"

"Don't you see what's happening!?" His companion also cried out as he gestured towards the tide of panic-stricken civilians that surged in their direction.

Yet, before any of the soldiers could take even three steps, a loud voice shouted from the airship above drew all of their attention skywards:

''"THE DEAD DEMAND JUSTICE!"''

The airship had already cut all of its large nets and dropped the majority of its cargo. Now, the hijackers completed their mission by detonating the entire vessel. An earthrending explosion which seemed to tear the heavens asunder shook through the city. And in the blink of an eye, the colossal dirigible which had loomed over much of the marketplace plaza went up in a massive inferno.

A wave of hot air followed which almost knocked Marius off his feet. The old veteran dug in his heels as he felt the expanding heat of the blast. It was not entirely surprising to him, as decades ago -- back when he was a child saboteur in the Garona Liberation Army -- he had taken on a mission to plant several runestones on a smaller airship. The runes held an alchemy spell that steadily transmuted the squeak-inducing odorless gas inside those elliptical balloons to something far more flammable. And after that, a ''Lightning'' spell from their yeoman captain was all that it took to set the entire sky-barge ablaze.

Smoke filled the air and rose skyward in a mushroom-shaped column as burning embers and debris rained down upon the plaza. Fires spread in an instant through the oil-soaked peddler booths and the pools of tar and powder that blanketed the cobblestone ground. The colossal flaming wreck of the sky-barge drifted down towards the city's southeastern districts. Its searing carcass and metallic frame crashed into blocks of crowded residential homes which instantly set the entire area ablaze in a sea of flames.

Countless fires were rapidly spreading out of control inside the fortress-city that was claimed to be 'impregnable'. Meanwhile, the hundreds of civilians who had been knocked off their feet scrambled to climb over each other to get away from the growing holocaust of flames.

"The Dead Demand Justice!" Marius heard another shout in the Lotharin tongue from the far side of the marketplace plaza.

The explosion that followed revealed that yet another infiltration squad, like the trio formed by him, Ramón, and Arnau, had gone into action. The detonation came from the entrance to the cathedral where the city's residents no doubt sought shelter. The destruction shook the ground with such force that one of the limestone spires cracked and began to topple.

Marius knelt and reached to his boots where he unsheathed a concealed dagger. The blade was still within reason for what could pass as a 'self-defense weapon' should a soldier discover it. He watched as Ramón and Arnau opened the wagon's side storage to pull out a lumber axe and a steel mallet. The three men all looked at each other with grim faces as they nodded wordlessly to one another.

There was no need for final farewells, for all of them had already accepted their coming fate. Each of them was haunted by a past that they could not escape. And their mission was the only end that could bring them peace.

Their ox cried out in pain as its burning tail forced the animal to pull the overloaded wagon over the slightly-arched canal bridge. The soldiers on the far side however had caught on as they stood up and formed a half-wedge to one side of the passage. The disciplined legionaries leveled their spears in preparation to impale the animal that struggled to charge forward in pain. But before the beast could pull its heavy burden past the crest of the bridge, the young Arnaud dashed past the wagon to assault them with his raised steel mallet.

Nevertheless, the untrained teen was no match against professional soldiers. Three spears thrust forth and two of them impaled his unprotected torso before the young man could even land a single swing.

Yet, despite a shaft that ran through his gut, Arnau continued to push himself forward as he stared upon the soldiers with gritted teeth. The young man dropped his hammer before raising his right arm with all of his remaining strength. Marius could see the glint of a brooch that Arnau said belonged to his late mother in his fingers as young man croaked out one last cry before he slammed the hand into the center of his chest:

"THE DEAD DEMAND JUSTICE!"

His body then exploded in a blast of flames that not only tore his limbs apart. The sonic burst that came with it also shattered the stone bridge railing and broke every bone in all three Imperial soldiers who stood before him.

There were several fleeing civilians who had been caught in the explosion as well. However, more residents who had been running towards the bridge froze in shock as they could no longer tell which direction safety was. Nevertheless, dozens if not hundreds of others continued to push and shove from behind them as people sought to flee the inferno that consumed the marketplace. Countless people were pushed under and trampled upon even as others hastily changed the direction of their flight.

"THE DEAD DEMAND JUSTICE!"

Another cry came from a bridge to the north just as a wave of panic-stricken residents rushed onto it. The explosion that followed destroyed not only the bridge but sent a shower of blood and limbs flying into the air in every direction.

Meanwhile, Raman had jogged ahead of him and raised his lumber axe against the side of their still-moving wagon. The man cried out as he swung with all of his strength, which forced the axe head to cut straight through one of the wooden sideboards that projected upwards from the wagon bed. The thin wooden plank snapped in half which opened up a wide gap into the filled wagon hold. Their cargo of muskmelons rolled out in a torrent and scattered onto the cobblestone-paved plaza.

Ramón pulled back his axe but its head had become stuck in a muskmelon's rind. Oil leaked from the fruit's interior which showed that the melon had been hollowed out. Almost their entire cargo of muskmelons had their innards replaced with either oil or blast powder. Only a surface layer of real fruits were placed on top to fool inspections.

Marius watched as the melons bounced and rolled into a confused crowd that ran from one side of the plaza to another in a mindless panic. One of the powder-filled fruits ran into a piece of burning debris and promptly exploded. Two tradesmen were caught in the blast and one of them fell clutching their leg where only a bloody stump remained. Several nearby women screamed and turned to run in the opposite direction before they were shoved onto the ground and trampled under by others running the opposite way.

The residents were caught between the burning marketplace and the 'assault' of the ground infiltration teams. Dozens of civilians leapt into the canal, only for some of them to catch fire as the burning oil spread across the water's surface as well. The injured who had been trampled upon crawled over the ground begging for help while the children sat and wailed in terror for their parents to come.

It was the very image of hell -- the sight of a city, with its buildings, its market, its streets, and even its canals all awash with growing flames. Desperate screams and cries came abound from every direction, and corpses both deceased and half-dead littered the streets as more explosions resounded.

Yet, it was not the first time that Marius lay witness to such a grisly sight. The old veteran felt no pity for those who laid dead and dying before him, for the sight of the burning city only steeled his resolve as it uncovered the half-buried agony of his life in his memories.

...

"LAIA! MIREIA!"

Marius cried out the names of his wife and daughter as he limped through the streets of the town that they had taken refuge in. He looked frantically from the blazing tavern to his left to the burning houses on his right as he searched for the silhouette of a mother and her four-year-old child in the fire-lit night.

A trio of stones ablaze soared overhead as the besieging Imperial trebuchets let loose another volley. One of the boulders crashed into the side of the already burning tavern before its imbued spell burst. A low bass sonic shockwave shattered the boulder and the building's timber supports alike. The detonation created a hail of jagged rock and wooden splinters that shredded a row of women who had been passing buckets to fight the flames.

"AAHhhhh!"

A teenage girl and her ailing mother screamed as they had just emerged from the tavern's side entrance before the boulder smashed into it. The blazing second floor of the building collapsed on top of them even before the rock could turn them into pincushions for its deadly fragments.

Even Marius felt a sharp pain as several rock splinters struck him. He had reflexively raised his arms to protect his face just in time to avoid worse injuries. Nevertheless, the aging father didn't even pause to examine his wounds before he continued his limp walk down the streets. His parched throat was already hoarse yet he continued to cry out:

"LAIA! MIREIA!"

Marius knew he needed to calm down and not allow desperation to cloud his judgment. However, he could not stop the increasingly frantic emotions running through his mind. He had returned from his meeting with the town's magistrate as a representative for the refugees, only to find their encampment near the city's walls in flames. The place had been struck by an incendiary barrel flung out from the besieger's catapults. And the only survivor who remained told him that everyone had fled into the center of town to seek shelter after the Imperial forces began a full-scale assault against the southern walls.

The old veteran with a crippled leg forced himself to trot as fast as he could. He scanned his gaze in every direction as he spotted small groups of women and children huddled in narrow alleys and behind stone buildings. Others formed long lines to pass buckets from nearby wells to burning buildings. But every once in a while, a boulder launched by the siege engines would land among those brave women to leave a strung out line of corpses.

Several such bodies laid ahead on the road in a grim reminder. A home to their left had been completely pulverized by what must have been a direct hit. The ruins of the building remained aflame while more embers burned from a blast crater on the left side of the dirt road. The old veteran immediately recognized it as the result of an explosive bomb fired from a heavy mortar which plunged down from a high above.

Then, about two dozen paces away from the crater, Marius felt his blood chill as he spotted a familiar figure on the ground.

"LAIA!"

The body which lay in the middle of the street was half-wrapped in a bloodied green cloak. A silver leaf-shaped buckle that he had gifted his wife as a wedding gift was attached to the torn garment. The left rear of the cloak and her body was visibly shredded as dozens of jagged rock splinters could be seen lodged into the dirt road all around her.

"No, no! Laia! ''Laia!''"

Marius cried out as he scrambled forward and fell to his knees beside the body. However, part of him knew that she was already dead even before he turned her over to gaze into her bloodied and lifeless expression. He could tell from her body's posture that she had partially turned her back towards the bursting boulder. It was as though she was using her own body to protect someone.

It was not difficult to guess who that someone was. Yet, there was no sign of his daughter Mireia. For a moment, as Marius cradled the lifeless body of his wife, he hoped that at least the frightened four-year-old had run off after her mother's gruesome death. But as he looked around, he spotted the torn-off head of a stuffed rabbit which had been his daughter's favorite a mere thirty paces away.

"Mireia?"

The aging father spoke in a stunned voice as his eyes noticed a small pool of blood by the rabbit's head. A red droplet fell into it from above and another drop followed seconds later. The father felt his chest constrict in terror as for the first time since the Battle of Montaiglin Gap, fear took hold of his body as he was almost too afraid to look up.

Time itself seemed to slow to a crawl as the already grieving father could do nothing else. His eyes gradually raised upwards where he saw a reality that surpassed his worst nightmares. He saw the body of a young girl hanging off an iron post that had once hung a shop sign. Her small dress had been ripped to shreds and her face was too bloody to recognize, yet Marius could instantly recognize from the silhouette that she was his daughter.

...

Marius could only remember the events that took place afterwards like images from a passing dream. He had survived the siege only to receive back-to-back news that his two sons had been killed in combat. Now, a father bereft of his family and purpose, he enlisted in the Garona Liberation Army once more and joined the ranks of the Mòrt-Vivent -- the 'living dead' who had nothing remaining in life to live for.

He remembered attending his own funeral, where he laid down upon his empty grave to let the Albigense priestess to inscribe a rune upon his chest. It was a combination spell that would be triggered by pounding into it with his own fist as his final action in life. The priestess claimed that it would bring salvation as his angelic spirit would finally shed its sinful flesh and be released. But truth be told, Marius had never seriously cared for the Church's religious disputes and preferred for the Holy Father's truth to remain mysterious.

The old veteran looked towards Ramón as the middle-aged man bore the same rune upon his body. The same applied to Arnau, whose immortal soul had gone on ahead of them to reunite with his own lost family. Every infiltrator and saboteur in the Garona Liberation Army had joined the Mòrt-Vivent willingly. The runes inscribed into their flesh cut their remaining lifespan to no more than ten years, for after that the magic would unravel and destroy them regardless.

Not far away, Marius saw a crying girl sitting on the ground. It made Marius think back to the child he saw earlier who reminded him so much of his own daughter. The old veteran knew that these children all had parents and what he was about to do would inflict the same gut-wrenching pain that he felt upon them.

The grieving father reached absentmindedly into a pocket with his left hand. His fingers wrapped around a soft item before pulling it out. The old man opened his palm and felt tears pool into his gaze once more. Within his hand was the severed head of the stuffed rabbit the Mireia always clutched, its white fabric still stained with her blood from that fateful night.

''How can there be justice when my sweet Mireia is dead while these Imp spawn remain alive?''

Ramón was still trying to remove his axe from the melon rind that it was stuck in. But just as he used his feet to hold the fruit down and pull, a thrown pilum impaled him through his chest and pushed his body forward into the canal. Two other javelins flew at Marius but both missed as the veteran stepped aside. The four legionaries then drew their swords and charged forward toward him and the moving wagon that continued to spill muskmelons.

There were still minutes before the timed fuse would set the wagon off. Marius would not risk these soldiers finding and defusing it. He squeezed the furry memento in his palm before sprinting towards the moving wagon. His right arm reached out and prepared for his final action.

"THE DEAD DEMAND JUSTICE!" He heard another cry in the distance followed by another explosion. Dozens of people screamed as yet another comrade martyred himself in the middle of a crowd.

Within seconds, Marius reached the side of the wagon that had its wooden board broken. He stabbed his dagger into one of the muskmelons that had yet to roll out. He used the handle to pull the fruit out of the wagon and turned to face his assailants. The soldiers were mere steps away from him when he screamed and pounded his left hand -- still grasping the severed head of his daughter's favorite toy -- into his chest.

"AND WE SHALL BRING VENGEANCE!"

It took but an instant for the rune to activate and for Marius' body to be ripped asunder. But in that final split-second of his life, Marius' thoughts were filled with an image of his wife Laia, their two sons Lois and Pau, and his little girl Mireia. All of them stood together in front of the house that he had built and the farm behind them, a picturesque afterlife which he had always sought.

And he could finally retire to it in peace, for he could tell his family that their deaths had been avenged.

<nowiki>----- * * * -----</nowiki>

Needless to say, Marius' infiltration squad wasn't the only one who acted. Nor was the city of Augusta Tanarus the only city struck by the Mòrt-Vivent that day. Instead, a simultaneous attack by over thirty infiltration and saboteur squads of the Garona Liberation Army had struck over a dozen towns, cities, and ports of the Holy Imperium of the Inner Sea. And by the day's end, most of those settlements lay in trembling terror and blazing ruins.

It would go down in Imperial history as 'Unholy Friday' -- the day that marked Hyperion the Dragonlord's ritualistic sacrifice for the people of this world was corrupted into a gratuitous revelry of destruction and death.

Yet despite its name, the Garona Liberation Army was more of a paramilitary militia group than the official army of the Kingdom of Garona. Nevertheless, the Imperium held the Kingdom, and by extension, its overlord, the Empire of Rhin-Lotharingie, as responsible for the terror attacks. And on that night, Imperator Augustus Skantarios issued a formal declaration of war against the Empire, which Pope Vigilius, in a show of obedience to his caesar, promptly sanctified as the 4th Trinitian Crusade.

And thus, the stage had been set for the most destructive conflict the continent of Hyperion had seen since the departure of the Dragonlords.

Daybreak on Hyperion

2025-08-04T01:37:59Z

Aorii:

== Daybreak on Hyperion ==

This is the writer's work site. The story is posted on [http://krytykal.org/daybreak/ Krytyk's Translations] and [http://www.baka-tsuki.org/project/index.php?title=Daybreak_on_Hyperion Baka-Tsuki].

===Story Synopsis===

Born into noble prestige and gifted with extraordinary talent, Pascal was a promising officer cadet whose deeds caught even the King's gaze. At the mere age of twenty, he had everything a young, ambitious man could need.

Except his habitual arrogance had destroyed every opportunity of a close friendship outside his political marriage.

Seeking a companion who meets his protracted list of requirements, Pascal decided to craft the 'perfect spell' for the upcoming familiar ceremony. If those around him were not fit to accompany his genius, then he would summon a best friend through his own hands -- one that was mature, intelligent, knowledgeable, bright, and cute as well.

He received far more than he bargained for... and in turn, so did the shifting geopolitical power balance of his world.

Disclaimer: This story focuses on heavy topics and doesn't shy away from politics, war, and societal themes. Reader discretion is adviced for those who are easily triggered by real-world topics.

===Volume 1 - Daybreak on Hyperion ([[Daybreak:Volume_1_Full|Merged]])===

*[[Daybreak:Volume_1_Chapter_1|Chapter 1 - The Curse of Prodigy]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_1_Chapter_2|Chapter 2 - By the Runelord's Will]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_1_Chapter_3|Chapter 3 - Master and Familiar]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_1_Chapter_4|Chapter 4 - Regressions of Time]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_1_Chapter_5|Chapter 5 - Status of Life]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_1_Chapter_6|Chapter 6 - A Peaceful Day]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_1_Chapter_7|Chapter 7 - The Perfect Contrast]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_1_Chapter_8|Chapter 8 - Inquisitive Hope]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_1_Chapter_9|Chapter 9 - Bonds of Faith]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_1_Chapter_10|Chapter 10 - Critical Appeal]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_1_Chapter_11|Chapter 11 - For Weichsel, Not You]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_1_Chapter_12|Chapter 12 - Better Late Than Never]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_1_Chapter_13|Chapter 13 - A World of Difference]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_1_Chapter_14|Chapter 14 - Outbreak of War]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_1_Epilogue|Epilogue]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_1_Extra_1|Extra 1 - Switched Perspectives]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_1_Extra_2|Extra 2 - Magic and Hierarchy]]

===Volume 2 - ???===

*[[Daybreak:Volume_2_Chapter_1|Chapter 1 - By the Crossroad Shores]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_2_Chapter_2|Chapter 2 - Gendered Recollections]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_2_Chapter_3|Chapter 3 - The Oriflamme Princess]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_2_Chapter_4|Chapter 4 - Council of War]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_2_Chapter_5|Chapter 5 - A Royal Eccentricity]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_2_Chapter_6|Chapter 6 - The Third Wheel]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_2_Chapter_7|Chapter 7 - Pecking Order]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_2_Chapter_8|Chapter 8 - Logistics Wizardry]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_2_Chapter_9|Chapter 9 - Strategic Ambition]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_2_Chapter_10|Chapter 10 - Homecoming in Nordkreuz ]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_2_Chapter_11|Chapter 11 - Realigning Interests]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_2_Chapter_11_Interlude|Chapter 11.5 Interlude - The Coming Storm]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_2_Chapter_12|Chapter 12 - Late Night Confidence]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_2_Chapter_13|Chapter 13 - Heroic Legacy]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_2_Chapter_13_Interlude|Chapter 13.5 Interlude - Chaos Rising]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_2_Chapter_14|Chapter 14 - The Storm Front]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_2_Chapter_15|Chapter 15 - Massive Strike]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_2_Chapter_16|Chapter 16 - Decisive Action]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_2_Chapter_17|Chapter 17 - Desperate Assault]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_2_Chapter_18|Chapter 18 - Baptism in Fire]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_2_Chapter_19|Chapter 19 - Hail the Black Dragon]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_2_Chapter_20|Chapter 20 - What A General Needs]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_2_Epilogue|Epilogue]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_2_Extra_1|Extra 1 - Bathhouse Cultural Exchange]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_2_Extra_2|Extra 2]]

===Volume 3 - Polarizing Struggle===

*[[Daybreak:Volume_3_Chapter_1|Chapter 1 - Irrational Facade]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_3_Chapter_2|Chapter 2 - Conscientious Choice]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_3_Chapter_3|Chapter 3 - Strategy for Legitimacy]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_3_Chapter_4|Chapter 4 - Budding Familiarity]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_3_Chapter_5|Chapter 5 - Arsenal of Faith]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_3_Chapter_6|Chapter 6 - Unquestioned Authority]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_3_Chapter_7|Chapter 7 - The Polar Cross]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_3_Chapter_8|Chapter 8 - Extreme Turbulence]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_3_Chapter_9|Chapter 9 - Fundamental Bias]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_3_Chapter_10|Chapter 10 - Benign Interference]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_3_Chapter_11|Chapter 11 - As God Wills It]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_3_Chapter_12|Chapter 12 - Never Leave Regrets]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_3_Chapter_13|Chapter 13 - Ten Thousand A Day]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_3_Chapter_14|Chapter 14 - Desperate Authority]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_3_Chapter_15|Chapter 15 - Breaking Point]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_3_Chapter_16|Chapter 16 - Reason to Be]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_3_Chapter_17|Chapter 17 - Judgment at Dawn]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_3_Chapter_18|Chapter 18 - A Knight's Oath]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_3_Chapter_19|Chapter 19 - Didactic Reckoning]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_3_Chapter_20|Chapter 20 - The Perfect Flaw]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_3_Epilogue|Epilogue-Interlude - The Stage Is Set]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_3_Extra_1|Extra 1]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_3_Extra_2|Extra 2 - Meeting with a Samaran]]

===Volume 4 - The Burning Throne===

*[[Daybreak:Volume_4_Chapter_1|Chapter 1 - Answers from the Past]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_4_Chapter_2|Chapter 2 - Playing with Fire]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_4_Chapter_3|Chapter 3 - Surrogate Leadership]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_4_Chapter_4|Chapter 4 - A Familiar Duty]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_4_Chapter_5|Chapter 5 - The Path Ahead]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_4_Chapter_6|Chapter 6 - In the Interest of State]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_4_Chapter_7|Chapter 7 - The Price of Audacity]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_4_Chapter_8|Chapter 8 - Crisis of Confidence]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_4_Chapter_9|Chapter 9 - Unity of Command]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_4_Chapter_10|Chapter 10 - Dread Motivation]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_4_Chapter_11|Chapter 11 - True Acceptance]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_4_Chapter_12|Chapter 12 - Foundation on Trust]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_4_Chapter_13|Chapter 13 - On the Road]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_4_Chapter_14|Chapter 14 - The Scion of La Tours]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_4_Chapter_15|Chapter 15 - Tangled Alliances]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_4_Chapter_15_Interlude|Chapter 15 Interlude - Concessions of Faith]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_4_Chapter_16|Chapter 16 - Triangle Strategy]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_4_Chapter_17|Chapter 17 - Fog of War]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_4_Chapter_18|Chapter 18 - Unspeakable Intent]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_4_Chapter_19|Chapter 19 - Dysphoric Pyre]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_4_Chapter_20|Chapter 20 - Unpardonable Truth]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_4_Chapter_21|Chapter 21 - An End and a Beginning]]

*[[Daybreak:Volume_4_Epilogue|Epilogue]]

===Volume 5 ===

*[[Daybreak:Volume_5_Prologue|Prologue]]

===Resources===

*[[Daybreak:Character List|Character List]]

*[[Daybreak:Setting|Setting]]

*[[Daybreak:Spelllist|Spells]]

[[Daybreak:Alpha_Chapter|.]]

Daybreak:Volume 4 Chapter 20

2025-08-03T17:28:29Z

Aorii:

=== Chapter 20 - Unpardonable Truth ===

Pascal sighed as he leaned back into his chair. His hand held a single paper from the heaps of documents and ledgers spread across the huge desk before him.

It was the same table where he had planned out the logistics for the armies of Rhin-Lotharingie at the start of the war. Yet, despite the fact that less than three months had passed between now and then, it felt as though his memories of working late into the night in this very room had come from a lifetime ago.

Back then, the biggest concern he had was how he could get his fiancé Sylviane to accept his new familiar Kaede. Yes, his father had recently died in an Imperial ambush. But Weichsel was mobilizing. The alliance was holding firm despite being activated for the first time. And with Sylviane's father, Geoffroi the Great, at the Empire's helm, it felt like there was no such thing as a challenge that they could not overcome.

Three months later, the war had changed completely. The relationship between Weichsel and Rhin-Lotharingie had changed. And the bond between Sylviane and Kaede, the two most important women in his life, had certainly changed.

But perhaps most of all, ''he'' had changed.

Pascal was no longer merely the future crown prince consort of a neighboring empire. He was no longer a young officer of Weichsel desperate for opportunities to prove himself. In the span of merely three months, he had become a veteran with a near-blind eye and a trembling hand to show for his errors in judgment.

More importantly, he had become the chief military advisor of the hopefully soon-to-be-crowned empress of Rhin-Lotharingie in a time of great power conflicts.

Pascal could feel the burden of responsibility placed upon his shoulders like a giant boulder. It was the reason why he joined neither Colonel Hammerstein's knights who celebrated in the capital's large taverns, nor the feast arranged by Sylviane in the Castle's banquet hall for the nobles who aided in her victory.

The Lotharins may have won a battle, even a campaign. But the war was not over, and the conflict was about to further escalate.

It was why, even though the dusk light had long vanished beyond the horizon, Pascal continued to read through a mountain of documents in his crystal-lit office.

''This doesn't make any sense,'' the young lord thought as he raised a paper bearing seals from both the late General Menno and the imprisoned pretender Gabriel.

As soon as Sylviane's forces had entered the Oriflamme Citadel in the morning, Pascal had ordered the soldiers to seize and secure all ledgers and documents that they encountered. Some of the men had complained about Weichsel's 'obsession with paperwork' and joked that Pascal must take after the 'Accountant General'. But with the civil war coming to an end and the Caliphate's holy war to be renewed, Pascal could ill afford the loss of valuable records that detailed the Empire's resources.

His fear was that some of Gabriel's men might attempt to destroy important documents in order to conceal their own contributions to the coup. After all, while the Princess had offered amnesty to all soldiers, staffers, and low-ranking commanders who served under Gabriel, the same could not be said for the leaders of his illegal coup whom she intended to bring to justice. And with the difference between 'low-ranking' and 'leaders' being largely subjective, even a single document that detailed active participation in Gabriel's schemes could implicate someone in treason.

Thankfully, aside from a few cases -- including a Belgae bishop who burnt the correspondence letters from the Holy See -- the overwhelming majority of records from Gabriel's short reign had been found. This included account books of the crown's finances, ledgers from the recent round of taxation and requisition, tracking records for shipments of raw materials and crucial war supplies, and even inventory lists of weapons and ammunition sent from the Imperium in support of Gabriel's coup.

The pretender's short reign had seen plenty of mistakes made. It was inevitable, considering that a third of the ministry staff had outright refused to recognize Gabriel as the new emperor. Dozens of them had been imprisoned beneath the citadel's sixth tower for weeks. It forced the false emperor to employ new people, amateurs not accustomed to their work, to fill the roles in place of the experienced professionals whom he removed.

Therefore, it did not surprise Pascal one bit to see that many errors had been made in the management of war production and the transportation of vital supplies. However, what ''did'' amaze Pascal was how glaringly obvious some of these mistakes seemed, to the point that they bordered on self-sabotage.

For example, Gabriel had refilled the treasury with new taxes and even tithes expropriated from the Church under his authority as the 'Defender of the Faith' during a time of holy war -- actions that undoubtedly strained his relations with the nobles, citizenry, and clergy alike. Yet, for some reason, there were no records showing that he had tried to put any of these funds to good use.

There were no attempts to hire mercenaries, nor offers of gold to buy the loyalty of nobles who pledged to the Princess, not even a bonus paid to soldiers to raise their morale before the decisive battle.

In fact, records showed that Gabriel had not even ''paid'' his men since seizing the capital almost two months ago. Had this been Weichsel, the delay of payment by over a month without extenuating circumstances would have been seen as unacceptable incompetence in leadership, which would lead to at least three officers being relieved of their command.

''"Not that being paid late is rare in Rhin-Lotharingie."'' Pascal scowled as he thought of Perceval's response when he last talked to the healer about the Empire's recruits. The poor efficiency of the Empire's military administration was one of the first things he intended to see improved.

Perhaps Gabriel was a miserly type who wanted to save money by paying the soldiers only after the battle. After all, the Empire had no tradition of distributing funds to families of the deceased. It was a foolish policy in Pascal's view which he was already working to change. How could soldiers fight to their bravest if they also had to worry about who would take care of their loved ones back home if they died?

Nevertheless, even such penurious thinking did not justify Gabriel's inadequate battle preparation.

Lotharin armies had always expended ammunition at a phenomenal rate due to their reliance on archers. Therefore, it was imperative to stockpile as many arrows as possible before a major clash. Yes, Belgae military units did field more polearms and relied less on longbows than other Lotharin regions due to their flat terrain, fewer woodlands, and greater emphasis on industry and urbanization. However, the prisoners and supplies Sylviane's forces captured from Gabriel's fortified camp revealed that the pretender's army had only enough arrows to give each archer forty shots at most.

By comparison, Sylviane's Lotharin archers had each received four quivers of twenty-four arrows before the Battle of Gwilen River. And even then, the frontline units had begun to run out of ammunition within the first two hours.

''This means even had Sylviane opted for the worst plan of a frontal assault on Gabriel's fortifications, we might still have won!'' Pascal frowned as he reflected on the magnitude of this mistake.

What made it worse was the fact that tracking records showed at least one million arrows were stored in the capital's harbor warehouses, plus several more millions held in the depots of three downriver towns. These supplies were waiting to be shipped south to the Garona front once the spring arrived. However, it would only require a few barges to be diverted to bring hundreds of thousands of arrows to Gabriel's army for use.

The document in Pascal's hand showed exactly that. It was a mandate issued by General Menno to ship supplies and ammunition to his fortified camp. Yet, the order had been rescinded by Gabriel's own handwriting a mere two days before the battle.

Worse yet, the pretender had also moved nearly the entirety of his navy downriver to the Belgae region to escort the necessary supplies he was depriving his army of. This meant that had Sylviane opted to lay siege to Gabriel's army camp, they might even be able to blockade its shores using only the watercraft they found in nearby settlements. This would have cut off the enemy's supply lines entirely, and the camp only had two weeks worth of food.

''Was Gabriel '''trying''' to lose?'' Pascal's thoughts came in a sarcastic tone as he was baffled by the sheer incompetence of prioritization on display. ''Or were these orders the forgery of a saboteur in the palace?''

Pascal was in all of the intelligence meetings with Sylviane. As far as he knew, they had no such highly-placed asset who could manipulate orders from Gabriel's leadership. That means either they had an ally inside the palace who never even attempted to make contact with the Princess and her supporters, which seemed unlikely...

Or, the alternative was that Gabriel really ''was'' this stupid and actively made decisions that would result in his own defeat.

''No, there has to be a better reason.''

The young Landgrave knew that war propaganda often liked to paint enemies as complete imbeciles to boost one's own morale. However, as a military professional, Pascal also knew that he should never believe in such. To underestimate the enemy was one of the worst mistakes a commander could make. Those who did not plan for their opponent to take the most optimal action often paid for it with their own defeat.

Pascal considered that Gabriel was a man who carefully planned a coup that caught even an insightful monarch like Geoffroi the Great by surprise. He found it difficult to believe that the pretender could make such glaringly obvious mistakes like this. That meant there had to be a good reason why Gabriel was prioritizing sending ammunition south towards Garona. Perhaps he had heard of something from the Inner Sea front which even Sylviane did not yet know.

"Pascal."

A soft and wispy voice called out to him before the young man pulled away the paper blocking his gaze. The young lord's hearing wasn't what it used to be and he often failed to notice those with quieter footsteps. His familiar was one of those people as she stood just inside the doorway to the large office. Standing next to her was a tall and lean-shouldered man who seemed just past his prime, though his face still had a boyish look which reminded Pascal of the late Sir Robert.

"Sir Julien?" Pascal asked as he stared at the man with his uncovered eye.

"Yes," the royal healer answered in a professional and steadfast tone that almost hid the somber mood that lay beneath.

''I wonder if Kaede has already informed him of his son's death?'' Pascal thought before he turned to his own familiar:

"Kaede? Should you not have taken him to the feast?"

Pascal had directed her earlier to oversee the release of Gabriel's political prisoners. He wanted to ensure that the ministry staff who remained loyal to Sylviane were well-treated and provided every amenity they needed after several months of harrowing stay in the dungeons.

"It was I who asked her to bring me to you, Your Grace," Julien responded before his voice took on a sarcastic tone. "I've spent the past seven weeks sitting beneath a rock being fed. The last thing I need is another feast to increase my bloat."

Pascal raised an eyebrow. He did hear from Kaede by telepathy several hours ago that all the prisoners were healthy. However, this was the first time he heard of someone complaining of growing fat after being imprisoned.

"The warden told me that Gabriel had given him explicit orders that every prisoner should be 'well-treated according to their previous rank and status'," Kaede then explained before returning a shrug.

"Which meant not only all the food we wanted to eat, but even fine room furnishings and accommodations with our compatriots," Julien added with a terse laugh as though he could barely believe it himself. "We were even allowed to request books from the royal library. The only thing forbidden was the freedom to roam and communicate with our families."

''What kind of imprisonment is that?'' Pascal's thoughts couldn't decide if he should be more skeptical or baffled.

"But that does not make any sense!" The young lord chose the latter. "You all openly defied Gabriel by insisting that he is an illegitimate ruler! Had I been in his shoes..."

Pascal then trailed off as he realized a bit late that the last part should not be spoken aloud:

''I would have at least hanged a few of you as an example.''

"You would prefer that he had us all tortured if not killed instead?" Julien replied with a raised eyebrow of his own.

"No! That is not what I meant..." Pascal hurriedly added. "Please do not misunderstand me, Sir Julien. I am ''happy'' to see you all safe," the young lord declared with a face that looked far more troubled than pleased.

"I am merely baffled by these actions from Gabriel which make no sense! It would be far more natural for a ruler whose legitimacy is doubted to make an example as a warning to others who would challenge his right to reign."

A wry snort came from the healer as he replied with a sardonic scowl:

"You're not wrong. That's exactly what several of the ministers who defied Gabriel expected, especially after he spiked His Majesty's head. Yet instead of being enshrined in Lotharin history as martyrs, they found themselves taking an obligatory underground vacation."

''I swear, you Lotharins trade your lives far too readily,'' Pascal scowled beneath his frown.

What began as propaganda during their Independence War has since become pervasive in Lotharin culture. It was especially prominent among the nobility, with their love of ''élan'' and their desire to be immortalized by posterity.

It also lay in sharp contrast to Weichsel, where stories of how King Ferdinand repelled the Great Heathen Army taught every soldier that it's always better to live to fight another day. And as such it seemed such a massive waste of manpower and talent to Pascal.

"Why did you defy him then?" He then asked.

"I didn't. Well, not directly," Julien answered. "I asked to quit my position as a royal healer and join the armies at the front, considering that my charge, the late Emperor, was now deceased. Gabriel accused me of attempting collusion with Sylviane instead and had me arrested."

''Now that sounds like the real Gabriel,'' Pascal thought as he stared at the physician whom the Emperor considered a personal friend.

''I would have done the same.''

Nevertheless, this only added more confusion to his thoughts. It was as though Gabriel was a two-faced man who seesawed between the ruthlessness of necessity and naively foolish mercy. His actions sometimes reached the height of brilliance yet other times sank to the depth of stupidity.

His coup on the capital was -- Pascal had to admit -- a master stroke of tactical infiltration. Yet the way he denied supply to his armies, hoarded his resources, and even kept alive those loyal to his enemies...

''It is like he was wagering that Sylviane would win.''

"I am sorry, Sir Julien. But whatever it is that you came to see me for, it will have to wait," Pascal said as he grabbed his walking cane and used its leverage to stand up from his chair.

His familiar Kaede rushed over to give him a hand. However, Pascal brushed her outreached arms aside. After all, he had made significant progress during the time she was away and was no longer so pathetic he needed help to stand.

-- Besides, Perceval had told him that he needed more exercise for his leg muscles so he could at least stop walking with a limp.

It still took a bit of effort for Pascal to push the padded chair back and stand up straight in one motion. Nevertheless, his feet were steady this time as he stepped around his desk.

"I came to check up on Your Grace's health, though it seems like I need not have worried about your physical recovery," the healer said as he carefully observed Pascal's movements.

"Nevertheless, Lord Perceval did tell me that you've been in a somewhat... turbulent mood," he added with a tone as though he found this ironic. "And as the husband to the country's foremost expert on mood disorders, I'd like to observe Your Grace a little, if you don't mind."

''He is Sir Robert's father after all,'' Pascal thought to himself before attempting to put on a smile.

"Very well, Sir Julien. You may accompany me if you wish, though you may not enjoy where I am going," he stated directly before turning to Kaede. "I believe Gabriel has already been transferred beneath the citadel's tower?"

"Yes." Kaede nodded. "General Caradoc's men brought him in just before dusk."

"Good," Pascal replied as he grabbed the scroll that he had puzzled over earlier before moving towards the exit. "Because I need to speak with the man, right now."

''It is about time I get some answers out of him!''

<nowiki>----- * * * -----</nowiki>

The prison beneath the sixth tower had indeed been 'improved'. The high-security cell that Pascal opened the door into held a luxurious four-poster bed that he recognized as from the palace's guest rooms. A large carpet, a desk, and four chairs had also been moved down, which seemed to hint that the prisoners had been allowed to visit each other. Only the rough stone walls and the small barred window near the ceiling reminded the occupant that this was still a prison cell.

''For Gabriel to benefit from his good treatment of those he imprisoned... this must be what Kaede calls 'Karma','' the young Landgrave thought.

"Lord Gabriel," Pascal greeted the inhabitant, who had been sitting on his bed with a book in hand.

"Your Grace," Gabriel said almost whimsically as he stood up. "I realize that you do not recognize me as emperor. But I'm still owed courtesy befitting a duke."

A wry smile spread across his handsome face which reminded Pascal that he was dealing with a shameless and consummate politician.

"You are a traitor, and therefore owed no courtesy of any kind," Pascal declared in a frosty tone as he shifted his walking cane to his left hand and wrapped his right fingers on the handle of his estoc.

"Be glad that I still recognize you as a noble, on account of your undeniable blood relations with the late Emperor -- your own brother whom you ''butchered in cold blood''," his voice darkened and he almost spat out at the end.

"History will indeed remember me as a king and kinslayer," Gabriel answered with a faint smile as though he was hardly bothered by this. He then rotated the chair by the desk and redirected it towards the door.

"Would you like to sit at least, Your Grace?" Gabriel gestured openly towards another chair by the door as he sat down. "I heard your leg has not been well."

''He is way too nonchalant for a pretender who had just lost his bid for the throne and surely knows that only execution awaits him,'' Pascal frowned.

Regardless, Gabriel was correct that Pascal's legs would not keep him standing for long. During yesterday's battle when Pascal took command of overall coordination, his legs couldn't even hold him upright for a full hour before he needed to take a break.

Nevertheless, Pascal ignored the offer as he walked over to the bed and leaned against a foot post. To sit down now would imply that this was Gabriel's domain and that the duke was in control, rather than it being an interrogation led by himself.

"Sir Julien," the young lord turned around to face the two people who followed him here. "Since you insisted on coming along, may I trust your absolute confidentiality in this matter?"

"As His Late Majesty did in me," Julien responded with a sincere nod while Kaede took that as the cue to close the door.

Meanwhile, Pascal performed a quick scan of the room for scrying sensors before he cast ''Sanctum Veil'' over the entire chamber to prevent being overheard.

"Besides, I would like to know the truth myself, seeing as I lost not only my most important patient, but also my eldest son in this conflict," Julien's voice remained professional even as a look of pain passed through his gaze.

"Good, because what I am about to do to this man may not be considered ''legal''," Pascal said as he finished his spell.

The young lord then sent a contemptuous sneer towards Gabriel as he added over his private telepathy. "<And Kaede, keep your guard up.>"

"<Of course.>"

Pascal did not want to admit it, but in his current physical state, he was not confident of his ability to win a physical struggle if Gabriel suddenly lunged out at him. Kaede may not be much of a melee fighter, but Pascal did replenish her defensive rune set. And he still remembered how badly she beat him during their first morning together with it.

"I shall get straight to the point then, Lord Gabriel," Pascal began as he pulled out the scroll he had placed into his extradimensional pocket and unraveled it. "Why did you countermand this order by General Menno to ferry supplies and ammunition to your army south of the lake?"

"Isn't that obvious?" Gabriel replied with a rather patronizing smirk.

"''I'' will be asking the questions here, Lord Gabriel," Pascal demanded in a harsh tone.

The young lord needed to impress upon his senior just who was in charge. However, that was rather difficult to do as Gabriel was clearly not afraid of him. Therefore, Pascal cast several spells which effectively glued Gabriel's manacles to his seat.

The pretender only sighed in return before he began to explain:

"Because thanks to your king's intervention in our civil conflict, I was forced to fight a two front war. My army had taken most of the supplies from the Belgae territories when we left. It was imperative for me to leverage what shipping I had to send some back so the walled settlements could ready themselves for siege."

"At the cost of defeat to your main force? Do you seriously expect me to believe that?" Pascal declared as his voice dripped with sarcasm. "I highly doubt that the situation back home was so dire they lacked even the supplies to hold out for a month or two, at which point the contest for the throne would have been decided."

"What I said was my logic at the time. Whether or not you believe in it is up to you." Gabriel returned a disinterested shrug. "I hardly have any reason to hold on to secrets now, seeing as you already have more than sufficient charges to condemn me to death multiple times over."

"If anything, cooperation may ''ease'' the method of your execution," Pascal pointed out with a severe warning. "As by Lotharin law, those who commit the high treason of rebellion in collusion with foreign powers are to be ''boiled alive''."

The young man ignored the gasp he heard from his familiar. He could sense over their bond that Kaede felt nothing but revulsion for such inhumane punishment. However, given the severity of the crime, Pascal could not help but feel that it was wholly deserved.

Nevertheless, Gabriel did not look the least bit scared when he responded in a somewhat playful tone:

"I shall endeavor to cooperate then."

''Why do I not believe you?'' Pascal scowled.

"Then why did you countermand the order instead of diverting at least one or two barges to ferry ammunition to your forces?" He asked again. "Surely that would have still left the majority of shipping available for sending supplies to the Belgae garrisons."

"But I remember there were already several barges making regular runs to the army's camp?" Gabriel answered. "Surely they would be enough to transfer arrows even without me pulling shipping from other routes."

''True, we did capture four along the camp's docks,'' Pascal considered. ''However, all of them were used to bring food and fodder from the northern granaries.''

''Is he just bad at logistics then?'' Pascal wondered if Gabriel really did misjudge the scale of the supply operation necessary to keep an army of twenty-thousand men fed. After all, for all of his deceptive ingenuity, the duke has never commanded an army deployed into the field before.

"Then can you explain to me your decision to impose new taxes and promote the Church's schemes to monetize the Holy Father's forgiveness?" Pascal asked first as he kept his good eye trained on Gabriel's blue-violet gaze. "Profits which you then appropriated from the Church without use.

"It seemed rather short-sighted to me that you would rush to collect funds when your legitimacy was being openly challenged. And then not use one coin from it, not even to consistently pay your own soldiers!" Pascal's voice rose at the end as he couldn't help feeling bothered by such gross mistreatment of troops.

"Surely, Your Grace, you do not need me to explain something so simple?" Gabriel mocked with another patronizing smirk. "War requires money. And since the Caliphate is preparing to launch a new offensive in the spring, I needed to restock the Empire's coffers in preparation. Winter is the best time to collect taxes as most people are staying at home. And those who had misbehaved have more than enough time on their hands to dwell upon their sins.

"Furthermore, had Lord Henri stayed true to the support that his father vowed, it would be Your Grace who is now in chains instead of me," Gabriel sneered as he at last revealed a bitter tone. "Therefore, why should I spend gold on peasants for a battle that I could have won with ease?"

''You truly are a bastard.'' Pascal's eye narrowed as he felt nothing but contempt for the man sitting before him.

"I do not believe for one second you are that politically naive," the Landgrave nevertheless stayed to his line of questioning. "Duke Hugh is a shortsighted man easily enticed by immediate gains. He has no true loyalty or ideology to speak of, and only an idiot will rely upon such an individual -- which I do not think you are. It would make much more sense to keep your army in high readiness so you can directly challenge Sylviane without relying on such a perfidious player."

"I'm glad Your Grace has such a high opinion of me," Gabriel almost laughed before he shrugged again as his voice grew wry. "But what can I say? I did not believe that my niece had any chance of defeating my forces, especially if my army remained inside their fortifications. And once the Caliphate renews their offensive and the Imperium intervenes -- which is only a matter of time -- the Empire's nobility would have no choice but to recognize my authority to prevent an even greater catastrophe."

''That was what we feared as well,'' Pascal scowled as he was forced to concur.

"I made a mistake yesterday in sallying out, thinking that I had a golden opportunity to sandwich Sylviane's army between mine and Henri's," Gabriel's lips twisted as he added further. "Perhaps I was too overconfident in hindsight. And by the time I realized, it was already too late to turn back."

''A reasonable tactical error to make, especially for a greedy scumbag who denied pay to his own men,'' Pascal considered as Gabriel's answers so far seemed both consistent and logical.

''Maybe he really did make a strategic error and I am overestimating him?''

However, before Pascal could further re-examine his prior assessment of Gabriel's actions, Kaede seemed to have noticed his self-doubt and commented over telepathy:

"<He's lying and trying to conceal something from us.>"

"<Well you are better at reading him than I am,>" Pascal replied. "<Why do you think he's lying then?>"

"<nowiki><I</nowiki> don't know. He is concealing it,>" Kaede repeated dryly. "<But I get the feeling it's something he'd rather take with him to the grave. And I doubt you can offer anything to pry it out of him.>"

''Terrific,'' Pascal thought as he openly sighed. "<nowiki><If</nowiki> carrots do not work, then it is time for the bullwhip.>"

"Stop lying to me and wasting my time, Lord Gabriel," the young lord declared in an impatient voice that was not entirely feigned. "You are someone who was savvy enough to build a coalition against the late Emperor without him realizing it, who was ruthless enough to cut off your own brother's head and left it to rot on a spike. Do you seriously expect me to believe that you just ''happened'' to leave behind a full treasury and all the loyal ministers for Sylv to readily use?"

"Your Grace, I can only speak to the mistakes that I--" Gabriel was still talking when Pascal pointed his turquoise casting ring at the pretender duke.

"''Scourge Catalyst.''"

A column of aquamarine light formed between the two as Pascal poured his mana directly into Gabriel. An unseen clash immediately began between the two mages as Pascal's magic directly assaulted the pretender's body. The ''Scourge'' spell forcibly converted mana back into ether by destabilizing the former through brutal force. This also had a side effect of generating excess energy, which 'excited' the surrounding molecules like water which was so important to living biology.

Pascal had once explained this spell to Kaede, which made his familiar compare it to "being microwaved".

"You would dare torture the ordained Defender of the Faith!?" All signs of Gabriel's nonchalance dropped immediately as his countenance twisted in anguish as he snarled in response. "Are you not afraid that the Holy Father..." He paused and clenched his teeth while his hands tightly gripped the arms of his chair to bear the growing pain. "--Would condemn you to hell for this!?"

"I do not know what unholy spirit you believe you speak for, but it is certainly not the Holy Father," Pascal countered as he intensified his spell.

"<Pascal, this is...>"

"<Be quiet, Kaede.>" Pascal shut her up as he knew what his familiar was going to say. "<nowiki><I</nowiki> did warn that what I do here will not be legal. But I will do whatever it takes to pry the facts out of this bastard!>"

The young lord thought back to the unconscious form of Sylviane's body on the floor of the throne room with burns and frostbite spread across her hands and forearms. He had watched for several minutes as the healer Perceval, with Kaede's help, channeled his spells into Sylviane to repair the damage that had been done.

Perceval had reassuringly guaranteed that there would be no lasting consequences. However, the mere sight of Sylviane's ghastly self-inflicted wounds left Pascal without a shred of mercy towards the man who caused all of this.

"Nnnnngggh."

Gabriel's groans steadily grew as faint wafts of steam began to rise from his body. It was especially noticeable from his left arm where Pascal focused the brunt of his spell.

"Either you talk, or I will keep this up all night," Pascal's words emerged in a frightfully cold voice as he kept his hard eyes fixed on Gabriel's tense face. "Until we burn away your mana and I can rip the memories straight out of your repugnant brain."

The Duke struggled uselessly against the steel restraints that kept his limbs pinned against the chair. Sweat rolled down his brows as his teeth clenched further before they broke into a cry:

"Nnngggaaaaah!"

"You Grace..."

"Pascal!"

Both Julien and Kaede tried to speak up this time, but Pascal immediately interjected with a harsh glare.

''"Shut. Up."''

''You are only making this take longer!'' He thought.

Pascal then redirected his stone-cold gaze back to Gabriel. The Duke's face was contorted with pain as his cries escalated in between gasping breaths. The young lord could feel a pang of sympathy as he kept his spell trained upon his hapless victim. Yet the only thing it took for him to harden his resolve was to remember all of the times Sylviane broke down into tears as a result of her uncle's betrayal.

Be it the cabin outside Nordkreuz or her room in Avorica, be it the aftermath of Glywysing or the throne room of the Oriflamme Citadel. Pascal had seen and heard about Sylviane breaking down so many times as the Princess lamented over all those whom she had lost. And while not all of those deaths were Gabriel's fault, his coup was certainly a major reason why their journey back home had cost so much.

"I have full confidence that my mana capacity exceeds yours," Pascal stated as he intended to crush any resistance that Gabriel had left. "Either you crack, or I will rip apart your mind and see you go to the scaffold tomorrow as a drooling vegetable of a man before being boiled alive. I bet even the Holy Father will appreciate the irony in that."

"Gahhh! All-right! I yield! AhHHHH! I'll tell you... what you want!" Gabriel cried out before Pascal finally pulled away his hand and ended the spell.

A minute passed with only the hard breathing of the pretender duke filling the silence in the room. Then, as Pascal pointed his ring and began to ask in a low and threatening voice once more:

"Let us restart with something more straightforward then. Why did you only imprison the loyal ministers who opposed you, despite the fact you were willing to go so far as to spike and mutilate your own brother's head?"

"B-because the head wasn't his to begin with." Gabriel coughed as he blinked his eyes to clear them. "It came from a man who only ''looked'' similar to my brother, and I used magic to shape it further until the resemblance was flawless."

"A ''fake!?''"

Pascal felt stunned as despite hypothesizing many reasons for Gabriel's peculiar behavior, he had never considered the possibility that his own eyes might betray him.

No. It wasn't merely his own. The young lord had not forgotten how badly his fiancé burnt herself to send off what she thought were her father's remains. The fact it had all been a trick only further sullied Sylviane's pain and suffering.

"Do you know what Sylv went through because of that 'fake'?" Pascal's pitch was low and ominous as the cold rancor inside him grew inflamed.

"She almost burnt her arms off trying to cremate it in the Burning Throne's flames." His voice steadily rose as he pointed a finger in the direction of the Princess' bedroom. "Now, either you start telling me the truth, or I will wring it out of your brain after I reduce it to mush!"

"And you think you can handle the truth!? Fine!" Gabriel snarled beneath his tear-glazed eyes as he spat out a hint of blood from his mouth.

"The truth is that I had planned this coup with Geoffroi from the very beginning! The truth is that my confrontation with my brother, my betrayal of the Empire during its darkest hour, everything has been a drama staged for all Lotharins to see! And I wanted my goddaughter to win the throne all along!"

"''What!?''"

Pascal blurted out as his lips fell open. His eyes stared back as though threatening to pop out from their sockets.

The words coming from Gabriel's mouth seemed completely absurd. A pretender who launched a military coup to depose the ruler, with ''consent'' from the ruler? Who would believe in such a farcical tale?

The Landgrave took a stride forward and almost stumbled on his weaker leg. He kept himself upright with his cane until he grabbed Gabriel by the collar and yelled straight into the older man's face:

"That makes no ''fucking'' sense!"

"Why would the Emperor consent to be killed like that?" The young lord challenged as he ignored the pestering thought that 'helping Sylviane' was exactly what some of Gabriel's actions seemed to achieve. "Why would he allow--?"

"Because he was dying anyway!" Gabriel interjected with a shout as a pained expression began to fill his angry gaze. "My brother had a malignant tumor growing inside his brain. And healer Julien here told him that the chances of surviving a surgical removal were close to zero and he had only months left to live."

Pascal immediately swiveled around to stare at the healer, to which Julien nodded wryly:

"By my estimate based on its growth, His Majesty had only a month left, three at most, by the time of the palace coup."

"Why..." Pascal's lips hung as this was the first time he had heard of this. "Why did he never say anything? Why did he keep it a secret even from Sylviane, his own heir and daughter?" His outraged tone lashed out at the healer.

"Because we only found out about it at the onset of winter last year, the night after Her Highness left for the north to help King Alistair." Julien closed his eyes as he spoke in a regretful voice.

"His Majesty had been putting off his periodic health check-ups due to a combination of overconfidence and overwork -- he had always been physically active and healthy after all, so none of us expected this. By the time we discovered it, it was already too late to contain or safely remove the disease. With not much to be done, the Late Emperor ordered me to keep it a secret as it would only add to the weight on Her Highness' shoulders during an already troubled time."

"Geoffroi and I had hoped that the tensions with the Caliphate could be resolved peacefully and that he could pass the crown to Sylviane smoothly," Gabriel followed. "Both of us knew that if the Tauheed did invade, then the rebellious lords in Belgae whom I had managed for years through words of caution would surely see opportunity. Three of the nobles had independently forged contacts with the Imperium, who pushed everyone towards open revolt.

"I brought this news to my brother after the start of the war," he continued. "We decided that since civil conflict was no longer avoidable, it would be better that I take control of the insurgency's leadership instead of letting someone else."

"How much... did you know about all of this?" A bewildered Pascal asked the healer who didn't even look the slightest bit surprised by everything Gabriel had just told them.

"I had ''suspected''," Julien answered. "When we discussed his will, His Majesty told me that whatever Duke Gabriel seemed to be doing on the surface, he was absolutely trustworthy deep beneath."

The Healer then looked to the pretender: "I also suspected that my knowledge of His Majesty's illness was the real reason you arrested me."

"Yes," Gabriel nodded towards Julien with an apologetic gaze. "The only people who knew about Geoffroi's illness were himself, myself, you, and Colonel Lindsay of the Highland Guard, who died bravely protecting my brother during the coup. I could not afford to have you tell Her Highness and risk her coming to the realization, not when she still had a part to play in our act."

"An act!? Is that what you call this civil war?" Pascal turned back to breathing down at Gabriel's face. "An act that killed thousands and turned the Empire upside down!? An act that almost saw Sylv killed multiple times! Why would you do this? Something so disastrous to Rhin-Lotharingie during its hour of need!?"

"To destroy the legitimacy of the Trinitian Church in the eyes of all Lotharins," Gabriel declared with absolute conviction without the slightest doubt in his gaze.

Pascal stood speechless for a brief moment as he blinked and could only stare blankly in response.

''Why would you possibly–-''

He then stopped the train of thought as he remembered that unlike Weichsel, the Empire of Rhin-Lotharingie had never felt comfortable with the influence of the Trinitian Church.

This was because due to the practice of ''Caesaropapism'', the Pope was technically a vassal of the Imperator Augustus. And the Pope in turn was recognized by every bishop, priest, and monk throughout the Empire as the supreme figure of religious authority in the mortal realm. This left the Lotharins' former colonial overlord and the Empire's greatest foe, the Holy Imperium of the Inner Sea, with an indirect means of manipulating the internal affairs of the Lotharin realm.

''<nowiki>'Religious authority is soft power,'</nowiki>'' the young lord thought of how his late father once described the problem. ''Yet even a monarch like Geoffroi cannot force religious change without significant upheaval and unrest.''

"There were other reasons, of course," Gabriel added with a sneer. "The civil war brought all loyalties into the light and allowed Sylviane to discover whom she could trust and which ministers she should remove. It drew out most of the nobles rebellious towards the crown and crushed them in one fell stroke. It gave me the chance to restock the Empire's coffers with Church gold and taxes levied upon the wealthy while leaving Sylviane free from any blame. And lastly, it solidified Sylviane's authority to the throne which would strengthen her hand for Empire-spanning reforms.

"I can understand the political reasoning why the Empire wishes to remove the influences of the Holy See," Pascal stated in a low voice as he struggled with the mixed emotions he felt about this whole scheme. "After all, Emperor Geoffroi has clashed with the Pope over the investiture of priests for decades. But..."

Even if he ignored the insane risks and high costs of this strategy, there was still the ethical angle to confront. After all, Pascal himself was a Trinitian faithful to the Holy Father, even if he wasn't particularly devout. His own late father might have begun steering Weichsel away from its traditional 'Papal Appeasement' policies. But there was a sea of difference between a shift in diplomatic stance and an open attack upon the legitimacy of the Church itself.

"Why would you take things this far?" Pascal asked beneath a puzzled frown. "Once the rebellion became public, you had more than enough evidence of the Imperium's involvement to begin a purge of their supporters among both the aristocracy and the clergy. You could have ended your facade there without killing your own brother and destroying your own reputation and life!"

"A purge is only a temporary measure. Influence can always be rebuilt as long as an ideology remains," Gabriel pointed out as he sneered and bared his teeth. "What I wish to destroy is the very ''foundation'' of the Trinitian Church in Rhin-Lotharingie -- its ''moral authority''. For what is a religion without legitimacy and no one willing to believe in its 'righteousness'?"

"It would become a cult that fades into obscurity," a stunned, whispery voice came from Kaede as the familiar seemingly uttered without realizing it.

"That is blasphemy," Pascal felt offended as he snapped back at Kaede. "The Holy Father is the source of Trinitian moral authority, and he cannot be destroyed."

"Gods cannot be destroyed, but the people can lose their faith in them," Julien added in a low voice that nevertheless betrayed his astonishment, as even he seemed awed by the sheer audacity of Geoffroi and Gabriel's act. "After all, that was what happened to many of the old religions from before the Trinitians came, and His Majesty is a scholar of history himself."

"False idolatry of mythical heroes," Pascal scoffed in return. "I will admit that there might be some truth to those stories. But they cannot be compared with the grace of Hyperion as the Holy Father's true son."

"And God should not suffer for the stupidity of the priest," Kaede answered as if in quote. "Religion is but man's interpretation of divine authority. And from what I've seen, the Trinitian Church is not run by angels, but by fallible men whose free will has been guaranteed by the Holy Father himself."

"As the depravity of the clergy could readily prove," Julien voiced with a sigh.

Pascal could only scowl in response as he doubted anyone could refute that. Certainly not the Landgrave of Nordkreuz, where even the children on the streets could sing nursery rhymes about the avarice of Weichsel's Cardinal-Chancellor Lisbeth.

"Precisely," Gabriel declared with a wry yet scathing grin.

"It is for that reason alone that I have chosen to bear the sin of killing my own beloved brother," the duke continued as the pain that filled the corner of his eyes transformed into malice and hate. "For through my actions, I have shown all Lotharins that the corruption and rank hypocrisy of the Trinitian Church extends from the lay priests to the Pope himself. That these 'holy men' do not care one bit about the peaceful livelihoods of our common citizenry, only the power and wealth they can attain through conflict!"

"And to achieve this, you turned yourself into the most hated figure in Rhin-Lotharingie," Pascal uttered in barely more than a whisper as he finally came to understand that this was not merely a political objective for Gabriel, but a deeply personal wish.

"Yes," the duke answered as his resentful eyes blazed with conviction. His jaw stiffened with the grim resolve of someone prepared for martyrdom before he added:

"My wish is for the ''depravity'' that I have committed, in the name of the 'Defender of the Faith', to forever be associated with that of the Trinitian Church of Holy Arcadia in the memory of all Lotharins!" Gabriel declared as though they were his last words. "For only then may we forever throw off the yoke of Arcadia and the puppet strings of the Inner Sea to truly be ''free!''"

<nowiki>----- * * * -----</nowiki>

''I wonder if it might have been better if I had never found out...''

Pascal mulled as walked slowly through the dimly lit and empty corridors of the castle. His familiar paced beside him as she kept her concerned gaze trained upon him. Kaede had offered earlier to help support him but Pascal rejected it. However, the young lord wished he hadn't been so prideful now as his legs were exhausted and close to buckling.

"Sorry, but I need a break," he admitted at last as he nodded towards a nearby balcony. "Do you mind if we sit over there for a moment?"

"Not at all," Kaede answered despite the misgivings that Pascal could feel over their familiar bond. She walked over to the doorway and opened it with a shiver from the cold breeze.

"I am sorry, I forgot you are much more sensitive to the cold than myself," Pascal said. "We can find another..."

"No need," Kaede smiled as she interjected. "I can just turn up the heat on my undergarments. I know you prefer some fresh air in moments like these."

Pascal smiled apologetically in response as he walked outside with a slight limp. His right leg still tired much faster than his left -- a reminder that the muscles there were newly regrown through ''Regeneration'' treatments.

The young lord sat down at a chair that Kaede helpfully pulled out for him. His eyes fell upon a beautiful view of Lake Alise at night with the huge indigo moon reflected over its relatively calm surface.

Yet regardless of the scenery, Pascal couldn't help but ruminate in his mind over everything Gabriel had said. The interrogation had left him with doubts not only on political matters. It had buried a thorn into the very core of his upbringing and faith.

Yes, the Church had grown power-hungry and corrupt. It was a fact that every well-informed man on the streets could agree with. But to overthrow the Church itself felt like a manifest written by the Devil. The Trinitian Holy Scriptures were not only the basis of society's cultural and moral standards. They served as the foundation of the social order.

To overturn it would be toppling the very pillars of civilization. Pascal simply could not imagine how the anarchy that ensued could be a force for positive change.

The young lord didn't know how Sylviane would feel about this. Perhaps she could better explain to him from the perspective of a Trinitian raised in Rhin-Lotharingie. But the bigger problem with her was how the truth completely overturned everything she knew.

Her uncle was not a fiendish villain as they had thought. Her father did not die in a tragic betrayal but in a drama that he himself had penned. The mutilated head that she used all of her resolve to cremate turned out to be some nobody's...

Could anyone predict how she would react to all of this?

"How in the Holy Father's name am I supposed to tell Sylviane about her father, her uncle, or any of this!?" The young lord sighed with exasperation as he lowered his head and began to scratch his hair.

"Gabriel is certainly correct that it would hurt Sylviane deeply to see him executed if she knew all this, so I can see why he tried to hide it." Kaede frowned as she sat down in a chair next to him. "But now that you know, you ''have to'' tell her about it."

"Do I?" Pascal asked as he raised his head and turned to look at the familiar who had become an indispensable advisor to him over the past few months. "Why can I not keep it a secret from her just as her father and uncle did?"

"Because you cannot keep this secret from her for your entire life," Kaede pointed out. "You're not a good enough liar to do that, and she ''will'' find out at some point that you are hiding something about her family from her. And if she discovers then that you knew before Gabriel's execution, yet never gave her a chance to do anything about it, it would destroy the trust between the two of you."

"Do anything about it... if she could do something about it then I would not be hesitating to tell her!" Pascal's volume rose to an almost cry before he remembered that they were in public.

Both the young lord and his familiar looked around to confirm that there was nobody in sight. He next cast a ''Sanctum Veil'' over the two of them before continuing:

"Since we can hardly publicize that the entire civil war had been a carefully staged act, Gabriel ''must'' be executed in the manner that the law demands. She knows it as well as I do!"

"Yes. But she can at least talk to her uncle as a family should before his execution," Kaede countered. "She should at least have the opportunity to hear it from Gabriel directly -- why he, why ''they'' chose to do all of this."

"Why..." Pascal scoffed. "For the 'Defender of the Faith' to wish destruction upon the Holy Church..." Pascal sighed as he looked up at the ceiling. "The Holy Father must see all this as a preposterous farce."

"I thought it was 'the Lord works in mysterious ways'?" Kaede tried to keep her voice serious as she asked, though Pascal could still hear the hint of a whimsical tone.

''At least she's not bringing up that ridiculous deity,'' he thought back to their conversation on religion on the first night after they met. ''Though ultimately, even she doesn't actually believe in a god of spaghetti.''

"I guess there is the possibility that the Holy Father really does agree that the Trinitian Church has become too corrupt and must be torn asunder," the young lord thought aloud in response.

"I know this cannot be easy for you given your faith as a Trinitian, but I do think it's important to remember that a religion and the institution formed around it are not the same," Kaede said. "Gods are the manifestation, or some would say the source, of the moral values that a society aspires to. But a Church is the product of men who wish to impose control upon society by leveraging those values."

''It would certainly explain why there is so much done today in the name of the Trinitian faith which our Lord would not approve,'' thought Pascal as he remembered one of Geoffroi's often-used phrases:

''<nowiki>'Would our blessed, merciful savior do thus?'</nowiki>''

"If people and nations can improve and grow through upheaval, then I see no reason why religions cannot," Kaede tried to console him. "A reformation of the Trinitian faith may actually be good for its long term prospects. It was certainly the case for several religions in my world."

"The Boda-ism that you once spoke of?" Pascal turned to ask.

"No. Christianity," Kaede answered. "There's also Islam which uh, developed certain problems because they haven't had a reformation in too long. Though that might just be me oversimplifying things."

"'Simple' is something I could use more of right now," Pascal sighed one last time as he rubbed his temple. He then stood up from his chair and dismissed his spell before walking towards the door.

"Let us get this over with then."

"Wait, ''now?''" Kaede said as she rushed over to help him open and hold the door. "Her Highness is still resting after the sleeping aids that Perceval gave her. We should at least wait until tomorrow morning."

"Good point," Pascal sighed as he thought back to the argument they had the previous night. "Let us hope then that Sylviane will be in a better mood in the morning, and that I can at least fall asleep before then for an hour or two."

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| Forward to [[Daybreak:Volume_4_Chapter_21|Chapter 21]]
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</noinclude>

Daybreak:Volume 4 Chapter 17

2025-08-03T17:28:00Z

Aorii:

=== Chapter 17 - Fog of War ===

It was the first day of March, and Spring had arrived early this year. A warm front from the southeast had advanced into the Lotharin Heartlands over the previous evening. This brought a dramatic shift in weather as the air dampened overnight and by morning, a thick blanket of white mist had enveloped the land.

The oppressive fog cut vision down to only a few hundred paces which veiled everyone's sight. The high humidity felt stifling yet remained uncomfortably chilly to every soldier not in winter clothes. And as more than 28,000 men of Sylviane's host marched across the empty farm fields and tree lines between Lake Alis and the old Imperial Highway, none of its leaders could see more than a few banners of the massive army without magical enhancement.

"Is this the gods' blessing or curse?"

Caradoc muttered to himself as he turned around on the back of his light chariot. Several hundred cavalry and vehicles from his vanguard rode behind him as they advanced upon the cobblestone road of the Imperial Highway. He could not see the main body of the army and its tight formations of massed infantry. He couldn't even spot the expansive waters of Lake Alis -- the largest lake in Western Hyperion -- which was just a few kilopaces away.

Had the battle plan remained per his original proposal, then this fog would have been a godsend. It would have reduced the chances of his army being detected by either Gabriel's or Henri's forces until it was too late. However, given the new battle plan agreed upon in yesterday's war council, Caradoc ''needed'' Gabriel to observe their advance so the latter could sally out.

In fact, the longer it took for the false emperor to notice, the further he would be behind Sylviane's army. And this would force Caradoc to keep up the pretense of attacking Henri for much longer, which inevitably raised suspicions from all around.

"Order Lord Geraint to detach three banners of cavalry and sweep north," the General growled at one of the mounted adjutants who followed behind his chariot. "Find Gabriel's nearest picket or patrol and hit them with overwhelming force. I want the pretender to ''know'' that our army is on the move!"

"Yes Sir!" A young signal officer answered.

Caradoc then turned towards the eastern road and noticed that the fog was growing denser. Visibility ahead was reduced to around a hundred paces, and the general considered casting ''Fog Sight'' to aid his gaze. However, he also needed to be able to see the weather for himself, to recognize its effects on both his own soldiers and the enemy's. And in the meantime, his scouts were more than capable of keeping a lookout for any approaching threat.

''Though if this fog gets any worse...'' He frowned inwardly and considered the other problems brought by low visibility before raising his fist into the air.

"ALL STOP!"

The General and his personal retinue of elite troops had ridden at the head of the vanguard column. Each of the drivers slowed their horses until their agile chariots came to a full stop.

"Milord?"

"All of you –- collect a bundle of branches to tie to the back of your chariots," Caradoc ordered.

"Yes, Milord!"

The General didn't bother explaining further. But he also didn't need to. His retinue troops had followed him through thick and thin for decades and trusted him with their lives. Not one of them looked skeptical as they dismounted their chariots and began to hack down branches from the nearby trees.

"I'm guessing you've noticed that the mist is growing thicker as we advance east. And Henri's men will have to rely upon their ears more than their eyes to determine our numbers on first contact."

The one who spoke was none other than Caradoc's driver -- his friend, bodyguard, and close confidante Lestyn.

"Exactly as you say," Caradoc smirked before he turned to another adjutant. "Order the banners behind us to follow suit."

Perhaps in hindsight, the fog was a blessing from the Goddess of War herself.

<nowiki>----- * * * -----</nowiki>

Henri emerged from his cabin as he noticed the chaos spreading through his camp. The fog hampered his vision but did not muffle the confused cries and rushed preparations from twenty thousand men. There was a distinct sense of unease in the air as every noble or armiger who emerged from their cabins was still putting on their gear. The reason for this soon became apparent as Henri heard several more horn blows from the camp's western perimeter.

"Milord!"

A Count in his late prime cried out as his mount galloped across the grass of the inner camp. He then pulled hard on the reins as he forced his steed to come to an abrupt stop.

"We're under attack! Chariots outside the western camp perimeter!"

Henri's eyes widened at the mere mention of chariots. He immediately realized that he was beset upon by Sylviane's army. And while the lightweight Ceredigion chariots were agile enough to be used as cavalry, their main role was to serve as rapid transportation for Ceredigion's best-trained heavy infantry. As such, the presence of these vehicles rarely meant mere harassment, and were usually the prelude to a major attack.

"How many?" The young lord immediately demanded.

"Couldn't tell. None of my officers know how to cast ''Fog Sight''. And you can hardly see a hundred paces in this forsaken fog!" The nobleman cursed as he waved around.

Henri's lips formed a sharp scowl before he remembered that the Count and his men came from a region in the rain shadow of the South Lotharingie Mountains. Therefore, it should have been of no surprise that they rarely dealt with fog.

''I should have put a different unit on perimeter guard duty,'' the young lord berated himself.

"--But from the sound, there were hundreds of chariots and thousands of infantry following in close order!" The Count then added in a rattled voice.

"How did they get that close without being detected!?" Henri's tone grew alarmed. "What of Lord Reine and his cavalry picket?"

"Lord Reine and his retinue retired inside the camp late last night to rest," the nobleman replied. "And as for his pickets -- I don't know, Milord. They were likely overwhelmed before they could raise an alarm."

"Imbecile!"

A surge of anger flashed through Henri's eyes as he squeezed his right hand into a fist. He then noticed the faint flinch that struck the nobleman before taking a moment to calm himself.

Henri might not be a seasoned commander, but he knew the impact his mood would have on the morale of soldiers and officers alike. It would not do for anyone to see him lose control or panic, especially when they were already on edge themselves. Instead, he needed to be their pillar of imperturbability, and for that he needed to stay composed and in control.

The young man took a moment to purge his previous thoughts and inhale a deep breath. It was the same technique he learned when he first began to make public speeches in Arcadia's crowded forums.

"Rally what men you can gather and hold the western perimeter wall," Henri replied with a renewed steadiness in his voice. "I will organize the army into battle order and keep you reinforced!"

"Yes Milord!" The older noble nodded before he sped off on his mount.

"M-milord?"

A young adjutant asked breathlessly as he ran up with his hands still tightening the straps of his leather jerkin. He was the first of Henri's signal officers to arrive, and the young commander immediately gave the man his first order:

"''Farspeak'' to Emperor Gabriel -- tell him that we're under attack by Sylviane's army in force and we require immediate support!"

<nowiki>----- * * * -----</nowiki>

"Your Majesty, something isn't right."

Emperor Gabriel watched the elderly Marshal Menno lean over the map table and point at a spot north of where the Imperial Highway bent towards the lake.

"Why would Sylviane's cavalry rout a picket of ours here?" Menno pondered aloud. "If they were marching east towards Henri's camp, they should have done it along the Imperial Highway or south of it."

"Perhaps one of their columns got lost in the fog," one of the other lords in attendance said.

"Lost enough to depart the only road running east-to-west without realizing it?" Menno looked back up as he raised his eyebrows. "I don't buy it."

Meanwhile, Gabriel gave a half-hearted shrug and raised his hands to both sides before he responded:

"All we know is that they hit three of our scouting groups in the south, one of which is positioned halfway between my niece's camp and Lord Henri's. That could only mean one thing -- that Sylviane's army seeks to defeat us in detail by eliminating the Army of Rhétie first."

"I agree that would be the logical tactical move, as she certainly has no chance of defeating us first," Menno concurred before voicing his disagreement. "But there's also something odd here. Because if I were in her shoes, I would seek to draw as little attention as possible, and use the cover of this fog to reach and defeat Henri before we could even react. Yet the way they swept aside our pickets -- it's like they ''wanted us'' to find out that they're out in force."

"Plans and intentions are one thing. Execution is another matter entirely," Gabriel replied.

"It's perfectly possible that someone on their side messed up," another lord nodded as he pitched in.

"Besides, for what other reason would she have to march to Henri's camp?" The Emperor asked.

"Might Henri have switched allegiance and joined her?" Said a young lord that Gabriel recognized as Menno's nephew.

"No. Had that been the case, Henri would be marching to join her, and not the other way around," the Marshal declared before his eyes narrowed and he looked back at the map. "Unless... they did so in secret and are colluding to bait us out."

"I find that extremely unlikely," Gabriel commented with a frown. "Young Henri would not have the authority to abruptly overturn his father's decision on his own. And according to my spies in his camp, he's still keeping Sylviane's envoys as prisoners of war."

"But that itself could be a ruse..." Menno warned before one of Gabriel's armigers interrupted the conversation:

"Sire, I've just received a ''Farspeak'' message from a chevalier whom I know to be in Lord Henri's retinue. He reports that Sylviane's army is attacking their camp in force and Lord Henri requests our immediate support."

The Emperor pursed his lips as he stared knowingly back at his Marshal.

"Menno, I know you do not trust House La Tours due to their failure to reinforce you in battle long ago," Gabriel acknowledged first. "However, in this instance, I do count them as my allies. I cannot afford to have my allies defeated in detail while we stand and watch from afar! Especially not when Henri can serve as the anvil upon which Sylviane's army can be smashed by our hammer."

"Your Majesty, even if we march out now, there is no guarantee that we will arrive..."

However, before the Marshal could finish his retort, the Emperor put his proverbial foot down and declared:

"Marshal, I am ''ordering you'' to march out in full force."

A brief twitch passed through Menno's brow as he gazed upon the Emperor whom he had declared allegiance to. The silence dragged on as the Marshal stared intently at Gabriel, as though reminding him of his promise made back in the 'throne room' to not interfere.

Nevertheless, as Gabriel stood outwardly firm in his conviction, it was Menno who gave in with a faint sigh.

"I sincerely hope that my suspicions are wrong and you're right," the Marshal said before he began issuing orders.

"Gather all men into marching formation. Tell them to leave behind everything except their arms and armor. We move south to join the battle at double pace! Form the cavalry up outside the camp as I have special orders for them!"

"Yes, Sir!"

Gabriel turned south towards the windows as the assembled nobles and officers departed from the cabin to pass orders and rejoin their units. The lakeside breeze had cleared the morning mist and he could see the sun's rays through the partly cloudy sky. The Emperor knew he had overruled his senior-most military commander for a good reason, even though Marshal Menno might not agree with him.

Nevertheless, a wry smile formed on his lips as he thought of this pivotal moment and his choice.

''Everything is set. The rest... is up to fate.''

<nowiki>----- * * * -----</nowiki>

King Alistair could hear the roar of battle cries from the east. The clanging of swords against shields echoed through the thinning mist as the sun rose higher into the morning sky. The King didn't know if General Caradoc was able to deliver on his word of raising as much ruckus as he could without ''actually'' engaging in close combat. But if the experienced mercenary in Alistair had to venture a guess, the lack of bloodlust that he sensed in the air was a sign that Caradoc's men were indeed more bark than bite.

"Cavalry from the west!"

The King turned about face as he heard the cry behind him. A rider emerged from the mist and galloped towards his troops in the rearguard. The mounted ranger came from one of the scouting parties posted behind the army to warn of Gabriel's approach.

''About fucking time,'' he thought.

Alistair looked to the distance where his spell-enhanced vision cut deep into the fog. The results weren't perfect, as the refracting mist caused objects in the distance to become blurry as if he had myopia. Nevertheless, the King could just barely make out a column of riders clad in brightly colored tabards and barding. They were emerging around the road's gradual bend over a kilopace away. The heavy cavalry was screened by two squads of light cavalry which advanced along the tree line on both sides of the Imperial Highway.

The King had heard that due to prolonged influence from their neighbors, some Belgae nobles, particularly those who had lived under the Imperium for too long, preferred to train their retinue as armored horsemen rather than foot soldiers. Nevertheless, the raising of heavy cavalry was frowned upon by the late Emperor Geoffroi for a reason -- they were simply too expensive to maintain in large numbers, and often cut deeply into purses that were better spared for developing much-needed civil infrastructure.

''It's no wonder the Belgae lords always cry poverty then,'' Alistair's lips twisted with annoyance.

The approach of the Belgae cavalry also created an annoying deviation to his plans. Alistair had hoped to lead a charge against the traitors' army with his elite shock infantry. But the vanguard of cavalry he was facing had far better tactical mobility than his soldiers did, which would allow them to either charge or evade as they best judged the circumstances.

However, the fact that Alistair couldn't clearly see the enemy meant that his opposing counterpart also would not be able to tell his elite guardsmen from common infantry. The conventional order of battle certainly did not place royal armigers at the rear of a marching column. His enemy would have to overcome their own expectations to realize that Alistair's men were not the usual mix of peasant militia led by a few dozen armigers.

"Rory, give me mist, just a little to obscure our position," Alistair said to one of his royal armigers, who had accompanied him since his days as a mercenary in the New World and had stormcaller training.

"Yes, Sire."

"Fionnlagh," he addressed his youngest companion next. "Open a link with Pascal's command and tell him that we're about to slay some Belgae heavy cav."

"Yes, Sire!"

"Lowlanders! Highlanders!" The King then cried out as he pulled a runestone from his pocket and activated it to amplify his voice.

"MEN! ABOUT FACE! FORM RANKS!" He shouted again as he unbuckled the leather straps on his back. His hand lifted the heavy zweihander and raised its huge blade into the air.

His orders were echoed as officers of the elite Black Guard and Royal Guard banners stepped forth to pass it down the ranks. Meanwhile, the King stepped through his men's shifting formation to take his own place facing a new front.

The armigers of the Glens' lowlands preferred lucerne hammers over the Highlanders' two-handed swords. And now, as ordered by their king, they formed a single line in front and braced their polearm-hammers against their greaves to create a row of pointed spikes. Behind them, the second and third ranks readied their huge swords at chest and shoulder-height. Together, nearly 1,200 guardsmen fanned out to form a concave hedgehog of bristling steel that expanded to the tree line on both sides of the Imperial Highway.

Behind him, Alistair could hear the shouted orders from six banners of rangers directly under Lady Lynette's command. Those lightly equipped woodsmen rushed towards the trees that flanked Alistair's formation, where they would take positions with a clear shot at the open road.

The King watched in silence as one of the Belgae scouting groups emerged from the mist by the tree line in the north. Eight of the horsemen were felled almost immediately by the rangers' precise shots. The last remaining two tried to turn about and flee but their horses were killed under them. One of the men fell into the bushes and out of sight which, assuming he was still alive, had probably just saved his life.

The second scouting group, advancing along the southern tree line, met a similar fate. However behind them, the ground began to rumble as an entire column of heavy cavalry made their approach. The morning mist had thinned to the point where the men could see around three hundred paces with the unaided eye. Nevertheless, Alistair heard shouted orders even before they reached that distance. The armored horsemen began to fan out as officers on the other side clearly used the same ''Fog Sight'' spell that he did.

''Hopefully they'll mistake us for common infantry until it's too late,'' the King thought.

It was the reason why his phoenix Almace was still not merged with him. Instead, Alistair could feel the bird's talons grasped around the sword straps behind his back. The lingering mist would make it difficult to clearly see his men's equipment at a distance. And once the heavy cavalry began to gallop during the final phase of their charge, it would be too late to stop their attack.

The King watched as two rows of Belgae cavalry tightened their formations as they trotted up for the first charge. The armored warhorses began to canter as they emerged from the mist and into plain sight. However, the rangers hiding to his flanks held back their arrows. Lady Lynette had agreed earlier that Alistair would call the first volley. His aim was not to scare his enemies off early, but rather to draw them into close combat instead.

"Archers!"

The King cried out for two banners of militia bowmen assembled behind his triple lines to start shooting first. Their volley soared overhead and rained down upon the heavy cavalry to little effect. The Belgae horsemen shrugged off the indirect shots with their wards and armor. The attack seemed to only spur on the riders as they closed to a hundred paces before hastening their steeds to attack.

"CHARGE!" Alistair heard the cry from the officers on the other side.

Six hundred armored warhorses began to gallop as their riders couched their lances and leveled them into rows of spikes. Two thousand steel-shod hooves hammered the ground in succession which made the earth shake and tremble. The onrushing cavalry loomed like a great wave of sharpened steel and towering beasts that was ready to sweep aside all resistance. And for most soldiers, the mere thought of trying to hold the line against such an unstoppable force would seem like folly before the natural urge to cut and run.

However, the men of the Glens who stood by their king were no ordinary soldiers. They were veterans and elites who had fought in past wars and knew that a cavalry charge's greatest weapon was its psychological shock. Each man knew that their adjacent comrades, their ''brothers'' whose bonds they treasured above even their own lives, depended upon them to stand their ground. And as such, there was no way a unit as cohesive as these guardsmen would even consider breaking to rout.

"RANGERS!"

Alistair cried out as his phoenix merged into him at last. Almace's soothing warmth filled his adrenaline-spiked body as his raised sword erupted into blue-white flames.

"VOLLEY!" He heard the response cry out from the mist-laden woods to both of his flanks.

Hundreds of arrows soared out from each of the tree lines. And unlike the militia volleys from earlier, these missiles flew in concerted waves with precise aim. ''Dispel'' arrows led the way as they crashed through the ''Repulsion'' wards of the Belgae cavalrymen which would deflect light projectiles. They were followed by bodkin penetrators and spell-infused arrows that delivered everything from fire to lightning bolts.

At the same time, the men in the rear of Alistair's formation threw out a volley of runestones. Many of the opposing officers had been thrown off guard by the sudden hail of arrows, and only a handful of them cast ''Mana Seekers'' to intercept. The runestones that landed activated their obstruction spells which terraformed the land. Their effects ranged from simple pools of mud to transmuted hard-clay spikes that sprouted out from the earth like stalagmites.

Chaos immediately broke out as some horsemen crashed into the obstacles while others pushed into their compatriots as they dodged. Large gaps emerged in the charging wavefront as more and more men and horses fell victim to the onslaught of arrows and spells.

Facing them, Alistair's guardsmen held firm against the oncoming tide like a solid embankment of bristling steel. And as a result, most of the horses who made it to his line either tried to veer away or balked at the unwavering steel by digging in their hooves.

Two of the horses that charged Alistair's position stopped suddenly before the row of spikes. Their armored riders were thrown off and flew into the defenders' waiting ranks. One of them landed next to the King and did not even have time to get up before Alistair shoved the tip of his huge sword into a gap beneath the man's outstretched arm. At the same time, the armigers who crouched in front of the King stepped forward and thrust their polearms into the horses' padded chests.

Arrows from both flanks continued to soar in and pick off those cavalrymen who either turned away or tried to retreat. Meanwhile, the King signaled for his soldiers to press forward and kill any downed cavalrymen before they could attempt to reform.

"ADVANCE!"

Alistair raised his sword as he readied himself to kill another fallen horseman who had just managed to stand back up. But an armiger to his right landed a lucerne hammer swing that pulverized the man's left hip. The dismounted horseman cried out in pain and collapsed sideways onto his knees. His bent posture left a gap open in the armor protecting his right lower torso. And the King took advantage of this as he hacked his sword in to finish off his enemy.

As he pulled his sword from the corpse, Alistair looked to his left and right to check the state of his men. The Glens infantry maintained their formation as they advanced to bring the fight to their foes. Many of the horsemen had been dismounted by arrow wounds and now fought in a disorganized mess. They were cut down one by one as the advancing guardsmen scythed through their ranks before stepping over the corpses of beasts and men alike.

Meanwhile, behind them in the foggy distance, Alistair could see a mass of at least three thousand infantrymen pouring forth from the road's gradual bend. They rushed forward in columns at double pace, as though the opposing commander could see that the first attack had failed yet nevertheless opted for a strategy of 'send more in'.

The King continued to advance with his men as he hacked his zweihander into the back of a Belgae man-at-arms who had just crawled out of a muddy pool. The soldier's helmet fell off and another armiger took the opportunity to land a decapitating blow. A youthful face rolled across the ground as the severed neck spurted blood onto the mud before the body went limp. A braided gold torc worn around the stump revealed that the young man had likely been an heir to his family's estate.

''Flower of Belgae nobility,'' Alistair pursed his lips as he looked around and saw another young man who wore a similar accessory cut down.

''What a goddamn waste.''

In that moment, the King perfectly understood why Princess Sylviane wanted to spare Henri's army from the merciless slaughter of battle. Or why the opposing commander was throwing in more men in an attempt to salvage the failed first attack. To see such promising members of the future Lotharin leadership cut down in a civil war between ethnic kin... it was truly a disaster from which only their enemies may gleefully benefit.

Yet, despite the bile that he tasted in his mouth, Alistair did not forget that he was a leader of men on a battlefield. There would be a time for mercy and reconciliation later. For now, his overarching priority was to ''win''.

"REFORM RANKS!"

The King shouted as his men mopped up the last of the survivors from the first charge. The cavalrymen who managed to stay on their horses had already retreated. However, many of them did not make it as the rangers shot arrows into their backs. Dozens of downed and wounded soldiers could be seen crawling along the ground as they tried to make it back to friendly lines.

The advancing Belgae infantry's front ranks stopped around four hundred paces away. However, squads of shielded men rushed forward to retrieve in their wounded compatriots.

This time, there would be no ambush. The last of the morning mist was beginning to disperse, and the rangers had already exposed their position among the trees. The enemy also knew they were dealing with an Oriflamme Paladin. This narrowed the candidates significantly on whom they faced.

"HIGHLANDERS! LOWLANDERS!" Alistair shouted for his men to switch formations.

It was his turn to press the attack this time. That meant the claymore and zweihander-wielding highlanders needed to be in front. The King himself stepped up as he pulled several runestones from his pocket and activated them. His skin tingled as several layers of fresh wards wrapped around his armored bulk.

"ADVANCE!" The mercenary-turned-king shouted as he led personally from the very front.

Over eleven hundred guardsmen -- his troops had suffered barely any casualties from the previous attack -- strode forward in the wake of their liege. They marched around the obstacles from earlier and reformed the line after passing each. The soldiers' discipline was perfect as they crossed the exposed flat terrain.

Meanwhile, Alistair could sense unease spreading through the enemy's ranks. The Belgae infantry watched the silent advance of men who had not just stopped, but utterly destroyed a heavy cavalry attack.

"Volley!"

A shout came from the other side before a torrent of arrows flew into the air. At least five hundred missiles formed a blanket of projectiles that arced into the sky before falling upon the King's men.

"''Mana Seeker!''"

Several officers who used aura magic shouted before sending bursts of magical projectiles into the air. The other mages had already passed out runes for every armiger to use themselves. A few arrows also flew out from the trees and intercepted the hail of incoming missiles. Their tips activated ''Cyclone Blasts'' on contact which blew away at least a third of the projectiles.

Alistair kept a ''Repulsion Field'' rune in hand in case he was hit by a dispel. However, despite the rain of missiles that his men waded through, few of them were receiving any meaningful injuries. Fire and thunder burst among his advancing ranks but they were largely nullified by ''Resistance'' spells. The poor coordination between the enemy's magic and archery revealed that his opponents were mostly inexperienced recruits.

The guardsmen strode forth undaunted through a second and third barrage. They closed to a distance where they could see the whites of their enemies' eyes. The King then raised his flaming zweihander aloft and bellowed "CHARGE!" as he led his retinue into a run. A wave of steel-clad armigers followed him into the thundering charge as they bellowed their own battle cries.

The loudest of these remained the screeching "DOUGLAS!" from the three hundred remaining members of the Black Guard. There was no boy raised in Lotharin lands who did not know the infamous Black Guard of Clan Douglas and the terror they inflicted. The unit's motto of 'no quarter, no surrender' exemplified their belief that there was no such thing as 'prisoners'.

Alistair could almost see the fear of his enemies as they realized exactly whom they faced. The first ranks of defending infantry faltered and fell back before his thunderous charge even reached their spear line. Dozens, then hundreds of men threw aside their weapons as they began to flee towards the rear. Only isolated groups of soldiers in the front ranks stood their ground -- most of them formed by the occasional noble and their armigers who shouted for their levies to hold their line.

A barrage of hundred missiles flew in from the trees to their left. Many of them were negated by wards from the defending mages who still held their ground. But some shot through gaps among the defensive spells caused by the fleeing soldiers. Explosions and thunderclaps rang out as they landed among the soldiers with infused elemental spells. This added yet more chaos among the troops and demoralized more to join the retreat.

Alistair surmised that the reduction in support -- there had been no arrows at all from his right -- meant the rangers to his wings had met more enemies in the woods. It would be down to only he and his men to crash through the enemy front.

A Belgae armiger stood before Alistair with his spiked polearm raised to receive the Paladin's charge. His thrust, however, was weak as the burning aura of an Oriflamme engulfed him before Alistair even entered his reach. The King easily dodged his attack before smashing the flaming zweihander between the soldier's neck and shoulder with bone-breaking force.

The defender's wards combusted as phoenix fire ignited the mana it cut through. A mail coif caught the steel edge and stopped it from hacking through the neck. Regardless, the armiger collapsed from the blow, though Alistair did not stay to finish him off. The King carved deeper into the heart of the defenders' ranks as he trusted his loyal armsmen to guard his back.

''Let's see how deep I can cleave into them before pouring Almace's flames.''

The furious onslaught against the traitors had proven more fruitful than he had anticipated. The defenders' ranks were a mess as he cut his way through the mass of men. Retreating soldiers trying to escape the slaughter pushed and shoved against those attempting to hold the line. This compacted the defensive formations further until many no longer even had enough room to properly fight.

The battle was turning into a slaughter as Alistair and his guardsmen hacked their way through layers of living flesh. The King and his royal entourage formed a wedge as they carved deep into the enemy lines. Blood drenched their polished steel as they cut down one man after another in their advance. Countless bodies fell under their blades until the ground was covered by the dying and the dead.

Then, after slashing his way through at least twelve ranks of men, Alistair finally came face to face with a banner of armigers and militia who held a solid line. A wall of polearms advanced in tight formation as the defenders sought to push him back. However, the King raised his flaming sword before driving it into the ground with a cry:

"''FLAMEBREAK!''"

Blue-white embers poured out of Alistair's sword and armor as an explosion of phoenix fire burst forth. The entire area was consumed within the blink of an eye by Almace's cleansing flames. Dozens of men screamed in agony as the conflagration roasted them alive. Their wards and armor did nothing to protect them as the sacred fire breached mana and steel alike.

By the time Alistair stood back up and the embers dispersed, not a single Belgae soldier stood within twenty paces of the King dripping a bloody red. Over a hundred burning corpses littered the ground around him. The towering monarch brandished his zweihander sword and raised it once more before his chest.

The Belgae soldiers who remained stared in horror as their hands trembled and they began to back away. And within seconds many of them had thrown away their weapons as they began to join the rout and run.

<nowiki>----- * * * -----</nowiki>

"General!" Caradoc heard his adjutant shout from the trees behind him.

The Ceredigion commander had just thrown a javelin into the tower that kept watch over the left side of the main gate. The three men inside ducked down and his missile struck a pillar on the far side. An infused ''Cyclone Blast'' rune triggered upon impact and blew apart the thatched roof. The tower's support groaned and buckled as the rudimentary structure collapsed into the camp.

Caradoc gazed across the clearing as his chariot driver took him back towards the tree line. The Ceredigion charioteers were making individual caracole attacks against the camp's walls while his dismounted infantry formed a solid line to beat their shields and weapons. It was a clear show of force that was probably starting to raise suspicion given how long they've been at it. But so far the Army of Rhétie had cowered behind their fortifications.

"General, Lord Pascal reports that King Alistair has stuck the traitors' vanguard in force!" The adjutant cried out as he rode closer while the infantry opened a gap for Caradoc's chariot to drive in. "Princess Sylviane is leading in the second wave!"

Caradoc grinned as he received the news he had been waiting for at last. There was no longer any need to keep up pretenses by skirmishing with missiles in front of Henri's camp.

"All banners turn about! Time to sink our fangs into our real foe!"

<nowiki>----- * * * -----</nowiki>

"PUSH NORTH! REFUSE THE LINE!"

Lynette ap Cadell de Luxeuil shouted to her rangers from behind a leafing bush. Her position was further concealed by a thin shroud of white smoke and the morning's lingering mist. Nevertheless, her cry immediately attracted two arrows which flew through the dense foliage and struck her armiger's extended shield.

The first arrow burst into a ''Fireball'' which engulfed their position in flames. It blasted away the concealing mist and smoke while setting alight the bush. Lynette and her bodyguard avoided the worst as their ''Resistance'' spell reduced it to little more than a severe sunburn. But the second arrow that struck the shield released a ''Dispel'' which brought down her protector's wards. And seven more arrows then flew in from two directions with one of them finding its mark in a gap between her guardian's cuirass and the left rerebrace.

The noblewoman from Ceredigion stood and sprinted to the back of a thick trunk where three more arrows struck the tree instead of nailing her. She then looked back and called out in hope that it would pull the attention from the expert marksmen that they faced.

"Ceri!"

Behind her, Ceri gritted her teeth as she retracted her injured shield arm to protect her head as she limped towards Lynette. The armiger then collapsed onto the ground between the large tree's exposed roots as another arrow sank into the side of the tasset covering her left thigh.

"I'm sorry, Milady," she uttered in a pained voice as she raised her heater shield just in time for another arrow to clang off. "I can't keep up like this."

Reaching out from the safety of her cover, Lynette grabbed her lady's maid and bodyguard by the back of her armor. The noblewoman dragged her closest companion along the ground until at least Ceri's torso was completely behind the tree.

"Stay here behind cover," Lynette ordered before dashing off to the next trunk where three of her rangers took turns returning shots.

"Uhhhnggghh!" One of them grunted in pain before dropping to the ground with an arrow buried into his padded chest.

"Sir! We can't keep extending! We're already outnumbered!" A ranger sergeant spoke out to her from behind an adjacent tree.

The Ceredigion rangers who fought for the Princess might have more experience in forest battles than their Belgae counterparts. However, Lady Lynette had only half of her rangers in the rear of the army, which was further divided in two to lay the ambush that King Alistair needed to defeat the Belgae heavy cavalry.

Meanwhile, the Belgae rangers were renowned as the most swift-footed in the Empire as they were used to sprinting between tree patches and journeying over wetlands. And now, their numerical advantage could also be keenly felt as Lynette's forces were receiving three arrows for every shot they returned.

The good news was that at least one of the banners she had initially sent south to support King Alistair's attack had finished crossing the Imperial Highway. Lynette could see their movement behind the line of contact as those expert woodsmen came up alongside a unit of urban crossbowmen. Nevertheless, the initial contact between her personally-led ranger banner and the Belgae light infantry had left her side with severe casualties.

"We must hold the line until more troops arrive!" She impressed her confidence upon her soldiers. "The Princess has already turned her entire host to engage!" She pointed at the urban crossbows and the much needed pavise shields strapped to their backs. "Our job is to tie down the Belgae wings and ensure they stay pinned until the 'vanguard' joins!"

Another cry came from several trunks away as another ranger on her side was struck on the shoulder by an arrow. The man dropped his bow and crawled as best as he could to behind cover.

"This isn't an infantry grind, Milady," the veteran sergeant protested in a low voice. "We won't last long at this rate."

"We need to buy time!" She answered before drawing another arrow from her quiver and looking down at her hand. "''Smiting Firestorm,''" she muttered before infusing the arrow-head.

Lynette made sure the spell was properly imbued before stepping out from behind the cover of the trunk. She drew back her bowstring and scanned the woods with her gaze to take account of her enemies who kept themselves partially concealed behind the leafing shrubbery. Her keen eyes spotted a bejewelled cloak brooch which often implied a noble. She took aim with her weapon to buy time for her reinforcements to get into position.

However, a ''Dispel'' arrow flew in from the northeast and burned its way through her wards just as she released her arrow.

Four more projectiles followed in quick succession as she was clearly the target of an elite marksman squad. Two of them bounced off her cuirass and one of them sank into a gap behind her outstretched left arm.

-- However, it was the last arrow that dealt the mortal wound as its bodkin head pierced her chain coif and penetrated into her neck at an angle.

Lynette immediately felt her throat retch as it began to fill up with blood. The arrow had cut her carotid artery, and the noblewoman couldn't breath as she fell to the ground while her hand struggled to clutch its shaft.

The sergeant pulled her behind the tree and was yelling for a medic. However, Lynette doubted even the best-applied ''First Aid'' spell could close the wound before she suffocated.

Her ''Firestorm'' arrow seemed to have its intended effect as the enemy largely stopped shooting at her to quench the flames that now surrounded their area. It bought enough time for the leading crossbowman to rush to her and set up his pavise shield as cover... only to receive an arrow in his face instead.

"CHARGE!"

Another shout came from the east as the first of the royalist light cavalry began to arrive on their flank. Even the Ceredigion chariots were used to fighting in wooded terrain as their units started to attack. Yet, despite the fact her allies must be drawing closer, their voices sounded more and more distant to the ranger commander who coughed and choked on her own blood.

Lynette felt the tears slide from her eyes as she thought back to that moment when the ''Cerulean Princess'' descended upon her troops for the first time. Perhaps she might have lived through this war had she not joined Her Highness' campaign with her entire entourage. Few of her men have survived the string of battles in Avorica, and fewer still would return home to see their families. Yet, the noblewoman who married far from her home would not feel any regret for partaking in this pivotal moment in the Empire's history in a manner that would surely make her grandfather proud.

She only wished it was him holding her as she lay dying instead of a man she barely knew.

<nowiki>----- * * * -----</nowiki>

Lieutenant-Colonel Ariadne von Manteuffel held firm against the backward shove of her enlarged Manteuffel swordstaff as its tip made contact with a gryphon rider. The impact of her charge dismounted her foe who fell from an altitude of no less than two hundred paces. She wasn't sure how bad were the injuries she inflicted, but the nobleman's excellent armor had definitely stopped her weapon from penetrating. Whether or not he remained alive after the fall depended on how many ribs she broke and how long it took for him to recover from the stunning impact to cast ''Air Glide''.

A sudden shriek came from her left as one of her own men swerved aside from a charging lance but his mount received it instead. The hippogryph he rode flapped its wings one last time before it either fell unconscious or died from the deep wound. The attacker meanwhile banked sharply right as he evaded a javelin that had been thrown after him by another Knight Phantom. This however took him in the same direction that Ariadne had turned in, and she tapped her pegasus twice with her right foot to signal another charge.

"''Negation Surge!''"

Ariadne cast the spell into her weapon as she leaned forward and braced it against the lance-rest on her cuirass. Her pegasus Edelweiss dashed through the air as she flew towards the enemy who turned his mount to face her attack. His powerful gryphon had deadly claws and was protected by steel barding around its chest and over the head. However, there was no matching Edelweiss' agility as the pegasus rose faster before diving down with an altitude advantage.

The young lady pressed her left greave against the side of her mount to prepare Edelweiss for a sudden swerve. Then, as the two riders speared towards each other with their polearms, she shifted her body mass to the left and evaded an attack that came so close it cut through several strands of her windswept pink hair. Her weapon made contact with his cuirass and the pushback almost shoved her off the side. The impact struck just beneath his right shoulder, which once again failed to penetrate but was enough to disarm and unseat her target from his gryphon. The ''Negation Surge'' suppressed even the protective enchantments that would have kept him in the saddle.

With her heart pumping and her lungs expanding in short breaths, Ariadne took a look down to see what happened to her friends and foes alike. The cavalryman she struck had activated a spell that slowed his fall so that he wouldn't slam into the ground. Meanwhile, her petite second-in-command had rescued the hippogryph knight whose mount had been killed under him. They climbed back up into the sky as arrows flew after them from the enemy infantry swarming the ground below.

"Look out!"

Ariadne wasn't sure whom the cry was directed at but she ducked forward as her training taught. A javelin flew over her head from behind while a deep-green forest drake –- a wyvern per the Ceredigiens' name –- charged straight towards her from dead ahead. The armored man seated on the beast's back let loose an arrow which flew through the air less than a pace before her eyes.

The startled lady swiveled around in her saddle to see the arrow lodged in the mail-clad chest of a Belgae hippogryph knight. He had been charging towards her with a sword drawn but his eyes now stared above her head in fright. The wyvern from earlier flew over and past her before snatching the man off his mount and throwing him into empty air. The hippogryph tried to follow its master but another arrow from the mounted archer sunk into its shoulders and crippled its ability to fly.

"T-thank you..."

Ariadne spoke in a gasping voice as she struggled to calm her breathing. Meanwhile, her savior circled around in a wide arc and as he flew back towards her she recognized the dashing face of Earl Hywel. The air battle around them was slowing down as the remainder of their enemy had begun to retreat. The Weichsen-Ceredigion air cavalry had won through an overwhelming advantage not only in numbers, but also in the quality and experience of its riders.

"Milady! The Belgae air cavalry is broken and your Colonel is chasing away their remnants," Hywel commented loudly as he drew near.

"Chasing? We're supposed to bombard the enemy rear after winning the air!"

Ariadne replied in bewilderment as she looked towards the northwest. And exactly as the Ceredigion air commander spoke, she could see Colonel Hammerstein's ''North Wind'' Knights Phantom flying north after the twenty or so remaining Belgae fliers.

"Your Colonel seems to think he can take Gabriel's fortified camp with a single banner."

"He's a brave fool," Ariadne voiced her honest opinion for once before turning back to the Earl and blinking in realization. "Though... if he sets the camp on fire with his attack, the traitors' army might believe their camp has fallen even if it isn't true."

After all, the primary mission given to the allied air cavalry during this battle was to stop the enemy from retreating back behind their fortifications. Whether they do that by harassing the enemy rear or through other means was up to them.

A sly grin crept across the Earl's face before he replied:

"You Manteuffels truly have the devil in you. I'll take my wyverns to reinforce his attack while your unit disrupts the enemy's rear."

"Understood, My Lord."

The Ceredigion air commander then flew off with his drakes while Ariadne shrunk her Manteuffel Swordstaff back to its normal size.

"Reform! Prepare for ground attack!" She yelled to the riders of her company who flew all around.

"Reform!"

Ariadne heard the order echoed by her platoon and squad leaders. Meanwhile, she looked down to the barren forest beneath her and reassessed the overall tactical situation.

The frontal attack led by King Alistair's 'rearguard' had thrown back the Belgae vanguard with heavy losses. And now, Ariadne could see the blue-white flames of two Oriflamme Paladins leading the assault into the densely-packed spear formations in the center. At the same time, the energetic war song of a third paladin began to resound just south of the main battle.

''Good timing,'' the Lieutenant-Colonel thought as her adrenaline from earlier was beginning to subside, which left her feeling somewhat winded. Yet now, she could feel her energy returning once more as she listened to the mysterious song-magic.

Looking to the flanks, Ariadne tried to make out the shadowy figures who skirmished among the trees without any formations. The Ceredigion rangers and light infantry who had began the battle on the backfoot had since recovered with the influx of reinforcements. And while it was difficult to tell for certain, Ariadne was fairly sure that her side was starting to push back Gabriel's left wing.

The arrival of chariots from General Caradoc's 'vanguard' only further bolstered the strength of their northern flank. The aim seemed to be to collapse Gabriel's left wing and roll them back towards the west. The Princess' army was superior to Gabriel's but they were also in a precarious position. They ''needed'' to defeat the Army of Rhétie as quickly as possible before Henri could join in the fight.

Ariadne turned her eyes to the Imperial Highway that ran towards the northwest. She could see a mass of infantry and wagons where shattered units of Gabriel's army had been stopped from retreating by officers of the rearguard. There, several of the banners seemed to be reforming their ranks. Meanwhile, others grabbed supplies from the wagons and... are they replenishing their ammunition or their stomachs?

''We can't let them reform and rejoin the battle,'' Ariadne thought as she glanced around and met her signal officer's gaze. ''We can't afford for this to turn into an attritional slow grind.''

"Tell headquarters that Gabriel has a wagon train at the back of their roadbound column. I'm going to smash it and wreck their field resupply!"

"Yes Sir!"

"''Ghost Riders!'' Follow me!" She yelled before driving her pegasus Edelweiss towards their next aim, all while she reached into her extradimension storage pouch and pulled out a shrunken-barrel grenade.

<nowiki>----- * * * -----</nowiki>

Sylviane threw her meteor hammer out in a wide arc against the wall of spears. The enchanted cylindrical head increased its mass as it gained velocity, weighing as much as a sledgehammer as it crashed into an officer and caved in his armored chest. The trailing chain then flew into six militiamen who were also knocked off their feet. This created a gap in the spear wall which her armigers dove into to exploit.

They batted the defenders' polearms aside with their shields as they clubbed into the soldiers with winged maces to crush bones. It took only a minute before the breached schiltrom unraveled from within. The troops who were not killed or crippled lost heart as they broke formation and began to flee. However, behind them came three more schiltroms – their ringed hedgehogs were packed tight with goedendag-wielding men who surrounded themselves with layers of poles with spikes.

''There's no end to them!''

Sylviane huffed as she flapped her phoenix wings and rose up to hover above the reach of the tallest spears. She peered into the distance through the sparse trees and could see that Gabriel's army had formed up for a defense in depth. There were three lines of polearm infantry in schiltrom rings of a hundred or so men each. And between them rode small units of horsemen who provided flanking support with their counterattacks.

It reminded her of the Battle of Glywysing where the Tauheed attackers had to clear her troops from each building in town. The fighting was devolving into a bloody attritional grind that consumed precious time that she could not afford to waste. Her entire battle plan required speed to finish off Gabriel's forces before Henri could join in. Furthermore, with the sun already touching the horizon in the West, she had only two, three hours at most, to conclude the battle before darkness fell.

Then, in the distance, Sylviane spotted a shallow ridge upon which stood a group of fifty-plus men. Four flag bearers waved their banners above to pass orders, while two others stood with the royal banner of House Gaetane held high. Two rows of armigers who stood protectively in front all wore the finest polished plate armor. There were even a handful of Knight Templars with their helmets gilded by golden crosses standing in the mix.

"''Uncle.''"

The Princess gritted her teeth as she eyed the figures atop the ridge. Three men stood conversing to one another within the protective formation of armored retainers. Sylviane could see the glint of a crowned helmet and she had zero doubts that it was from her father's murderer. She could almost see his charming yet fictitious smile sneering back at her in taunt.

"ARMIGERS! FORM UP!"

The Princess landed on the ground once more so her ten remaining armigers could form a chevron with her at its tip. A quick glance to each side confirmed that Elspeth and Reynaud covered her flanks. The redheaded armiger had rejoined her ranks upon her request during the army's approach towards Henri's camp. And although Reynaud had his reservations as Kaede's fate was still in limbo, the Princess made it clear that Henri must not be provoked to take further action at this time.

''And the faster we finish this, the safer Kaede will be!''

Sylviane kicked off and leapt into the air with a burst of flames from her steel-shod feet. The special capes worn by Oriflamme Armigers had phoenix feathers woven in, which allowed a paladin to pull them behind her as she flew. This offered better speed and flight control than the ''Levitation Flight'' spells they used to stay airborne, but they had to stay in her wake to take advantage.

Sylviane kept her eyes nailed to the command trio on top of the ridge as she flew up to fifty paces high. She could just make out a narrow-shouldered figure with plum-colored hair before she went into a shallow dive. Her uncle's face grew clearer as she closed the distance between them. His sides were flanked by an old general and a templar, though the Princess paid neither of them any attention as she cried out in rage as she envisioned her father's head on a spike.

"GABRIELLLLL!!!"

The Princess spun twice and hurled out her meteor hammer as the pretender drew his sword from an ornate scabbard. A cloud of tiny golden crucifixes surrounded him as the cylindrical weight struck one and was brought to a sudden halt without even the sound of impact.

The complete loss in momentum startled Sylviane as it unbalanced her fighting style. She was supposed to change the vector of her hammer's motion while maintaining its speed at all times. The Princess could only yank the chain of her meteor hammer and wrap it in a wide arc around her arm as she landed three paces in front of Gabriel. However, none of this broke her hateful stare into her uncle's eyes as she screamed:

"''FLAMEBREAK!''"

A burst of blue-white fire erupted from her body as she had been saving it for this very moment. The templar and the general to Gabriel's sides both screamed in agony as they were immolated and burned alive by Hauteclaire's sacred flames. Blood-curdling cries came from around them as the flag bearers fell along with dozens of steel-clad retainers. Those who survived were plunged into a fight for their lives as Sylviane's own armigers flew down from the skies and crashed into their ranks.

Yet, despite being a mere pace away from the epicenter of the fiery blast, the false emperor was completely untouched within his sphere of glowing crucifixes.

"Protect his majesty!"

Sylviane heard someone cry out and knew she had only a short time before her armigers would be overwhelmed. Her ''Flamebreak'' had wiped out most of Gabriel's bodyguards and bought her some time. However, she was still deep inside the enemy's army with no one to support her except ten good men-at-arms.

It had been a spur-of-the-moment gamble to take the head of the enemy and bring the battle to a swift end. However, Sylviane had forgotten about Gabriel's holy sword in her abrupt decision that was fuelled by thoughts of revenge. She had already heard from Saint Edith who told her what little she knew about the Sword of Fortitude that was given to Defenders of the Faith. The sphere of countless glowing and floating crosses created an impenetrable barrier that granted effective invulnerability to its wielder.

Hoping to prove her information wrong, Sylviane grasped further down her steel chain and slung her meteor's head against her uncle like a flail. Her other hand blasted him with spells ranging from ''Dispel'' to ''Earth Reaver''. However, no matter how many times she attacked, her magic would splash off his barrier and her weapon would always be stopped by another floating crucifix.

"Give it up, Sylv! You cannot win against me!"

Gabriel taunted with a smirk as he raised the Sword of Fortitude up to an overhead stance and slashed it down. Its pristine steel blade shone like a beacon of light to the men surrounding the shallow ridge who cried out "Charge!"

The Princess caught the blade in her steel chain before wrapping the links around to hold the sword in place. She kicked out at Gabriel but even her steel-shod foot was stopped by a glowing light cross.

She then tried to yank the sword from his hand next but his grip proved stronger than her tug.

"Highness!" Sylviane heard a desperate cry from her bodyguard Elspeth. "We cannot hold this position! You must fly!"

''I can win now if I just disarm him!''

However, Gabriel grasped the wide guard of his sword with his other gauntlet and began to pull the blade from the Princess' grip. Sylviane tightened the chains that wrapped around the sword but the polished steel was slowly slipping away.

"Air cavalry!" Another one of her armigers called out which made both the Princess and the Emperor look up into the skies.

A formation of riders who had concealed themselves above the low-flying clouds came down in a steep dive. They numbered not merely a dozen or two, but over a hundred as an entire banner of elite cavalry rode in flying the colors of House La Tours.

Sylviane knew her own air cavalry had already been committed. She could see a few dispersed squads of Knights Phantom harassing Gabriel's rear in the distance. Those men were busy fighting their own battles based on their pre-arranged battle plan. And even if they noticed her precarious position, they would never be able to interdict the diving charge in time.

"Fuck."

The Princess cursed uncharacteristically as she felt all her hopes fade away. With her trump card already expended, there was no way she could even extricate herself from the vertical envelopment. Sylviane knew that she and her armigers were now trapped by hundreds of assailing enemies from all sides. Her audacious attack to win the battle in one decapitating strike had led them all to their demise.

<nowiki>----- * * * -----</nowiki>

Kaede's nerves were strung tight as she looked up at the clouds that blew towards the northwest. She had seen Henri's air cavalry climb and vanish into those soft cotton shapes. A wind had picked up since then which made the rolling clouds move across the skies in greater speed. It would not take long before the Rhétien air cavalry reached the battlefield where Pascal and Sylviane would be fighting for their lives.

And with all forces in both Sylviane and Gabriel's armies committed, even a single banner of elite cavalry could prove decisive in turning the tide.

The Samaran girl watched anxiously as Henri finished talking with his nobles in the distance before walking back across the grassy field. She had overheard his orders to stay put in their encampments. His reasoning had been sound on a tactical level –- his army was still too exhausted from their forced march and too demoralized from the scare of a morning raid.

However, Henri did not mention any political reasons for his choices. He also consoled those nobles who urged for battle by reminding them that he had sent in his air cavalry and was assembling his light horse before the camp as they spoke.

''But who is he siding with?'' Kaede couldn't help worrying as she exchanged an anxious glance with Cecylia to her side.

She had a feeling from their previous few dinners that she was making slow gains in changing Henri's allegiance. But the young lord kept stressing that it was not 'his decision', which hinted to Kaede that there was some sort of negotiations happening behind her back. Yet, the morning raid -- if one could call it that, given the Ceredigion chariots never even broke down the palisade walls or breached the wooden gate -- showed that there was clearly no peace between Henri and Sylviane.

"Lord Henri..."

Kaede called out as she scurried towards him. Her steps were hobbled by her ankle chain which she struggled to drag across the tall grass and not trip.

"Have you made a decision? On whom you will be siding with then?"

"Of course." Henri beamed with the kind of bared smile that young men made when they were planning something bold if not dangerous.

"My mind was made up since last night."

"And?" Kaede asked impatiently.

"Her Highness refuted my offer of marriage," Henri said without the faintest shadow of regret or loss in his smiling countenance.

Meanwhile, Kaede's jaw fell open as the bombshell news hit her for the first time. She never even realized that Henri's 'not my choice' meant he had offered a secret marriage contract to the Princess. And considering the fact that both Henri and Sylviane were Trinitians who believed in monogamy, it meant he expected Sylviane to call off her betrothal to Pascal if she agreed to it.

"T-that means... you will be siding against her?" Kaede said nervously as though she dreaded even hearing the answer.

"No." Henri beamed again as he shook his head.

It made the Samaran girl tilt her head as she looked back in confusion.

"Her Highness would rather lose her crown than betray her marriage -- her Weichsen allies and her fiancé who helped her so much," Henri explained. "It shows that when push came to shove, she would rather stay true to her allies and compatriots than to profit from opportunities."

The young lord looked towards the northwest with a contemplative smile as he declared:

"I ''respect'' that, even if I'm not sure I could have done the same in her shoes. Regardless, what I do know is that if I help her today, then she will remember her gratitude for years if not decades to come, which is more than I can say for that backstabbing kingslayer who murdered his own brother for power's sake."

<nowiki>----- * * * -----</nowiki>

"--FOR THE PRINCESS!"

Sylviane's eyes swelled as the air cavalry diving down from above declared in her name. Her emotions, which had been sinking into the abyss mere moments ago, soared back up like the rebirth of a phoenix in roaring flames.

"Traitors!" Gabriel screamed in anger but his cry was drowned out by the follow-up yell.

"FOR RHIN-LOTHARINGIE!"

The Princess and her armigers watched in awe as the Rhétien air cavalry threw a hail of torpedo javelins towards the ground as they pulled out of their dives. The earth surrounding their ridge erupted in a series of explosions as the blast-powder-filled tubes slammed into the ground and their flint triggers sparked. Hundreds of men who had been climbing up the shallow slopes to aid their false emperor were blasted apart as staccatos of explosions tore through their ranks.

Blood and limbs were torn asunder as most of the Belgae officers never had a chance to cast defensive wards. After all, they were not facing mages or archers in a stand-off exchange, but assaulting an Oriflamme Paladin whose phoenix fire ignored such spells.

Within seconds, the tide of battle had turned once more. The hundreds of infantrymen who were rushing up to reinforce the false emperor were now in full rout as they fled from the air cavalry circling above him. Dozens more threw away their weapons and knelt down to surrender as they looked up to the cavalrymen who hovered above. Only a handful of them continued to fight and were quickly dispatched by Sylviane's men.

-- And as the Belgae soldiers surrounding them either died or surrendered, the cloud of glowing crucifixes that surrounded Gabriel also began to vanish.

Seizing the opportunity, Sylviane released Gabriel's blade and spun her hammer around her forearm before slamming it into his hand. There was no floating crucifix to stop it this time as the cylindrical weight smashed into the steel gauntlet.

"GAaaahhh!"

The Sword of Fortitude fell from Gabriel's grasp as he withdrew and cradled his armored hand. His pained cry hinted that the impact must have broken several fingers within. Sylviane's bodyguard Elspeth then struck him on the knees with another meteor hammer blow. The false emperor fell onto the ground in a half-kneeling pose before the Princess whose burning hair and piercing gaze glowed with blue-white flames.

Sylviane picked up the sword and pointed it at Gabriel's face while one of her armigers pulled the crowned helmet off his head.

"I... forfeit," her uncle spoke between gritted teeth as he half-straightened his back for one moment before collapsing into the dirt in pain.

''Forfeit? Did you give my father a chance?'' Sylviane's fuming thoughts objected as she clenched the sword's handle in both hands and pointed its tip down towards his neck.

With her father's killer kneeling helpless before her, the Princess desired nothing more than to drive the 'holy sword' in her hands through his throat. She wanted to see his blood ignominiously spilt, to repay that of her parent whom he murdered in cold blood.

It would be a moment of ironic retribution, for the man entitled 'Defender of the Faith' to be killed by one of the Trinitian Church's seven righteous swords.

''This isn't right.''

The Princess realized as the pointed blade trembled slightly in her hands. Her emotions cycled from anger to sadness to hatred to loss as she stared at her father's murderer who lay pitiably on the ground before her.

Nobody could accuse her of killing him unjustly on the field of battle. However, she also wasn't the only one needed closure for the death of her father. The Empire of Rhin-Lotharingie also needed an end to its civil war. And while it might be easier to kill Gabriel on the battlefield, what the country truly needed was a trial for treason to expose his allies and an execution to conclusively end this chaotic and dark chapter in the Empire's history.

"Giselle," Sylviane called to one of her armigers as she lowered her sword. "Give my ''uncle'' first aid so that the bleeding stops." She requested despite the acid dripping from her voice.

"Yes, Your Highness."

''And after that...'' the Princess thought as she looked around the battlefield where thousands of men still clashed.

"It's time to put an end to this wasteful butchery of Lotharin lives."

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| Back to [[Daybreak:Volume_4_Chapter_16|Chapter 16]]
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| Forward to [[Daybreak:Volume_4_Chapter_18|Chapter 18]]
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</noinclude>

Daybreak:Volume 4 Chapter 21

2025-06-01T19:10:10Z

Aorii:

===Chapter 21 - An End and a Beginning===

"What did you say?"

Sylviane's voice dropped to a bare mutter as she replied with stunned disbelief. Her body moved as though in slow motion as she swiveled atop the dresser chair to stare at her betrothed.

Behind her, the Princess' maid and bodyguard Elspeth stood slack-jawed as she gazed upon Pascal's reflected image in the dresser mirror. Her fingers slowly lost their grip on a silver hairbrush which fell to the tiled floor with a clang.

"Your Uncle Gabriel did not betray the Empire," Pascal repeated his solemn words as he stood straight against the footpost of her four-poster bed. "He did what he has done with your father's knowledge and consent."

"How?" Sylviane's question came in little more than a whisper before she could retrain her voice. Yet her follow-up came at an almost shout as she lost control of her pitch:

"''HOW could that'' be possible?"

The Princess retained enough awareness to notice that her response gave even her fiancé pause, despite the fact he was a battlefield veteran who nearly died multiple times. A swallowing motion came from his throat as a faint scowl formed across his lips.

"Your father and your uncle had planned the coup and the civil war beforehand," Pascal then stated in a firm voice as he stared back with zero doubt in his expression. "Or at the very least, they had planned as much of it as they could, based on what they knew and could predict beforehand, as your father knew that he had only months left to live thanks to his illness and..."

Pascal's brows frowned with uncertainty for the first time before adding: "I can only describe Gabriel as having a death wish."

The young lord had told Sylviane about her father's illness first. That had been a bitter enough pill to swallow by itself, though it at least came on the premise that her father was already dead regardless of the cause. However, to hear that Geoffroi had not been slain in a coup but rather orchestrated his own death, or that the head which she harmed herself to cremate yesterday wasn't even her father's...

"But... ''but!''"

Sylviane felt her hands shaking as she wanted to point and denounce Pascal's words as lies. Yet, she knew deep down that Pascal would only tell her something like this after being completely certain of its truth.

Nevertheless, that did not rule out the possibility of him being deceived.

The Princess turned to stare at Kaede, who answered her unspoken question with a sad but affirmative nod before looking down. The youthful Samaran whom Sylviane entrusted as her top diplomat also stood certain of Pascal's facts, which meant...

''It's true then,'' Sylviane thought to herself as she slumped back into her seat.

''My uncle isn't a murderer and a traitor as I had thought this whole time...''

For nearly a minute, the Princess sat unmoving in complete silence with a downcast gaze. Her mind struggled with the implications of this revelation which changed ''everything'' that she thought she knew.

''Why did nobody tell me?'' Her thoughts cried out as sadness, anger, regret, denial... There were so many emotions rising up inside her at once, so many screaming voices that they formed a tumultuous cacophony that she could no longer tell apart.

"I was supposed to be the ''heir apparent!''"

Her hands balled into fists as an aggrieved cry emerged from her shaking lips. She could feel a single hot streak of tears falling down her cheeks.

"''Why...?''"

The Princess demanded with gritted teeth as her eyes cast a death glare upon her future husband. However, Pascal did not flinch from her fury for even a split-second as he calmly responded to her outrage.

"To destroy the moral legitimacy of the Trinitian Church in the eyes of all Lotharins," he answered with a scowl as he clearly did not approve of such motives. "At least, that is what Gabriel told me last night as the main reason for his crimes."

Yet, it was this detail that finally excised the lingering denial in Sylviane's thoughts that it was the indisputable truth.

The Princess leaned back her head and looked up towards the ceiling and the heavens she imagined above before she spoke:

"Father always said that the Trinitian Church is the greatest thorn left behind from the days when the Imperium ruled over us Lotharins."

It was one of the many reasons why her late father had turned a blind eye towards the Albigensian Heresy in Garona, until the religious turmoil escalated to a point that it began to affect diplomacy and geopolitical statecraft.

"And what of my late sister?" Sylviane heard the sharp soprano of her bodyguard Elspeth ask in the silence that lingered. "Did she also know?"

"We did not speak much of Colonel Lindsay's involvement in this whole plot. But as His Majesty's closest guard and confidante, I cannot imagine that she did not know of this," Pascal could only say in response. "Healer Julien confirmed that she was one of only four people who knew of the Emperor's illness before the coup. And knowing her unwavering loyalty to His Late Majesty, I can only surmise that she agreed to the martyrdom of her banner to maintain the pretense that this was truly a coup."

"Sis..."

Sylviane could see Elspeth's lips trembling in the mirror as large drops of tears fell from her swollen peridot-green gaze. The teenage-looking guardsman, who according to Cecylia had never shed a tear even after walking for hours on a broken leg, suddenly broke down and began to bawl her eyes out like an adolescent kid.

The Princess could feel a new wave of tears spilling forth from her own eyes as the sorrow and loss that she thought she had come to terms with flooded back into her emotional state. She stood up from her dresser and turned towards her maid and bodyguard before enveloping the latter in an all-encompassing hug.

"I promise you that Lindsay will forever be remembered as a martyr of Rhin-Lotharingie," Sylviane declared as the two girls cried to each other. "She was as much a mentor to me as an elder sister to you. And I shall see that her sacrifice and those of her men will be immortalized through the actions of my reign."

The Princess did not need an oath to be a just ruler. Yet in making it, it added to the weight on her shoulders from all those who sacrifice themselves for her future reign.

And if she were to repay them, any of them, then she had better work hard to ensure her actions leave a legacy that would resonate through Lotharin history.

Though realistically speaking, Sylviane doubted if the heroic legacy of Colonel Lindsay depended on her own actions. The last stand of the Highland Guard and its commander's final words had already spread to every tavern through the bards and skalds of Rhin-Lotharingie. The only glorification still missing was an artistic depiction of the scene for the royal citadel's halls, as well as a constituted Highland Guard with Lindsay's famous words for its motto and flag.

Nevertheless, merely hearing the vow brought a bittersweet smile back to Elspeth's tearstained face. The petite girl wiped the streaks of moisture from her cheeks before offering a slight curtsy to the Princess.

"Thank you, Your Highness. No daughter of House Mackay-Martel could ask for a better fate than to be immortalized in the Empire's history," the bodyguard stated before taking a knee to issue an oath of her own. "And I swear I shall do no less than my sister did should the day come when I face a similar fate."

''Let's hope it never comes to that,'' Sylviane returned a wistful smile as she thought of her previous bodyguard's fate. She certainly did not wish to lose her closest companion again... especially not when Elspeth was already far too eager to become a 'hero' in Lotharin history.

The Princess beckoned for her armiger to stand again before she turned back to face Pascal. And for the first time in months, she addressed Gabriel by their relationship without disdain:

"I need to speak to my uncle."

Pascal looked towards Kaede first with a slight tilt of his head. Sylviane could only surmise that the young Samaran had been correct about something, before her betrothed turned his gaze back.

"I have already made arrangements. Please follow me."

<nowiki>----- * * * -----</nowiki>

The 'arrangements' Pascal made turned out to be several checkpoints manned by discrete and trustworthy security, double-layered wards to ensure that they would not be eavesdropped upon, and an extra cushy chair in the room itself.

And unlike her betrothed last night, Sylviane had sat down face-to-face with her uncle as she listened to him tell her everything that he had told Pascal.

"What I don't understand... is how could my father and you have known that I would even ''succeed'' in retaking the throne?" The Princess challenged her uncle after waiting for him to finish recounting his role in this whole 'act'. "There were so many times and places where I, where ''we'' could have failed," she gestured towards Pascal and Kaede who also sat and stood inside the room.

Only Elspeth had been left outside to ensure that they would not be disturbed. Meanwhile, Reynaud and her other armigers held watch over the dungeons' entrance and perimeter.

"Wait, Is that why His Majesty sent Sylviane and I to Nordkreuz after the Caliphate invaded?" Pascal suddenly asked.

"Yes." Gabriel nodded. "Geoffroi surmised that if Sylviane personally aided the Weichsens, then King Leopold would most likely return the favor and offer her at least some troops to help retake the throne. Meanwhile, you had just inherited your father's substantial wealth and had the resources to not only bankroll a campaign, but also to hire mercenaries to make up for any shortfalls."

It reminded Sylviane of the conversation they had with the late Emperor, where Geoffroi had questioned exactly where Pascal stood on the political scale. Her betrothed had declared then that he would be faithful to the interests of ''both'' Rhin-Lotharingie and Weichsel, which likely solidified her father's trust in Pascal to help her after she lost her path to the throne.

"We also knew that Duke Matthias of Baguette was loyal to the crown and maintained a substantial garrison at the border," Gabriel added next. "Our original plan was based on the belief that Sylviane would lead an invasion of Belgae with the forces of Duke Matthias, soldiers provided by King Leopold, and whatever men King Alistair could bring from the north. We did not even know at the time that you had attained the support of Matthias' grandson."

"I didn't either, at the time," Sylviane responded before leaning back with a sigh. "It was only after your 'coup' that I truly became acquainted with Perceval."

The Princess then sighed before glancing up at the stone ceiling of the dungeon cell.

"The Holy Father truly works in mysterious ways," she said.

A deep scowl formed across Gabriel's lips as he stared back with distaste as though he could not disagree more. Nevertheless, he did say a word more before Pascal interjected to fill the silence.

"Then, having taken all of the supplies from Belgae when you left, you would force march your army back in haste, which creates an opportunity for me to defeat you on the battlefield," Pascal stared back as he finished.

"Yes." Gabriel nodded. "By forcing me to turn my army around, I would have had no chance to dig in, while you would have gained the initiative to predetermine and prepare your battleground. Geoffroi was confident that with both Weichsel's forces, who excel in battles of maneuver across open ground, and Duke Matthias, who was a master of ambushes back during his prime, there were ample opportunities to employ either tactic as my army marched back from Alis Avern. And I would have overruled whatever caution General Menno might have taken to avoid engagement."

"Just as you probably did when you ordered your army to sally out from their fortress by the lake," Sylviane added with an inward frown. "And here I thought I was clever enough to have lured you out."

"It would have been just as tempting had I been trying to win," Gabriel answered with an approving smile towards his niece. "It was an excellent opportunity to sandwich your army, and I did not know then that Henri had switched sides."

"Neither did I," Sylviane felt like she was repeating herself. "Father must be watching down over me from heaven."

Her uncle's lips thinned once more. Though this time he did not look like he wanted to object.

"In either case, your father and I had never anticipated that you would go to the Avorican front instead," Gabriel continued with a thin smile and a shake of his head. "That gave me a real scare when I first learned about it, as Geoffroi doubted the Avoricans could stave off defeat. Even the reinforcements he dispatched under General Macdonald were sent to bolster Roazhon's defenses, so that the city could hold out for at least a half-dozen months in a siege."

"Macdonald did say that he was sent there to buy time," Pascal replied with a faint scowl. "But why not defend Roazhon Gap? That narrow corridor through the mountains is the last barrier keeping the Caliphate's western advance from reaching the Lotharin Heartlands."

"Geoffroi had determined that forestalling the fall of Avorica was a higher priority than stopping the Caliphate's advance," Gabriel answered with a tone that expressed his own approval. "We had expected the Gap of Roazhon to fall under enemy control and that the Tauheeds would send out raids against the Heartland territories. But your father believed that their main force would not advance through the mountains as long as the Avoricans remained a threat to their rear -- certainly not while the cautious General Salim was in command."

"His Majesty truly was a gifted strategist," Pascal voiced his admiration as he looked upon her uncle with a wry grin. "Even facing his own demise and with the situation as desperate as it was, he outlined his priorities and allocated his forces perfectly for each task at hand."

"Yet ''you'' were able to prove him wrong, as you turned out to be a far better tactician and commander than my brother had thought," the Duke then finished with an irony-laden smile.

"Not exactly," Pascal answered with a grim look as he looked down with an inward scowl. "However, that is a long and different story."

Not wanting to see him beat himself up again, Sylviane immediately drew the conversation back to the original question:

"But even if we had not taken the Avorica path, there were still many hurdles that I would have to overcome to succeed at retaking the throne," she pointed out the obvious. "I would have to persuade both King Leopold and Duke Matthias to back me with their forces, which was by no means certain back when we first heard of the coup."

"There is no plan that is foolproof. And there are always risks that one must overcome," her uncle answered with a confident and even proud smile at his niece. "Your father had faith in the two of you to attain the military support that you required. All that remained was for me to play my part in granting you an opportunity to ''win.''"

Sylviane couldn't help but smile as she felt empowered by her father's trust. However...

"But what if I ''had'' failed?" She nevertheless asked. "What would you have done then?"

"Your father did prepare a contingency -- a personal message to King Alistair to be sent upon his death," Gabriel commented as he briefly glanced at Pascal.

His lips formed a scowl so faint that even Sylviane barely noticed it. It was a sign that her uncle had clear reservations revealing this part in front of Pascal. However, given how much Pascal had done for her throughout this entire journey, Sylviane was adamant that he should be told the truth:

"I'm not going to hide this from Pascal, so you can say it in front of him."

Her uncle gave off a slight sigh before he stared at her with a slanted, knowing look that seemed to say 'your choice'.

"I never read the letter myself," he began to explain. "But your father informed me he would tell King Alistair about a premonition that a sudden death might befall him which would leave the Empire in chaos."

"Convenient," Pascal remarked with an irony-laden scowl.

"But not unreasonable," Kaede pitched in to defend. "Plenty of people throughout history have sensed their own looming death."

Sylviane nodded in return before gesturing for Gabriel to continue.

"From what I know, your father told King Alistair that my ambitions might propel me to rise up as a contender for the throne. And if that should happen, he asks for the Glens to support your bid in the chaotic civil war that would ensue."

"Father knew that King Alistair and I have a 'special relationship'." The Princess' lips formed a slight smile. "He always said that the King was as trustworthy a friend as any hound."

"King Alistair's nickname of the 'Hound King' isn't just because he often acted as an attack dog for your father's politics," Gabriel replied with a brief grin.

"I thought it was because he often pursued his targets in person." Pascal's scowl grew as he clearly saw this as an inadequacy of leadership, to which only Kaede answered with a shrug.

"Regardless," Gabriel returned back on topic as he stared intently at his niece. "Geoffroi had also added in that letter that if you were no longer a contender due to reasons unforeseen, then he offered his blessings to King Alistair to both take the crown of the Empire and... your hand in marriage."

Her uncle glanced at her betrothed again at the precise moment when he finished. His eyes bid Sylviane to follow as she caught barely the last vestiges of Pascal's eye twitching.

"And with that, even a bastard king like Alistair can become a somewhat legitimate Emperor of Rhin-Lotharingie," Gabriel added. "Meanwhile, you would have retained the position that you were groomed to be."

"Father has to have known that I ''do not'' see Alistair in that manner," Sylviane stressed in her response.

The Princess knew that her father did. After all, they had talked about this exact topic nearly a year ago.

Yes, part of the reason was that King Alistair was over sixty which made his age more than thrice her own. Had Alistair married and started having children at the same time as many northern nobles, his own firstborn might not have been much younger than Sylviane. Therefore, the Princess had always seen Alistair as more of a 'funny uncle' figure who shared many of her 'occupational woes' than a romantic prospect.

The Princess also knew based on their discussions that she wasn't exactly Alistair's 'type'. Therefore, chances were that any marriage would be a purely political one based on mutual respect, rather than the loving relationship that her mother and father had. As someone born and raised in a royal family, Sylviane could hardly be against such an arrangement.

Nevertheless, Sylviane knew it was important for her to challenge this narrative out loud because her own betrothed was listening.

"Your father reasoned that if nothing else, the friendship between you and King Alistair is true," her uncle then explained what she already knew. "Alistair will respect and ''listen'' to your opinions and your advice -- which, if you take my personal advice, is far more telling of a lasting marriage than love will ever be."

''Then why do you look so sad when you say that,'' Sylviane thought as her eyes stayed fixed to her uncle's gaze.

"And with the way King Alistair rules, we all know you could easily become the true power behind the throne," it was Pascal who then pitched in.

In that moment, Sylviane turned to look intently at her fiancé, whom she knew harbored a jealous complex towards the King of the Glens. She had expected him to look far more displeased by what Gabriel had revealed, and in some way she even regretted telling Gabriel to continue in front of Pascal.

But while Pascal certainly didn't look happy, he didn't look disgruntled either. The young lord kept his eyebrows raised and his lips bent lopsided -- an expression she knew he only wore when he was trying to think outside of his comfort zone.

"What?" Pascal responded as he stared between Gabriel and Sylviane. "I am only speaking the truth. King Alistair hates negotiating policy, which is the majority of a ruler's job," he added with a disapproving shrug.

"Pascal." Sylviane reached out and grabbed his hand while maintaining a lock on his gaze. "I deeply apologize for my father's actions. He should have had more faith in you," she spoke with all the sincerity she could instill into her voice.

"Do not be," Pascal replied straight, which left her bewildered for a moment.

Her fiancé then returned a lopsided expression that was halfway between a scowl and a smirk before he explained:

"Even I can appreciate the ingenuity of your father's play in this instance. He had prepared the board such that as long as you were not killed outright, then there was a near certainty that you would come out of the conflict as both the Empire's true liege and the mother of its royal lineage.

"It is what your father has groomed you to be all these years," her betrothed then added with a slightly forced smile. "I cannot fault him in upholding his top priority as a ruler monikered 'the Great' certainly should."

''That's the strategist in you talking,'' Sylviane reflected. ''But what about emotionally speaking?''

The Princess doubted Pascal's ego could simply accept being thrown aside like that. Nevertheless, this was hardly the place to discuss his feelings. She could only return a nod of appreciation to her betrothed for now before taking a long sigh. She then leaned back in her ornate cushy chair before proverbially turning the page:

"That does at least address my biggest question," she said before her eyes softened as she gazed upon her uncle. "Which brings me to... ''Why?''"

"Why?" Gabriel's head turned slightly as though he felt the answer should be obvious.

"I do not need you to explain to me why we needed to undermine the Trinitian Church. I already know that by heart," Sylviane clarified.

The Princess might be a Trinitian faithful who believed that Hyperion the Dragonlord died to atone for everyone's sins. But her father had always taught her to see the Church hierarchy as an instrument of the Inner Sea. It was the reason he had spent decades fighting tooth and nail over investiture -- the right for the Lotharins themselves to appoint who would be their priests.

The alternative was that the priesthood, who gave sermons to the Rhin-Lotharingie peasantry every mass, would always remain suspect as agents of propaganda and provocateurs for the Holy Imperium and their Pope.

"''We Lotharins have our own culture, our own values,''" Sylviane thought of her father's words on this great matter. "''We must be allowed to think and decide for ourselves, and not through a moral framework controlled by foreigners and dictated to us through the lecturing of outsiders.''"

When she discussed this problem with Kaede, the Samaran girl had equated it to the 'dominance of Western media' in her world, which instilled the shackles of colonialism through the moralistic ideology of 'liberalism', whose adherents cried heathen and heresy towards anyone who disagreed with their cultural values.

It was a reminder to Sylviane that the more concepts differed between worlds, the more practices stayed the same. And just as several countries did in Kaede's world, it was important to undermine and purge the influences of the Arcadian Church from Rhin-Lotharingie.

"What I want to ask is -- why would you go ''this far?''" Sylviane asked.

"You did all of this without any intention of telling me. You were going to take it all to your grave!" The Princess felt an emotion that she had never associated with her uncle before as her voice slowly rose. "Is destroying the legitimacy of the Trinitian Church truly worth throwing your life away like this?"

"''Absolutely,''" Gabriel declared as though he had never been more certain of anything in his life.

"My life had never been worth living to begin with," Gabriel continued in a bitter voice. "Every week, the priest's sermons remind me that I am an irredeemable sinner through no fault of my own, because I was born attracted to men rather than women. Every night, I hurt the saintly woman who married me because I could never even bring myself to properly consummate our marriage. Yet, I can only watch her pray to the Holy Father for ''my'' salvation and solace...

''So the claims about him were all true,'' Sylviane thought with a scowl as even she couldn't help feeling a hint of revulsion and disgust in hearing his words.

It made the Princess realize that up until now, she had only believed in those rumors about her uncle's homosexuality because they corresponded with her image of him as her father's murderer. They had indulged her views that Gabriel had a fundamentally sinful nature. But the reality was wholly different.

Gabriel was a noble man who just happened to be a homosexual all along.

Perhaps it was not surprising that Gabriel managed to deceive everyone on both sides of the Civil War. He had been misleading people about his true nature for his entire life. To pretend to be someone he was not was so deeply ingrained in him that deception became second nature for him.

"It was for this reason alone that I requested my brother to denounce me during his final moments, despite the fact he had ''never'' spoken ill of my inclinations before," Gabriel's voice rose as pain mixed with anguish in his gaze once more. It was as if the mere memory of hearing it from his brother's lips was hurtful to him.

"Nor had he ever looked down upon me in the same manner as you are doing now," he then added with a frown at his niece. "It's as if you have already deemed me guilty of irrevocable sin."

Sylviane immediately broke eye contact and looked away with an apologetic scowl.

"''It was never traditional Lotharin culture that had cast homosexuality as a moral sin -- that is a view imposed upon us by the Imperials who built the Trinitian Church of Arcadia,''" her father's words from a previous discussion echoed in her mind.

''Truly. Even I myself, despite knowing the dangers of the Church, cannot escape their influence,'' the Princess thought.

"I'm sorry," Sylviane's gaze softened as she looked back at her uncle. "It cannot be your fault if you were born with such an attraction and never made a choice to love men."

Yet at the same time, she could feel her own scathing hypocrisy accusing her in her mind.

Regardless, Gabriel merely sighed and waved it off as he returned a sad smile.

"My brother knew everything about me. He even covered for my dalliances during my youth," he continued. "It was I who failed the phoenix's call and turned to hate myself. I was never there for him when he needed me. Yet he welcomed me back with open arms." He clenched his fists as he spoke in a regretful tone.

"Father always did say that the Lord said 'love thy neighbor', not -- under what condition," Sylviane commented quietly with a soft smile.

Gabriel responded with a wistful nod as his eyes grew glassy with reminiscent nostalgia.

"Geoffroi might not be the same as me, but he was the only one who ever truly accepted me for what I am," he said. "And because of that, I swore then that he would be the only one whom I would never consciously lie to, as he was the only true love I've ever known."

"Though sibling love is not the same," Pascal retorted before he frowned as Sylviane glanced at him. Even he seemed to realize that it was not his place to speak.

After all, not only was this a close family matter, Pascal was neither a theologian nor a relationship expert. He was hardly in a place to either debate or judge the many forms of emotional bonds. Especially when Pascal himself shared one such unusual bond with Kaede who, despite her female physique, claimed to be of male birth.

Pascal seemed to realize this himself as he glanced towards the petite familiar who stood silently beside him. Sylviane knew that his relationship with Kaede was built upon trust and 'family'. However, the Princess was also certain from the way he looked at the adorable girl that he had desires which extended beyond it. It was, after all, the reason why she had initially grown jealous and tried to 'put Kaede in her place'.

But did that mean that his feelings committed the same sin as Gabriel? When the Lord taught that it was their souls which truly mattered and not their bodies?

Sylviane certainly didn't believe so. After all, the Lord has never spoken against love, only acts of illicit intercourse itself. And even had Gabriel gone that far, he was no more sinful than so many other men who partook in premarital sex -- which included her own betrothed. That didn't even include the rumors she had heard in court about a new practice that involved the mouth, which was every bit as unnatural as sodomy.

"And for this, you despise the Church and everything they preach," Sylviane said as she finally came to understand.

"Wouldn't you, in my shoes?" Gabriel challenged. "The priests and their sermons have done nothing for people like me except to prejudice everyone against us and teach us to hate ourselves. I'm damned if I live a lie and damned if I don't. So I might as well just accept damnation for myself and kiss the devil's feet!"

The Princess scowled slightly as she would never go so far as to claim that the whole Trinitian faith was worthless due to the corruption of its institutional hierarchy. Nevertheless, she sidestepped the issue for now and instead focused on where their views overlapped.

"We can certainly agree that the Trinitian Church has lost its way. Our Lord and Savior preached that everyone should be shown a path to be content and live at peace with themselves, yet the Church..." Sylviane trailed off as she thought back to her conversations with her late father on why the Trinitian Church was steadily losing support.

"But not every Lotharin has come to recognize that, nor the way the Church wields its political power to the detriment of our people," Gabriel pointed out. "Therefore, I wanted it to be known to every Lotharin that our Pope ordained a ''homosexual'' as the Defender of the Faith. That the Church has become so blinded by politics and corrupted by avarice that they would support even the most heinous crime of ''kinslaying'' to attain their aims."

"And to achieve that, you put on an act that fooled not only the entire realm, but even wagered your own life in the gamble," Pascal muttered as though he could hardly believe the sheer audacity of the plan laid out before him, even though the reality was that it had been long in the making and was mostly complete.

"Always bet big," Gabriel responded with a sneer at Pascal. His eyes then pivoted back to his niece with a determined gaze as he declared with absolute conviction:

"I would like to see nothing more than for my life and disposition to become the catalyst that tears apart the moral foundation of the Trinitian Church! Because that would give my life ''meaning'' -- which is far more valuable than simply being alive."

''You're more religious than you'd like for us to believe, Uncle,'' Sylviane couldn't help thinking as a deathly silence lingered in the wake of Gabriel's declaration.

''Otherwise, you wouldn't be so eager to become a martyr to 'nationalism','' she thought of the word that Kaede had used. ''You wouldn't be gifting an advantage to my rule in exchange for your life!''

"Uncle. I cannot kill you for this," the Princess pursed her lips as she finally broke the silence. "You're the last of my father's family. How could I face him in heaven..."

"Your father had already attempted to persuade me to not do this," Gabriel cut in. "He knows my resolution and will not fault you for this."

"Even then, you're ''innocent!''" Sylviane said as her eyes grew glassy and her voice cracked. "Every charge that I've laid against you. Not one of them is true!"

"Yet you must prosecute me anyway, and to the fullest extent of the law," Gabriel declared as though he was the one who had greater royal authority. "You must play your role in this act to its conclusion, or everything that we've accomplished, every life who was sacrificed in this civil war -- they would have died for nothing!"

"And furthermore," his voice grew ominous. "You must continue to denounce me as your father's killer throughout your entire life, even if you know it to be false."

"You can't--" Sylviane objected as she looked upon her godfather as a parent figure for the first time in her life. A tear pooled in the corner of her gaze as she could not bear the thought of losing him just as soon as she found his aid.

"I know it's hard," Gabriel's face softened with sympathy even as he cut her off once more. "It's the reason I did not want you to learn about any of this. But now that you have, you must continue to act as though you never knew."

"Then ''at least'' let me commute your sentence to--" Sylviane added.

"No!" Gabriel interjected as he remained resolute. "You can show mercy to anyone else involved with the rebellion. But ''not me''. You cannot even commute my sentence to beheading. It would only undermine the supremacy of the law, which your father had upheld throughout his entire reign. Not to mention it could create doubt about your hatred for your father's killer should your mask ever falter in the decades to come."

Sylviane's lips hung as she stared back in bewilderment. She had considered proposing exile instead, however that didn't fly even with her own logic. No sane ruler would exile a pretender who had already tried once to seize the crown. That would merely give them a second chance as it allowed them to rebuild their resources abroad.

However, both the Princess and her uncle knew that there was only one legal outcome for his deeds. He would receive not merely death, but death by the most painful means of being boiled alive.

"I wouldn't mind being burned alive either if you could make the case that I committed heresy, but I doubt that would work," Gabriel then added with a quirky smile as though his own death was a joke. "It would certainly add one more stain upon the Church, that the Pope appointed a heretic to be the Defender of the Faith."

"I don't think anyone would take that charge seriously," Sylviane shook her head. "It would be seen as trumped up at best, which would undermine the legitimacy of the other charges..." Sylviane trailed off as she pondered: ''is that really a bad thing?''

"No." Gabriel slapped it down as he seemingly read her thoughts. "The legal case against me should remain airtight."

"Uncle..." Sylviane felt her heart fill with sorrow and regret as she stared at the godfather whom she never really knew until now. "Do we really have to do this? Can we not substitute a body just as you did for my father?"

Gabriel replied with a shake of his head:

"Your father was already dead by the time I spiked the head that imitated him. But I will need to die under the scrutiny of hundreds, including guards and nobles who would recognize my mana signature. There is no way you can fool everyone even if you could find a perfect living doppelganger.

"Besides," he then added with a wistful smile. "I am already resolved to die for this cause. The only thing that I ask for is your promise that my death will not be in vain. That you will purge Rhin-Lotharingie of Arcadia's moralistic dominance," he finished before staring intently at his niece.

"I swear to you, ''Uncle''," the Princess declared without a moment's pause. She stared back at Gabriel with glassy eyes while her hands tightened into fists as she added: "I will do everything in my power to finally rid Rhin-Lotharingie of the Imperium's strings."

"Then I will be content and my life will have had meaning," Gabriel responded with a faint, sad smile.

"Uncle..." a tear slid down Sylviane's cheek as she looked upon her last surviving blood relative.

She had already lost her mother and her brothers to Imperial assassins. Her father might have died anyway due to his illness, but he chose to go out in a blaze of glory in opposing yet another Imperial scheme. The last thing Sylviane wanted to see was to lose yet another member of her family -- one that she didn't know she had until an hour ago -- to great power geopolitics. Yet the Princess in her knew that she had no other choice.

"For what it's worth, becoming your godfather was the only role I truly took pride in this life," Gabriel then added in a tone of farewell. "Your father and I both know that you will be a great ruler. And I will always be glad that I was able to play a part in helping you ascend -- as I leave you not only a full treasury and a clear understanding of your subject's true loyalties, but also the greatest gift any crown heir could have: being a hated predecessor that the country will celebrate you for freeing them from," he smirked as though making one last joke.

"You are the best godfather any daughter of Rhin-Lotharingie could have had," Sylviane pursed her lips as she returned a resigned and mournful smile that looked somewhat forced. "If there is anything I could still do for you in these last few days..."

"There is," Gabriel answered almost immediately. "If you want to grant me one last wish, then please help my wife remarry."

A gentle smile grew across his expression as he clarified: "I want her to have someone kind, someone outside the political arena as I do not wish for her to be hounded by her association with a traitor, someone actually ''deserving of her'' this time."

"Does my aunt know?" The Princess couldn't help asking first.

"I've never told her anything regarding the coup," Gabriel shook his head. "Even my rebellion came as a surprise to her, though it's possible she might suspect a thing or two." He sighed as a wry smile came to his lips. "She always did have excellent intuition. And she knew I did not resent Geoffroi as I occasionally claimed to."

Sylviane nodded in return.

"I promise you that I will do everything I can for her," she answered before a thought came to her.

"And Uncle," she addressed him with a warm smile. "You do love your wife. Certainly in the manner that truly matters in the eyes of the Holy Father."

"I agree," Pascal decided to break his silence once more as his turquoise gaze met Gabriel's with a look of sincere respect. "Your Grace is as much a man as anyone who strove to be a good husband and giving father. And anyone who tells you otherwise is either a fool or a hypocrite."

"Well, I have always known myself to be a hypocrite," Gabriel joked before his lips formed a sincere smile towards Pascal for the first time. "But thank you, both of you. That truly meant a great deal."

<nowiki>----- * * * -----</nowiki>

Five days later, Kaede watched Princess Sylviane gaze upon the open ground in front of the Oriflamme Citadel from an arrowslit on the third tower.

A huge crowd had already gathered around the wooden scaffold built outside the gateway. Four massive cauldrons had been prepared for the four nobles declared guilty of the highest form of treason. They included Gabriel and three of the leading perpetrators who had reached out to the Imperium for support. These traitors not only rose in rebellion against the crown and committed regicide, they had done it in collusion with the historical nemesis of all Lotharins.

It was therefore of no surprise that the crowd was extremely animated in decrying the traitors with insults and hurled garbage. And Gabriel received the worst of it as everyone recognized him as the prime offender.

"You rotten, pestilence-addled, dung-loving, traitorous shitbagging sodomite!" A particularly colorful cry came from the crowd. "I hope they welcome you with branding irons for your anus in hell!"

The Samaran girl could see a scowl form across The Princess' lips. The floor they stood on was dark and unlit, and Sylviane intended to keep it that way as she had Elspeth stand guard outside the entrance. Only a narrow band of cloud-filtered sunlight came through the arrowslit to shine on Sylviane's left cheek. Yet, despite the poor lighting, Kaede could plainly see the anxiety and distress that plagued the Princess.

The fact that Sylviane did not wish to kill her uncle was written all over her face. She was even of two minds about revealing his homosexuality during his trial. However, in the end, Sylviane did opt to send a letter to the court as she could not bear to testify in person. Attached to it was a parting letter from Gabriel's own mother which he had saved all these years -- a final letter which accused her son of 'crimes against nature' in his dalliances and pleaded for him to seek the Holy Father's forgiveness.

And since then, 'the Pope named a homosexual as the Defender of the Faith' had spread like wildfire throughout the continent.

"I'm sorry, Uncle." Kaede heard Sylviane mutter just as the Princess did that day she handed Kaede the letter to be taken to court. "It must be done," the latter then reminded herself as she closed her fist and squeezed.

"''Elder Sister,''" the Samaran girl said with an uncertain frown. "Are you sure you want to watch this? It would only hurt you to see him die like this."

"A little pain in my heart, Kaede, is the least I could bear to repay the gift that my godfather left me," Sylviane replied in a solemn voice without ever looking back.

Her eyes remained fixated on Gabriel as the executioners suspended the Duke by his cuffed wrists. He was then lowered into the cauldron until the scalding hot water submerged his body up to his chest.

Meanwhile, Kaede winced and turned away from the crowd as she heard the four men cry out in agony. It truly was a barbaric form of capital punishment, as the guilty were not even dropped into boiling hot water. But rather, the water had been heated just enough to cause blistering pain, and then cooked further with their victims inside until they died a most torturous death.

The screams of anguish and agony included Gabriel's own. However, both Kaede and Sylviane knew them to be false. The Princess had offered one last act of mercy to Gabriel -- a tiny shirt button which Pascal had inscribed with a pain-blocking spell rune. Nevertheless, the Duke still put on an act as he thrashed about in the scalding waters and howled through gritted teeth. It was an impeccable performance that was genuinely painful for Kaede to witness.

It took several minutes for the water to boil. Several minutes for the victims' organs to fail. Several minutes where Gabriel continued to be pelted by rotten vegetables as he slowly stopped struggling.

"Farewell, Uncle," Sylviane muttered in barely more than a whisper as she watched her last living blood relative fall deathly still in the simmering cauldron.

"Rest easy that I won't let your death be in vain," her sorrowful voice added as it steadily transformed into anger and resolve. "Nor will I let ''any'' of our family's death be for naught..."

The Samaran girl caught sight of a steely glint as Sylviane pulled out an engraved dagger and pressed it against her palm.

"The Imperium shall pay for the blood debt they owe to us all," the Princess then declared in a hateful tone.

"I swear, upon the memories of my father, my mother, and my brothers, upon the departing soul of my uncle, upon my ancestors and the martyrs of Rhin-Lotharingie, and upon the Holy Cross and all that is sacred to me," Sylviane declared in her most solemn voice as blood dripped from the cut across her palm.

"I swear to every being," she took a step back before extending her bleeding hand into the cross-shaped arrowslit, "who may one day weigh my soul and hold me accountable for my deeds -- that I, Sylviane Etiennette de Gaetane, Crown Princess and future Empress of the Empire of Rhin-Lotharingie, ''shall always be an enemy of the Arcadian Holy Imperium of the Inner Sea.''"

Kaede's eyes almost bulged out of their sockets as she watched the Princess declare an oath upon the salvation of her soul. But Sylviane still wasn't finished:

"I shall never be a friend of any servant of the Imperium. I shall never negotiate with them in good faith. And I ''shall not rest'' until the last vestiges of that evil hegemon which has dominated us Lotharins for so long is completely and utterly consigned to the trash heap of history," she concluded before squeezing her fist to wring the blood from her hand until her knuckles turned white.

Meanwhile, the Samaran girl could hardly believe what she had just borne witness to. For a ruler as youthful and as brilliant as Sylviane, who still had at least a century of lifespan ahead, to declare the Imperium as not merely her mortal enemy, but to 'never rest' until she saw its destruction.

''This is going to lead to disaster,'' Kaede thought as she realized the decades of conflict and war this could bring, as well as the countless civilians who could be murdered in its name.

It really shouldn't have surprised her, after how many friends and family members Sylviane lost as a result of the Imperium's schemes. However, what the Princess swore to do would only further escalate the cycle of animosity and hatred. And for a ruler, this vendetta gambled not only her own life, but the countless millions of her realm upon a geopolitical quest of vengeance.

And if she didn't help bring a stop to it, the blood spilled forth by this new quest could easily flow a new river to the sea.

Kaede wouldn't say anything now. No, she wasn't that stupid. But she was in a unique position as someone embraced into the royal family ''and'' had the ears of the crown. Perhaps, with the passage of time to heal Sylviane's emotional scars, the Princess would be more willing to reconsider her oath.

''Perhaps,'' the Samaran girl pondered as she suppressed a sigh. ''I'd been brought to this world for this very purpose.''

After all, the path of great leadership was fraught with dangers that often deprived even the best people of their humanity. This was doubly the case for those who wished to bring change for the betterment of their state.

Ivan the 4th of Russia had been a great champion of legal reform that brought justice to the powerful aristocracy and protections for the lower classes. Yet, the repeated assassinations on his life and those of his family, including the poisoning of his beloved wife, turned him into a violent and brutal autocrat monikered 'the Terrible'. By the same token, Kaede would never forget reading about how Mao Zedong of China, who had such empathy for the downtrodden that he used his own adolescent body to shield his mother from domestic abuse, would one day ignore the starvation of millions as he pursued the 'utopia' envisioned by his fallen revolutionary comrades.

Kaede looked back at the Princess whose hand was still bleeding and whose eyes remained fixated on the skies through the cross-shaped arrowslit. She reached out with her own chilly hands and wrapped them around Sylviane's cold palm, before activating one of the few spells she could cast through her ring from Pascal.

"''First Aid.''"

Her magical healing finally caught Sylviane's attention as the latter looked down with a pained smile and a wistful gaze.

"Thank you."

"It's what I'm here for, ''Elder Sister''," Kaede tried to look natural as she beamed back.

Would Sylviane become an empress worthy of song by the generations to come? Or would she become a brutal tyrant who stopped at nothing to destroy her enemies? It all depended on circumstance and the people who surrounded Her Highness in the decades to come.

And in that moment, the girl reborn from another world knew she had found her true calling in this new world.

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Daybreak:Volume 4 Chapter 21

2025-06-01T19:09:12Z

Aorii:

===Chapter 21 - An End and a Beginning===

"What did you say?"

Sylviane's voice dropped to a bare mutter as she replied with stunned disbelief. Her body moved as though in slow motion as she swiveled atop the dresser chair to stare at her betrothed.

Behind her, the Princess' maid and bodyguard Elspeth stood slack-jawed as she gazed upon Pascal's reflected image in the dresser mirror. Her fingers slowly lost their grip on a silver hairbrush which fell to the tiled floor with a clang.

"Your Uncle Gabriel did not betray the Empire," Pascal repeated his solemn words as he stood straight against the footpost of her four-poster bed. "He did what he has done with your father's knowledge and consent."

"How?" Sylviane's question came in little more than a whisper before she could retrain her voice. Yet her follow-up came at an almost shout as she lost control of her pitch:

"''HOW could that'' be possible?"

The Princess retained enough awareness to notice that her response gave even her fiancé pause, despite the fact he was a battlefield veteran who nearly died multiple times. A swallowing motion came from his throat as a faint scowl formed across his lips.

"Your father and your uncle had planned the coup and the civil war beforehand," Pascal then stated in a firm voice as he stared back with zero doubt in his expression. "Or at the very least, they had planned as much of it as they could, based on what they knew and could predict beforehand, as your father knew that he had only months left to live thanks to his illness and..."

Pascal's brows frowned with uncertainty for the first time before adding: "I can only describe Gabriel as having a death wish."

The young lord had told Sylviane about her father's illness first. That had been a bitter enough pill to swallow by itself, though it at least came on the premise that her father was already dead regardless of the cause. However, to hear that Geoffroi had not been slain in a coup but rather orchestrated his own death, or that the head which she harmed herself to cremate yesterday wasn't even her father's...

"But... ''but!''"

Sylviane felt her hands shaking as she wanted to point and denounce Pascal's words as lies. Yet, she knew deep down that Pascal would only tell her something like this after being completely certain of its truth.

Nevertheless, that did not rule out the possibility of him being deceived.

The Princess turned to stare at Kaede, who answered her unspoken question with a sad but affirmative nod before looking down. The youthful Samaran whom Sylviane entrusted as her top diplomat also stood certain of Pascal's facts, which meant...

''It's true then,'' Sylviane thought to herself as she slumped back into her seat.

''My uncle isn't a murderer and a traitor as I had thought this whole time...''

For nearly a minute, the Princess sat unmoving in complete silence with a downcast gaze. Her mind struggled with the implications of this revelation which changed ''everything'' that she thought she knew.

''Why did nobody tell me?'' Her thoughts cried out as sadness, anger, regret, denial... There were so many emotions rising up inside her at once, so many screaming voices that they formed a tumultuous cacophony that she could no longer tell apart.

"I was supposed to be the ''heir apparent!''"

Her hands balled into fists as an aggrieved cry emerged from her shaking lips. She could feel a single hot streak of tears falling down her cheeks.

"''Why...?''"

The Princess demanded with gritted teeth as her eyes cast a death glare upon her future husband. However, Pascal did not flinch from her fury for even a split-second as he calmly responded to her outrage.

"To destroy the moral legitimacy of the Trinitian Church in the eyes of all Lotharins," he answered with a scowl as he clearly did not approve of such motives. "At least, that is what Gabriel told me last night as the main reason for his crimes."

Yet, it was this detail that finally excised the lingering denial in Sylviane's thoughts that it was the indisputable truth.

The Princess leaned back her head and looked up towards the ceiling and the heavens she imagined above before she spoke:

"Father always said that the Trinitian Church is the greatest thorn left behind from the days when the Imperium ruled over us Lotharins."

It was one of the many reasons why her late father had turned a blind eye towards the Albigensian Heresy in Garona, until the religious turmoil escalated to a point that it began to affect diplomacy and geopolitical statecraft.

"And what of my late sister?" Sylviane heard the sharp soprano of her bodyguard Elspeth ask in the silence that lingered. "Did she also know?"

"We did not speak much of Colonel Lindsay's involvement in this whole plot. But as His Majesty's closest guard and confidante, I cannot imagine that she did not know of this," Pascal could only say in response. "Healer Julien confirmed that she was one of only four people who knew of the Emperor's illness before the coup. And knowing her unwavering loyalty to His Late Majesty, I can only surmise that she agreed to the martyrdom of her banner to maintain the pretense that this was truly a coup."

"Sis..."

Sylviane could see Elspeth's lips trembling in the mirror as large drops of tears fell from her swollen peridot-green gaze. The teenage-looking guardsman, who according to Cecylia had never shed a tear even after walking for hours on a broken leg, suddenly broke down and began to bawl her eyes out like an adolescent kid.

The Princess could feel a new wave of tears spilling forth from her own eyes as the sorrow and loss that she thought she had come to terms with flooded back into her emotional state. She stood up from her dresser and turned towards her maid and bodyguard before enveloping the latter in an all-encompassing hug.

"I promise you that Lindsay will forever be remembered as a martyr of Rhin-Lotharingie," Sylviane declared as the two girls cried to each other. "She was as much a mentor to me as an elder sister to you. And I shall see that her sacrifice and those of her men will be immortalized through the actions of my reign."

The Princess did not need an oath to be a just ruler. Yet in making it, it added to the weight on her shoulders from all those who sacrifice themselves for her future reign.

And if she were to repay them, any of them, then she had better work hard to ensure her actions leave a legacy that would resonate through Lotharin history.

Though realistically speaking, Sylviane doubted if the heroic legacy of Colonel Lindsay depended on her own actions. The last stand of the Highland Guard and its commander's final words had already spread to every tavern through the bards and skalds of Rhin-Lotharingie. The only glorification still missing was an artistic depiction of the scene for the royal citadel's halls, as well as a constituted Highland Guard with Lindsay's famous words for its motto and flag.

Nevertheless, merely hearing the vow brought a bittersweet smile back to Elspeth's tearstained face. The petite girl wiped the streaks of moisture from her cheeks before offering a slight curtsy to the Princess.

"Thank you, Your Highness. No daughter of House Mackay-Martel could ask for a better fate than to be immortalized in the Empire's history," the bodyguard stated before taking a knee to issue an oath of her own. "And I swear I shall do no less than my sister did should the day come when I face a similar fate."

''Let's hope it never comes to that,'' Sylviane returned a wistful smile as she thought of her previous bodyguard's fate. She certainly did not wish to lose her closest companion again... especially not when Elspeth was already far too eager to become a 'hero' in Lotharin history.

The Princess beckoned for her armiger to stand again before she turned back to face Pascal. And for the first time in months, she addressed Gabriel by their relationship without disdain:

"I need to speak to my uncle."

Pascal looked towards Kaede first with a slight tilt of his head. Sylviane could only surmise that the young Samaran had been correct about something, before her betrothed turned his gaze back.

"I have already made arrangements. Please follow me."

<nowiki>----- * * * -----</nowiki>

The 'arrangements' Pascal made turned out to be several checkpoints manned by discrete and trustworthy security, double-layered wards to ensure that they would not be eavesdropped upon, and an extra cushy chair in the room itself.

And unlike her betrothed last night, Sylviane had sat down face-to-face with her uncle as she listened to him tell her everything that he had told Pascal.

"What I don't understand... is how could my father and you have known that I would even ''succeed'' in retaking the throne?" The Princess challenged her uncle after waiting for him to finish recounting his role in this whole 'act'. "There were so many times and places where I, where ''we'' could have failed," she gestured towards Pascal and Kaede who also sat and stood inside the room.

Only Elspeth had been left outside to ensure that they would not be disturbed. Meanwhile, Reynaud and her other armigers held watch over the dungeons' entrance and perimeter.

"Wait, Is that why His Majesty sent Sylviane and I to Nordkreuz after the Caliphate invaded?" Pascal suddenly asked.

"Yes." Gabriel nodded. "Geoffroi surmised that if Sylviane personally aided the Weichsens, then King Leopold would most likely return the favor and offer her at least some troops to help retake the throne. Meanwhile, you had just inherited your father's substantial wealth and had the resources to not only bankroll a campaign, but also to hire mercenaries to make up for any shortfalls."

It reminded Sylviane of the conversation they had with the late Emperor, where Geoffroi had questioned exactly where Pascal stood on the political scale. Her betrothed had declared then that he would be faithful to the interests of ''both'' Rhin-Lotharingie and Weichsel, which likely solidified her father's trust in Pascal to help her after she lost her path to the throne.

"We also knew that Duke Matthias of Baguette was loyal to the crown and maintained a substantial garrison at the border," Gabriel added next. "Our original plan was based on the belief that Sylviane would lead an invasion of Belgae with the forces of Duke Matthias, soldiers provided by King Leopold, and whatever men King Alistair could bring from the north. We did not even know at the time that you had attained the support of Matthias' grandson."

"I didn't either, at the time," Sylviane responded before leaning back with a sigh. "It was only after your 'coup' that I truly became acquainted with Perceval."

The Princess then sighed before glancing up at the stone ceiling of the dungeon cell.

"The Holy Father truly works in mysterious ways," she said.

A deep scowl formed across Gabriel's lips as he stared back with distaste as though he could not disagree more. Nevertheless, he did say a word more before Pascal interjected to fill the silence.

"Then, having taken all of the supplies from Belgae when you left, you would force march your army back in haste, which creates an opportunity for me to defeat you on the battlefield," Pascal stared back as he finished.

"Yes." Gabriel nodded. "By forcing me to turn my army around, I would have had no chance to dig in, while you would have gained the initiative to predetermine and prepare your battleground. Geoffroi was confident that with both Weichsel's forces, who excel in battles of maneuver across open ground, and Duke Matthias, who was a master of ambushes back during his prime, there were ample opportunities to employ either tactic as my army marched back from Alis Avern. And I would have overruled whatever caution General Menno might have taken to avoid engagement."

"Just as you probably did when you ordered your army to sally out from their fortress by the lake," Sylviane added with an inward frown. "And here I thought I was clever enough to have lured you out."

"It would have been just as tempting had I been trying to win," Gabriel answered with an approving smile towards his niece. "It was an excellent opportunity to sandwich your army, and I did not know then that Henri had switched sides."

"Neither did I," Sylviane felt like she was repeating herself. "Father must be watching down over me from heaven."

Her uncle's lips thinned once more. Though this time he did not look like he wanted to object.

"In either case, your father and I had never anticipated that you would go to the Avorican front instead," Gabriel continued with a thin smile and a shake of his head. "That gave me a real scare when I first learned about it, as Geoffroi doubted the Avoricans could stave off defeat. Even the reinforcements he dispatched under General Macdonald were sent to bolster Roazhon's defenses, so that the city could hold out for at least a half-dozen months in a siege."

"Macdonald did say that he was sent there to buy time," Pascal replied with a faint scowl. "But why not defend Roazhon Gap? That narrow corridor through the mountains is the last barrier keeping the Caliphate's western advance from reaching the Lotharin Heartlands."

"Geoffroi had determined that forestalling the fall of Avorica was a higher priority than stopping the Caliphate's advance," Gabriel answered with a tone that expressed his own approval. "We had expected the Gap of Roazhon to fall under enemy control and that the Tauheeds would send out raids against the Heartland territories. But your father believed that their main force would not advance through the mountains as long as the Avoricans remained a threat to their rear -- certainly not while the cautious General Salim was in command."

"His Majesty truly was a gifted strategist," Pascal voiced his admiration as he looked upon her uncle with a wry grin. "Even facing his own demise and with the situation as desperate as it was, he outlined his priorities and allocated his forces perfectly for each task at hand."

"Yet ''you'' were able to prove him wrong, as you turned out to be a far better tactician and commander than my brother had thought," the Duke then finished with an irony-laden smile.

"Not exactly," Pascal answered with a grim look as he looked down with an inward scowl. "However, that is a long and different story."

Not wanting to see him beat himself up again, Sylviane immediately drew the conversation back to the original question:

"But even if we had not taken the Avorica path, there were still many hurdles that I would have to overcome to succeed at retaking the throne," she pointed out the obvious. "I would have to persuade both King Leopold and Duke Matthias to back me with their forces, which was by no means certain back when we first heard of the coup."

"There is no plan that is foolproof. And there are always risks that one must overcome," her uncle answered with a confident and even proud smile at his niece. "Your father had faith in the two of you to attain the military support that you required. All that remained was for me to play my part in granting you an opportunity to ''win.''"

Sylviane couldn't help but smile as she felt empowered by her father's trust. However...

"But what if I ''had'' failed?" She nevertheless asked. "What would you have done then?"

"Your father did prepare a contingency -- a personal message to King Alistair to be sent upon his death," Gabriel commented as he briefly glanced at Pascal.

His lips formed a scowl so faint that even Sylviane barely noticed it. It was a sign that her uncle had clear reservations revealing this part in front of Pascal. However, given how much Pascal had done for her throughout this entire journey, Sylviane was adamant that he should be told the truth:

"I'm not going to hide this from Pascal, so you can say it in front of him."

Her uncle gave off a slight sigh before he stared at her with a slanted, knowing look that seemed to say 'your choice'.

"I never read the letter myself," he began to explain. "But your father informed me he would tell King Alistair about a premonition that a sudden death might befall him which would leave the Empire in chaos."

"Convenient," Pascal remarked with an irony-laden scowl.

"But not unreasonable," Kaede pitched in to defend. "Plenty of people throughout history have sensed their own looming death."

Sylviane nodded in return before gesturing for Gabriel to continue.

"From what I know, your father told King Alistair that my ambitions might propel me to rise up as a contender for the throne. And if that should happen, he asks for the Glens to support your bid in the chaotic civil war that would ensue."

"Father knew that King Alistair and I have a 'special relationship'." The Princess' lips formed a slight smile. "He always said that the King was as trustworthy a friend as any hound."

"King Alistair's nickname of the 'Hound King' isn't just because he often acted as an attack dog for your father's politics," Gabriel replied with a brief grin.

"I thought it was because he often pursued his targets in person." Pascal's scowl grew as he clearly saw this as an inadequacy of leadership, to which only Kaede answered with a shrug.

"Regardless," Gabriel returned back on topic as he stared intently at his niece. "Geoffroi had also added in that letter that if you were no longer a contender due to reasons unforeseen, then he offered his blessings to King Alistair to both take the crown of the Empire and... your hand in marriage."

Her uncle glanced at her betrothed again at the precise moment when he finished. His eyes bid Sylviane to follow as she caught barely the last vestiges of Pascal's eye twitching.

"And with that, even a bastard king like Alistair can become a somewhat legitimate Emperor of Rhin-Lotharingie," Gabriel added. "Meanwhile, you would have retained the position that you were groomed to be."

"Father has to have known that I ''do not'' see Alistair in that manner," Sylviane stressed in her response.

The Princess knew that her father did. After all, they had talked about this exact topic nearly a year ago.

Yes, part of the reason was that King Alistair was over sixty which made his age more than thrice her own. Had Alistair married and started having children at the same time as many northern nobles, his own firstborn might not have been much younger than Sylviane. Therefore, the Princess had always seen Alistair as more of a 'funny uncle' figure who shared many of her 'occupational woes' than a romantic prospect.

The Princess also knew based on their discussions that she wasn't exactly Alistair's 'type'. Therefore, chances were that any marriage would be a purely political one based on mutual respect, rather than the loving relationship that her mother and father had. As someone born and raised in a royal family, Sylviane could hardly be against such an arrangement.

Nevertheless, Sylviane knew it was important for her to challenge this narrative out loud because her own betrothed was listening.

"Your father reasoned that if nothing else, the friendship between you and King Alistair is true," her uncle then explained what she already knew. "Alistair will respect and ''listen'' to your opinions and your advice -- which, if you take my personal advice, is far more telling of a lasting marriage than love will ever be."

''Then why do you look so sad when you say that,'' Sylviane thought as her eyes stayed fixed to her uncle's gaze.

"And with the way King Alistair rules, we all know you could easily become the true power behind the throne," it was Pascal who then pitched in.

In that moment, Sylviane turned to look intently at her fiancé, whom she knew harbored a jealous complex towards the King of the Glens. She had expected him to look far more displeased by what Gabriel had revealed, and in some way she even regretted telling Gabriel to continue in front of Pascal.

But while Pascal certainly didn't look happy, he didn't look disgruntled either. The young lord kept his eyebrows raised and his lips bent lopsided -- an expression she knew he only wore when he was trying to think outside of his comfort zone.

"What?" Pascal responded as he stared between Gabriel and Sylviane. "I am only speaking the truth. King Alistair hates negotiating policy, which is the majority of a ruler's job," he added with a disapproving shrug.

"Pascal." Sylviane reached out and grabbed his hand while maintaining a lock on his gaze. "I deeply apologize for my father's actions. He should have had more faith in you," she spoke with all the sincerity she could instill into her voice.

"Do not be," Pascal replied straight, which left her bewildered for a moment.

Her fiancé then returned a lopsided expression that was halfway between a scowl and a smirk before he explained:

"Even I can appreciate the ingenuity of your father's play in this instance. He had prepared the board such that as long as you were not killed outright, then there was a near certainty that you would come out of the conflict as both the Empire's true liege and the mother of its royal lineage.

"It is what your father has groomed you to be all these years," her betrothed then added with a slightly forced smile. "I cannot fault him in upholding his top priority as a ruler monikered 'the Great' certainly should."

''That's the strategist in you talking,'' Sylviane reflected. ''But what about emotionally speaking?''

The Princess doubted Pascal's ego could simply accept being thrown aside like that. Nevertheless, this was hardly the place to discuss his feelings. She could only return a nod of appreciation to her betrothed for now before taking a long sigh. She then leaned back in her ornate cushy chair before proverbially turning the page:

"That does at least address my biggest question," she said before her eyes softened as she gazed upon her uncle. "Which brings me to... ''Why?''"

"Why?" Gabriel's head turned slightly as though he felt the answer should be obvious.

"I do not need you to explain to me why we needed to undermine the Trinitian Church. I already know that by heart," Sylviane clarified.

The Princess might be a Trinitian faithful who believed that Hyperion the Dragonlord died to atone for everyone's sins. But her father had always taught her to see the Church hierarchy as an instrument of the Inner Sea. It was the reason he had spent decades fighting tooth and nail over investiture -- the right for the Lotharins themselves to appoint who would be their priests.

The alternative was that the priesthood, who gave sermons to the Rhin-Lotharingie peasantry every mass, would always remain suspect as agents of propaganda and provocateurs for the Holy Imperium and their Pope.

"''We Lotharins have our own culture, our own values,''" Sylviane thought of her father's words on this great matter. "''We must be allowed to think and decide for ourselves, and not through a moral framework controlled by foreigners and dictated to us through the lecturing of outsiders.''"

When she discussed this problem with Kaede, the Samaran girl had equated it to the 'dominance of Western media' in her world, which instilled the shackles of colonialism through the moralistic ideology of 'liberalism', whose adherents cried heathen and heresy towards anyone who disagreed with their cultural values.

It was a reminder to Sylviane that the more concepts differed between worlds, the more practices stayed the same. And just as several countries did in Kaede's world, it was important to undermine and purge the influences of the Arcadian Church from Rhin-Lotharingie.

"What I want to ask is -- why would you go ''this far?''" Sylviane asked.

"You did all of this without any intention of telling me. You were going to take it all to your grave!" The Princess felt an emotion that she had never associated with her uncle before as her voice slowly rose. "Is destroying the legitimacy of the Trinitian Church truly worth throwing your life away like this?"

"''Absolutely,''" Gabriel declared as though he had never been more certain of anything in his life.

"My life had never been worth living to begin with," Gabriel continued in a bitter voice. "Every week, the priest's sermons remind me that I am an irredeemable sinner through no fault of my own, because I was born attracted to men rather than women. Every night, I hurt the saintly woman who married me because I could never even bring myself to properly consummate our marriage. Yet, I can only watch her pray to the Holy Father for ''my'' salvation and solace...

''So the claims about him were all true,'' Sylviane thought with a scowl as even she couldn't help feeling a hint of revulsion and disgust in hearing his words.

It made the Princess realize that up until now, she had only believed in those rumors about her uncle's homosexuality because they corresponded with her image of him as her father's murderer. They had indulged her views that Gabriel had a fundamentally sinful nature. But the reality was wholly different.

Gabriel was a noble man who just happened to be a homosexual all along.

Perhaps it was not surprising that Gabriel managed to deceive everyone on both sides of the Civil War. He had been misleading people about his true nature for his entire life. To pretend to be someone he was not was so deeply ingrained in him that deception became second nature for him.

"It was for this reason alone that I requested my brother to denounce me during his final moments, despite the fact he had ''never'' spoken ill of my inclinations before," Gabriel's voice rose as pain mixed with anguish in his gaze once more. It was as if the mere memory of hearing it from his brother's lips was hurtful to him.

"Nor had he ever looked down upon me in the same manner as you are doing now," he then added with a frown at his niece. "It's as if you have already deemed me guilty of irrevocable sin."

Sylviane immediately broke eye contact and looked away with an apologetic scowl.

"''It was never traditional Lotharin culture that had cast homosexuality as a moral sin -- that is a view imposed upon us by the Imperials who built the Trinitian Church of Arcadia,''" her father's words from a previous discussion echoed in her mind.

''Truly. Even I myself, despite knowing the dangers of the Church, cannot escape their influence,'' the Princess thought.

"I'm sorry," Sylviane's gaze softened as she looked back at her uncle. "It cannot be your fault if you were born with such an attraction and never made a choice to love men."

Yet at the same time, she could feel her own scathing hypocrisy accusing her in her mind.

Regardless, Gabriel merely sighed and waved it off as he returned a sad smile.

"My brother knew everything about me. He even covered for my dalliances during my youth," he continued. "It was I who failed the phoenix's call and turned to hate myself. I was never there for him when he needed me. Yet he welcomed me back with open arms." He clenched his fists as he spoke in a regretful tone.

"Father always did say that the Lord said 'love thy neighbor', not -- under what condition," Sylviane commented quietly with a soft smile.

Gabriel responded with a wistful nod as his eyes grew glassy with reminiscent nostalgia.

"Geoffroi might not be the same as me, but he was the only one who ever truly accepted me for what I am," he said. "And because of that, I swore then that he would be the only one whom I would never consciously lie to, as he was the only true love I've ever known."

"Though sibling love is not the same," Pascal retorted before he frowned as Sylviane glanced at him. Even he seemed to realize that it was not his place to speak.

After all, not only was this a close family matter, Pascal was neither a theologian nor a relationship expert. He was hardly in a place to either debate or judge the many forms of emotional bonds. Especially when Pascal himself shared one such unusual bond with Kaede who, despite her female physique, claimed to be of male birth.

Pascal seemed to realize this himself as he glanced towards the petite familiar who stood silently beside him. Sylviane knew that his relationship with Kaede was built upon trust and 'family'. However, the Princess was also certain from the way he looked at the adorable girl that he had desires which extended beyond it. It was, after all, the reason why she had initially grown jealous and tried to 'put Kaede in her place'.

But did that mean that his feelings committed the same sin as Gabriel? When the Lord taught that it was their souls which truly mattered and not their bodies?

Sylviane certainly didn't believe so. After all, the Lord has never spoken against love, only acts of illicit intercourse itself. And even had Gabriel gone that far, he was no more sinful than so many other men who partook in premarital sex -- which included her own betrothed. That didn't even include the rumors she had heard in court about a new practice that involved the mouth, which was every bit as unnatural as sodomy.

"And for this, you despise the Church and everything they preach," Sylviane said as she finally came to understand.

"Wouldn't you, in my shoes?" Gabriel challenged. "The priests and their sermons have done nothing for people like me except to prejudice everyone against us and teach us to hate ourselves. I'm damned if I live a lie and damned if I don't. So I might as well just accept damnation for myself and kiss the devil's feet!"

The Princess scowled slightly as she would never go so far as to claim that the whole Trinitian faith was worthless due to the corruption of its institutional hierarchy. Nevertheless, she sidestepped the issue for now and instead focused on where their views overlapped.

"We can certainly agree that the Trinitian Church has lost its way. Our Lord and Savior preached that everyone should be shown a path to be content and live at peace with themselves, yet the Church..." Sylviane trailed off as she thought back to her conversations with her late father on why the Trinitian Church was steadily losing support.

"But not every Lotharin has come to recognize that, nor the way the Church wields its political power to the detriment of our people," Gabriel pointed out. "Therefore, I wanted it to be known to every Lotharin that our Pope ordained a ''homosexual'' as the Defender of the Faith. That the Church has become so blinded by politics and corrupted by avarice that they would support even the most heinous crime of ''kinslaying'' to attain their aims."

"And to achieve that, you put on an act that fooled not only the entire realm, but even wagered your own life in the gamble," Pascal muttered as though he could hardly believe the sheer audacity of the plan laid out before him, even though the reality was that it had been long in the making and was mostly complete.

"Always bet big," Gabriel responded with a sneer at Pascal. His eyes then pivoted back to his niece with a determined gaze as he declared with absolute conviction:

"I would like to see nothing more than for my life and disposition to become the catalyst that tears apart the moral foundation of the Trinitian Church! Because that would give my life ''meaning'' -- which is far more valuable than simply being alive."

''You're more religious than you'd like for us to believe, Uncle,'' Sylviane couldn't help thinking as a deathly silence lingered in the wake of Gabriel's declaration.

''Otherwise, you wouldn't be so eager to become a martyr to 'nationalism','' she thought of the word that Kaede had used. ''You wouldn't be gifting an advantage to my rule in exchange for your life!''

"Uncle. I cannot kill you for this," the Princess pursed her lips as she finally broke the silence. "You're the last of my father's family. How could I face him in heaven..."

"Your father had already attempted to persuade me to not do this," Gabriel cut in. "He knows my resolution and will not fault you for this."

"Even then, you're ''innocent!''" Sylviane said as her eyes grew glassy and her voice cracked. "Every charge that I've laid against you. Not one of them is true!"

"Yet you must prosecute me anyway, and to the fullest extent of the law," Gabriel declared as though he was the one who had greater royal authority. "You must play your role in this act to its conclusion, or everything that we've accomplished, every life who was sacrificed in this civil war -- they would have died for nothing!"

"And furthermore," his voice grew ominous. "You must continue to denounce me as your father's killer throughout your entire life, even if you know it to be false."

"You can't--" Sylviane objected as she looked upon her godfather as a parent figure for the first time in her life. A tear pooled in the corner of her gaze as she could not bear the thought of losing him just as soon as she found his aid.

"I know it's hard," Gabriel's face softened with sympathy even as he cut her off once more. "It's the reason I did not want you to learn about any of this. But now that you have, you must continue to act as though you never knew."

"Then ''at least'' let me commute your sentence to--" Sylviane added.

"No!" Gabriel interjected as he remained resolute. "You can show mercy to anyone else involved with the rebellion. But ''not me''. You cannot even commute my sentence to beheading. It would only undermine the supremacy of the law, which your father had upheld throughout his entire reign. Not to mention it could create doubt about your hatred for your father's killer should your mask ever falter in the decades to come."

Sylviane's lips hung as she stared back in bewilderment. She had considered proposing exile instead, however that didn't fly even with her own logic. No sane ruler would exile a pretender who had already tried once to seize the crown. That would merely give them a second chance as it allowed them to rebuild their resources abroad.

However, both the Princess and her uncle knew that there was only one legal outcome for his deeds. He would receive not merely death, but death by the most painful means of being boiled alive.

"I wouldn't mind being burned alive either if you could make the case that I committed heresy, but I doubt that would work," Gabriel then added with a quirky smile as though his own death was a joke. "It would certainly add one more stain upon the Church, that the Pope appointed a heretic to be the Defender of the Faith."

"I don't think anyone would take that charge seriously," Sylviane shook her head. "It would be seen as trumped up at best, which would undermine the legitimacy of the other charges..." Sylviane trailed off as she pondered: ''is that really a bad thing?''

"No." Gabriel slapped it down as he seemingly read her thoughts. "The legal case against me should remain airtight."

"Uncle..." Sylviane felt her heart fill with sorrow and regret as she stared at the godfather whom she never really knew until now. "Do we really have to do this? Can we not substitute a body just as you did for my father?"

Gabriel replied with a shake of his head:

"Your father was already dead by the time I spiked the head that imitated him. But I will need to die under the scrutiny of hundreds, including guards and nobles who would recognize my mana signature. There is no way you can fool everyone even if you could find a perfect living doppelganger.

"Besides," he then added with a wistful smile. "I am already resolved to die for this cause. The only thing that I ask for is your promise that my death will not be in vain. That you will purge Rhin-Lotharingie of Arcadia's moralistic dominance," he finished before staring intently at his niece.

"I swear to you, ''Uncle''," the Princess declared without a moment's pause. She stared back at Gabriel with glassy eyes while her hands tightened into fists as she added: "I will do everything in my power to finally rid Rhin-Lotharingie of the Imperium's strings."

"Then I will be content and my life will have had meaning," Gabriel responded with a faint, sad smile.

"Uncle..." a tear slid down Sylviane's cheek as she looked upon her last surviving blood relative.

She had already lost her mother and her brothers to Imperial assassins. Her father might have died anyway due to his illness, but he chose to go out in a blaze of glory in opposing yet another Imperial scheme. The last thing Sylviane wanted to see was to lose yet another member of her family -- one that she didn't know she had until an hour ago -- to great power geopolitics. Yet the Princess in her knew that she had no other choice.

"For what it's worth, becoming your godfather was the only role I truly took pride in this life," Gabriel then added in a tone of farewell. "Your father and I both know that you will be a great ruler. And I will always be glad that I was able to play a part in helping you ascend -- as I leave you not only a full treasury and a clear understanding of your subject's true loyalties, but also the greatest gift any crown heir could have: being a hated predecessor that the country will celebrate you for freeing them from," he smirked as though making one last joke.

"You are the best godfather any daughter of Rhin-Lotharingie could have had," Sylviane pursed her lips as she returned a resigned and mournful smile that looked somewhat forced. "If there is anything I could still do for you in these last few days..."

"There is," Gabriel answered almost immediately. "If you want to grant me one last wish, then please help my wife remarry."

A gentle smile grew across his expression as he clarified: "I want her to have someone kind, someone outside the political arena as I do not wish for her to be hounded by her association with a traitor, someone actually ''deserving of her'' this time."

"Does my aunt know?" The Princess couldn't help asking first.

"I've never told her anything regarding the coup," Gabriel shook his head. "Even my rebellion came as a surprise to her, though it's possible she might suspect a thing or two." He sighed as a wry smile came to his lips. "She always did have excellent intuition. And she knew I did not resent Geoffroi as I occasionally claimed to."

Sylviane nodded in return.

"I promise you that I will do everything I can for her," she answered before a thought came to her.

"And Uncle," she addressed him with a warm smile. "You do love your wife. Certainly in the manner that truly matters in the eyes of the Holy Father."

"I agree," Pascal decided to break his silence once more as his turquoise gaze met Gabriel's with a look of sincere respect. "Your Grace is as much a man as anyone who strove to be a good husband and giving father. And anyone who tells you otherwise is either a fool or a hypocrite."

"Well, I have always known myself to be a hypocrite," Gabriel joked before his lips formed a sincere smile towards Pascal for the first time. "But thank you, both of you. That truly meant a great deal."

<nowiki>----- * * * -----</nowiki>

Five days later, Kaede watched Princess Sylviane gaze upon the open ground in front of the Oriflamme Citadel from an arrowslit on the third tower.

A huge crowd had already gathered around the wooden scaffold built outside the gateway. Four massive cauldrons had been prepared for the four nobles declared guilty of the highest form of treason. They included Gabriel and three of the leading perpetrators who had reached out to the Imperium for support. These traitors not only rose in rebellion against the crown and committed regicide, they had done it in collusion with the historical nemesis of all Lotharins.

It was therefore of no surprise that the crowd was extremely animated in decrying the traitors with insults and hurled garbage. And Gabriel received the worst of it as everyone recognized him as the prime offender.

"You rotten, pestilence-addled, dung-loving, traitorous shitbagging sodomite!" A particularly colorful cry came from the crowd. "I hope they welcome you with branding irons for your anus in hell!"

The Samaran girl could see a scowl form across The Princess' lips. The floor they stood on was dark and unlit, and Sylviane intended to keep it that way as she had Elspeth stand guard outside the entrance. Only a narrow band of cloud-filtered sunlight came through the arrowslit to shine on Sylviane's left cheek. Yet, despite the poor lighting, Kaede could plainly see the anxiety and distress that plagued the Princess.

The fact that Sylviane did not wish to kill her uncle was written all over her face. She was even of two minds about revealing his homosexuality during his trial. However, in the end, Sylviane did opt to send a letter to the court as she could not bear to testify in person. Attached to it was a parting letter from Gabriel's own mother which he had saved all these years -- a final letter which accused her son of 'crimes against nature' in his dalliances and pleaded for him to seek the Holy Father's forgiveness.

And since then, 'the Pope named a homosexual as the Defender of the Faith' had spread like wildfire throughout the continent.

"I'm sorry, Uncle." Kaede heard Sylviane mutter just as the Princess did that day she handed Kaede the letter to be taken to court. "It must be done," the latter then reminded herself as she closed her fist and squeezed.

"''Elder Sister,''" the Samaran girl said with an uncertain frown. "Are you sure you want to watch this? It would only hurt you to see him die like this."

"A little pain in my heart, Kaede, is the least I could bear to repay the gift that my godfather left me," Sylviane replied in a solemn voice without ever looking back.

Her eyes remained fixated on Gabriel as the executioners suspended the Duke by his cuffed wrists. He was then lowered into the cauldron until the scalding hot water submerged his body up to his chest.

Meanwhile, Kaede winced and turned away from the crowd as she heard the four men cry out in agony. It truly was a barbaric form of capital punishment, as the guilty were not even dropped into boiling hot water. But rather, the water had been heated just enough to cause blistering pain, and then cooked further with their victims inside until they died a most torturous death.

The screams of anguish and agony included Gabriel's own. However, both Kaede and Sylviane knew them to be false. The Princess had offered one last act of mercy to Gabriel -- a tiny shirt button which Pascal had inscribed with a pain-blocking spell rune. Nevertheless, the Duke still put on an act as he thrashed about in the scalding waters and howled through gritted teeth. It was an impeccable performance that was genuinely painful for Kaede to witness.

It took several minutes for the water to boil. Several minutes for the victims' organs to fail. Several minutes where Gabriel continued to be pelted by rotten vegetables as he slowly stopped struggling.

"Farewell, Uncle," Sylviane muttered in barely more than a whisper as she watched her last living blood relative fall deathly still in the simmering cauldron.

"Rest easy that I won't let your death be in vain," her sorrowful voice added as it steadily transformed into anger and resolve. "Nor will I let ''any'' of our family's death be for naught..."

The Samaran girl caught sight of a steely glint as Sylviane pulled out an engraved dagger and pressed it against her palm.

"The Imperium shall pay for the blood debt they owe to us all," the Princess then declared in a hateful tone.

"I swear, upon the memories of my father, my mother, and my brothers, upon the departing soul of my uncle, upon my ancestors and the martyrs of Rhin-Lotharingie, and upon the Holy Cross and all that is sacred to me," Sylviane declared in her most solemn voice as blood dripped from the cut across her palm.

"I swear to every being," she took a step back before extending her bleeding hand into the cross-shaped arrowslit, "who may one day weigh my soul and hold me accountable for my deeds -- that I, Sylviane Etiennette de Gaetane, Crown Princess and future Empress of the Empire of Rhin-Lotharingie, ''shall always be an enemy of the Arcadian Holy Imperium of the Inner Sea.''"

Kaede's eyes almost bulged out of their sockets as she watched the Princess declare an oath upon the salvation of her soul. But Sylviane still wasn't finished:

"I shall never be a friend of any servant of the Imperium. I shall never negotiate with them in good faith. And I ''shall not rest'' until the last vestiges of that evil hegemon which has dominated us Lotharins for so long are completely and utterly consigned to the trash heap of history," she concluded before squeezing her fist to wring the blood from her hand until her knuckles turned white.

Meanwhile, the Samaran girl could hardly believe what she had just borne witness to. For a ruler as youthful and as brilliant as Sylviane, who still had at least a century of lifespan ahead, to declare the Imperium as not merely her mortal enemy, but to 'never rest' until she saw its destruction.

''This is going to lead to disaster,'' Kaede thought as she realized the decades of conflict and war this could bring, as well as the countless civilians who could be murdered in its name.

It really shouldn't have surprised her, after how many friends and family members Sylviane lost as a result of the Imperium's schemes. However, what the Princess swore to do would only further escalate the cycle of animosity and hatred. And for a ruler, this vendetta gambled not only her own life, but the countless millions of her realm upon a geopolitical quest of vengeance.

And if she didn't help bring a stop to it, the blood spilled forth by this new quest could easily flow a new river to the sea.

Kaede wouldn't say anything now. No, she wasn't that stupid. But she was in a unique position as someone embraced into the royal family ''and'' had the ears of the crown. Perhaps, with the passage of time to heal Sylviane's emotional scars, the Princess would be more willing to reconsider her oath.

''Perhaps,'' the Samaran girl pondered as she suppressed a sigh. ''I'd been brought to this world for this very purpose.''

After all, the path of great leadership was fraught with dangers that often deprived even the best people of their humanity. This was doubly the case for those who wished to bring change for the betterment of their state.

Ivan the 4th of Russia had been a great champion of legal reform that brought justice to the powerful aristocracy and protections for the lower classes. Yet, the repeated assassinations on his life and those of his family, including the poisoning of his beloved wife, turned him into a violent and brutal autocrat monikered 'the Terrible'. By the same token, Kaede would never forget reading about how Mao Zedong of China, who had such empathy for the downtrodden that he used his own adolescent body to shield his mother from domestic abuse, would one day ignore the starvation of millions as he pursued the 'utopia' envisioned by his fallen revolutionary comrades.

Kaede looked back at the Princess whose hand was still bleeding and whose eyes remained fixated on the skies through the cross-shaped arrowslit. She reached out with her own chilly hands and wrapped them around Sylviane's cold palm, before activating one of the few spells she could cast through her ring from Pascal.

"''First Aid.''"

Her magical healing finally caught Sylviane's attention as the latter looked down with a pained smile and a wistful gaze.

"Thank you."

"It's what I'm here for, ''Elder Sister''," Kaede tried to look natural as she beamed back.

Would Sylviane become an empress worthy of song by the generations to come? Or would she become a brutal tyrant who stopped at nothing to destroy her enemies? It all depended on circumstance and the people who surrounded Her Highness in the decades to come.

And in that moment, the girl reborn from another world knew she had found her true calling in this new world.

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| Forward to [[Daybreak:Volume_4_Epilogue|Epilogue]]
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</noinclude>

Daybreak:Volume 4 Epilogue

2025-06-01T18:52:03Z

Aorii:

===Epilogue - The Revolution Begins===

Spring might have arrived for most of Rhin-Lotharingie. But in the Highlands of the Glens, hard snow continued to fall while its people remained huddled indoors to escape winter's frost.

The town of Scuin was no exception. Known as the 'city of waterfalls', the capital of the Kingdom of Gleann Mòr was built above the confluence of three rivers, which poured water down several cliffs to the fertile valley of ''Gleann Cairn'' to the north.

It was to this secluded valley that the ancestors of House Mackay fled after losing their 'First War of Insurrection' against the Imperium. The survivors built a stone fort above the cliffs to guard the last mountain pass before their new sanctuary in case the Imperial Legions pursued them here. These fortifications evolved over time into the Citadel of Highcastle and the quaint settlement that surrounded it.

Acclaimed by many travelling bards to be the 'most beautiful capital' in Hyperion, Scuin was less of a city and more of a cliffside town with its landscape dominated by its sheer cliffs and majestic waterfalls. During winter time, these waterfalls partially froze across their surface, creating spectacular formations of icicles that reflected light across the city. Meanwhile, the precipitous terrain forced the settlement to be built across multiple levels, connected by stairways cut through limestone rock as well as both wind-powered and manually cranked lifts.

However, none of these sights could be enjoyed right now as a late night mist enshrouded the city. The temperature had risen above freezing for the first time in weeks this afternoon, which partially thawed some icicles but left their humidity to linger in the frosty air. The resulting weather was dreary as it felt both clammy and freezing at the same time -- which left few people willing to stay outside, including the guards on patrol.

Yet, the same did not seem to apply to a thin man in monk robes as he rushed up a steep rocky road. His path took him across several jagged outcrops as well as a gondola lift where he cranked the carriage across the gorge himself. He met no one during his journey and was only noticed by several soldiers on watch. His destination was only revealed when he took the winding path up the steep mountain towards the abbey where the Kingdom's ''Stone of Destiny'' was held.

But while the city's inhabitants paid the man no heed, two individuals perched atop a nearby crag followed the man's every move through the mist. The woman who stood in the dim night looked as ethereal as a ghost. Her thin figure was surrounded by silken-white loose robes that offered little insulation from the icy mist. Meanwhile, her long, silver-white hair floated around her as though she stood in the calm of a storm.

"Are you sure this is what you want, Jan?" The woman asked in a serene voice as she turned towards her companion who sat on the edge of a sheer cliff.

"Everything has been done in accordance with the Worldwalker's Treaty, Tara," the plump man who wore loose robes and a scholarly cap responded. "I've done nothing except talk to him as a humble travelling theologian and inspire him to take a public stance."

"Yes, I agree. You have upheld the rules more admirably than many of the Treaty's original draftees," the woman called Tara replied. "I am simply concerned, as once that manifesto is delivered, it will ignite a fire across the whole of the Trinitian realm that none of us can foresee an end to."

"Why? Do you object?" The man asked. "You've never exactly been a supporter of Peter and his followers. Not since the Dragon-Demon Wars when you and Peter led the most successful army that humanity had seen in that legendary age."

"That was millenia before you were born," the woman smiled. "Your penchant for learning always amazes me."

"Seek the truth, listen to the truth, teach the truth, love the truth, abide by the truth, and defend the truth unto death, for the truth will set us free from sin," the man named Jan answered as though citing a personal motto. "Francis may have saved me from the flames and offered me life eternal. But that doesn't mean I have stopped living as I once did."

"It gladdens me to hear that, even if we disagree over what 'the truth' entails," the woman answered. "But while I do not defend Peter or his creations, I do believe that conflicts of such magnitude are best avoided. Wars, and especially those waged with religious zeal, serve no one but those who seek power. And truth is too often the first victim of conflict."

"Perhaps," Jan responded with a sigh. "But turbulence also gives an opportunity for the truth to spread, for people do not ask themselves hard questions during easy times. And the Church of Arcadia has grown every bit as corrupt and as ignorant as the one that I once served in Rome."

"But is that what you really want? To bring about the change that your mortal self failed to achieve?" Tara asked.

Meanwhile, the two of them watched the distant man wearing monk robes bend over to take a quick rest. His long journey across the city, not to mention his fast march up the hill, had left the theologian rather out of breath.

"Many would argue that my mortal life ''did'' succeed in bringing about the change that I sought," Jan answered with a wry look as though he wasn't sure he agreed himself. "My military genius of a 'disciple' certainly took my ideas to heart. Though I would have never supported the violence that he brought. The sword should never be the instrument of faith, as any man could easily twist their 'just cause'."

"And in that, we are in complete agreement," Tara responded. "I can only hope that millions do not suffer as the common man and women did in your world."

The two of them fell silent as they watched across several kilopaces of darkness and mist which only magic allowed. The man in monk robes whom their gazes followed stood straight once more before he marched up the last few dozen steps up to the doors of the Church. He glanced about with a nervous look as though verifying that nobody was around first. He then pulled out a hammer, a nail, and a parchment scroll from his baggy clothing, which he proceeded to press against the oaken door.

<nowiki>*Bang, bang, bang*</nowiki>

The loud noise reverberated through the mist as the man began nailing his theses to the Church door. However, the solid oak was tough and the thin friar was hardly experienced as he struggled to drive the nail through. Nevertheless, with his course already set, he kept up the hammering while taking care not to accidentally smash his own digits in the dark.

His nail was almost halfway into the wood when the other side of the double doors opened to the light inside the Church.

"My child," a fat man in the gilded vestments of high ranking clergy stood in the doorway looking out. "It is a late hour for you to be out hammering on people's doors."

Meanwhile, the friar with the hammer still raised in his hand completely froze as he stared upon the owner of the Church himself.

"A-archibishop Lachlan," he stuttered as anxiety and fear filled his voice.

"In the flesh, my child."

The Archbishop responded with a grandfatherly smile as he looked upon the man who had been hammering at his door. Only the corner of his lips betrayed a hint of playfulness as the glint in his eyes momentarily danced with the laugh that he would not express out loud. He took a step towards the frozen friar and grabbed the nail that was driven halfway into his Church door. It took some effort for him to pull the iron out along with its parchment.

"Y-Your Excellency, I-I..."

The friar was still at a loss for words as Archbishop Lachlan stepped back into the light and began to read the list of points that he had inscribed into his parchment.

"P-please accept my humble petition," the man in monk robes finally gave a coherent voice to his thoughts.

"This is less a petition and more a list of demands, wouldn't you say?" Lachlan responded as he raised his eyebrows.

However, his face remained more of an amused smile than one of anger or annoyance as one might expect from the lofty owner of a Church whose door was being hammered down in the dead of night.

"To say that 'inner repentance is worthless unless it produces a determinable deed of the flesh' is rather contradictory to the teachings of our Mother Church," the Archbishop commented about the first point listed on the parchment. "So are many of the others on your list, though I have not yet had a chance to fully read."

"But where in scripture does our Lord and Savior claim that to repent alone is sufficient?" The petitioner replied with greater confidence this time as though his will had been fortified by his zeal to argue. "When Hyperion the Dragonlord called out for our ancestors to repent for their sins, it was not merely in thought and speech but in action and deed."

"Indeed. It is something that we may broadly agree upon," Lachlan interjected before squinting his eyes to scrutinize one of the later points written on parchment. "I for one certainly welcome the discussion, even if we seem to disagree upon certain details."

The Archbishop's response left the friar frozen once more before his opened lips could continue onto his next point. The monk's eyes swelled with astonishment as though he could barely believe what he had just heard.

Meanwhile, the cleric who was several decades his senior merely smiled as a playful light danced in his gaze once more.

"My child, you should know more than most that our Church is not a monolith," Lachlan pointed out. "There have long been voices of disagreement with established policy even before the recent turbulence. The northern monasteries certainly have little in common with those in the southern lands, where the monks have abandoned lives of simplicity and faith to indulge in wealth and earthly pleasures. Therefore, is it so hard to believe that there is disagreement among the upper clergy towards the direction of the Church as well?"

"N-no, Your Excellency, I do not mean to insinuate..." The friar stuttered once more.

It was as though none of his mental predictions of this moment had prepared him for this.

"Of course, you could not have known, when I have so rarely taken a stance to speak out," the elderly archbishop smiled once more before he looked at the darkness outside. "Power and influence, unfortunately, come with their own trappings. And perhaps I have grown too accustomed to them to place my conscience before politics."

The friar could only stare back as he nodded faintly. His lips formed a scowl as he seemed to understand all too well what his senior spoke about.

"Regardless, I think we have stood in this freezing mist for long enough, don't you?" Lachlan added as he stepped back and gestured for the other to follow. "Please do come inside. I believe we have much to speak about."

And with that, the petitioner friar followed the Archbishop into the Church and closed the heavy oak doors behind them.

Meanwhile, back on the cragtop nearly three kilopaces away, the ethereal woman asked her companion:

"Did you know that would happen?"

"No. But I had hoped," Jan replied as he turned towards his senior as a Worldwalker with a hopeful smile. "Archbishop Lachlan is a true believer of the faith who always prays at this time of night before he departs for rest. And it is my hope that the reformers of this world would find allies in high places which I myself never had."

"And in turn, you hope our humble petitioner might finally inspire the Archbishop to take a stand," the woman beamed back in response. "Truly, not even Kartikeya -- you would know him as Archistrategos Michael -- could have played a more cunning move."

Her words made Jan look down and chuckle to himself.

"Now that is truly praise too high for me to receive, even if it does come from someone who once fought against Satan's forces with the commander of the heavenly host himself."

Daybreak:Volume 4 Chapter 21

2025-06-01T18:51:21Z

Aorii:

===Chapter 21 - An End and a Beginning===

"What did you say?"

Sylviane's voice dropped to a bare mutter as she replied with stunned disbelief. Her body moved as though in slow motion as she swiveled atop the dresser chair to stare at her betrothed.

Behind her, the Princess' maid and bodyguard Elspeth stood slack-jawed as she gazed upon Pascal's reflected image in the dresser mirror. Her fingers slowly lost their grip on a silver hairbrush which fell to the tiled floor with a clang.

"Your Uncle Gabriel did not betray the Empire," Pascal repeated his solemn words as he stood straight against the footpost of her four-poster bed. "He did what he has done with your father's knowledge and consent."

"How?" Sylviane's question came in little more than a whisper before she could retrain her voice. Yet her follow-up came at an almost shout as she lost control of her pitch:

"''HOW could that'' be possible?"

The Princess retained enough awareness to notice that her response gave even her fiancé pause, despite the fact he was a battlefield veteran who nearly died multiple times. A swallowing motion came from his throat as a faint scowl formed across his lips.

"Your father and your uncle had planned the coup and the civil war beforehand," Pascal then stated in a firm voice as he stared back with zero doubt in his expression. "Or at the very least, they had planned as much of it as they could, based on what they knew and could predict beforehand, as your father knew that he had only months left to live thanks to his illness and..."

Pascal's brows frowned with uncertainty for the first time before adding: "I can only describe Gabriel as having a death wish."

The young lord had told Sylviane about her father's illness first. That had been a bitter enough pill to swallow by itself, though it at least came on the premise that her father was already dead regardless of the cause. However, to hear that Geoffroi had not been slain in a coup but rather orchestrated his own death, or that the head which she harmed herself to cremate yesterday wasn't even her father's...

"But... ''but!''"

Sylviane felt her hands shaking as she wanted to point and denounce Pascal's words as lies. Yet, she knew deep down that Pascal would only tell her something like this after being completely certain of its truth.

Nevertheless, that did not rule out the possibility of him being deceived.

The Princess turned to stare at Kaede, who answered her unspoken question with a sad but affirmative nod before looking down. The youthful Samaran whom Sylviane entrusted as her top diplomat also stood certain of Pascal's facts, which meant...

''It's true then,'' Sylviane thought to herself as she slumped back into her seat.

''My uncle isn't a murderer and a traitor as I had thought this whole time...''

For nearly a minute, the Princess sat unmoving in complete silence with a downcast gaze. Her mind struggled with the implications of this revelation which changed ''everything'' that she thought she knew.

''Why did nobody tell me?'' Her thoughts cried out as sadness, anger, regret, denial... There were so many emotions rising up inside her at once, so many screaming voices that they formed a tumultuous cacophony that she could no longer tell apart.

"I was supposed to be the ''heir apparent!''"

Her hands balled into fists as an aggrieved cry emerged from her shaking lips. She could feel a single hot streak of tears falling down her cheeks.

"''Why...?''"

The Princess demanded with gritted teeth as her eyes cast a death glare upon her future husband. However, Pascal did not flinch from her fury for even a split-second as he calmly responded to her outrage.

"To destroy the moral legitimacy of the Trinitian Church in the eyes of all Lotharins," he answered with a scowl as he clearly did not approve of such motives. "At least, that is what Gabriel told me last night as the main reason for his crimes."

Yet, it was this detail that finally excised the lingering denial in Sylviane's thoughts that it was the indisputable truth.

The Princess leaned back her head and looked up towards the ceiling and the heavens she imagined above before she spoke:

"Father always said that the Trinitian Church is the greatest thorn left behind from the days when the Imperium ruled over us Lotharins."

It was one of the many reasons why her late father had turned a blind eye towards the Albigensian Heresy in Garona, until the religious turmoil escalated to a point that it began to affect diplomacy and geopolitical statecraft.

"And what of my late sister?" Sylviane heard the sharp soprano of her bodyguard Elspeth ask in the silence that lingered. "Did she also know?"

"We did not speak much of Colonel Lindsay's involvement in this whole plot. But as His Majesty's closest guard and confidante, I cannot imagine that she did not know of this," Pascal could only say in response. "Healer Julien confirmed that she was one of only four people who knew of the Emperor's illness before the coup. And knowing her unwavering loyalty to His Late Majesty, I can only surmise that she agreed to the martyrdom of her banner to maintain the pretense that this was truly a coup."

"Sis..."

Sylviane could see Elspeth's lips trembling in the mirror as large drops of tears fell from her swollen peridot-green gaze. The teenage-looking guardsman, who according to Cecylia had never shed a tear even after walking for hours on a broken leg, suddenly broke down and began to bawl her eyes out like an adolescent kid.

The Princess could feel a new wave of tears spilling forth from her own eyes as the sorrow and loss that she thought she had come to terms with flooded back into her emotional state. She stood up from her dresser and turned towards her maid and bodyguard before enveloping the latter in an all-encompassing hug.

"I promise you that Lindsay will forever be remembered as a martyr of Rhin-Lotharingie," Sylviane declared as the two girls cried to each other. "She was as much a mentor to me as an elder sister to you. And I shall see that her sacrifice and those of her men will be immortalized through the actions of my reign."

The Princess did not need an oath to be a just ruler. Yet in making it, it added to the weight on her shoulders from all those who sacrifice themselves for her future reign.

And if she were to repay them, any of them, then she had better work hard to ensure her actions leave a legacy that would resonate through Lotharin history.

Though realistically speaking, Sylviane doubted if the heroic legacy of Colonel Lindsay depended on her own actions. The last stand of the Highland Guard and its commander's final words had already spread to every tavern through the bards and skalds of Rhin-Lotharingie. The only glorification still missing was an artistic depiction of the scene for the royal citadel's halls, as well as a constituted Highland Guard with Lindsay's famous words for its motto and flag.

Nevertheless, merely hearing the vow brought a bittersweet smile back to Elspeth's tearstained face. The petite girl wiped the streaks of moisture from her cheeks before offering a slight curtsy to the Princess.

"Thank you, Your Highness. No daughter of House Mackay-Martel could ask for a better fate than to be immortalized in the Empire's history," the bodyguard stated before taking a knee to issue an oath of her own. "And I swear I shall do no less than my sister did should the day come when I face a similar fate."

''Let's hope it never comes to that,'' Sylviane returned a wistful smile as she thought of her previous bodyguard's fate. She certainly did not wish to lose her closest companion again... especially not when Elspeth was already far too eager to become a 'hero' in Lotharin history.

The Princess beckoned for her armiger to stand again before she turned back to face Pascal. And for the first time in months, she addressed Gabriel by their relationship without disdain:

"I need to speak to my uncle."

Pascal looked towards Kaede first with a slight tilt of his head. Sylviane could only surmise that the young Samaran had been correct about something, before her betrothed turned his gaze back.

"I have already made arrangements. Please follow me."

<nowiki>----- * * * -----</nowiki>

The 'arrangements' Pascal made turned out to be several checkpoints manned by discrete and trustworthy security, double-layered wards to ensure that they would not be eavesdropped upon, and an extra cushy chair in the room itself.

And unlike her betrothed last night, Sylviane had sat down face-to-face with her uncle as she listened to him tell her everything that he had told Pascal.

"What I don't understand... is how could my father and you have known that I would even ''succeed'' in retaking the throne?" The Princess challenged her uncle after waiting for him to finish recounting his role in this whole 'act'. "There were so many times and places where I, where ''we'' could have failed," she gestured towards Pascal and Kaede who also sat and stood inside the room.

Only Elspeth had been left outside to ensure that they would not be disturbed. Meanwhile, Reynaud and her other armigers held watch over the dungeons' entrance and perimeter.

"Wait, Is that why His Majesty sent Sylviane and I to Nordkreuz after the Caliphate invaded?" Pascal suddenly asked.

"Yes." Gabriel nodded. "Geoffroi surmised that if Sylviane personally aided the Weichsens, then King Leopold would most likely return the favor and offer her at least some troops to help retake the throne. Meanwhile, you had just inherited your father's substantial wealth and had the resources to not only bankroll a campaign, but also to hire mercenaries to make up for any shortfalls."

It reminded Sylviane of the conversation they had with the late Emperor, where Geoffroi had questioned exactly where Pascal stood on the political scale. Her betrothed had declared then that he would be faithful to the interests of ''both'' Rhin-Lotharingie and Weichsel, which likely solidified her father's trust in Pascal to help her after she lost her path to the throne.

"We also knew that Duke Matthias of Baguette was loyal to the crown and maintained a substantial garrison at the border," Gabriel added next. "Our original plan was based on the belief that Sylviane would lead an invasion of Belgae with the forces of Duke Matthias, soldiers provided by King Leopold, and whatever men King Alistair could bring from the north. We did not even know at the time that you had attained the support of Matthias' grandson."

"I didn't either, at the time," Sylviane responded before leaning back with a sigh. "It was only after your 'coup' that I truly became acquainted with Perceval."

The Princess then sighed before glancing up at the stone ceiling of the dungeon cell.

"The Holy Father truly works in mysterious ways," she said.

A deep scowl formed across Gabriel's lips as he stared back with distaste as though he could not disagree more. Nevertheless, he did say a word more before Pascal interjected to fill the silence.

"Then, having taken all of the supplies from Belgae when you left, you would force march your army back in haste, which creates an opportunity for me to defeat you on the battlefield," Pascal stared back as he finished.

"Yes." Gabriel nodded. "By forcing me to turn my army around, I would have had no chance to dig in, while you would have gained the initiative to predetermine and prepare your battleground. Geoffroi was confident that with both Weichsel's forces, who excel in battles of maneuver across open ground, and Duke Matthias, who was a master of ambushes back during his prime, there were ample opportunities to employ either tactic as my army marched back from Alis Avern. And I would have overruled whatever caution General Menno might have taken to avoid engagement."

"Just as you probably did when you ordered your army to sally out from their fortress by the lake," Sylviane added with an inward frown. "And here I thought I was clever enough to have lured you out."

"It would have been just as tempting had I been trying to win," Gabriel answered with an approving smile towards his niece. "It was an excellent opportunity to sandwich your army, and I did not know then that Henri had switched sides."

"Neither did I," Sylviane felt like she was repeating herself. "Father must be watching down over me from heaven."

Her uncle's lips thinned once more. Though this time he did not look like he wanted to object.

"In either case, your father and I had never anticipated that you would go to the Avorican front instead," Gabriel continued with a thin smile and a shake of his head. "That gave me a real scare when I first learned about it, as Geoffroi doubted the Avoricans could stave off defeat. Even the reinforcements he dispatched under General Macdonald were sent to bolster Roazhon's defenses, so that the city could hold out for at least a half-dozen months in a siege."

"Macdonald did say that he was sent there to buy time," Pascal replied with a faint scowl. "But why not defend Roazhon Gap? That narrow corridor through the mountains is the last barrier keeping the Caliphate's western advance from reaching the Lotharin Heartlands."

"Geoffroi had determined that forestalling the fall of Avorica was a higher priority than stopping the Caliphate's advance," Gabriel answered with a tone that expressed his own approval. "We had expected the Gap of Roazhon to fall under enemy control and that the Tauheeds would send out raids against the Heartland territories. But your father believed that their main force would not advance through the mountains as long as the Avoricans remained a threat to their rear -- certainly not while the cautious General Salim was in command."

"His Majesty truly was a gifted strategist," Pascal voiced his admiration as he looked upon her uncle with a wry grin. "Even facing his own demise and with the situation as desperate as it was, he outlined his priorities and allocated his forces perfectly for each task at hand."

"Yet ''you'' were able to prove him wrong, as you turned out to be a far better tactician and commander than my brother had thought," the Duke then finished with an irony-laden smile.

"Not exactly," Pascal answered with a grim look as he looked down with an inward scowl. "However, that is a long and different story."

Not wanting to see him beat himself up again, Sylviane immediately drew the conversation back to the original question:

"But even if we had not taken the Avorica path, there were still many hurdles that I would have to overcome to succeed at retaking the throne," she pointed out the obvious. "I would have to persuade both King Leopold and Duke Matthias to back me with their forces, which was by no means certain back when we first heard of the coup."

"There is no plan that is foolproof. And there are always risks that one must overcome," her uncle answered with a confident and even proud smile at his niece. "Your father had faith in the two of you to attain the military support that you required. All that remained was for me to play my part in granting you an opportunity to ''win.''"

Sylviane couldn't help but smile as she felt empowered by her father's trust. However...

"But what if I ''had'' failed?" She nevertheless asked. "What would you have done then?"

"Your father did prepare a contingency -- a personal message to King Alistair to be sent upon his death," Gabriel commented as he briefly glanced at Pascal.

His lips formed a scowl so faint that even Sylviane barely noticed it. It was a sign that her uncle had clear reservations revealing this part in front of Pascal. However, given how much Pascal had done for her throughout this entire journey, Sylviane was adamant that he should be told the truth:

"I'm not going to hide this from Pascal, so you can say it in front of him."

Her uncle gave off a slight sigh before he stared at her with a slanted, knowing look that seemed to say 'your choice'.

"I never read the letter myself," he began to explain. "But your father informed me he would tell King Alistair about a premonition that a sudden death might befall him which would leave the Empire in chaos."

"Convenient," Pascal remarked with an irony-laden scowl.

"But not unreasonable," Kaede pitched in to defend. "Plenty of people throughout history have sensed their own looming death."

Sylviane nodded in return before gesturing for Gabriel to continue.

"From what I know, your father told King Alistair that my ambitions might propel me to rise up as a contender for the throne. And if that should happen, he asks for the Glens to support your bid in the chaotic civil war that would ensue."

"Father knew that King Alistair and I have a 'special relationship'." The Princess' lips formed a slight smile. "He always said that the King was as trustworthy a friend as any hound."

"King Alistair's nickname of the 'Hound King' isn't just because he often acted as an attack dog for your father's politics," Gabriel replied with a brief grin.

"I thought it was because he often pursued his targets in person." Pascal's scowl grew as he clearly saw this as an inadequacy of leadership, to which only Kaede answered with a shrug.

"Regardless," Gabriel returned back on topic as he stared intently at his niece. "Geoffroi had also added in that letter that if you were no longer a contender due to reasons unforeseen, then he offered his blessings to King Alistair to both take the crown of the Empire and... your hand in marriage."

Her uncle glanced at her betrothed again at the precise moment when he finished. His eyes bid Sylviane to follow as she caught barely the last vestiges of Pascal's eye twitching.

"And with that, even a bastard king like Alistair can become a somewhat legitimate Emperor of Rhin-Lotharingie," Gabriel added. "Meanwhile, you would have retained the position that you were groomed to be."

"Father has to have known that I ''do not'' see Alistair in that manner," Sylviane stressed in her response.

The Princess knew that her father did. After all, they had talked about this exact topic nearly a year ago.

Yes, part of the reason was that King Alistair was over sixty which made his age more than thrice her own. Had Alistair married and started having children at the same time as many northern nobles, his own firstborn might not have been much younger than Sylviane. Therefore, the Princess had always seen Alistair as more of a 'funny uncle' figure who shared many of her 'occupational woes' than a romantic prospect.

The Princess also knew based on their discussions that she wasn't exactly Alistair's 'type'. Therefore, chances were that any marriage would be a purely political one based on mutual respect, rather than the loving relationship that her mother and father had. As someone born and raised in a royal family, Sylviane could hardly be against such an arrangement.

Nevertheless, Sylviane knew it was important for her to challenge this narrative out loud because her own betrothed was listening.

"Your father reasoned that if nothing else, the friendship between you and King Alistair is true," her uncle then explained what she already knew. "Alistair will respect and ''listen'' to your opinions and your advice -- which, if you take my personal advice, is far more telling of a lasting marriage than love will ever be."

''Then why do you look so sad when you say that,'' Sylviane thought as her eyes stayed fixed to her uncle's gaze.

"And with the way King Alistair rules, we all know you could easily become the true power behind the throne," it was Pascal who then pitched in.

In that moment, Sylviane turned to look intently at her fiancé, whom she knew harbored a jealous complex towards the King of the Glens. She had expected him to look far more displeased by what Gabriel had revealed, and in some way she even regretted telling Gabriel to continue in front of Pascal.

But while Pascal certainly didn't look happy, he didn't look disgruntled either. The young lord kept his eyebrows raised and his lips bent lopsided -- an expression she knew he only wore when he was trying to think outside of his comfort zone.

"What?" Pascal responded as he stared between Gabriel and Sylviane. "I am only speaking the truth. King Alistair hates negotiating policy, which is the majority of a ruler's job," he added with a disapproving shrug.

"Pascal." Sylviane reached out and grabbed his hand while maintaining a lock on his gaze. "I deeply apologize for my father's actions. He should have had more faith in you," she spoke with all the sincerity she could instill into her voice.

"Do not be," Pascal replied straight, which left her bewildered for a moment.

Her fiancé then returned a lopsided expression that was halfway between a scowl and a smirk before he explained:

"Even I can appreciate the ingenuity of your father's play in this instance. He had prepared the board such that as long as you were not killed outright, then there was a near certainty that you would come out of the conflict as both the Empire's true liege and the mother of its royal lineage.

"It is what your father has groomed you to be all these years," her betrothed then added with a slightly forced smile. "I cannot fault him in upholding his top priority as a ruler monikered 'the Great' certainly should."

''That's the strategist in you talking,'' Sylviane reflected. ''But what about emotionally speaking?''

The Princess doubted Pascal's ego could simply accept being thrown aside like that. Nevertheless, this was hardly the place to discuss his feelings. She could only return a nod of appreciation to her betrothed for now before taking a long sigh. She then leaned back in her ornate cushy chair before proverbially turning the page:

"That does at least address my biggest question," she said before her eyes softened as she gazed upon her uncle. "Which brings me to... ''Why?''"

"Why?" Gabriel's head turned slightly as though he felt the answer should be obvious.

"I do not need you to explain to me why we needed to undermine the Trinitian Church. I already know that by heart," Sylviane clarified.

The Princess might be a Trinitian faithful who believed that Hyperion the Dragonlord died to atone for everyone's sins. But her father had always taught her to see the Church hierarchy as an instrument of the Inner Sea. It was the reason he had spent decades fighting tooth and nail over investiture -- the right for the Lotharins themselves to appoint who would be their priests.

The alternative was that the priesthood, who gave sermons to the Rhin-Lotharingie peasantry every mass, would always remain suspect as agents of propaganda and provocateurs for the Holy Imperium and their Pope.

"''We Lotharins have our own culture, our own values,''" Sylviane thought of her father's words on this great matter. "''We must be allowed to think and decide for ourselves, and not through a moral framework controlled by foreigners and dictated to us through the lecturing of outsiders.''"

When she discussed this problem with Kaede, the Samaran girl had equated it to the 'dominance of Western media' in her world, which instilled the shackles of colonialism through the moralistic ideology of 'liberalism', whose adherents cried heathen and heresy towards anyone who disagreed with their cultural values.

It was a reminder to Sylviane that the more concepts differed between worlds, the more practices stayed the same. And just as several countries did in Kaede's world, it was important to undermine and purge the influences of the Arcadian Church from Rhin-Lotharingie.

"What I want to ask is -- why would you go ''this far?''" Sylviane asked.

"You did all of this without any intention of telling me. You were going to take it all to your grave!" The Princess felt an emotion that she had never associated with her uncle before as her voice slowly rose. "Is destroying the legitimacy of the Trinitian Church truly worth throwing your life away like this?"

"''Absolutely,''" Gabriel declared as though he had never been more certain of anything in his life.

"My life had never been worth living to begin with," Gabriel continued in a bitter voice. "Every week, the priest's sermons remind me that I am an irredeemable sinner through no fault of my own, because I was born attracted to men rather than women. Every night, I hurt the saintly woman who married me because I could never even bring myself to properly consummate our marriage. Yet, I can only watch her pray to the Holy Father for ''my'' salvation and solace...

''So the claims about him were all true,'' Sylviane thought with a scowl as even she couldn't help feeling a hint of revulsion and disgust in hearing his words.

It made the Princess realize that up until now, she had only believed in those rumors about her uncle's homosexuality because they corresponded with her image of him as her father's murderer. They had indulged her views that Gabriel had a fundamentally sinful nature. But the reality was wholly different.

Gabriel was a noble man who just happened to be a homosexual all along.

Perhaps it was not surprising that Gabriel managed to deceive everyone on both sides of the Civil War. He had been misleading people about his true nature for his entire life. To pretend to be someone he was not was so deeply ingrained in him that deception became second nature for him.

"It was for this reason alone that I requested my brother to denounce me during his final moments, despite the fact he had ''never'' spoken ill of my inclinations before," Gabriel's voice rose as pain mixed with anguish in his gaze once more. It was as if the mere memory of hearing it from his brother's lips was hurtful to him.

"Nor had he ever looked down upon me in the same manner as you are doing now," he then added with a frown at his niece. "It's as if you have already deemed me guilty of irrevocable sin."

Sylviane immediately broke eye contact and looked away with an apologetic scowl.

"''It was never traditional Lotharin culture that had cast homosexuality as a moral sin -- that is a view imposed upon us by the Imperials who built the Trinitian Church of Arcadia,''" her father's words from a previous discussion echoed in her mind.

''Truly. Even I myself, despite knowing the dangers of the Church, cannot escape their influence,'' the Princess thought.

"I'm sorry," Sylviane's gaze softened as she looked back at her uncle. "It cannot be your fault if you were born with such an attraction and never made a choice to love men."

Yet at the same time, she could feel her own scathing hypocrisy accusing her in her mind.

Regardless, Gabriel merely sighed and waved it off as he returned a sad smile.

"My brother knew everything about me. He even covered for my dalliances during my youth," he continued. "It was I who failed the phoenix's call and turned to hate myself. I was never there for him when he needed me. Yet he welcomed me back with open arms." He clenched his fists as he spoke in a regretful tone.

"Father always did say that the Lord said 'love thy neighbor', not -- under what condition," Sylviane commented quietly with a soft smile.

Gabriel responded with a wistful nod as his eyes grew glassy with reminiscent nostalgia.

"Geoffroi might not be the same as me, but he was the only one who ever truly accepted me for what I am," he said. "And because of that, I swore then that he would be the only one whom I would never consciously lie to, as he was the only true love I've ever known."

"Though sibling love is not the same," Pascal retorted before he frowned as Sylviane glanced at him. Even he seemed to realize that it was not his place to speak.

After all, not only was this a close family matter, Pascal was neither a theologian nor a relationship expert. He was hardly in a place to either debate or judge the many forms of emotional bonds. Especially when Pascal himself shared one such unusual bond with Kaede who, despite her female physique, claimed to be of male birth.

Pascal seemed to realize this himself as he glanced towards the petite familiar who stood silently beside him. Sylviane knew that his relationship with Kaede was built upon trust and 'family'. However, the Princess was also certain from the way he looked at the adorable girl that he had desires which extended beyond it. It was, after all, the reason why she had initially grown jealous and tried to 'put Kaede in her place'.

But did that mean that his feelings committed the same sin as Gabriel? When the Lord taught that it was their souls which truly mattered and not their bodies?

Sylviane certainly didn't believe so. After all, the Lord has never spoken against love, only acts of illicit intercourse itself. And even had Gabriel gone that far, he was no more sinful than so many other men who partook in premarital sex -- which included her own betrothed. That didn't even include the rumors she had heard in court about a new practice that involved the mouth, which was every bit as unnatural as sodomy.

"And for this, you despise the Church and everything they preach," Sylviane said as she finally came to understand.

"Wouldn't you, in my shoes?" Gabriel challenged. "The priests and their sermons have done nothing for people like me except to prejudice everyone against us and teach us to hate ourselves. I'm damned if I live a lie and damned if I don't. So I might as well just accept damnation for myself and kiss the devil's feet!"

The Princess scowled slightly as she would never go so far as to claim that the whole Trinitian faith was worthless due to the corruption of its institutional hierarchy. Nevertheless, she sidestepped the issue for now and instead focused on where their views overlapped.

"We can certainly agree that the Trinitian Church has lost its way. Our Lord and Savior preached that everyone should be shown a path to be content and live at peace with themselves, yet the Church..." Sylviane trailed off as she thought back to her conversations with her late father on why the Trinitian Church was steadily losing support.

"But not every Lotharin has come to recognize that, nor the way the Church wields its political power to the detriment of our people," Gabriel pointed out. "Therefore, I wanted it to be known to every Lotharin that our Pope ordained a ''homosexual'' as the Defender of the Faith. That the Church has become so blinded by politics and corrupted by avarice that they would support even the most heinous crime of ''kinslaying'' to attain their aims."

"And to achieve that, you put on an act that fooled not only the entire realm, but even wagered your own life in the gamble," Pascal muttered as though he could hardly believe the sheer audacity of the plan laid out before him, even though the reality was that it had been long in the making and was mostly complete.

"Always bet big," Gabriel responded with a sneer at Pascal. His eyes then pivoted back to his niece with a determined gaze as he declared with absolute conviction:

"I would like to see nothing more than for my life and disposition to become the catalyst that tears apart the moral foundation of the Trinitian Church! Because that would give my life ''meaning'' -- which is far more valuable than simply being alive."

''You're more religious than you'd like for us to believe, Uncle,'' Sylviane couldn't help thinking as a deathly silence lingered in the wake of Gabriel's declaration.

''Otherwise, you wouldn't be so eager to become a martyr to 'nationalism','' she thought of the word that Kaede had used. ''You wouldn't be gifting an advantage to my rule in exchange for your life!''

"Uncle. I cannot kill you for this," the Princess pursed her lips as she finally broke the silence. "You're the last of my father's family. How could I face him in heaven..."

"Your father had already attempted to persuade me to not do this," Gabriel cut in. "He knows my resolution and will not fault you for this."

"Even then, you're ''innocent!''" Sylviane said as her eyes grew glassy and her voice cracked. "Every charge that I've laid against you. Not one of them is true!"

"Yet you must prosecute me anyway, and to the fullest extent of the law," Gabriel declared as though he was the one who had greater royal authority. "You must play your role in this act to its conclusion, or everything that we've accomplished, every life who was sacrificed in this civil war -- they would have died for nothing!"

"And furthermore," his voice grew ominous. "You must continue to denounce me as your father's killer throughout your entire life, even if you know it to be false."

"You can't--" Sylviane objected as she looked upon her godfather as a parent figure for the first time in her life. A tear pooled in the corner of her gaze as she could not bear the thought of losing him just as soon as she found his aid.

"I know it's hard," Gabriel's face softened with sympathy even as he cut her off once more. "It's the reason I did not want you to learn about any of this. But now that you have, you must continue to act as though you never knew."

"Then ''at least'' let me commute your sentence to--" Sylviane added.

"No!" Gabriel interjected as he remained resolute. "You can show mercy to anyone else involved with the rebellion. But ''not me''. You cannot even commute my sentence to beheading. It would only undermine the supremacy of the law, which your father had upheld throughout his entire reign. Not to mention it could create doubt about your hatred for your father's killer should your mask ever falter in the decades to come."

Sylviane's lips hung as she stared back in bewilderment. She had considered proposing exile instead, however that didn't fly even with her own logic. No sane ruler would exile a pretender who had already tried once to seize the crown. That would merely give them a second chance as it allowed them to rebuild their resources abroad.

However, both the Princess and her uncle knew that there was only one legal outcome for his deeds. He would receive not merely death, but death by the most painful means of being boiled alive.

"I wouldn't mind being burned alive either if you could make the case that I committed heresy, but I doubt that would work," Gabriel then added with a quirky smile as though his own death was a joke. "It would certainly add one more stain upon the Church, that the Pope appointed a heretic to be the Defender of the Faith."

"I don't think anyone would take that charge seriously," Sylviane shook her head. "It would be seen as trumped up at best, which would undermine the legitimacy of the other charges..." Sylviane trailed off as she pondered: ''is that really a bad thing?''

"No." Gabriel slapped it down as he seemingly read her thoughts. "The legal case against me should remain airtight."

"Uncle..." Sylviane felt her heart fill with sorrow and regret as she stared at the godfather whom she never really knew until now. "Do we really have to do this? Can we not substitute a body just as you did for my father?"

Gabriel replied with a shake of his head:

"Your father was already dead by the time I spiked the head that imitated him. But I will need to die under the scrutiny of hundreds, including guards and nobles who would recognize my mana signature. There is no way you can fool everyone even if you could find a perfect living doppelganger.

"Besides," he then added with a wistful smile. "I am already resolved to die for this cause. The only thing that I ask for is your promise that my death will not be in vain. That you will purge Rhin-Lotharingie of Arcadia's moralistic dominance," he finished before staring intently at his niece.

"I swear to you, ''Uncle''," the Princess declared without a moment's pause. She stared back at Gabriel with glassy eyes while her hands tightened into fists as she added: "I will do everything in my power to finally rid Rhin-Lotharingie of the Imperium's strings."

"Then I will be content and my life will have had meaning," Gabriel responded with a faint, sad smile.

"Uncle..." a tear slid down Sylviane's cheek as she looked upon her last surviving blood relative.

She had already lost her mother and her brothers to Imperial assassins. Her father might have died anyway due to his illness, but he chose to go out in a blaze of glory in opposing yet another Imperial scheme. The last thing Sylviane wanted to see was to lose yet another member of her family -- one that she didn't know she had until an hour ago -- to great power geopolitics. Yet the Princess in her knew that she had no other choice.

"For what it's worth, becoming your godfather was the only role I truly took pride in this life," Gabriel then added in a tone of farewell. "Your father and I both know that you will be a great ruler. And I will always be glad that I was able to play a part in helping you ascend -- as I leave you not only a full treasury and a clear understanding of your subject's true loyalties, but also the greatest gift any crown heir could have: being a hated predecessor that the country will celebrate you for freeing them from," he smirked as though making one last joke.

"You are the best godfather any daughter of Rhin-Lotharingie could have had," Sylviane pursed her lips as she returned a resigned and mournful smile that looked somewhat forced. "If there is anything I could still do for you in these last few days..."

"There is," Gabriel answered almost immediately. "If you want to grant me one last wish, then please help my wife remarry."

A gentle smile grew across his expression as he clarified: "I want her to have someone kind, someone outside the political arena as I do not wish for her to be hounded by her association with a traitor, someone actually ''deserving of her'' this time."

"Does my aunt know?" The Princess couldn't help asking first.

"I've never told her anything regarding the coup," Gabriel shook his head. "Even my rebellion came as a surprise to her, though it's possible she might suspect a thing or two." He sighed as a wry smile came to his lips. "She always did have excellent intuition. And she knew I did not resent Geoffroi as I occasionally claimed to."

Sylviane nodded in return.

"I promise you that I will do everything I can for her," she answered before a thought came to her.

"And Uncle," she addressed him with a warm smile. "You do love your wife. Certainly in the manner that truly matters in the eyes of the Holy Father."

"I agree," Pascal decided to break his silence once more as his turquoise gaze met Gabriel's with a look of sincere respect. "Your Grace is as much a man as anyone who strove to be a good husband and giving father. And anyone who tells you otherwise is either a fool or a hypocrite."

"Well, I have always known myself to be a hypocrite," Gabriel joked before his lips formed a sincere smile towards Pascal for the first time. "But thank you, both of you. That truly meant a great deal."

<nowiki>----- * * * -----</nowiki>

Five days later, Kaede watched Princess Sylviane gaze upon the open ground in front of the Oriflamme Citadel from an arrowslit on the third tower.

A huge crowd had already gathered around the wooden scaffold built outside the gateway. Four massive cauldrons had been prepared for the four nobles declared guilty of the highest form of treason. They included Gabriel and three of the leading perpetrators who had reached out to the Imperium for support. These traitors not only rose in rebellion against the crown and committed regicide, they had done it in collusion with the historical nemesis of all Lotharins.

It was therefore of no surprise that the crowd was extremely animated in decrying the traitors with insults and hurled garbage. And Gabriel received the worst of it as everyone recognized him as the prime offender.

"You rotten, pestilence-addled, dung-loving, traitorous shitbagging sodomite!" A particularly colorful cry came from the crowd. "I hope they welcome you with branding irons for your anus in hell!"

The Samaran girl could see a scowl form across The Princess' lips. The floor they stood on was dark and unlit, and Sylviane intended to keep it that way as she had Elspeth stand guard outside the entrance. Only a narrow band of cloud-filtered sunlight came through the arrowslit to shine on Sylviane's left cheek. Yet, despite the poor lighting, Kaede could plainly see the anxiety and distress that plagued the Princess.

The fact that Sylviane did not wish to kill her uncle was written all over her face. She was even of two minds about revealing his homosexuality during his trial. However, in the end, Sylviane did opt to send a letter to the court as she could not bear to testify in person. Attached to it was a parting letter from Gabriel's own mother which he had saved all these years -- a final letter which accused her son of 'crimes against nature' in his dalliances and pleaded for him to seek the Holy Father's forgiveness.

And since then, 'the Pope named a homosexual as the Defender of the Faith' had spread like wildfire throughout the continent.

"I'm sorry, Uncle." Kaede heard Sylviane mutter just as the Princess did that day she handed Kaede the letter to be taken to court. "It must be done," the latter then reminded herself as she closed her fist and squeezed.

"''Elder Sister,''" the Samaran girl said with an uncertain frown. "Are you sure you want to watch this? It would only hurt you to see him die like this."

"A little pain in my heart, Kaede, is the least I could bear to repay the gift that my godfather left me," Sylviane replied in a solemn voice without ever looking back.

Her eyes remained fixated on Gabriel as the executioners suspended the Duke by his cuffed wrists. He was then lowered into the cauldron until the scalding hot water submerged his body up to his chest.

Meanwhile, Kaede winced and turned away from the crowd as she heard the four men cry out in agony. It truly was a barbaric form of capital punishment, as the guilty were not even dropped into boiling hot water. But rather, the water had been heated just enough to cause blistering pain, and then cooked further with their victims inside until they died a most torturous death.

The screams of anguish and agony included Gabriel's own. However, both Kaede and Sylviane knew them to be false. The Princess had offered one last act of mercy to Gabriel -- a tiny shirt button which Pascal had inscribed with a pain-blocking spell rune. Nevertheless, the Duke still put on an act as he thrashed about in the scalding waters and howled through gritted teeth. It was an impeccable performance that was genuinely painful for Kaede to witness.

It took several minutes for the water to boil. Several minutes for the victims' organs to fail. Several minutes where Gabriel continued to be pelted by rotten vegetables as he slowly stopped struggling.

"Farewell, Uncle," Sylviane muttered in barely more than a whisper as she watched her last living blood relative fall deathly still in the simmering cauldron.

"Rest easy that I won't let your death be in vain," her sorrowful voice added as it steadily transformed into anger and resolve. "Nor will I let ''any'' of our family's death be for naught..."

The Samaran girl caught sight of a steely glint as Sylviane pulled out an engraved dagger and pressed it against her palm.

"The Imperium shall pay for the blood debt they owe to us all," the Princess then declared in a hateful tone.

"I swear, upon the memories of my father, my mother, and my brothers, upon the departing soul of my uncle, upon my ancestors and the martyrs of Rhin-Lotharingie, and upon the Holy Cross and all that is sacred to me," Sylviane declared in her most solemn voice as blood dripped from the cut across her palm.

"I swear to every being," she took a step back before extending her bleeding hand into the cross-shaped arrowslit, "who may one day weigh my soul and hold me accountable for my deeds -- that I, Sylviane Etiennette de Gaetane, Crown Princess and future Empress of the Empire of Rhin-Lotharingie, ''shall always be an enemy of the Holy Imperium of the Inner Sea.''"

Kaede's eyes almost bulged out of their sockets as she watched the Princess declare an oath upon the salvation of her soul. But Sylviane still wasn't finished:

"I shall never be a friend of any servant of the Imperium. I shall never negotiate with them in good faith. And I ''shall not rest'' until the last vestiges of that evil hegemon which has dominated us Lotharins for so long are completely and utterly consigned to the trash heap of history," she concluded before squeezing her fist to wring the blood from her hand until her knuckles turned white.

Meanwhile, the Samaran girl could hardly believe what she had just borne witness to. For a ruler as youthful and as brilliant as Sylviane, who still had at least a century of lifespan ahead, to declare the Imperium as not merely her mortal enemy, but to 'never rest' until she saw its destruction.

''This is going to lead to disaster,'' Kaede thought as she realized the decades of conflict and war this could bring, as well as the countless civilians who could be murdered in its name.

It really shouldn't have surprised her, after how many friends and family members Sylviane lost as a result of the Imperium's schemes. However, what the Princess swore to do would only further escalate the cycle of animosity and hatred. And for a ruler, this vendetta gambled not only her own life, but the countless millions of her realm upon a geopolitical quest of vengeance.

And if she didn't help bring a stop to it, the blood spilled forth by this new quest could easily flow a new river to the sea.

Kaede wouldn't say anything now. No, she wasn't that stupid. But she was in a unique position as someone embraced into the royal family ''and'' had the ears of the crown. Perhaps, with the passage of time to heal Sylviane's emotional scars, the Princess would be more willing to reconsider her oath.

''Perhaps,'' the Samaran girl pondered as she suppressed a sigh. ''I'd been brought to this world for this very purpose.''

After all, the path of great leadership was fraught with dangers that often deprived even the best people of their humanity. This was doubly the case for those who wished to bring change for the betterment of their state.

Ivan the 4th of Russia had been a great champion of legal reform that brought justice to the powerful aristocracy and protections for the lower classes. Yet, the repeated assassinations on his life and those of his family, including the poisoning of his beloved wife, turned him into a violent and brutal autocrat monikered 'the Terrible'. By the same token, Kaede would never forget reading about how Mao Zedong of China, who had such empathy for the downtrodden that he used his own adolescent body to shield his mother from domestic abuse, would one day ignore the starvation of millions as he pursued the 'utopia' envisioned by his fallen revolutionary comrades.

Kaede looked back at the Princess whose hand was still bleeding and whose eyes remained fixated on the skies through the cross-shaped arrowslit. She reached out with her own chilly hands and wrapped them around Sylviane's cold palm, before activating one of the few spells she could cast through her ring from Pascal.

"''First Aid.''"

Her magical healing finally caught Sylviane's attention as the latter looked down with a pained smile and a wistful gaze.

"Thank you."

"It's what I'm here for, ''Elder Sister''," Kaede tried to look natural as she beamed back.

Would Sylviane become an empress worthy of song by the generations to come? Or would she become a brutal tyrant who stopped at nothing to destroy her enemies? It all depended on circumstance and the people who surrounded Her Highness in the decades to come.

And in that moment, the girl reborn from another world knew she had found her true calling in this new world.

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</noinclude>

Daybreak:Volume 4 Chapter 20

2025-06-01T16:43:43Z

Aorii:

=== Chapter 20 - Unpardonable Truth ===

Pascal sighed as he leaned back into his chair. His hand held a single paper from the heaps of documents and ledgers spread across the huge desk before him.

It was the same table where he had planned out the logistics for the armies of Rhin-Lotharingie at the start of the war. Yet, despite the fact that less than three months had passed between now and then, it felt as though his memories of working late into the night in this very room had come from a lifetime ago.

Back then, the biggest concern he had was how he could get his fiancé Sylviane to accept his new familiar Kaede. Yes, his father had recently died in an Imperial ambush. But Weichsel was mobilizing. The alliance was holding firm despite being activated for the first time. And with Sylviane's father, Geoffroi the Great, at the Empire's helm, it felt like there was no such thing as a challenge that they could not overcome.

Three months later, the war had changed completely. The relationship between Weichsel and Rhin-Lotharingie had changed. And the bond between Sylviane and Kaede, the two most important women in his life, had certainly changed.

But perhaps most of all, ''he'' had changed.

Pascal was no longer merely the future crown prince consort of a neighboring empire. He was no longer a young officer of Weichsel desperate for opportunities to prove himself. In the span of merely three months, he had become a veteran with a near-blind eye and a trembling hand to show for his errors in judgment.

More importantly, he had become the chief military advisor of the hopefully soon-to-be-crowned empress of Rhin-Lotharingie in a time of great power conflicts.

Pascal could feel the burden of responsibility placed upon his shoulders like a giant boulder. It was the reason why he joined neither Colonel Hammerstein's knights who celebrated in the capital's large taverns, nor the feast arranged by Sylviane in the Castle's banquet hall for the nobles who aided in her victory.

The Lotharins may have won a battle, even a campaign. But the war was not over, and the conflict was about to further escalate.

It was why, even though the dusk light had long vanished beyond the horizon, Pascal continued to read through a mountain of documents in his crystal-lit office.

''This doesn't make any sense,'' the young lord thought as he raised a paper bearing seals from both the late General Menno and the imprisoned pretender Gabriel.

As soon as Sylviane's forces had entered the Oriflamme Citadel in the morning, Pascal had ordered the soldiers to seize and secure all ledgers and documents that they encountered. Some of the men had complained about Weichsel's 'obsession with paperwork' and joked that Pascal must take after the 'Accountant General'. But with the civil war coming to an end and the Caliphate's holy war to be renewed, Pascal could ill afford the loss of valuable records that detailed the Empire's resources.

His fear was that some of Gabriel's men might attempt to destroy important documents in order to conceal their own contributions to the coup. After all, while the Princess had offered amnesty to all soldiers, staffers, and low-ranking commanders who served under Gabriel, the same could not be said for the leaders of his illegal coup whom she intended to bring to justice. And with the difference between 'low-ranking' and 'leaders' being largely subjective, even a single document that detailed active participation in Gabriel's schemes could implicate someone in treason.

Thankfully, aside from a few cases -- including a Belgae bishop who burnt the correspondence letters from the Holy See -- the overwhelming majority of records from Gabriel's short reign had been found. This included account books of the crown's finances, ledgers from the recent round of taxation and requisition, tracking records for shipments of raw materials and crucial war supplies, and even inventory lists of weapons and ammunition sent from the Imperium in support of Gabriel's coup.

The pretender's short reign had seen plenty of mistakes made. It was inevitable, considering that a third of the ministry staff had outright refused to recognize Gabriel as the new emperor. Dozens of them had been imprisoned beneath the citadel's sixth tower for weeks. It forced the false emperor to employ new people, amateurs not accustomed to their work, to fill the roles in place of the experienced professionals whom he removed.

Therefore, it did not surprise Pascal one bit to see that many errors had been made in the management of war production and the transportation of vital supplies. However, what ''did'' amaze Pascal was how glaringly obvious some of these mistakes seemed, to the point that they bordered on self-sabotage.

For example, Gabriel had refilled the treasury with new taxes and even tithes expropriated from the Church under his authority as the 'Defender of the Faith' during a time of holy war -- actions that undoubtedly strained his relations with the nobles, citizenry, and clergy alike. Yet, for some reason, there were no records showing that he had tried to put any of these funds to good use.

There were no attempts to hire mercenaries, nor offers of gold to buy the loyalty of nobles who pledged to the Princess, not even a bonus paid to soldiers to raise their morale before the decisive battle.

In fact, records showed that Gabriel had not even ''paid'' his men since seizing the capital almost two months ago. Had this been Weichsel, the delay of payment by over a month without extenuating circumstances would have been seen as unacceptable incompetence in leadership, which would lead to at least three officers being relieved of their command.

''"Not that being paid late is rare in Rhin-Lotharingie."'' Pascal scowled as he thought of Perceval's response when he last talked to the healer about the Empire's recruits. The poor efficiency of the Empire's military administration was one of the first things he intended to see improved.

Perhaps Gabriel was a miserly type who wanted to save money by paying the soldiers only after the battle. After all, the Empire had no tradition of distributing funds to families of the deceased. It was a foolish policy in Pascal's view which he was already working to change. How could soldiers fight to their bravest if they also had to worry about who would take care of their loved ones back home if they died?

Nevertheless, even such penurious thinking did not justify Gabriel's inadequate battle preparation.

Lotharin armies had always expended ammunition at a phenomenal rate due to their reliance on archers. Therefore, it was imperative to stockpile as many arrows as possible before a major clash. Yes, Belgae military units did field more polearms and relied less on longbows than other Lotharin regions due to their flat terrain, fewer woodlands, and greater emphasis on industry and urbanization. However, the prisoners and supplies Sylviane's forces captured from Gabriel's fortified camp revealed that the pretender's army had only enough arrows to give each archer forty shots at most.

By comparison, Sylviane's Lotharin archers had each received four quivers of twenty-four arrows before the Battle of Gwilen River. And even then, the frontline units had begun to run out of ammunition within the first two hours.

''This means even had Sylviane opted for the worst plan of a frontal assault on Gabriel's fortifications, we might still have won!'' Pascal frowned as he reflected on the magnitude of this mistake.

What made it worse was the fact that tracking records showed at least one million arrows were stored in the capital's harbor warehouses, plus several more millions held in the depots of three downriver towns. These supplies were waiting to be shipped south to the Garona front once the spring arrived. However, it would only require a few barges to be diverted to bring hundreds of thousands of arrows to Gabriel's army for use.

The document in Pascal's hand showed exactly that. It was a mandate issued by General Menno to ship supplies and ammunition to his fortified camp. Yet, the order had been rescinded by Gabriel's own handwriting a mere two days before the battle.

Worse yet, the pretender had also moved nearly the entirety of his navy downriver to the Belgae region to escort the necessary supplies he was depriving his army of. This meant that had Sylviane opted to lay siege to Gabriel's army camp, they might even be able to blockade its shores using only the watercraft they found in nearby settlements. This would have cut off the enemy's supply lines entirely, and the camp only had two weeks worth of food.

''Was Gabriel '''trying''' to lose?'' Pascal's thoughts came in a sarcastic tone as he was baffled by the sheer incompetence of prioritization on display. ''Or were these orders the forgery of a saboteur in the palace?''

Pascal was in all of the intelligence meetings with Sylviane. As far as he knew, they had no such highly-placed asset who could manipulate orders from Gabriel's leadership. That means either they had an ally inside the palace who never even attempted to make contact with the Princess and her supporters, which seemed unlikely...

Or, the alternative was that Gabriel really ''was'' this stupid and actively made decisions that would result in his own defeat.

''No, there has to be a better reason.''

The young Landgrave knew that war propaganda often liked to paint enemies as complete imbeciles to boost one's own morale. However, as a military professional, Pascal also knew that he should never believe in such. To underestimate the enemy was one of the worst mistakes a commander could make. Those who did not plan for their opponent to take the most optimal action often paid for it with their own defeat.

Pascal considered that Gabriel was a man who carefully planned a coup that caught even an insightful monarch like Geoffroi the Great by surprise. He found it difficult to believe that the pretender could make such glaringly obvious mistakes like this. That meant there had to be a good reason why Gabriel was prioritizing sending ammunition south towards Garona. Perhaps he had heard of something from the Inner Sea front which even Sylviane did not yet know.

"Pascal."

A soft and wispy voice called out to him before the young man pulled away the paper blocking his gaze. The young lord's hearing wasn't what it used to be and he often failed to notice those with quieter footsteps. His familiar was one of those people as she stood just inside the doorway to the large office. Standing next to her was a tall and lean-shouldered man who seemed just past his prime, though his face still had a boyish look which reminded Pascal of the late Sir Robert.

"Sir Julien?" Pascal asked as he stared at the man with his uncovered eye.

"Yes," the royal healer answered in a professional and steadfast tone that almost hid the somber mood that lay beneath.

''I wonder if Kaede has already informed him of his son's death?'' Pascal thought before he turned to his own familiar:

"Kaede? Should you not have taken him to the feast?"

Pascal had directed her earlier to oversee the release of Gabriel's political prisoners. He wanted to ensure that the ministry staff who remained loyal to Sylviane were well-treated and provided every amenity they needed after several months of harrowing stay in the dungeons.

"It was I who asked her to bring me to you, Your Grace," Julien responded before his voice took on a sarcastic tone. "I've spent the past seven weeks sitting beneath a rock being fed. The last thing I need is another feast to increase my bloat."

Pascal raised an eyebrow. He did hear from Kaede by telepathy several hours ago that all the prisoners were healthy. However, this was the first time he heard of someone complaining of growing fat after being imprisoned.

"The warden told me that Gabriel had given him explicit orders that every prisoner should be 'well-treated according to their previous rank and status'," Kaede then explained before returning a shrug.

"Which meant not only all the food we wanted to eat, but even fine room furnishings and accommodations with our compatriots," Julien added with a terse laugh as though he could barely believe it himself. "We were even allowed to request books from the royal library. The only thing forbidden was the freedom to roam and communicate with our families."

''What kind of imprisonment is that?'' Pascal's thoughts couldn't decide if he should be more skeptical or baffled.

"But that does not make any sense!" The young lord chose the latter. "You all openly defied Gabriel by insisting that he is an illegitimate ruler! Had I been in his shoes..."

Pascal then trailed off as he realized a bit late that the last part should not be spoken aloud:

''I would have at least hanged a few of you as an example.''

"You would prefer that he had us all tortured if not killed instead?" Julien replied with a raised eyebrow of his own.

"No! That is not what I meant..." Pascal hurriedly added. "Please do not misunderstand me, Sir Julien. I am ''happy'' to see you all safe," the young lord declared with a face that looked far more troubled than pleased.

"I am merely baffled by these actions from Gabriel which make no sense! It would be far more natural for a ruler whose legitimacy is doubted to make an example as a warning to others who would challenge his right to reign."

A wry snort came from the healer as he replied with a sardonic scowl:

"You're not wrong. That's exactly what several of the ministers who defied Gabriel expected, especially after he spiked His Majesty's head. Yet instead of being enshrined in Lotharin history as martyrs, they found themselves taking an obligatory underground vacation."

''I swear, you Lotharins trade your lives far too readily,'' Pascal scowled beneath his frown.

What began as propaganda during their Independence War has since become pervasive in Lotharin culture. It was especially prominent among the nobility, with their love of ''élan'' and their desire to be immortalized by posterity.

It also lay in sharp contrast to Weichsel, where stories of how King Ferdinand repelled the Great Heathen Army taught every soldier that it's always better to live to fight another day. And as such it seemed such a massive waste of manpower and talent to Pascal.

"Why did you defy him then?" He then asked.

"I didn't. Well, not directly," Julien answered. "I asked to quit my position as a royal healer and join the armies at the front, considering that my charge, the late Emperor, was now deceased. Gabriel accused me of attempting collusion with Sylviane instead and had me arrested."

''Now that sounds like the real Gabriel,'' Pascal thought as he stared at the physician whom the Emperor considered a personal friend.

''I would have done the same.''

Nevertheless, this only added more confusion to his thoughts. It was as though Gabriel was a two-faced man who seesawed between the ruthlessness of necessity and naively foolish mercy. His actions sometimes reached the height of brilliance yet other times sank to the depth of stupidity.

His coup on the capital was -- Pascal had to admit -- a master stroke of tactical infiltration. Yet the way he denied supply to his armies, hoarded his resources, and even kept alive those loyal to his enemies...

''It is like he was wagering that Sylviane would win.''

"I am sorry, Sir Julien. But whatever it is that you came to see me for, it will have to wait," Pascal said as he grabbed his walking cane and used its leverage to stand up from his chair.

His familiar Kaede rushed over to give him a hand. However, Pascal brushed her outreached arms aside. After all, he had made significant progress during the time she was away and was no longer so pathetic he needed help to stand.

-- Besides, Perceval had told him that he needed more exercise for his leg muscles so he could at least stop walking with a limp.

It still took a bit of effort for Pascal to push the padded chair back and stand up straight in one motion. Nevertheless, his feet were steady this time as he stepped around his desk.

"I came to check up on Your Grace's health, though it seems like I need not have worried about your physical recovery," the healer said as he carefully observed Pascal's movements.

"Nevertheless, Lord Perceval did tell me that you've been in a somewhat... turbulent mood," he added with a tone as though he found this ironic. "And as the husband to the country's foremost expert on mood disorders, I'd like to observe Your Grace a little, if you don't mind."

''He is Sir Robert's father after all,'' Pascal thought to himself before attempting to put on a smile.

"Very well, Sir Julien. You may accompany me if you wish, though you may not enjoy where I am going," he stated directly before turning to Kaede. "I believe Gabriel has already been transferred beneath the citadel's tower?"

"Yes." Kaede nodded. "General Caradoc's men brought him in just before dusk."

"Good," Pascal replied as he grabbed the scroll that he had puzzled over earlier before moving towards the exit. "Because I need to speak with the man, right now."

''It is about time I get some answers out of him!''

<nowiki>----- * * * -----</nowiki>

The prison beneath the sixth tower had indeed been 'improved'. The high-security cell that Pascal opened the door into held a luxurious four-poster bed that he recognized as from the palace's guest rooms. A large carpet, a desk, and four chairs had also been moved down, which seemed to hint that the prisoners had been allowed to visit each other. Only the rough stone walls and the small barred window near the ceiling reminded the occupant that this was still a prison cell.

''For Gabriel to benefit from his good treatment of those he imprisoned... this must be what Kaede calls 'Karma','' the young Landgrave thought.

"Lord Gabriel," Pascal greeted the inhabitant, who had been sitting on his bed with a book in hand.

"Your Grace," Gabriel said almost whimsically as he stood up. "I realize that you do not recognize me as emperor. But I'm still owed courtesy befitting a duke."

A wry smile spread across his handsome face which reminded Pascal that he was dealing with a shameless and consummate politician.

"You are a traitor, and therefore owed no courtesy of any kind," Pascal declared in a frosty tone as he shifted his walking cane to his left hand and wrapped his right fingers on the handle of his estoc.

"Be glad that I still recognize you as a noble, on account of your undeniable blood relations with the late Emperor -- your own brother whom you ''butchered in cold blood''," his voice darkened and he almost spat out at the end.

"History will indeed remember me as a king and kinslayer," Gabriel answered with a faint smile as though he was hardly bothered by this. He then rotated the chair by the desk and redirected it towards the door.

"Would you like to sit at least, Your Grace?" Gabriel gestured openly towards another chair by the door as he sat down. "I heard your leg has not been well."

''He is way too nonchalant for a pretender who had just lost his bid for the throne and surely knows that only execution awaits him,'' Pascal frowned.

Regardless, Gabriel was correct that Pascal's legs would not keep him standing for long. During yesterday's battle when Pascal took command of overall coordination, his legs couldn't even hold him upright for a full hour before he needed to take a break.

Nevertheless, Pascal ignored the offer as he walked over to the bed and leaned against a foot post. To sit down now would imply that this was Gabriel's domain and that the duke was in control, rather than it being an interrogation led by himself.

"Sir Julien," the young lord turned around to face the two people who followed him here. "Since you insisted on coming along, may I trust your absolute confidentiality in this matter?"

"As His Late Majesty did in me," Julien responded with a sincere nod while Kaede took that as the cue to close the door.

Meanwhile, Pascal performed a quick scan of the room for scrying sensors before he cast ''Sanctum Veil'' over the entire chamber to prevent being overheard.

"Besides, I would like to know the truth myself, seeing as I lost not only my most important patient, but also my eldest son in this conflict," Julien's voice remained professional even as a look of pain passed through his gaze.

"Good, because what I am about to do to this man may not be considered ''legal''," Pascal said as he finished his spell.

The young lord then sent a contemptuous sneer towards Gabriel as he added over his private telepathy. "<And Kaede, keep your guard up.>"

"<Of course.>"

Pascal did not want to admit it, but in his current physical state, he was not confident of his ability to win a physical struggle if Gabriel suddenly lunged out at him. Kaede may not be much of a melee fighter, but Pascal did replenish her defensive rune set. And he still remembered how badly she beat him during their first morning together with it.

"I shall get straight to the point then, Lord Gabriel," Pascal began as he pulled out the scroll he had placed into his extradimensional pocket and unraveled it. "Why did you countermand this order by General Menno to ferry supplies and ammunition to your army south of the lake?"

"Isn't that obvious?" Gabriel replied with a rather patronizing smirk.

"''I'' will be asking the questions here, Lord Gabriel," Pascal demanded in a harsh tone.

The young lord needed to impress upon his senior just who was in charge. However, that was rather difficult to do as Gabriel was clearly not afraid of him. Therefore, Pascal cast several spells which effectively glued Gabriel's manacles to his seat.

The pretender only sighed in return before he began to explain:

"Because thanks to your king's intervention in our civil conflict, I was forced to fight a two front war. My army had taken most of the supplies from the Belgae territories when we left. It was imperative for me to leverage what shipping I had to send some back so the walled settlements could ready themselves for siege."

"At the cost of defeat to your main force? Do you seriously expect me to believe that?" Pascal declared as his voice dripped with sarcasm. "I highly doubt that the situation back home was so dire they lacked even the supplies to hold out for a month or two, at which point the contest for the throne would have been decided."

"What I said was my logic at the time. Whether or not you believe in it is up to you." Gabriel returned a disinterested shrug. "I hardly have any reason to hold on to secrets now, seeing as you already have more than sufficient charges to condemn me to death multiple times over."

"If anything, cooperation may ''ease'' the method of your execution," Pascal pointed out with a severe warning. "As by Lotharin law, those who commit the high treason of rebellion in collusion with foreign powers are to be ''boiled alive''."

The young man ignored the gasp he heard from his familiar. He could sense over their bond that Kaede felt nothing but revulsion for such inhumane punishment. However, given the severity of the crime, Pascal could not help but feel that it was wholly deserved.

Nevertheless, Gabriel did not look the least bit scared when he responded in a somewhat playful tone:

"I shall endeavor to cooperate then."

''Why do I not believe you?'' Pascal scowled.

"Then why did you countermand the order instead of diverting at least one or two barges to ferry ammunition to your forces?" He asked again. "Surely that would have still left the majority of shipping available for sending supplies to the Belgae garrisons."

"But I remember there were already several barges making regular runs to the army's camp?" Gabriel answered. "Surely they would be enough to transfer arrows even without me pulling shipping from other routes."

''True, we did capture four along the camp's docks,'' Pascal considered. ''However, all of them were used to bring food and fodder from the northern granaries.''

''Is he just bad at logistics then?'' Pascal wondered if Gabriel really did misjudge the scale of the supply operation necessary to keep an army of twenty-thousand men fed. After all, for all of his deceptive ingenuity, the duke has never commanded an army deployed into the field before.

"Then can you explain to me your decision to impose new taxes and promote the Church's schemes to monetize the Holy Father's forgiveness?" Pascal asked first as he kept his good eye trained on Gabriel's blue-violet gaze. "Profits which you then appropriated from the Church without use.

"It seemed rather short-sighted to me that you would rush to collect funds when your legitimacy was being openly challenged. And then not use one coin from it, not even to consistently pay your own soldiers!" Pascal's voice rose at the end as he couldn't help feeling bothered by such gross mistreatment of troops.

"Surely, Your Grace, you do not need me to explain something so simple?" Gabriel mocked with another patronizing smirk. "War requires money. And since the Caliphate is preparing to launch a new offensive in the spring, I needed to restock the Empire's coffers in preparation. Winter is the best time to collect taxes as most people are staying at home. And those who had misbehaved have more than enough time on their hands to dwell upon their sins.

"Furthermore, had Lord Henri stayed true to the support that his father vowed, it would be Your Grace who is now in chains instead of me," Gabriel sneered as he at last revealed a bitter tone. "Therefore, why should I spend gold on peasants for a battle that I could have won with ease?"

''You truly are a bastard.'' Pascal's eye narrowed as he felt nothing but contempt for the man sitting before him.

"I do not believe for one second you are that politically naive," the Landgrave nevertheless stayed to his line of questioning. "Duke Hugh is a shortsighted man easily enticed by immediate gains. He has no true loyalty or ideology to speak of, and only an idiot will rely upon such an individual -- which I do not think you are. It would make much more sense to keep your army in high readiness so you can directly challenge Sylviane without relying on such a perfidious player."

"I'm glad Your Grace has such a high opinion of me," Gabriel almost laughed before he shrugged again as his voice grew wry. "But what can I say? I did not believe that my niece had any chance of defeating my forces, especially if my army remained inside their fortifications. And once the Caliphate renews their offensive and the Imperium intervenes -- which is only a matter of time -- the Empire's nobility would have no choice but to recognize my authority to prevent an even greater catastrophe."

''That was what we feared as well,'' Pascal scowled as he was forced to concur.

"I made a mistake yesterday in sallying out, thinking that I had a golden opportunity to sandwich Sylviane's army between mine and Henri's," Gabriel's lips twisted as he added further. "Perhaps I was too overconfident in hindsight. And by the time I realized, it was already too late to turn back."

''A reasonable tactical error to make, especially for a greedy scumbag who denied pay to his own men,'' Pascal considered as Gabriel's answers so far seemed both consistent and logical.

''Maybe he really did make a strategic error and I am overestimating him?''

However, before Pascal could further re-examine his prior assessment of Gabriel's actions, Kaede seemed to have noticed his self-doubt and commented over telepathy:

"<He's lying and trying to conceal something from us.>"

"<Well you are better at reading him than I am,>" Pascal replied. "<Why do you think he's lying then?>"

"<nowiki><I</nowiki> don't know. He is concealing it,>" Kaede repeated dryly. "<But I get the feeling it's something he'd rather take with him to the grave. And I doubt you can offer anything to pry it out of him.>"

''Terrific,'' Pascal thought as he openly sighed. "<nowiki><If</nowiki> carrots do not work, then it is time for the bullwhip.>"

"Stop lying to me and wasting my time, Lord Gabriel," the young lord declared in an impatient voice that was not entirely feigned. "You are someone who was savvy enough to build a coalition against the late Emperor without him realizing it, who was ruthless enough to cut off your own brother's head and left it to rot on a spike. Do you seriously expect me to believe that you just ''happened'' to leave behind a full treasury and all the loyal ministers for Sylv to readily use?"

"Your Grace, I can only speak to the mistakes that I--" Gabriel was still talking when Pascal pointed his turquoise casting ring at the pretender duke.

"''Scourge Catalyst.''"

A column of aquamarine light formed between the two as Pascal poured his mana directly into Gabriel. An unseen clash immediately began between the two mages as Pascal's magic directly assaulted the pretender's body. The ''Scourge'' spell forcibly converted mana back into ether by destabilizing the former through brutal force. This also had a side effect of generating excess energy, which 'excited' the surrounding molecules like water which was so important to living biology.

Pascal had once explained this spell to Kaede, which made his familiar compare it to "being microwaved".

"You would dare torture the ordained Defender of the Faith!?" All signs of Gabriel's nonchalance dropped immediately as his countenance twisted in anguish as he snarled in response. "Are you not afraid that the Holy Father..." He paused and clenched his teeth while his hands tightly gripped the arms of his chair to bear the growing pain. "--Would condemn you to hell for this!?"

"I do not know what unholy spirit you believe you speak for, but it is certainly not the Holy Father," Pascal countered as he intensified his spell.

"<Pascal, this is...>"

"<Be quiet, Kaede.>" Pascal shut her up as he knew what his familiar was going to say. "<nowiki><I</nowiki> did warn that what I do here will not be legal. But I will do whatever it takes to pry the facts out of this bastard!>"

The young lord thought back to the unconscious form of Sylviane's body on the floor of the throne room with burns and frostbite spread across her hands and forearms. He had watched for several minutes as the healer Perceval, with Kaede's help, channeled his spells into Sylviane to repair the damage that had been done.

Perceval had reassuringly guaranteed that there would be no lasting consequences. However, the mere sight of Sylviane's ghastly self-inflicted wounds left Pascal without a shred of mercy towards the man who caused all of this.

"Nnnnngggh."

Gabriel's groans steadily grew as faint wafts of steam began to rise from his body. It was especially noticeable from his left arm where Pascal focused the brunt of his spell.

"Either you talk, or I will keep this up all night," Pascal's words emerged in a frightfully cold voice as he kept his hard eyes fixed on Gabriel's tense face. "Until we burn away your mana and I can rip the memories straight out of your repugnant brain."

The Duke struggled uselessly against the steel restraints that kept his limbs pinned against the chair. Sweat rolled down his brows as his teeth clenched further before they broke into a cry:

"Nnngggaaaaah!"

"You Grace..."

"Pascal!"

Both Julien and Kaede tried to speak up this time, but Pascal immediately interjected with a harsh glare.

''"Shut. Up."''

''You are only making this take longer!'' He thought.

Pascal then redirected his stone-cold gaze back to Gabriel. The Duke's face was contorted with pain as his cries escalated in between gasping breaths. The young lord could feel a pang of sympathy as he kept his spell trained upon his hapless victim. Yet the only thing it took for him to harden his resolve was to remember all of the times Sylviane broke down into tears as a result of her uncle's betrayal.

Be it the cabin outside Nordkreuz or her room in Avorica, be it the aftermath of Glywysing or the throne room of the Oriflamme Citadel. Pascal had seen and heard about Sylviane breaking down so many times as the Princess lamented over all those whom she had lost. And while not all of those deaths were Gabriel's fault, his coup was certainly a major reason why their journey back home had cost so much.

"I have full confidence that my mana capacity exceeds yours," Pascal stated as he intended to crush any resistance that Gabriel had left. "Either you crack, or I will rip apart your mind and see you go to the scaffold tomorrow as a drooling vegetable of a man before being boiled alive. I bet even the Holy Father will appreciate the irony in that."

"Gahhh! All-right! I yield! AhHHHH! I'll tell you... what you want!" Gabriel cried out before Pascal finally pulled away his hand and ended the spell.

A minute passed with only the hard breathing of the pretender duke filling the silence in the room. Then, as Pascal pointed his ring and began to ask in a low and threatening voice once more:

"Let us restart with something more straightforward then. Why did you only imprison the loyal ministers who opposed you, despite the fact you were willing to go so far as to spike and mutilate your own brother's head?"

"B-because the head wasn't his to begin with." Gabriel coughed as he blinked his eyes to clear them. "It came from a man who only ''looked'' similar to my brother, and I used magic to shape it further until the resemblance was flawless."

"A ''fake!?''"

Pascal felt stunned as despite hypothesizing many reasons for Gabriel's peculiar behavior, he had never considered the possibility that his own eyes might betray him.

No. It wasn't merely his own. The young lord had not forgotten how badly his fiancé burnt herself to send off what she thought were her father's remains. The fact it had all been a trick only further sullied Sylviane's pain and suffering.

"Do you know what Sylv went through because of that 'fake'?" Pascal's pitch was low and ominous as the cold rancor inside him grew inflamed.

"She almost burnt her arms off trying to cremate it in the Burning Throne's flames." His voice steadily rose as he pointed a finger in the direction of the Princess' bedroom. "Now, either you start telling me the truth, or I will wring it out of your brain after I reduce it to mush!"

"And you think you can handle the truth!? Fine!" Gabriel snarled beneath his tear-glazed eyes as he spat out a hint of blood from his mouth.

"The truth is that I had planned this coup with Geoffroi from the very beginning! The truth is that my confrontation with my brother, my betrayal of the Empire during its darkest hour, everything has been a drama staged for all Lotharins to see! And I wanted my goddaughter to win the throne all along!"

"''What!?''"

Pascal blurted out as his lips fell open. His eyes stared back as though threatening to pop out from their sockets.

The words coming from Gabriel's mouth seemed completely absurd. A pretender who launched a military coup to depose the ruler, with ''consent'' from the ruler? Who would believe in such a farcical tale?

The Landgrave took a stride forward and almost stumbled on his weaker leg. He kept himself upright with his cane until he grabbed Gabriel by the collar and yelled straight into the older man's face:

"That makes no ''fucking'' sense!" Pascal shouted into his face.

"Why would the Emperor consent to be killed like that?" The young lord challenged as he ignored the pestering thought that 'helping Sylviane' was exactly what some of Gabriel's actions seemed to achieve. "Why would he allow--?"

"Because he was dying anyway!" Gabriel interjected with a shout as a pained expression began to fill his angry gaze. "My brother had a malignant tumor growing inside his brain. And healer Julien here told him that the chances of surviving a surgical removal were close to zero and he had only months left to live."

Pascal immediately swiveled around to stare at the healer, to which Julien nodded wryly:

"By my estimate based on its growth, His Majesty had only a month left, three at most, by the time of the palace coup."

"Why..." Pascal's lips hung as this was the first time he had heard of this. "Why did he never say anything? Why did he keep it a secret even from Sylviane, his own heir and daughter?" His outraged tone lashed out at the healer.

"Because we only found out about it at the onset of winter last year, the night after Her Highness left for the north to help King Alistair." Julien closed his eyes as he spoke in a regretful voice.

"His Majesty had been putting off his periodic health check-ups due to a combination of overconfidence and overwork -- he had always been physically active and healthy after all, so none of us expected this. By the time we discovered it, it was already too late to contain or safely remove the disease. With not much to be done, the Late Emperor ordered me to keep it a secret as it would only add to the weight on Her Highness' shoulders during an already troubled time."

"Geoffroi and I had hoped that the tensions with the Caliphate could be resolved peacefully and that he could pass the crown to Sylviane smoothly," Gabriel followed. "Both of us knew that if the Tauheed did invade, then the rebellious lords in Belgae whom I had managed for years through words of caution would surely see opportunity. Three of the nobles had independently forged contacts with the Imperium, who pushed everyone towards open revolt.

"I brought this news to my brother after the start of the war," he continued. "We decided that since civil conflict was no longer avoidable, it would be better that I take control of the insurgency's leadership instead of letting someone else."

"How much... did you know about all of this?" A bewildered Pascal asked the healer who didn't even look the slightest bit surprised by everything Gabriel had just told them.

"I had ''suspected''," Julien answered. "When we discussed his will, His Majesty told me that whatever Duke Gabriel seemed to be doing on the surface, he was absolutely trustworthy deep beneath."

The Healer then looked to the pretender: "I also suspected that my knowledge of His Majesty's illness was the real reason you arrested me."

"Yes," Gabriel nodded towards Julien with an apologetic gaze. "The only people who knew about Geoffroi's illness were himself, myself, you, and Colonel Lindsay of the Highland Guard, who died bravely protecting my brother during the coup. I could not afford to have you tell Her Highness and risk her coming to the realization, not when she still had a part to play in our act."

"An act!? Is that what you call this civil war?" Pascal turned back to breathing down at Gabriel's face. "An act that killed thousands and turned the Empire upside down!? An act that almost saw Sylv killed multiple times! Why would you do this? Something so disastrous to Rhin-Lotharingie during its hour of need!?"

"To destroy the legitimacy of the Trinitian Church in the eyes of all Lotharins," Gabriel declared with absolute conviction without the slightest doubt in his gaze.

Pascal stood speechless for a brief moment as he blinked and could only stare blankly in response.

''Why would you possibly–-''

He then stopped the train of thought as he remembered that unlike Weichsel, the Empire of Rhin-Lotharingie had never felt comfortable with the influence of the Trinitian Church.

This was because due to the practice of ''Caesaropapism'', the Pope was technically a vassal of the Imperator Augustus. And the Pope in turn was recognized by every bishop, priest, and monk throughout the Empire as the supreme figure of religious authority in the mortal realm. This left the Lotharins' former colonial overlord and the Empire's greatest foe, the Holy Imperium of the Inner Sea, with an indirect means of manipulating the internal affairs of the Lotharin realm.

''<nowiki>'Religious authority is soft power,'</nowiki>'' the young lord thought of how his late father once described the problem. ''Yet even a monarch like Geoffroi cannot force religious change without significant upheaval and unrest.''

"There were other reasons, of course," Gabriel added with a sneer. "The civil war brought all loyalties into the light and allowed Sylviane to discover whom she could trust and which ministers she should remove. It drew out most of the nobles rebellious towards the crown and crushed them in one fell stroke. It gave me the chance to restock the Empire's coffers with Church gold and taxes levied upon the wealthy while leaving Sylviane free from any blame. And lastly, it solidified Sylviane's authority to the throne which would strengthen her hand for Empire-spanning reforms.

"I can understand the political reasoning why the Empire wishes to remove the influences of the Holy See," Pascal stated in a low voice as he struggled with the mixed emotions he felt about this whole scheme. "After all, Emperor Geoffroi has clashed with the Pope over the investiture of priests for decades. But..."

Even if he ignored the insane risks and high costs of this strategy, there was still the ethical angle to confront. After all, Pascal himself was a Trinitian faithful to the Holy Father, even if he wasn't particularly devout. His own late father might have begun steering Weichsel away from its traditional 'Papal Appeasement' policies. But there was a sea of difference between a shift in diplomatic stance and an open attack upon the legitimacy of the Church itself.

"Why would you take things this far?" Pascal asked beneath a puzzled frown. "Once the rebellion became public, you had more than enough evidence of the Imperium's involvement to begin a purge of their supporters among both the aristocracy and the clergy. You could have ended your facade there without killing your own brother and destroying your own reputation and life!"

"A purge is only a temporary measure. Influence can always be rebuilt as long as an ideology remains," Gabriel pointed out as he sneered and bared his teeth. "What I wish to destroy is the very ''foundation'' of the Trinitian Church in Rhin-Lotharingie -- its ''moral authority''. For what is a religion without legitimacy and no one willing to believe in its 'righteousness'?"

"It would become a cult that fades into obscurity," a stunned, whispery voice came from Kaede as the familiar seemingly uttered without realizing it.

"That is blasphemy," Pascal felt offended as he snapped back at Kaede. "The Holy Father is the source of Trinitian moral authority, and he cannot be destroyed."

"Gods cannot be destroyed, but the people can lose their faith in them," Julien added in a low voice that nevertheless betrayed his astonishment, as even he seemed awed by the sheer audacity of Geoffroi and Gabriel's act. "After all, that was what happened to many of the old religions from before the Trinitians came, and His Majesty is a scholar of history himself."

"False idolatry of mythical heroes," Pascal scoffed in return. "I will admit that there might be some truth to those stories. But they cannot be compared with the grace of Hyperion as the Holy Father's true son."

"And God should not suffer for the stupidity of the priest," Kaede answered as if in quote. "Religion is but man's interpretation of divine authority. And from what I've seen, the Trinitian Church is not run by angels, but by fallible men whose free will has been guaranteed by the Holy Father himself."

"As the depravity of the clergy could readily prove," Julien voiced with a sigh.

Pascal could only scowl in response as he doubted anyone could refute that. Certainly not the Landgrave of Nordkreuz, where even the children on the streets could sing nursery rhymes about the avarice of Weichsel's Cardinal-Chancellor Lisbeth.

"Precisely," Gabriel declared with a wry yet scathing grin.

"It is for that reason alone that I have chosen to bear the sin of killing my own beloved brother," the duke continued as the pain that filled the corner of his eyes transformed into malice and hate. "For through my actions, I have shown all Lotharins that the corruption and rank hypocrisy of the Trinitian Church extends from the lay priests to the Pope himself. That these 'holy men' do not care one bit about the peaceful livelihoods of our common citizenry, only the power and wealth they can attain through conflict!"

"And to achieve this, you turned yourself into the most hated figure in Rhin-Lotharingie," Pascal uttered in barely more than a whisper as he finally came to understand that this was not merely a political objective for Gabriel, but a deeply personal wish.

"Yes," the duke answered as his resentful eyes blazed with conviction. His jaw stiffened with the grim resolve of someone prepared for martyrdom before he added:

"My wish is for the ''depravity'' that I have committed, in the name of the 'Defender of the Faith', to forever be associated with that of the Trinitian Church of Holy Arcadia in the memory of all Lotharins!" Gabriel declared as though they were his last words. "For only then may we forever throw off the yoke of Arcadia and the puppet strings of the Inner Sea to truly be ''free!''"

<nowiki>----- * * * -----</nowiki>

''I wonder if it might have been better if I had never found out...''

Pascal mulled as walked slowly through the dimly lit and empty corridors of the castle. His familiar paced beside him as she kept her concerned gaze trained upon him. Kaede had offered earlier to help support him but Pascal rejected it. However, the young lord wished he hadn't been so prideful now as his legs were exhausted and close to buckling.

"Sorry, but I need a break," he admitted at last as he nodded towards a nearby balcony. "Do you mind if we sit over there for a moment?"

"Not at all," Kaede answered despite the misgivings that Pascal could feel over their familiar bond. She walked over to the doorway and opened it with a shiver from the cold breeze.

"I am sorry, I forgot you are much more sensitive to the cold than myself," Pascal said. "We can find another..."

"No need," Kaede smiled as she interjected. "I can just turn up the heat on my undergarments. I know you prefer some fresh air in moments like these."

Pascal smiled apologetically in response as he walked outside with a slight limp. His right leg still tired much faster than his left -- a reminder that the muscles there were newly regrown through ''Regeneration'' treatments.

The young lord sat down at a chair that Kaede helpfully pulled out for him. His eyes fell upon a beautiful view of Lake Alise at night with the huge indigo moon reflected over its relatively calm surface.

Yet regardless of the scenery, Pascal couldn't help but ruminate in his mind over everything Gabriel had said. The interrogation had left him with doubts not only on political matters. It had buried a thorn into the very core of his upbringing and faith.

Yes, the Church had grown power-hungry and corrupt. It was a fact that every well-informed man on the streets could agree with. But to overthrow the Church itself felt like a manifest written by the Devil. The Trinitian Holy Scriptures were not only the basis of society's cultural and moral standards. They served as the foundation of the social order.

To overturn it would be toppling the very pillars of civilization. Pascal simply could not imagine how the anarchy that ensued could be a force for positive change.

The young lord didn't know how Sylviane would feel about this. Perhaps she could better explain to him from the perspective of a Trinitian raised in Rhin-Lotharingie. But the bigger problem with her was how the truth completely overturned everything she knew.

Her uncle was not a fiendish villain as they had thought. Her father did not die in a tragic betrayal but in a drama that he himself had penned. The mutilated head that she used all of her resolve to cremate turned out to be some nobody's...

Could anyone predict how she would react to all of this?

"How in the Holy Father's name am I supposed to tell Sylviane about her father, her uncle, or any of this!?" The young lord sighed with exasperation as he lowered his head and began to scratch his hair.

"Gabriel is certainly correct that it would hurt Sylviane deeply to see him executed if she knew all this, so I can see why he tried to hide it." Kaede frowned as she sat down in a chair next to him. "But now that you know, you ''have to'' tell her about it."

"Do I?" Pascal asked as he raised his head and turned to look at the familiar who had become an indispensable advisor to him over the past few months. "Why can I not keep it a secret from her just as her father and uncle did?"

"Because you cannot keep this secret from her for your entire life," Kaede pointed out. "You're not a good enough liar to do that, and she ''will'' find out at some point that you are hiding something about her family from her. And if she discovers then that you knew before Gabriel's execution, yet never gave her a chance to do anything about it, it would destroy the trust between the two of you."

"Do anything about it... if she could do something about it then I would not be hesitating to tell her!" Pascal's volume rose to an almost cry before he remembered that they were in public.

Both the young lord and his familiar looked around to confirm that there was nobody in sight. He next cast a ''Sanctum Veil'' over the two of them before continuing:

"Since we can hardly publicize that the entire civil war had been a carefully staged act, Gabriel ''must'' be executed in the manner that the law demands. She knows it as well as I do!"

"Yes. But she can at least talk to her uncle as a family should before his execution," Kaede countered. "She should at least have the opportunity to hear it from Gabriel directly -- why he, why ''they'' chose to do all of this."

"Why..." Pascal scoffed. "For the 'Defender of the Faith' to wish destruction upon the Holy Church..." Pascal sighed as he looked up at the ceiling. "The Holy Father must see all this as a preposterous farce."

"I thought it was 'the Lord works in mysterious ways'?" Kaede tried to keep her voice serious as she asked, though Pascal could still hear the hint of a whimsical tone.

''At least she's not bringing up that ridiculous deity,'' he thought back to their conversation on religion on the first night after they met. ''Though ultimately, even she doesn't actually believe in a god of spaghetti.''

"I guess there is the possibility that the Holy Father really does agree that the Trinitian Church has become too corrupt and must be torn asunder," the young lord thought aloud in response.

"I know this cannot be easy for you given your faith as a Trinitian, but I do think it's important to remember that a religion and the institution formed around it are not the same," Kaede said. "Gods are the manifestation, or some would say the source, of the moral values that a society aspires to. But a Church is the product of men who wish to impose control upon society by leveraging those values."

''It would certainly explain why there is so much done today in the name of the Trinitian faith which our Lord would not approve,'' thought Pascal as he remembered one of Geoffroi's often-used phrases:

''<nowiki>'Would our blessed, merciful savior do thus?'</nowiki>''

"If people and nations can improve and grow through upheaval, then I see no reason why religions cannot," Kaede tried to console him. "A reformation of the Trinitian faith may actually be good for its long term prospects. It was certainly the case for several religions in my world."

"The Boda-ism that you once spoke of?" Pascal turned to ask.

"No. Christianity," Kaede answered. "There's also Islam which uh, developed certain problems because they haven't had a reformation in too long. Though that might just be me oversimplifying things."

"'Simple' is something I could use more of right now," Pascal sighed one last time as he rubbed his temple. He then stood up from his chair and dismissed his spell before walking towards the door.

"Let us get this over with then."

"Wait, ''now?''" Kaede said as she rushed over to help him open and hold the door. "Her Highness is still resting after the sleeping aids that Perceval gave her. We should at least wait until tomorrow morning."

"Good point," Pascal sighed as he thought back to the argument they had the previous night. "Let us hope then that Sylviane will be in a better mood in the morning, and that I can at least fall asleep before then for an hour or two."

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| Forward to [[Daybreak:Volume_4_Chapter_21|Chapter 21]]
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</noinclude>

Daybreak:Volume 2 Chapter 13

2025-05-31T17:53:00Z

Aorii:

===Chapter 13 - Heroic Legacy===

Kaede twisted and turned her body as though she was stretching before gym class. She tried running in a tight circle to see if her new outfit imposed any detriment. She even took out her morphic blade and transformed it into a bow to try her archery stance. Though without a strength-boosting spell, she didn't stand a chance at pulling back the spring-steel limbs.

"How is it? Does it fit well?" Pascal asked with a mirthless expression from where he leaned against the shop's wall.

"It's... a lot easier to move than I would have expected?" The familiar said before looking down to examine the armor that she wore.

Despite all of Kaede's interest in history, she had never been into medieval reenactment. She always had the notion that 'armor' was meant to be heavy, bulky, and an impairment on mobility. However the set she wore at the moment was anything but that.

The pitch-black gambeson that Pascal had ordered to her measurements didn't look all that different from a modern quilted jacket -- a girl's jacket at that, as it wrapped tightly around her waist and would have shown off her figure if she had more curves to speak of.

Kaede wore this padded armor over a black pseudo-uniform with white lines, which she had custom-made as the exact opposite to the white pseudo-uniform she wore back then. Its front buckles were half-hidden beneath a blackened steel chestplate that reached from her neck to just above her waist. The chestplate was held in place by leather straps that criss-crossed over her back and flaps around her waist. Meanwhile a simple kettle helmet adorned her head.

"Yes, well, this is really the minimum insofar as 'armor' goes," Pascal shrugged. "I did request the 'reactive' enhancement -- the armor will magically harden at the point of impact. However it seemed rather unnecessary to fit you with a half-plate, especially since you said you are unused to wearing too much weight. It is not like you are going to wade into melee. The worst I expect you to face is the occasional arrow."

Kaede had seen Pascal's own half-plate armor yesterday when he had a sparring session with a sergeant. In the week since their arrival at Nordkreuz, she had noticed that the majority of Weichsel's troops wore such a suit of armor when they were on duty. It consisted of a plate cuirass, spaulders, gauntlets, greaves, and tassets. The gaps in-between were protected by chainmail patches sewn onto a black gambeson. The result had a higher degree of mobility and comfort than full plate while retaining most of its protective value. Most soldiers also wore a sallet helmet with its iconic visor, though kettle helmets were also common among the city's militia.

"Waist looks bit loose though," the burly, middle-aged armorsmith noted as he came over and knelt down behind Kaede. He unbuckled and tightened the strap until the two leather flaps squeezed around her midsection. "I need to punch another hole here."

He then helped Kaede take off the chestplate, before taking it to the back of the shop where he exited through a heavy, wooden door.

''I wonder what 'industry' looks like on Hyperion?'' Kaede thought as she followed the armorer to the back. Her lips fell open as she looked through the open door, to the large backyard that the armorer seemed to share with several neighboring smiths.

A series of open sheds with covered walkways linking them filled much of this space. The largest shed in the middle had a stone roof, and was built around a massive, two-story stone furnace and smelter. The stone structure was roughly squarish in construction. The side facing her had a chute that was being used to dispense molten metal into a mold. Meanwhile both flanks had a series of alcoves, each lining up with a workspace that included a blacksmith anvil, a stone table, and a large trough filled with water.

"Is that... an arcane forge?" Kaede thought out loud.

She had seen it mentioned so many times in the books she read. It was said to be one of the centerpieces of Hyperion industry.

"Yes, Milady." The armorsmith answered as he returned from the forge with a tiny, metal peg that glowed red with heat. "This is one of the newer forges, built eight years ago through the late Landgrave's investment. Father bless his soul." He added as he fitted the metal piece to what appeared to be a heavy duty hole-puncher on a nearby table.

Kaede was still wondering what made it 'arcane' when she noticed that there were no fire pits. Instead, there was a large, flatly cut slab of reddish-brown stone in each alcove. The nearest slab that she could see had small, red flames rising from it, as though the very rock was burning at a low simmer. Meanwhile at an adjacent workspace, white-hot flames emerged from another slab of rock as a blacksmith quenched a freshly hammered arming sword in his water trough.

"If I remember correctly, arcane forges are basically a continuously running blast furnace?" Pascal asked plainly as he came to stand behind Kaede.

"Yes, Milord." The armorsmith explained in his gruff voice. "The interior of a forge must run at a temperature hot enough to smelt steel. It takes nearly half a day to activate or deactivate it, so it's far easier to simply leave it running. Iron slags and coal are fed into the furnace from the far side," he pointed to where several wagons sat beneath a set of stairs and a treadmill crane. "Meanwhile molten steel is poured out from the chute. The heat is also conducted and controlled through enchanted stone plates to be used by the smiths."

"I'm guessing it relies upon magic from the ley-lines to bolster the heat?" Kaede asked next.

"Both to keep the smelter burning and to provide a continuous flow of fresh air," the armorsmith said as he created a new hole through the waist strap and fed a grommet through it. "We feed in coal as needed to create the appropriate air mixture. But the quantity is nowhere enough to keep the smelter in the temperature it must maintain. The furnace's enchantments require one of us yeomen smiths to manipulate. But even a commoner smith could make use of it to forge steel tools, weapons, and armor."

''Talk about fuel efficiency,'' Kaede thought as she considered just how much coal a magical industry could save, which in turn reduced the resource demands across its entire supply chain.

''I guess the Hyperion civilization will be a lot less worried about its carbon footprint.''

The armorer soon returned with Kaede's chestplate and fitted it again. This time the waist flaps wrapped snugly around her midsection when he buckled the strap.

The familiar repeated all of her stretches again. The leather flaps proved just tight enough to give her waist support without limiting her range of motion.

"Looks good," Pascal declared with satisfaction as he paid the armorsmith -- a handful of gold and silver coins bearing the crest of Weichsel on one side and the royal coat-of-arms on the other. The depiction of an armored, lance-wielding knight riding atop a drake spoke volumes for the history of the Drachenlanzen dynasty. It reminded everyone that King Leopold's lineage could be traced all the way back to the Dragon-Demon Wars

''Just like on Earth,'' Kaede reflected as she thought of how monarchs would use every tool at their disposal to remind the people of their royal legitimacy.

''I'd love to see what all the countries will put on paper bills once they establish fiat currency. IF they establish fiat currency.''

There was no doubt that magic made counterfeiting far more of a threat.

...

After Kaede and Pascal left the armorer's shop, they came across a squad of soldiers, who marched in two columns as they patrolled the streets. Kaede couldn't help but feel self-conscious and took off her helmet. A distinct feeling that it didn't belong on her head had overwhelmed her, as she felt like a child playing war before the eyes of professional soldiers.

"Are you sure the army is okay with me following you into combat?" She asked Pascal. "I know mages bringing their familiars is pretty common, but..." She trailed off as even she wasn't sure exactly what she should be classified as.

All she knew was that Weichsel had a fully professional army, and that meant no 'camp followers'. Instead, every company and battalion had an integrated support unit, responsible for managing the soldiers' logistical needs.

However, the real reason Kaede asked was because she still had reservations about serving as a member of the Weichsen military, or ''any'' military. Even highly disciplined modern armies could not escape the taint of war crimes, as American sanctions and threats against the UN International Criminal Court made their guilt in Afghanistan and Iraq all but obvious. The idea of an 'honorable war' had always been a myth created by romantic fantasies and belligerent propaganda. And that didn't even account for countries like Weichsel which had centuries of deep, cultural hatred against the Northmen who raided them.

The historian in her might recognize the necessity of war. But partaking in it was entirely something else.

Nevertheless, thanks to Pascal, Kaede was on the path to Weichsen citizenship. ''I should at least do my part to help Pascal defend the country,'' she thought.

"Considering even His Majesty liked you? I doubt anyone will have a problem with you coming along," Pascal declared in a proud tone, though his countenance wore a faint scowl which puzzled Kaede. "Nevertheless I did attain his permission just in case. As for your role, being 'eyes and ears' means I would like you to stay at a good vantage point near the front lines. It would give me better battlefield vision and save an adjutant for passing orders."

"So... pretend to be a walking pair of binoculars?" She remarked as the two of them walked in the direction of the setting sun, back towards the main street of Nordkreuz.

The irony was not lost on her as they had just picked up a pair of 'arcane binoculars' before coming to the armorer. Kaede only had a brief moment to try it out. Its magically-enchanted lenses had an impressive zoom of up to 25x, which was comparable to that of modern sporting binoculars.

"Learn to judge battlefield deployments yourself," Pascal added as a stern edge worked into his voice. "We have had plenty of tactical discussions during our research and you are certainly no novice."

''No, just an amateur,'' she thought.

If there was one thing Kaede never overestimated, it was just how well her skills really compared against true professionals.

"Since you are good with a bow, I have also made you a few rune-tipped arrows, just in case you need them." Her master said as they strode past several wagons and shops. "I can also enchant ''First Aid'' into your ring and load whatever spells you need into your runes. However, I want your attention focused on the field as much as possible, not busying over concerns better left to others."

"Why ''First Aid''?" She puzzled. ''Just because I'm a girl now doesn't mean I suddenly have medical training.''

"Because only basic spells can be put onto a spell activation item. And because you can perform basic healing better than most mages, simply due to your nature," Pascal explained.

"For being Samaran? I did read that my blood was a healing enhancer."

"It does more than just enhance," he emphasized. "Remember what I said about mana's ''repulsion'' property?"

"That all mana repel foreign sources of mana? Yes." Kaede answered his impromptu quiz before she puzzled. "So that means magic has trouble... healing other mages?"

"Correct." Pascal nodded. "Healing commoners is easy. Healing mages, however, requires a special focus to compensate for their magic resistance. Samaran blood is never rejected in a transfusion. Likewise, healing spells -- and only spells that cure or calm, for whatever reason -- cast through Samaran blood gain a limited ability to bypass mana repulsion. The blood also loses potency as it is used more. So effectively, your entire body full of fresh blood is a healing focus of the highest quality."

Being called a top quality trade good wasn't exactly a very flattering comment. But then, Pascal merely stated the facts 'as is'.

''At least he doesn't see me as a bag of gold.''

"I do remember being 'medical supplies'. But I don't remember seeing Perceval carry vials of blood around."

"Samaran blood is not cheap. It is part of why I told you never to enter the city by yourself," Pascal stated with a completely serious expression. "But ask Perceval about his bloodquartz stasis rod the next time you see him..." He then trailed off with another scowl. "Actually, it may be easier to ask another healer. Who knows when we will see Perceval again?"

Kaede nodded. She hadn't heard from Reynaud or Perceval since the day they left Alisia Academy.

"Speaking of Perceval, Ariadne is in Nordkreuz now, isn't she?" The familiar asked.

"No, actually." Pascal replied with another scowl. "She joined one of the new Phantom Grenadier units which almost immediately left the city to raid in Skagen."

''We really have gone our separate ways, huh?'' Kaede reminisced about the friends she made at the academy before the war broke all of them up. "Why do you sound unhappy about it though? I thought the two of you had already made up?"

"It has nothing to do with Ariadne." Her master sighed. "If anything, I am envious of her for being deployed into combat as a company commander. She is out there in the field, gaining valuable leadership and combat experience. Meanwhile I am stuck here in the city, with little to do other than paperwork and the occasional supervisory tour."

"Did the King not already assign you to be a brigade tactical officer?" Kaede asked.

"Yes, the tactical officer of an ''infantry'' brigade," Pascal scowled. "There is not a great deal of tactics to infantry, apart from facing the right direction and using the right formation to absorb the enemy's attacks. I would much rather command a company of Noble Reiters, sent into Skagen to support the cavalry."

Kaede remembered that Pascal had originally been offered such a position, before he turned it down to help Sylviane in Alis Avern instead. The Noble Reiters were conscripted nobility who fought as 'mobile artillery', as their equestrian and spellcasting abilities meant they could rapidly maneuver around the battlefield to lay down a devastating barrage of spells. Their magic also made them excellent logistics and support units. The combination of these roles meant they were usually sent to where the action was, both tactically and strategically.

"But alas, my return was late, and this was the best that the King could offer me." Pascal sighed again.

''In other words, he lost his best chance at earning experience and promotions in this campaign.'' Kaede reflected on the opportunity cost Pascal paid to help his fiancée.

"At least this means you can stay up to date on the King's strategy discussions?" Kaede looked for a silver lining.

"Only because I am the lord of Nordkreuz, as well as the owner of the manor which they use as headquarters." Pascal countered. "The King is keeping me in the communication loop as a gesture of courtesy. However, since I am merely a ''captain'', I have no actual role in operational planning. Therefore unlike the other members of the command staff, I do not have ''any'' of the responsibilities in organizing and coordinating the ongoing maneuvers of our forces against Skagen!"

His irritable tone made Kaede wonder just how much of Pascal's impatience for valor was because he grew up under his father's shadow.

''He really wants a chance to prove himself.''

The two of them soon made it back to the hustle and bustle around Nordkreuz's main street. The cobblestone avenue was built wide enough for two wagons to pass side by side. However, the merchants and customers that overflowed from both sidewalks slowed all passing vehicles to a crawl. Even those on horses advanced at a slow trot, as the innumerable stalls and shouting tradesmen left many pedestrians more than a bit distracted.

The street wasn't as busy as the New Year's when Kaede arrived. Nevertheless it was clear that business was booming, partly caused by the concentration of soldiers in Nordkreuz. Now that the dusk sky was beginning to dim, those who had leave after a day's hard training were coming into the city in droves. They gathered beneath the illumination of the street 'lanterns' -- metal posts with enchanted, ley-line-attuned crystals affixed on top. Some were here to meet old comrades, some to grab a bite to eat, and some browsed wares that weren't available in their rural hometowns.

"Out'a way..."

Kaede heard the gruff voice just in time to evade. A large, overweight man who wore a cloth veil over his nose had just emerged from a door by the side street. His thick, hairy arms carried a massive, partially-covered wooden bucket that spread the most atrocious smell.

The familiar rushed her hand up to pinch her nose as she felt nausea churn her stomach. She turned to stare at the man and his oversized container, while he carried it to the ledge of the sidewalk before tilting the bucket towards what looked to be a stormwater drain.

The small, brown chunks that poured out with water were undeniably poop.

''What the hell! He almost crashed into me with that!'' Kaede thought, appalled.

The bucket that man carried was wider than her shoulders. Its contents were more than enough to drench her entire body. The Samaran girl shivered as she realized that had such an accident occured, she could take a million baths yet still feel filthy.

Yet to Kaede's incredulousness, the man only poured out a surface layer of water before he put the rest of the bucket into a waiting cart. There he covered it with a lid, before grabbing another, empty bucket from the wagon and striding back into the door from where he came.

"W-w-why...?" The young girl stammered as she looked at the cart in bewilderment. She never even noticed as Pascal, who had walked ahead during the interim, had returned and now stood just five paces behind her.

"Ah, a night soil merchant. Your world does not have those?" Pascal asked from a safe distance before he turned towards the building. "This must be a public bath."

Kaede thought it was wise first to retreat to his position before opening her mouth again.

"''Night soil?'' That's just manure!"

"Exactly," Pascal commented. "I believe they mix it with compost before selling it to farmers. It is rich in nitrogen which makes it excellent fertilizer."

Kaede blinked. Now that her shock at the near-accident was beginning to fade, she remembered that her grandmother, who farmed as a hobby in her retirement, did much the same thing. In fact it was quite common on Earth, especially before the industrial revolution when advanced chemistry allowed for synthetic fertilizers to be produced.

"Does Hyperion have non-poop fertilizers?"

"There used to be a ''Fertilize'' spell, but nobody uses that anymore due to its inefficiency," Pascal answered. "Covering large tracts of land with magic is simply too mana inefficient, a brute force solution. Instead, there are alchemists today who use ''Transmute'' spells to convert air and water into ammonium nitrate, which could be spread to fertilize the fields. It is still not cheap, and only wealthy cash crop farmers can consistently afford it."

''Of course, since it's mage labor,'' Kaede thought.

The trouble with magic was that only mages could provide it, which led to a perpetual 'labor shortage'. Whereas on Earth, an industry using pure chemistry could be operated by anyone, regardless of whether or not they were born with innate special powers.

''Even so, is there even an incentive to create non-magical technological processes?''

After all, the people of Hyperion ''did'' have a solution for getting what they wanted, even if the supply availability was far lower. However this suited the mages -- the most educated members of Hyperion society -- just fine, as it maintained the high value of their labor and their wealth as the middle and upper class. Meanwhile commoners without magic had to perform occupations like shovel manure for a living.

"I'm guessing 'night soil' is a cheaper alternative then?"

"Significantly." Pascal confirmed Kaede's suspicions about the value of non-magical labor. "It may not work as well, but manure is easy to attain and compost can be made in large quantities."

The young lord then glanced at the building again before remembering:

"Did you not mention a 'need to go' before we left the armorer's? This is a public bathhouse, one of several that my father had constructed within the city to improve sanitation. You will find latrines inside. They should be in rooms adjacent to the entrance."

"I... think I'd rather wait," Kaede replied with reluctance. The pressure on her bladder was still mild and... ''I'm not sure I want to make use of 'public latrines'.''

"We still have several more items that need to be picked up. It will be at least another hour before we return to the manor." Pascal warned.

"Fine," Kaede sighed. Unwilling to risk an accident, she waited until the 'night soil' merchant emerged again with yet another bucket before she went inside.

The entrance hallway was short and led to a large, open-roofed atrium within the building. It was surrounded by covered corridors with round columns holding up the roofs. There were lounge chairs scattered about, but none of them were occupied since it was winter outside. On the far side of the building she could spot steam coming out of the ceiling-high vents, as well as hear the sound of running water and the voices of people relaxing inside.

''It really is like a Roman bathhouse,'' Kaede thought.

The open architectural design was clearly one that originated from a warmer climate. It would not surprise Kaede one bit if Weichsel imported the concept of these bathhouses from the Romans of this world -- the Holy Imperium of the Inner Sea. This meant that it was even possible that Weichsel inherited a culture of 'recreational bathing' similar to that of the Roman Empire.

''I should ask Pascal if there's a bath in his home.'' Kaede thought as she rather missed the ability to take a soak in the Japanese style. ''It's been too long since I've had a proper bath and not just 'cleansing spells'.''

On her side of the atrium, a door on each flank was marked by a stick-figure sign. Needless to say, the one that had a triangle skirt was the one that she was looking for.

Kaede took a deep breath as she grasped the door handle and pulled it open. The room didn't smell nearly as foul as she would have expected, as it had plenty of ventilation near the roof. However, as soon as she walked inside and saw the arrangements, she froze.

There were two rows of bench seats that faced each other, with a round hole cut into the wooden bench every meter of distance. Three women currently sat next to each other and chatted along as they did their business. There wasn't any privacy to speak of as there were no stalls, not even a divider between each latrine seat.

"<nowiki><</nowiki>Is something wrong, Kaede?>" Pascal asked over their familiar bond as he must have sensed her surprise.

"<Th-there're no stalls!>" Kaede sent back as she continued to stand by the door. Her odd behavior had already attracted the womens' curious looks.

"<Why would there be stalls inside a public latrine?>" Pascal replied in a confused voice. "<nowiki><</nowiki>It is not a stable for horses.>"

"<nowiki><</nowiki>I don't know... maybe some privacy!?>" Kaede retorted in disbelief.

"<Are the latrine rooms not separated by gender?>"

"<They are, but that's not the point!>" Kaede was baffled by the fact she had to ''explain'' something so simple. "<What about privacy from other girls? Or other men in your case?>"

"<Why would that be necessary?>" Pascal's voice was still bewildered. "<Are public latrines not a social place in your world?>"

"<What!? NO!>" Kaede was aghast. "<Why would it be?>"

"<nowiki><</nowiki>It would be boring if all you had to do was stare at a wall while you did your business. Might as well catch up with the neighbors while you are at it.>" Pascal replied with a mental shrug. "<As far as I know, girls usually visit the latrines in groups too.>"

Kaede did remember noticing that trend even in the modern world. But Hyperion was clearly taking it to an extreme!

"<Also hurry up. I do not enjoy waiting near a manure wagon.>"

"<Ugh, fine...>"

Kaede forced herself to walk to the far side of the room where she found a spot near the corner. The wooden bench was surprisingly clean, probably aided by the fact this was a 'female only' bathroom which didn't have to worry about men and their randomly aimed pee. She lifted her skirt and unbuttoned the soft, clingy fabrics between her legs from behind.

''For once I'm thankful for wearing a skirt.'' She thought as she sat down on the latrine hole, while the fabric of her skirt completely covered her feminine bits. This would not have been an option if she was still wearing pants.

"What's her problem?" Kaede's keen ears heard one of the women whisper to her companions.

"Look at her clothes. Must be some rich merchant's daughter trying out for the militia. Thinks she's too good for us."

"She's a Samaran though. I don't know of any Samarans who are residents of this city?"

Clearly, the way she purposefully kept her distance was a social affront. Kaede sighed as she wasn't sure it was worth trying to correct their first impression of her at this point.

"<Out of curiosity,>" Kaede asked as she noticed that this 'public bathroom' was distinctively lacking in a vital resource. "<What do I use here to wipe? There's no paper.>"

"<Pulp paper is too expensive for public latrines. You should see a few buckets near the wall.>" Pascal noted.

Sure enough, Kaede noticed the wooden buckets. Each had several handles sticking out from them, as though they were cooking instruments being soaked.

"<Those buckets are filled with vinegar.>" Pascal added. "<The sticks have sponges affixed to the end. You use them to wipe your rear after you finish.>"

In other words, people ''shared sponges'' to wipe their butt after defecation.

Kaede would rather ask Pascal to cast his ''Cleanse'' spell on her butt than to use a stick that might have someone else's feces on them.

''I'm never going anywhere without toilet paper again!'' She silently swore to herself.

...

The other women were still chatting when Kaede finished peeing and left. She met back up with Pascal outside and the two of them continued their errand trip.

"What's next?" Kaede asked eagerly.

"Next we go to the clothiers and pick up a black mourning dress for you." Pascal replied rather stiffly.

Kaede fell quiet at once. ''No wonder why Pascal has been moody today.''

"Your father's?"

"Yes. His state funeral is tomorrow." Pascal's reply in a melancholic tone. "And of course, you will be attending besides me, Sylv, and the King. Therefore I expect you to look your best."

<nowiki>----- * * * -----</nowiki>

Just as Pascal had warned, Kaede stood the next day as part of the congregation that waited outside Nordkreuz's cathedral. The group had over three dozen individuals, who stood evenly spaced in two rows at the top of the stone stairs. They included not just King Leopold, Princess Sylviane, and the generals who served directly under the late Marshal, but also his majordomo, his chaplain, and several members of his personal staff who avoided the ambush that took his life.

What quickly became obvious was that the Marshal did not seem to have any personal friends outside of his work, as every attendee was either a member of his household or a state official. Nor was there anyone from the estranged family from Pascal's mother's side.

The group watched as a long column of soldiers marched down Nordkreuz's main street. They were led by Colonel Albrecht von Bittenfeld and his elite ''Black Lancers'' Knights Phantom atop their armored gryphon mounts. A wagon carrying the embalmed body of the late Marshal came next, wrapped in the black dragon banner of Weichsel and adorned with white flowers. The wagon was followed by the rest of the ''Black Lancers'' as well as several squads of the King's Black Eagles who acted as the honor guard.

The entire city fell under a solemn atmosphere as soldiers from the army stood shoulder to shoulder across both sides of the main street. The sidewalks were packed as it seemed like the entire populace of Nordkreuz had gathered to pay their respects. Entire formations of officers also stood in the plaza in front of the cathedral. Kaede estimated that the number of people in attendance numbered over ten thousand.

The familiar glanced towards her master, who stood between the King and the Princess, roughly a dozen paces away from her. Pascal did his best to maintain a steadfast countenance, but his eyes were glistening with a sentimental longing as they stayed fixated on his late father's casket.

"<Your father really meant a great deal to many people.>" Kaede reflected over their familiar bond as she sought to comfort him.

"<He was a hero of Weichsel, the most accomplished marshal since Hermann von Mittermeyer.>" Pascal's voice responded stiffly.

''Not just a hero either,'' Kaede thought back to the arcane forge and the public bathhouses that the Marshal all had a hand in erecting. It was clear that despite being a newly-minted, first generation aristocrat with no hereditary wealth, the Marshal prioritized the development of his people and fief.

"<nowiki><</nowiki>I wish I could have met him.>"

"<He would have liked you too.>" Pascal stated with certainty.

Kaede watched as eight members of the Knights Phantom dismounted to pull the marshal's casket from the wagon. They lifted it upon their shoulders before carrying the mahogany funeral box up the short stairs and through the cathedral's double doors. The congregation followed the knights in, while behind them came several hundred military officers and other attendees.

The marshal's casket was placed before the altar while Kaede filed into the space before a second row bench. Her eyes remained glued to Pascal who stood stiffly in the first row besides Princess Sylviane and other dignitaries. They waited for the next twenty minutes as the available space in the modest cathedral -- which had clearly been built when Nordkreuz was smaller and less important -- was filled to capacity.

Then, as the last of the milling footsteps behind them fell silent, the clergy of Nordkreuz stepped forth and began their religious service.

"Faithful men and women of Weichsel, we gather here today to pay homage..."

The Bishop of Nordkreuz blessed the Marshal's soul and spoke of how Karl August von Moltewitz carried out the Holy Father's will in defense of the Trinitian realm. He praised how the late landgrave lived a life of modesty, ever loyal to the King while displaying charity and generosity towards the city's residents...

It was a sermon largely spoken in Imperial, a hybrid language which had once been created by the Inner Sea Imperium to administer their northern provinces and vassal states. Today, even though Weichsel no longer saw the Holy Imperium as its suzerain, it kept Imperial as its official language which made it Pascal's mother tongue -- and Kaede could perfectly understand it thanks to their familiar bond.

Parts of the sermon, however, remained difficult for Kaede to digest, as the bishop quoted directly from the Holy Scriptures. The religious texts of the Trinitian Church were written strictly in ancient Draconic, the same language that Pascal memorized his mnemonic spellwords in. However, while Pascal knew many words in Draconic, he was hardly 'fluent'. The result was a smattering of comprehension in between a string of gibberish that made Kaede only able to guess at the true meaning.

In hindsight, it wasn't really surprising for the Church to use the language of the dragonlords. After all, the services were conducted beneath the Cross of Holy Hyperion -- a sculpture of the dragonlord in the midst of casting 'the spell that saved the world'.

''It's like seeing a Catholic Church that worshipped aliens,'' the familiar couldn't help reflect on how otherworldly the whole experience felt.

For tens of minutes the sermon continued. It also reminded Kaede why she never enjoyed church services: ''there's just too much moralistic preaching.''

She might have always been a spiritualist who took great interest in the moral virtues taught by religion. But that didn't mean that she enjoyed being preached to -- especially when those same sermons often felt detached from reality, from the moral dilemmas that real people in real stories had to face.

So instead of focusing her attention on the bishop's words, Kaede kept the edge of her gaze trained on Pascal's side and back. She could see the tension in his shoulders as he stood stiff as a board. His fingers reached up on several occasions as he pretended to scratch his head before touching the corner of his eye to wipe a tear from it.

Her master was clearly in mourning, just as he had been that night on top of the dormitory keep. However this time he could not display it openly. He had no choice but to suppress and stifle his grief before hundreds of attendees.

It took well over a half hour before the sermon finished. By the time the bishop stepped off the altar, he beckoned Pascal to come forth. The young landgrave strode up to the podium, where he would offer a final eulogy.

For a minute Pascal stood silent behind the altar with parchment in hand. He opened and closed his lips several times but no words came out. Tears brimmed in his glistening eyes as he looked upon the casket with a nostalgic longing that he clearly had trouble turning into words. Then, with a stiff voice that almost cracked under the weight of his emotions, he began to speak out in a magically amplified voice:

"Most of you knew my father as the Marshal of Weichsel. He was courageous in battle, inspiring in command, visionary in strategy, and considerate as a leader. But I knew that many of you also thought my father seemed devoid of a personal life. After all, he had lost his wife before becoming the Landgrave of Nordkreuz yet never remarried. He dined with his staff regularly yet never seemed to meet any friends outside of work. He had a son at home -- a brat spoiled by servants and a lack of parental supervision," Pascal spoke of himself which elicited a wave of chuckling from the crowd. "Yet he spent most of his days in the King's Black Dragon Castle and the capital Königsfeld's army base, rarely returning to his home to celebrate with his small family.

"Well, I am here today to tell you that you could not be more wrong..." Pascal stated before his voice cracked again.

He paused for another moment as his shoulders trembled faintly. He had to take a deep breath to regain his composure before continuing on.

"My father was many things to me -- an inspiring role model, a wise teacher, a set of expectations that I constantly strove for yet never seemed to quite match. But he was first and foremost a loving parent, whose messages for me would arrive like clockwork no matter how busy or how tired or how frustrated he became. There was never a week when he did not stay up to date with my activities, or comment on my studies. He might have been away from me by several hundred kilopaces, but his spirit has always remained with me.

"However, as I stand before you here today, I realize the true significance of my father's life." The young lord voiced. "He was not just a father to me, but a father to an entire generation of soldiers and officers whom he led in the King's name. And they, like me, have learned to appreciate his deeds."

Pascal took another break as he blinked repeatedly to clear his gaze. His turquoise eyes were glistening yet he struggled to pretend that wasn't the case. He closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath before reopening them. His brows furrowed as he continued his prepared speech as though everything was fine with him:

"My father may be gone now, but his legacy from a lifetime of dedicated service remains. Under his tutelage, countless young officers have stepped into the shoes of those who came before them, ready to protect our realm and serve the interests of our King. Under his patronage, many brilliant cadets arose from struggling families, who would have otherwise lacked the circumstances to send their children to proper schooling. Under his guidance, the army has refined its organization and doctrine to score dozens of victories, proving our mettle even as our kingdom is caught between the geopolitical ambitions of giants. Under his vision, Weichsel has almost doubled its size over the past two decades, with new allies to support us so we no longer must bend knees to appease the decadent Imperator on his distant throne."

"Thus I ask you to remember my father, not merely as the workaholic marshal who never seemed to go home, but as a diligent father to his men and a faithful servant of his King. Remember him for his accomplishments, his policies, and his legacy which remains. For..."

Pascal's voice cracked again but he did not relent this time. His fists clenched hard as he steeled his resolve to keep going.

"--For as long as his vision lives on with us, his spirit will endure and ''always'' remain with us -- to guide, to inspire, to watch over us and the future of our state."

''I didn't think Pascal could write something so touching,'' Kaede smiled earnestly as she watched him take another deep breath. His shoulders relaxed a little at last as he seemed finished, not just with the speech, but also with a part of his grief.

"<That was well done,>" she said over their private telepathy. "<nowiki><</nowiki>It was a beautiful speech.>"

"<Thank you.>" He replied simply. "<Though I am not finished yet.>"

It wasn't until later that Kaede found out that Pascal had asked the Princess for help in writing it. Or that he had also run the draft past King Leopold at Sylviane's recommendation, to ensure that the monarch would not see it as trying to impose foreign policy by using his father's legacy.

"As a final tribute," the young lord continued after a prolonged pause. "I would like to thank His Majesty the King for approving and funding the last proposal that my father drafted on behalf of Weichsel. I am glad to announce that the ''Mittermeyer and Moltewitz Boarding School'' will begin construction in Königsfeld next spring. Once completed, this institution will admit up to 200 bright and talented adolescents of ages 8 to 12 each year, and offer them up to 6 years of education with free boarding, food, and tuition. Admissions will be based strictly on examination, and graduates will be given a position in Weichsel's government, army, or a scholarship to continue their studies at the Königsfeld Academy of Magic."

Kaede immediately recognized the proposal as one that she and Gerard helped Pascal draft back at the Alisia Academy. They had agreed that while Weichsel could not afford ''universal'' public education, they could at least begin establishing free schooling for those with potential. The idea was to begin with one school and scale up as the program accumulated experience and results.

She could also hear the quiet murmuring of the crowd behind her. Many voices were in clear approval, though many others also cast their doubts. It was probably one of the reasons why Pascal decided to announce it under his father's name, rather than take personal credit for the idea. However, the other reason was purely one of sentimentality...

''It's quite a fitting tribute,'' she thought approvingly. ''To have his father remembered as not just a hero of battlefield valor, but also one for fostering the next generation.''

"It is my father's final wish that just like Marshal Mittemeyer and himself, the commoners and yeomen of Weichsel may receive the opportunity to prove and elevate themselves in the service of our country and our king!" Pascal declared, which prompted Kaede to smile again.

With his eulogy finished, the new landgrave's eyes scanned across the audience before falling back upon his father's casket and the black dragon banner that wrapped around it.

"Hail the Black Dragon!" Pascal shouted as he snapped his boots together, stood perfectly straight, and raised his hand to his head in a military salute.

The gesture was followed by dozens, hundreds, everyone gathered not just inside, but also outside the cathedral's gates.

"Hail!"

<noinclude>
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Daybreak:Volume 4 Chapter 19

2025-05-31T17:14:59Z

Aorii:

=== Chapter 19 - Dysphoric Pyre ===

"I'm back, Father."

Sylviane said in an empty throne room as she leaned back from her sitting spot. The chamber was large enough to comfortably host a hundred, yet also featured little decoration as it was built mostly from polished blue granite. Its austere atmosphere echoed much of the castle's design as the rulers of the Gaetane dynasty had never been much for displays of wealth. The only furnishing that drew attention from onlookers came from the heat that Sylviane could feel radiating from behind.

The Crown Princess turned her upper body and gazed back to the center of the raised dais. A large slab of blue granite was carved into a blocky and uncomfortable-looking stone armchair. The seat was ablaze with blue-white flames as the 'Burning Throne' remained as literal as it had always been.

Bright hot embers radiating from the stone glowed like an oversized brazier in the otherwise unlit chamber. The intense heat could have kept the throne room in a perpetual summer heat. Thankfully, the room did have a ventilation system which pumped in chill air that had been cycled under Lake Alis. An evaporator pond built above the eight-pace high ceiling also helped to further regulate.

The 'Burning Throne' had been a gift to her Great-great-grandfather by Queen Gwendolen of Ceredigion. For over two centuries, it had remained the seat of royal authority for the Empire of Rhin-Lotharingie, in a line of succession unbroken until recent months. The military coup launched by her uncle Duke Gabriel not only dethroned the Emperor but also damaged the legitimacy of the crown.

Worse yet, it deprived the Empire of the only one who was truly worthy and fit to sit upon that throne.

Even now, Sylviane could almost see a faint and ghostly image of her father, with his broad chest and wide shoulders sitting regally atop the Burning Throne. The Princess knew the image was a figment of her imagination created from the light of dancing flames. There was nothing that could truly bring her father back as not even the Dragonlords' sorcery could revive the dead.

Her wishful thinking seemed to recognize this reality as the figure she saw was the body of her father which ended at the neck. Yet despite all this, Sylviane could not bring herself to abandon her father's image.

The Princess pulled her arms closer as she felt a numbing cold press against her bosom. The partially decomposed head held in her hands had been cleansed and re-frozen with water and ice magic. Its flesh was no longer foul and slimy but hard and icy once more. Its glacial touch had none of the warmth that Sylviane associated with her father, yet for some reason the Princess still felt warmer with it pressed against her chest.

"Forgive me, Father," a faint utterance left Sylviane's mouth as she gazed upon her headless father with quivering lips. "I don't know how to give this back."

The Princess had come to the audience chamber with the thought of placing the head upon the Burning Throne. The intense blue-white flames that radiated from the stone would reduce any unprotected flesh to ash within the minute. Yet, when she actually came to stand before the royal seat, the Princess could not bear the thought of simply incinerating her father's head. She had to at least see it properly returned to the body she could visualize sitting upon the throne.

Had her phoenix still been here, Sylviane might at least be able to hold the head over the body's figment long enough until it was consumed in the flames. Maybe then her father would smile at her one last time before he disappeared. However, Hauteclaire had flown off some time ago, and the Princess' attempt to reach over the stone chair left her arms in mild burns. Since then, Sylviane had been waiting here with the hope that her phoenix would return in response to her telepathic calls. But this turned out not to be as Hauteclaire refused to even respond.

''Sylv, remember that you should never take your phoenix for granted,'' the Princess thought of the first lesson from her father after she summoned Hauteclaire. ''As natural empaths, they're even more affected by our emotions than normal familiars. And as such, they are the first to tell when we are in a bad state.''

"Hauteclaire won't come, because there's something broken inside me, I know..." Sylviane said as though responding to her father's ghostly visage.

She squeezed her arms around the frozen head in her bosom. It didn't even feel cold as the numbing frost that had spread through her body from three hours back never subsided. Her consciousness felt adrift as if she floated above her body with barely a thread attached. Every sensation, every movement she felt seemed like it came from the body of someone else.

The Princess looked down at her hands and noticed her own fingers trembling. The skin of her lower arms were red with mild burns across their back and nearing frostbite where they made direct contact with the frozen head. Yet despite this, Sylviane felt no discomfort coming from her limbs and contemplated trying the flames once more. The searing pain that she briefly experienced last time was almost a blessing compared to the emptiness that she felt inside...

"Your Highness."

A soft and wispy voice drew Sylviane's mind back to her surroundings. The Princess unwound her torso and faced the entrance once more as her eyes fell upon a snowy-haired girl curtsying before her on the red carpet.

The Samaran girl had been tiptoeing carefully around Sylviane since this morning when she gave the Princess an abrupt hug that left the latter stunned for a crucial moment. And before Sylviane had recovered, Sir Reynaud had removed the spiked and mutilated head from the gate.

It had taken not only orders but a serious threat before the red-headed armiger returned her father's head. Though by that point, they were already inside the castle and the prisoners were being taken away. Sylviane no longer had blood in her eyes and her mind no longer screamed for revenge. However, the quiet unrest that had simmered inside her since felt just as if not more disturbing...

"Yes, Kaede?"

The Princess asked as she looked back down to her father's face. Her hands tried to push up the collapsed cheek so that it might look more like the kind parent in her memories. But nothing felt right regardless of what she did.

"His Lordship, Henri de La Tours de Lorraine, wishes to see you, Your Highness."

Sylviane could sense a faint quiver in the petite girl's voice. The Princess had cast ''Faerie's Blessing'' earlier in anticipation of more diplomacy and negotiations today. However, she hardly needed the motive-reading spell at this moment to sense that Kaede was afraid of her at this moment. Her 'mania' episode back in Avorica clearly still loomed large in the girl's memories.

"Should I... tell him to wait? Until tomorrow?" The girl added moments later as Sylviane remained silent.

"No, It's okay. ''I'm okay.''"

Sylviane tried to be reassuring towards this girl whom she knew, at a logical level, was someone she cared about. However, her tone sounded stiff and lacking warmth even to her own ears.

"Your Highness," the Samaran girl looked back with a worried look that was half sympathetic and half anxious. "Please, you need time to rest, to grieve..."

"I said I'm fine."

The Princess' voice hardened inadvertently as she tersely cut Kaede off. The Samaran girl tensed as she looked down without attempting to say anything more.

''I didn't mean it like that,'' she almost sighed to herself.

Sylviane knew that her current self was not in the right state of mind. Her chest had frozen over when she saw her father's empty eye sockets and her heart had not thawed to beat a single time since. Her emotions were completely numb as it felt like a gray pall had cast a lifeless shadow upon the world. It made her struggle to care for anyone or anything other than her father's image and his head.

Yet, at the same time, she felt this irritable restlessness inside her. It was as though a thousand impulses fought deep within while her mind waited in a dark emptiness that needed to be filled. She needed to do ''something'' or she would lose what sanity and connection with the world she still had left, except her abysmal mood couldn't focus enough to choose an act to pursue.

''Your Highness is not okay.''

The Princess heard the quiet voice of Lady Mari speak in her mind. It reminded her of the faithful maid who had escorted her through the castle's corridors and always stood behind her in this audience chamber. Sylviane wished she could still talk to Mari or Sir Robert about what she was feeling right now. However, that was no longer possible, as both of them were also dead.

They had died defending her desire to retake the Burning Throne -- a seat that Sylviane could not even see herself sitting upon right now. The throne was her father's, not hers. And the only thing she wanted was to have his caring gaze look upon her from it.

Had it really been worth it? To lose her oldest companions only to sit here with neither closure nor peace? Yet, despite how hollow the victory felt, Sylviane also knew it was her duty to see that they had not fallen for a meaningless cause.

''Duty comes before everything else,'' she thought of the most important rule she had in her relationship with... not only Pascal, but her father as well.

"Please invite Lord Henri in, Kaede."

Sylviane said in an emotionless voice as she refocused her thoughts on the present and the official business at hand. She might have retaken the capital and its royal seat of power, but there was still plenty more that still needed to be done.

"N-now?" The Samaran girl stuttered as Sylviane could feel the girl's eyes looking at the lifeless head clutched in her chest. "Are you sure, Your High..."

"Yes, right now." Sylviane looked up with a cold stare.

The Samaran girl almost flinched before she nodded in response:

"Yes, Your Highness."

Sylviane watched the girl depart from the royal audience chamber before her eyes fell back down. Her fingers brushed across her father's frozen forehead as Lord Henri, the scion of House La Tours, strode noisily into the room in his full plate. A thought did pass through her mind that clutching her father's remains like this might be construed as a threat towards a man who once supported her kinslaying uncle. However, at the moment she wasn't sure if that was a desirable effect.

The Princess had never touched her father's brows before, but she knew many of his wrinkles were a result of tutoring her. Sylviane had not been as natural to her role as her older brothers, and grooming her as the successor to the crown had not been easy.

Therefore, the last thing Sylviane wanted to see now was her father's disappointment, because she ignored her duties as the crown princess.

"Lord Henri," an emotionless greeting emerged from her lips as she looked up.

Her hands readjusted her father's head at the same time. It now sat upon her lap with its mutilated face and lifeless eye sockets directed towards Henri. This seemed to have an effect as the young lord looked a little nervous. The fact her bodyguard Elspeth also kept a watchful eye on his back from the doorway could not have escaped his notice.

After the battle yesterday when Henri's air cavalry decisively intervened in the confrontation between Sylviane and Gabriel, the Princess had sent a message to the young lord expressing her gratitude. Henri later rode onto the battlefield where he gave his oath of allegiance to Sylviane in person. However, the two of them did not have the chance for a long conversation then, as she still had to negotiate for the surrender of Gabriel's remaining followers.

"Your Highness."

Henri greeted her as he stopped a few paces before Sylviane and bowed as deeply as his armor allowed. His emerald eyes took another glance at the frozen head in her lap as he rose. His gaze was troubled which matched the scowl that dominated his face, and a moment of silence fell between them as though Henri wasn't sure how to even begin.

"Your Highness, please have my deepest condolences about what happened to your father," the dashing young lord began in a quiet and somber voice. "I had heard rumors, but..."

Henri paused for a moment as he stared at Sylviane's impassive gaze. He then seemed to realize something as the faintest tug pulled upwards at his left upper lip. It was a movement that should have been imperceptible, except Sylviane's spell instantly brought her attention to it.

"I did not think that even Duke Gabriel could be so cruel as to mutilate his own brother's head, until now..."

''The Gabriel that you were planning to support until a day ago?'' Sylviane thought as she stared blankly in return.

"If there's anything that I might do to help ease Your Highness' pain and sorrow, please do not hesitate to ask," Henri added with a pained smile as though he was comforting a close friend. "I may not have experienced the same loss to understand your feelings right now. However, I can at least lend an ear or help shoulder the burdens in this tragic time."

''Don't give me that fake sympathy thinking that I'll be easy to manipulate right now.''

"My uncle will get what's coming to him," the Princess replied in a deathly quiet voice. "In the meantime, we must look ahead to what must be done. I cannot allow myself to be weighed down by the past when the Empire remains in its current state and new threats loom on the horizon."

Yet as soon as the words left her lips, Sylviane realized how much they clashed against the emotional exhaustion in her voice or the way she cradled her father's frozen head in her lap. To let go of the past was always far easier said than done. And in this moment, what remained of her father was the only comfort she could indulge in.

For a brief second Henri blinked as though he did not anticipate this response. However, the young lord was quick to pivot as the sympathy in his eyes transformed into a concerned yet approving nod.

"That is an admirable strength, Your Highness. Nevertheless, I would advise taking things one step at a time," Henri counselled. "It is rarely a good idea to keep one's emotions bottled up for long. Especially now when we could all afford to spare some time to recuperate."

''I am not leaving a power vacuum for your family to fill.''

The Princess might have responded had it not been for her dispassionate mood. Instead, she stared back into Henri's compassionate gaze. His bittersweet expression beneath a mournful frown seemed so genuine that even her detection spell couldn't find any flaws in it. And only the context from his earlier tell kept her convinced that this was all an act.

Sylviane closed her eyes at that moment as her lips let out a fatigued exhale. It was at least partially real as half of her mind truly was sick of everything right now.

"I thank you for your advice, Lord Henri..." she replied in a quiet deadpan that disguised the sarcasm that she felt. "There will certainly be time to grieve later. But right now... we must discuss the aftermath of the recent crisis."

"Very well, Your Highness," Henri acquiesced with a courteous nod and smile. "In which case, please have my congratulations first on the successful retaking of the capital and the Burning Throne. It is all the more meaningful that you achieved this without shedding any Lotharin blood since yesterday's battle."

''Not entirely true, as some did resist,'' Sylviane thought of the garrison column that had clashed with locals before her troops arrived. Seven soldiers and five civilians had been injured in the fight, though there were no deaths.

''Shame they were such cowards.''

Sylviane stared intently at Henri for a moment as her fingers caressed her father's frozen cheeks. Her mind continued to feel torn between the cold anguish that simmered deep underneath and the icy darkness that enveloped her emotions. Her thoughts raced through the logical reasons why the common soldiers and low-ranking nobles who fought for Gabriel's army should be spared. They were arguments that she perfectly understood, yet...

"Rhin-Lotharingie has seen enough blood spilled over this ill-timed civil war," the Princess heard herself declare as though the words that emerged were not her own. "The Caliphate is preparing to renew their invasion by launching a new offensive even as we speak. The Imperium has fixated their attention upon us as they seek an opportunity to intervene to their benefit. In this critical moment in our Empire's history, we must unite our strength against our external foes, for every soldier of Rhin-Lotharingie lost would only serve to benefit our enemies."

''...Regardless of how much those traitors deserve to die,'' her thoughts finally appended in a tone that felt like her own.

"I couldn't agree more, Your Highness," Henri answered as his smile faltered beneath a frown. "My sources in Arcadia informed me two nights ago that the Imperator has already begun to mobilize his resources. He has issued an edict to reassemble the western legions from their winter furlough, as well as for supply depots from across the empire to prepare their wares to be shipped north."

''Already!?''

Sylviane's eyes swelled briefly as she stared back at Henri. A grim nod was all the confirmation she needed of his certainty.

''His intelligence truly is as impressive as Kaede claimed. And the fact he's sharing this openly...''

It was yet another sign that he was serious about backing her cause. The only question was what he wanted from her in exchange.

"Then we have even less time than I had thought to prepare for the next phase of the war." The Princess frowned before she looked intently at Henri while her quivering fingers crossed above the icy head in her lap.

"I must express my gratitude to Your Lordship, once more, for the decisive aid your air cavalry provided during the battle's climax yesterday. Had it not been for their assistance, I would have had no choice but to pull back from my hasty assault on Gabriel's command post. It would have cost us our chance to end the battle early, which likely prevented the death of thousands of soldiers that fighting until sunset would surely have caused."

A shadow of guilt fell upon Sylviane as she wondered why she couldn't admit this much the night before, when a peeved Pascal scolded her actions during the battle.

Her betrothed had rightly pointed out that she had launched an attack on the heart of Gabriel's army without ''any'' communication or coordination with the rest of her forces -- which might have at least allowed him to rally the allied air cavalry in support.

It was, in his words, "a completely unnecessary and foolhardy stunt" that could have cost not only the battle, but even her life. Yet, rather than apologizing, the Princess had snapped back at him until Kaede reminded them both that they needed to be up early the next morning.

''Why can't I learn to control impulses when I'm in that state?''

Yet, perhaps even that was preferable to her conflicted state-of-mind right now, as she felt restless and aggravated, yet morose and reprehensible. It was as though she both needed to do ''something'', yet couldn't bring herself to focus on or care about anything at the same time.

"Your Highness' bravery on the battlefield yesterday certainly left many of us in awe," Henri replied with a chuckle that failed to give her humor. "Nevertheless, I am simply glad that my army was able to provide an important positive contribution to Your Highness' victory."

The Princess felt a faint tugging at her lips as she noticed how Henry brushed off the fact they began the battle as enemies, and focused attention on how pivotal his late arrival was to her success.

''Yet if I pressed the past, I'd be seen as the most ungrateful royal ever.''

"We certainly could not have won yesterday without you, and that is what matters," Sylviane responded as she wanted to put this farce behind them. Her father might be used to such pretense but she had always found it uncomfortable to bear.

It was obvious to her that Henri wanted recognition to deflect the accusations of those who claimed he was a traitor. And in that she was at least willing to offer.

"As far as anyone else is concerned, House La Tours has always been loyal to me, and only pretended to side with Gabriel to lure his forces onto the open field," she added with an ill taste.

"Thank you, Your Highness," the young scion beamed gratefully as he bowed towards the Princess once more.

"Of course, Your Lordship must understand that I must still reject the offer of marriage from your father the Duke," Sylviane then continued. "However, I will honor my offer to you -- that Your Lordship may take the position of the Grand Master of the royal household, or the leadership of any ministry which you prefer, as well as a seat on my royal council."

The Grand Master was one of the Six Great Officers of the Crown. They were in charge of administering the personnel and finances of both the royal court and the Empress' household. Because they had the authority to appoint people of their choosing to various roles across the palace, the Grand Master had tremendous influence over both the ruler and all politics that took place inside the Oriflamme Citadel. As such, it was widely considered the highest position of 'soft power' within the Empire.

Truth be told, Sylviane felt uncomfortable offering the position to Henri. She would have much preferred naming someone whom she could trust, rather than an ambitious young scion who would maneuver the court to his own political aims.

Yet, as the future ruler of Rhin-Lotharingie, it was important for her to offer Henri a station befitting of his rank and contributions. Otherwise, the next time her position was challenged, her vassals might consider it preferable to support her rival instead.

Nevertheless, it was also quickly apparent that this wasn't the role that Henri sought either.

"Your Highness, if I may have your permission, I would like to form a new ministry instead, by leveraging the resources of my house for the Empire's benefit," the young lord requested instead.

''New?''

The Princess raised her brows at his completely unexpected response. Yet, before her thoughts could run off with too many guesses of its own, Henri launched into a smooth explanation that made it apparent how thoroughly he had considered this:

"For too long, the Empire of Rhin-Lotharingie has lagged behind our adversaries in the capabilities of our informational intelligence. The staggering losses that we incurred at the beginning of the Caliphate's offensive clearly shows the detriment this weakness imposed upon our military, not to mention the betrayal of Duke Gabriel which led to a disastrously timed civil conflict. It is my wish to build a service capable of rivaling Weichsel's Black Eagles or the Imperium's Speculatores Augusti, to level the playing field when it comes to intelligence gathering and counter-espionage," his voice then rose slightly towards the end as though he could no longer keep his enthusiasm out.

"In other words, you want to be my spymaster," Sylviane replied as she almost wanted to scoff at the ridiculousness of his request.

Instead, the Princess leaned forward and rested her chin atop the thin fingers which crossed over the severed head in her lap. Her head tilted slightly as she stared almost whimsically back at the young lord before her.

"In a manner of speaking," Henri replied as his lips formed a confident grin.

It was as though he was certain that his request would not be denied.

-- And in many ways, Sylviane knew he was correct.

Yes, it would certainly be beneficial for her to leverage House La Tours' wealth of resources during a time when the crown's purse was strained by the war's demands. Henri had access to not only contacts within the Imperium, but also merchants from across the Inner Sea trade network thanks to his family's efforts in developing Outremont into a trade hub. With this in mind, Sylviane had no doubt that Henri could build an institution that would significantly extend the Empire's awareness.

However, this was also a double-edged sword. Since the spymaster served as the ruler's 'eyes and ears', they were also best placed to deceive the monarch. They could easily hide details they did not wish for their sovereign to see. Worse yet, they could fabricate evidence to mislead and sabotage the relationship between a liege and her vassals, thus creating conflicts that benefited their own political agenda.

Therefore, it has always been of vital importance for rulers to appoint someone they could trust to be their spymaster. Yet, despite Henri's decisive aid in battle yesterday, it would be a complete distortion of reality to say that Sylviane ''trusted'' him in any form. And to hand over not an existing ministry, but to allow him to build a new institution with his own people? It seemed dangerous to Sylviane in every way.

''Father, what should I do?''

A deep exhale left her lips as Sylviane turned the frozen head in her hands back towards herself. Her gaze fell upon its empty eye sockets as though she could still hear her father nod and speak.

''I don't have a choice, do I?''

To reject such a reasonable request from someone who played the deciding force in her victory, it would sow doubt among all of her vassals whether the future Empress could be gracious and just. Worse yet, it might even throw her word of honor into doubt, as she would be refuting her promise in the eyes of some. All of which would only make her nobles second-guess themselves on whether it was worth supporting her in the future, or if their resources would be better spent elsewhere to meet their own aims.

''You truly are a smarmy bastard born for politics,'' Sylviane thought she returned her wisteria eyes to Henri's emerald gaze and smiled icily for the first time.

At that moment, the Princess became certain of her belief that it was Henri who made the final decision to side with her on the battlefield.

Perhaps it was due to her low opinion of Duke Hugh, but she simply could not see him making such a timely and opportune choice from hundreds of kilopaces away. Furthermore, despite their brief acquaintance, it was already clear to Sylviane that the young Henri, with his sharp smile and inquisitive gaze, was nobody's pawn to be played.

"I agree," Sylviane answered with a knowing smile that did not reach her eyes as she sat back straight. "It is high time for the Empire to have a formal institution for intelligence gathering. And I know no one better than you to lead the efforts in establishing it."

And this time, Henri returned a matching grin of his own. His eyes stared knowingly back as though acknowledging that their relationship was not built upon trust but power politics.

"Thank you, Your Highness."

<nowiki>----- * * * -----</nowiki>

"Is Her Highness alright?" Reynaud asked with both anxiety and concern as he followed Kaede through the halls of the Oriflamme Citadel.

Behind him followed Gerard as the two men had been summoned by the Princess for an audience. None of the three knew the reason as to why. For his part, Reynaud had been avoiding Sylviane since this morning. He still remembered the harsh glare from his liege as she commanded in a deathly cold voice:

"''I will only say this once, Reynaud - return my father to me.''"

"That depends on your definition of 'alright'," the Samaran girl answered wryly. "She's been clutching her father's head in her arms ever since you handed it back to her."

"The head that's been rotting outside for over a month?" Gerard asked as though he could hardly believe it.

But then, he also hadn't been there when the citadel's gates opened or witnessed Sylviane's reaction to seeing her father's head atop a spike.

"That's... just messed up in so many ways."

"Yes," responded Kaede. "It's incredibly unhealthy for her mental state right now."

"I'm sorry." Reynaud scowled as he looked down to the blue-granite floor that they strode across. "I know I shouldn't have simply given it to her, but..."

"I know," Kaede filled in for him before she sighed. "I'm too scared to go against her as well. Her Highness is simply not the Sylviane that we know right now."

"Didn't Sir Robert leave something behind for you for exactly situations like this?" Reynaud asked.

"Yes, and I made her tea using the last of the lithia water," Kaede said. "She hadn't drank any before I left to find you though."

"The lavender-chamomile tea that you take so often?" Gerard queried.

"No," Kaede shook her head as she led them around the last corner before the door to the throne room. "Chamomile is an anti-depressant. I have no idea what that would do to her right now. Perceval suggested rosemary as it improves mental focus. I mixed it with some strong black tea..."

"Reynaud!" A sharp soprano cried out as Elspeth, the Princess' bodyguard, walked briskly towards them from the entrance. "Where were you!?"

Two of Sylviane's other armigers also flanked the doorway. Both of them looked towards Reynaud with a slight scowl.

"I made myself scarce since Her Highness clearly thought I smelled terrible today," Reynaud raised his palms with a nonchalant shrug.

"You're a royal armiger, ''act like it!''" The petite armiger seethed with gritted teeth. "We do not abandon our posts just because we made a mistake that left our liege angry."

''It's not a mistake to protect Her Highness from her own anger,'' Reynaud thought.

But with the doorway to the audience chamber open, Reynaud thought better about arguing that within the Princess' potential earshot.

"You're not at your post either, which is by Her Highness' side," he pointed out instead.

"Her Highness requested to be left alone," Elspeth answered. "I ''obey'' her wishes."

''Lady Mari wouldn't have done that,'' Reynaud pursed his lips as he rather missed the lady's maid who understood that loyalty went beyond mere obedience.

"Besides, I can see into the chamber from here," the petite armiger added. "And at least two of us are covering every door and window from outside."

''Except the last thing that should happen is for Her Highness to be left alone right now,'' his thoughts appended. But Reynaud only scowled inwardly as he could not even bring himself to stay near the Princess.

"It is not our place to question Her Highness'..."

Perhaps taking his silence as recognition of wrongdoing, the royal bodyguard began to berate him further, only to be interrupted by a dispassionate voice that came from inside the throne room.

"Elspeth, let them in."

"Yes, Your Highness."

Elspeth's cutesy tone returned instantly as she strode back to the front of the doorway. She cast one last glare at Reynaud as she gestured towards the audience chamber.

"Well, let's go then," Gerard stepped past him and stepped first into the throne room.

''You're sure calm in a moment like this,'' Reynaud sighed as he and Kaede followed.

The three of them walked into the dim chamber lit only by the blaze of the Burning Throne. The curtains which had been glued over the windows during Gabriel's short reign had yet to be removed. The other furniture that had once been in this room had not been brought back either. And perhaps as a result, Sylviane sat upon the steps of the mildly dusty dais in front of the throne's blazing flames.

"Your Highness," both Reynaud and Gerard stopped a handful of paces before the Princess and bowed as deeply as they would to a sovereign of the Empire.

"Sir Gerard, Sir Reynaud, thank you for coming."

The Princess spoke in a hollow, emotionless tone as she raised her eyes from the mutilated face of the late Emperor in her lap. Her body quivered faintly as blue and purple patches across her arms and fingers showed signs of early frostbite.

"I was just telling father about the excellent job that you all have done during your journey south," she said as though the topic was pleasant small talk.

''To a frozen head?'' Reynaud swallowed as he almost couldn't believe how macabre the image before him was.

''Is she being sarcastic?''

Although it was through no fault of his own, there was no doubt that Reynaud had failed to protect his charge during the diplomatic mission to Outremont. Both Kaede and Cecylia, the Princess' Grand Squire and her closest friend, had been captured by the enemy. And despite spending a week in preparation to break them out, he had to abort the operation on the final night as Sylviane forbade him from taking any acts of provocation against Henri's army.

Reynaud did rejoin Sylvaine's ranks for the climactic battle of the civil war, where he played his part as a royal armiger in the capture of the false emperor. Nevertheless, this did not change the fact that he had completely failed the first mission that the Princess gave him. And considering how Sylviane glared at him after he snatched her father's head and tried to hide it away, it left the redhead more than a little anxious towards what the Princess had in mind.

Gerard, however, did not let this deter him as he stood straight and walked briskly up to deliver a parchment scroll that he kept in his hands.

"Your Highness, this is my report on the infrastructure in Southern Rhin-Lotharingie, or at least of the regions that we had passed throughout during our journey."

''Better to redirect her mind onto official business, I guess.''

"Thank you, Sir Gerard. I will be sure to give this a thorough read later." The Princess' outstretched fingers were trembling as she took the scroll from his offered hands and placed it beside her on the dais. "However, the real reason I wished to speak to the two of you before the end of today was to give you both your new assignments."

"Your Highness?"

Reynaud looked bewildered as of all possibilities, this was certainly not the reason he had expected. The redhead had anticipated some degree of punishment from his actions. He could only hope that he wouldn't be demoted from his lifelong ambition.

"Sir Reynaud, in recognition of your achievements over this past mission, I am reassigning you to Kaede, to be her personal bodyguard in all future diplomatic embassies," the Princess declared in her dry, emotionless tone as she glanced at the Samaran girl who stood silently behind Reynaud.

''She really is demoting me!''

"Your Highness!" Reynaud immediately knelt down on one knee as he bowed his head. "I know I have failed on this past mission to keep your emissaries safe. It is my fault and I acknowledge that. But please give me another chance to prove myself!"

The young man did not see it, but for a brief second his liege looked taken aback. Sylviane's brows furrowed as she seemed puzzled by his response.

"Sir Reynaud, I am not blaming you," the Princess remarked in a voice so lifeless that it could have come from the dead skull. "You will certainly have more 'chances' in this new role. However, I do not understand why you are so against it?" She added as impatience crept into her tone.

"Your Highness, it has been my dream since childhood to be in service to an Oriflamme," Reynaud answered sincerely. "I know I have not always acted as you wished. That I've often taken initiative on my own as I did this morning. But I've--"

The young man's words fell off as he looked up slightly. But instead of seeing the Princess, his eyes met the lifeless sockets of the late Emperor staring back at him from her lap.

''Is she asking me to vow before her father in heaven?'' Reynaud felt a tremble run down not only his spine, but his entire body at that moment.

"I-it is my most solemn wish to dedicate my life to Rhin-Lotharingie, and to use everything in my being for the future of our people and our state. I finally have a chance to do this at Your Highness' side. Please do not take this away from me!"

He finally looked up further to meet the Princess in the eyes as he finished. But the half-dead wisteria gaze that stared blankly at him only blinked.

Nevertheless, it took little more than a second before realization came to her eyes. Sylviane's lips formed a strange looking scowl before she gave a faint snort and, after that, a sardonic 'laugh'.

"No, Reynaud, I am not demoting you!" She declared in an exasperated tone that finally injected some energy into her bland voice. "If anything, your actions during this past mission rather impressed me. Not only did you stay behind after Kaede's capture to shadow Henri's army and supply me with valuable intelligence, you even formulated a plan to rescue Kaede and assembled your own team to do so."

It was only then when the redheaded armiger finally realized that they've been completely talking past each other. The misunderstanding had partly been a result of his own assumptions and partly because... the normally eloquent Princess was utterly tone deaf right now.

"Reynaud, you've shown far greater leadership qualities than anyone would expect for a mere armiger over the past weeks," Sylviane explained further before she pursed her lips. "That includes what you did this morning, which I did not approve of, but I do ''comprehend'' why. It is because of that capacity for independent action which made me want to assign you to Kaede for the long term."

"Your Highness--" Reynaud was about to interject when Sylviane cut him off by raising a frostbitten hand.

"I've given this plenty of thought over the past few days," she continued. "Your new role wouldn't be a constant one, as you only need to provide security for Kaede when she is on a diplomatic mission per my request. And you will retain your position as a royal armiger directly in my service.

"This also has the added benefit of giving Kaede more legitimacy as she is accompanied by one of my closest retainers -- the renowned ''Winterslayer'' which others have surely heard about," the Princess finished as she eyed the unique Knight's Cross that Reynaud wore between his folded collars.

Meanwhile, the young man blinked in astonishment as all of his anxieties had been proven wrong.

''She really isn't blaming me, for any of this.''

In that moment, Reynaud realized that despite becoming a retainer to Sylviane, he had never shrugged off his old prejudices on how he viewed the upper nobility.

"Well? What do you say?" Sylviane asked as though she was tiring of further conversation.

"Yes, I humbly accept!" Reynaud answered without any doubt in his mind.

"Please, even my father cannot imagine you being humble," the Princess responded in a deadpan voice that sent chills down Reynaud's spine. "However, I do think this'll help you grow further. And as a part of your new role, I want you to assemble a security team for Kaede, people who might guard her even when you're not available."

"Your Highness, I..." the familiar was about to object before Sylviane cut her off.

"I don't want to keep losing people close to me. And you, Kaede, are borderline useless if ambushed in close combat," Sylviane stated plainly before turning back to her armiger. "Well?"

"Yes, Your Highness. And thank you." Reynaud took another quick bow before he stood up.

The Princess simply nodded in return before pivoting to his friend next.

"Sir Gerard, I shall read your report in due time. But first, tell me, what were your general impressions during your trip south?"

"Your Highness," the tall engineer bowed his head respectfully again. "It was apparent during our trip that there is no single way to describe the civil infrastructure in the south. Some of the regions, particularly the Rhétie lands surrounding Outremont, had excellent transport and irrigation systems that were likely spurred on by the bustling trade through their region."

Another wry look came to Sylviane's countenance as she nodded in agreement:

"Whatever other faults the La Tours family has, neglecting the productivity and wealth of the territories they governed was not one of them. Had only Belgae managed the same, then our civil war might have been avoided."

"I agree, Your Highness," Gerard nodded. "Meanwhile, in other areas, such as the old fortress-town of Aouta, we saw poorly maintained roads and crumbling infrastructure, with a meager local economy that is in desperate need of outside investment. The way the war in the south has also pulled away most of their able bodied men isn't helping."

"No," the Princess said as a sigh left her lips. "And with the planting season almost upon us, it would ''really'' help if we could demobilize some of the men to return home for at least a month. But whether our enemies will let us..." She trailed off before exhaling once more and staring at the dead face in her lap again.

It reminded Reynaud of when he overheard that the Caliphate, whose own planting season had come and gone early, was mobilizing yet more soldiers to augment their invasion armies.

"Regardless, Sir Gerard, I'm afraid our hands are tied so long as this war continues," Sylviane declared. "In the meantime, we must shore up what we have using the minimum of resources. And it is for this reason that I wished to speak with you."

The tall engineer tilted his head slightly as he wasn't sure where the Princess was going with this.

"When my traitor of an uncle took over the capital, many of the ministers refused to recognize his authority," Sylviane began to explain. "Countess Nevers, the Minister of Land and Resources, was one of them. And although Kaede tells me that she remains unharmed despite many weeks spent in the dungeon, the same could not be said for two of her top aides who attempted to flee and were killed by Gabriel's soldiers.

"Considering your background in this field and the great help you've provided me since Gabriel's coup, I wanted to offer you this opportunity to learn directly under the tutelage of Countess Nevers," the Princess finished.

Reynaud watched as his friend's jaw slowly fell open. It had only been a few months since he was the lowliest of apprentices at the ministry. Suddenly, he was given the opportunity to rise among its top aides and work directly under the minister.

"Y-Your Highness, I'm deeply honored..." Gerard responded.

However, there was a hint of reservation in his voice. And the Princess certainly picked up on it as she looked up from her father's face:

"But?"

A prolonged moment of silence followed as it seemed clear that Gerard was too concerned and anxious to continue.

"Sir Gerard," Sylviane spoke again as she seemed to be trying to sound encouraging. "If I was wrong in anticipating your desires, please do not hesitate to correct me. I want this to be a right and proper reward for you."

"Your Highness," the engineer explained hesitantly. "It has always been my dream to serve the Empire in the construction of its infrastructure. And I will proudly accept this post if that is what my country asks of me," he declared. "However, after my experiences in the Battle of Gwilen River, I've also been considering if, perhaps, I should stay with the army."

Reynaud's eyes swelled as he stared at his close friend with surprise. It was well known among their group back at the academy that Gerard had little interest in the military. The fact he could suddenly change course in just a few seasons was more than a little surprising.

"I have no love for warfare. But the bloodbath along the banks of Gwilen River has made it clear to me that the current methods of siegecraft are far too wasteful of soldiers' lives," Gerard answered with a haunted look in his eyes before his voice steadily rose. "I want to help Rhin-Lotharingie build a brighter future. But to do that, what we need most is not mere resources and expertise, but also the lives and optimism of our young men!"

''Lives and optimism...''

Reynaud couldn't help thinking of their brief stay at the fortress-town of Aouta, and the noticeable decline that could be attributed to the war-weary cynicism of the locals. It made Reynaud wonder about a question that he would have never considered a year ago -- was a victory after great sacrifices truly the only acceptable outcome as stories of the Rhin-Lotharingie Independence War claimed?

For a moment, the Princess was silent as she looked taken aback by Gerard's passionate declaration. Her eyes then glazed over, and a pained expression formed across her face as her lips shook and a tear fell down her cheeks.

"Your Highness?" Gerard asked worryingly.

"I'm sorry..."

Sylviane croaked as she raised her frostbitten fingers up to wipe away the tears. However, touching her face with them seemed to finally make her realize how cold her shaking hands were. The Princess bundled her fingers in her palms and raised them before her lips to blow her breath against them. Meanwhile, her eyes remained haunted by loss and sorrow as she looked about the dim and mostly vacant audience room.

"You just reminded me of Sir Robert, and Mari, and all the armigers and soldiers whose lives it took... for me to return home to find an empty seat," the Princess added in a bleak voice that stood on the verge of breaking.

''It's not just her father that she's thinking about...''

In the past, Reynaud had always wondered if the upper nobility ever truly cared for the levy and even retinue they lost during their quest for power and glory. He still didn't have a clear answer, but it was obvious from this moment that the Princess was not one of those people who could sacrifice her followers and not feel pain from it.

''She truly does care.''

"My apologies, Your Highness. I didn't mean your victory was..." Gerard said before he stumbled and tried again. "We all know how important it is for the Empire to have proper leadership during troubled times like these..."

"I understood what you meant, Sir Gerard," the Princess responded as she tried once more to steady her voice.

"I believe you have come to realize something that few Lotharins truly understand," she then continued as she wiped the single tear track from her cheeks. "And if you think that siegecraft is your calling, then I will gladly give you a captain's commission in the ranks of the army. The deceased General Menno has also left behind considerable knowledge in the art of fortifications, whom I would like to entrust to someone I can rely upon."

"Your Highness, this may be impertinent of me, but could you please give me until next Monday to decide?" Gerard asked with a worried look. "This will likely be the most important decision in my life. I want to make sure that I have no regrets in the future when I look back."

"Of course. And here..."

The Princess removed the severed head of her father from her lap for, according to what Kaede had told them earlier, the first time in hours. She placed it down next to her, before twisting her body and raising her right hip to reach into an extradimensional pocket sewn into her dress.

-- It was then when Reynaud caught sight of an empty tea mug sitting halfway behind her hips.

"These are General Menno's plans for the new fortress he built south of Lake Alis, which we captured along with the rest of his writing," Sylviane said as he pulled out a large paper scroll with her trembling hands. "I think you might find this useful in deciding where your future lies."

Both Reynaud and Gerard looked toward each other in astonishment. The armiger knew that General Menno was the foremost siege expert in the Empire and possibly even in Western Hyperion. His knowledge, accumulated through a lifetime of warfare, could literally be considered a priceless artifact.

Yet, at this moment, the Princess was entrusting a piece of it to a yeoman, whom she hadn't even known until she promoted him to chevalier mere months ago, all because of the potential she saw in him.

"I-I'm deeply honored, Your Highness. Thank you!" Gerard declared in his most grateful voice before he stepped forward and bowed to receive the scroll.

"There's no need," said Sylviane as another tear fell from her eyes while a mirthless smile formed across her lips.

"Father once taught me that the truest role of any leader is to find and develop talent for the future of the realm. And Rhin-Lotharingie will certainly need its best and brightest in the days to come. If I could play my part to help individuals such as yourself reach their aspirations, then I am glad for it."

Then, almost as soon as she had finished talking, Sylviane took the lifeless head of her deceased father back into her hands.

For a moment Reynaud and his companions all stared and wondered if the Princess would start cradling it in her lap again. However, Sylviane turned about where she sat and faced the throne instead. She then leaned forward on her knees and placed the frozen head atop the last step on the dais before the royal seat.

"I'm sorry, Father," the Princess muttered quietly beneath her breath. "I know I shouldn't be trapped in the past like this..."

A moment passed in silence before Sylviane gradually stood up with slow motions as her legs seemed to have fallen asleep. She next reached down again to take up her father's head with her frostbitten fingers once again. Except this time, instead of bringing it close to her body, Sylviane extended her hands and reached out towards the throne's blazing flames.

"Your Highness," Kaede rushed forward at that moment. "Please, let me... your hands..."

"No." Sylviane declared straight in a commanding voice without any room of negotiation.

The Princess then leaned her head back as she turned partially to face them.

Gone was the blank, emotionless expression that the Princess had worn since the beginning of their audience. Her facial muscles twitched and trembled as agony filled her teary gaze. Her cheeks were still red from the frosty touch of her fingers. Meanwhile, large droplets collected at the edge of her eyes before sliding down her face.

"I ''must'' do this, for myself," she declared in a faint voice that was barely holding together.

"Then please wait a moment," Kaede rushed to say before she paused completely.

For a moment the Samaran girl said and did nothing else. Then, she reached out to the Princess' forearms as magic sprang from her fingers and wrapped around Sylviane's arms and hands like a protective barrier.

"Pascal says that spell won't hold long against these flames. But it's the best he has given your mana resistance," Kaede said in a voice that was both apologetic and carried a shade of wry encouragement.

''Of course the Princess has never needed to cast fire resist spells...'' Reynaud realized.

He then watched as the Princess stretched out her injured hands and extended the thawing head of her father over the Burning Throne's cleansing flames. The intense blue-white embers quickly turned the remaining hairs on the head to ash and began to burn into layers of dead flesh...

It didn't take long before Sylviane's body started to tremble while both of her arms shook. A groan of agonizing pain came from her gritted teeth but she nevertheless refused to let go of her father's head as held it over the flames.

"''Elder Sister'', you can't..." Kaede tried to say in a pained voice before even she seemed to recognize that it was pointless to even ask.

"Call Perceval here, ''now!''" She turned to cry out at Reynaud and Gerard as her eyes lay glazed with tears.

''Wait, you can't mean...'' Reynaud thought as his eyes swelled to the size of saucers.

''But that's insane!''

The redheaded armiger strode forward and was about to pull the Princess back when Kaede stopped him. The Samaran girl shook her head and mouthed silently: ''not yet.''

"I'm on it," Gerard responded as he immediately began casting a communication spell.

Meanwhile, Reynaud watched with astonishment as the skin on Sylviane's underarms began to shrivel and break and darken like singed bread. Nevertheless, the Princess insisted on holding onto her father's remains and refused to drop the head into the flames. The white-hot fire scorched her arms as it burnt away the dead flesh like a cremation pyre, yet Sylviane refused to pull away until the entire head was consumed.

Then, as soon as the last of the dead flesh had been turned to ash, Sylviane immediately collapsed backwards as though she was a doll with cut strings. The smell of burnt flesh filled their noses as her arms emerged from the flames. The Samaran girl tried to catch her but ended up being pushed off balance herself.

Reynaud rushed in at that moment and at least kept the two from hitting the stone steps of the raised platform.

"G-goodbye, father."

He heard one last faint utterance from the Princess' tearstained lips before she passed out from the pain.

"''Conjure Water.''"

Gerard cast the spell as a stream of cold water began to flow from his casting glove and splashed over Sylviane's burnt limbs. The torrent of water quickly began to drench the Princess' dress as well as Kaede's clothes.

"What are you--?" Elspeth's voice sprang out from right behind Reynaud before he even realized she was there.

"The best first aid for burns is cool, running water," said Gerard. "I come from a baker's family. We know these things."

From close up, Reynaud could see the sides of Sylviane's arms were a bright red with boils growing beneath the cooked surface tissues. Her underarms were even worse, as the outermost layer lay broken if not blackened. Though thankfully, the protective spell had at least kept the flames from burning through her flesh.

The following minute passed in complete silence as Reynaud held Kaede's shoulders above the stone floor. Meanwhile, the Samaran girl held onto the unconscious Sylviane and kept the Princess' arms under the water's flow.

Then, it was Kaede who first broke the silence as she exhaled a sigh of relief:

"I do wish Her Highness would have chosen better means. But at least she's forced herself to accept what happened."

''I can't believe she would go that far...''

In that moment, Reynaud realized that despite everything the Princess had to be experiencing in her emotional state, she still retained sufficient clarity of mind for this.

Perhaps it was helped along by Kaede's tea. Perhaps her conversations with Gerard had reminded the Princess of where her duties truly laid. The result was the same either way in the end. Because deep down, Sylviane had always known what needed to be done.

And it wasn't only for her father. It wasn't only for her companions.

It was her understanding of her role as the sovereign of their state.

"Type-two burns," Gerard said as he knelt and examined the Princess' arms while his right hand continued to pour water over the damaged flesh. "Shouldn't permanently injure any nerves at least. Perceval will be here in a minute to start healing."

The tall engineer then sighed with a scowl across his frowning face. "Talk about a willful liege."

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| Forward to [[Daybreak:Volume_4_Chapter_20|Chapter 20]]
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</noinclude>

Daybreak:Volume 4 Chapter 18

2025-05-31T17:14:43Z

Aorii:

=== Chapter 18 - Unspeakable Intent ===

''Never imagined I'd be leading an assault against my own home.''

Sylviane thought as she gazed upon the Rhin-Lotharingie capital of Alis Avern from the observation deck of a skywhale. A cacophony of alarm bells rang from the city as her flotilla of watercraft made their final approach across the mist-shrouded waters of Lake Alis. They were led by the behemoth she rode under which flew only a dozen paces above the waves.

The capital city was built upon the south and east-facing slopes of a rocky hill situated at the island's northern corner. It had been founded by her ancestors in the Averni tribe as they sought shelter upon the largest island on Lake Alis after their disastrous defeat at the Battle of Alisia. Therefore, like most Lotharin settlements, its layout was designed not for ease of transit, but rather to make it as difficult as possible for attackers to grind through rows of zigzagging streets to reach the main fortifications on top.

For the capital, this was the imposing Oriflamme Citadel with its tall hexagonal central keep. The structure was surrounded by thick curtain walls bolstered by the twelve towers of the phoenixes, all of it built from local blue-granite stone.

Nevertheless, those same zigzagging streets now hampered the defenders as the Princess could see banners bearing the crest of her traitorous uncle rushing down the hill. The garrison left behind by Gabriel was clearly trying to rally towards the lower city and its docks. Yet every so often the flags would be further slowed if not outright stopped.

''The residents must have constructed roadblocks at the bottlenecks,'' her mind raced through multiple possibilities before arriving at the most likely option.

After all, among the Princess' forces were a hundred members of the capital's city guard who had survived the Avorican Campaign. These men had sent messages to their family and friends inside the settlement to impede the garrison's efforts at defense. Shouts and cries could be heard in the distance from all around the waking city. And although it was too far to make out what was being said, the harsh argumentative tone and palpable tension in the air made it clear that Sylviane's sources had been correct and that the citizens saw Gabriel's soldiers as an unwelcome 'occupation force'.

"I'm not seeing any new defenses constructed along the docks," Kaede spoke to the Princess' side as the Samaran girl peered through a set of arcane binoculars. "<And no more than three squads of soldiers there right now, likely those who had been on night watch.>" Her voice resounded over both real and telepathic speech.

"<These men do not deserve to be called 'soldiers'. Their readiness is an utter disgrace,>" Pascal replied scathingly over telepathy from the skywhale cabin that he had converted into his headquarters communication room.

''Yet that low readiness is good for us, so stop complaining,'' Sylviane's mind interjected once more with another rapid-fire thought.

It was as though she couldn't take in a shred of information without reacting to it off-hand. Though this was just another way in how her mind had been racing since yesterday. Her thoughts had been so hyperactive that she could barely even sleep last night. It gave Sylviane a feeling that she was probably in another one of her 'hypomania episodes'.

"<Well, that's what happens when a settlement's garrison is afraid of its own townsfolk,>" King Alistair said with a loud yawn as his heavy footsteps strode towards Sylviane from behind. "<Besides, were they actually reliable in combat, then Gabriel would have brought them onto the battlefield yesterday.>

"All ahead then?" He then asked as he looked down at Sylviane from her side. His countenance beamed with an eagerness for battle even though there was still some drowsiness from his voice.

''That should be obvious.''

"<Take the fleet straight into the docks as planned,>" the Princess ordered over telepathy so Pascal could pass it to the signal officers who maintained communications with the crews of each ship. "<The air cavalry and skywhale artillery will provide support in breaking up any organized resistance we face.>"

"<Understood.>" Pascal replied in his professional voice. Though his tone was still a bit terse as they never settled the argument they had last night.

"Take us airborne and prepare for close air support," Alistair called back to the helm at the same time.

"Yes, Your Majesty," replied Captain Moreau, master of the skywhale Marianna who carried Sylviane and her companions in the gondola right now.

"It's a good thing we're not a real fleet though, or our ships wouldn't even fit into those meager docks," the King then added in with a faint sigh as though talking to himself.

"Is that an insult against the fleet or my hometown?" Sylviane replied dryly.

"Both?" Alistair looked back with a playful smile. "I mean really, a Skagen farming village could compete in dock space."

His expression then faltered as his faded-blue eyes met Sylviane's vacant return stare.

"Not a day for jokes, huh?"

''Do you think my ancestors would find it funny that the capital they built is now in the hands of an occupation force?''

It was just one of a half-dozen replies that came to Sylviane's mind at once. All of them ranged from dry and serious to sarcastic mockery. However, the Princess also understood that she shouldn't start another argument just before heading off to a potential battle. And she had just enough control to reduce her replies to a single word:

"No."

Sylviane turned her eyes back towards the city as the behemoth they rode under pulled away from the waters and began gaining altitude. The skywhale veered towards the northeast as soldiers called out to man the port side artillery emplacements. Captain Moreau had enhanced the armaments of his 'merchant skywhale' since she last rode onboard by adding a repeating ballista at the aft and eight scorpios along the two sides.

Meanwhile, as Sylviane followed the city's view towards the left side of the observation deck, she saw the swarm of ships and boats that had previously followed behind them. The flotilla was led by two cog trading ships, a hulk transport, and four river barges, followed by a plethora of smaller fishing ships and even rowing boats that were pulled behind the larger vessels by ropes.

They were all that her supporters could find along the southern shores of Lake Alis. The fleet had set sail before daybreak to take advantage of the morning mist. However, even with every ship and boat crammed to capacity, they were only able to transport six hundred men. Combined with her air cavalry and those onboard the skywhale, the first wave would number just under a thousand troops -- which would normally have made a risky proposal for an ambitious assault.

''Normally, that is.''

Sylviane reached around to an unfamiliar weight on her belt. She wrapped her fingers around the ornate handle of the Sword of Fortitude before drawing the pristine blade that had belonged to her uncle only a day before.

The Princess swung the sword once in her hand. Its weight distribution felt odd as the arming sword weighted almost as much as a two-handed blade. Yet, the sleek weapon felt almost ornamental compared to the weighted head of flanged maces or her meteor hammer which could crush curved plate. Nevertheless, as the steel edge began to glow with a golden-white light, a spherical cloud of tiny crucifixes began to envelope her and the cerulean phoenix perched on her shoulder.

"Let's make it clear to the defenders that any fight will be both hopeless and for a meaningless cause," Sylviane looked up and stared once more into King Alistair's gaze.

"And that the Holy Father favors your cause after all," he added with an encouraging beam.

"Yes," Sylviane answered in a plain tone as she suppressed an urge to scowl. Her stiff expression was one of no-nonsense as she wanted to see this episode of her life finished as quickly and as cleanly as she can manage.

The Princess had heard of the lies that agents of Gabriel and his church backers had spread about her throughout Rhin-Lotharingie. They said she was not just the daughter of an apostate emperor, but secretly a devil-worshiper herself. They even accused her of hosting sinful orgies with the girls of her entourage in the dark recesses of Oriflamme Castle, or that she had taken on a mass murdering infidel as her intimate partner. This in turn cast Pascal as an impotent cuckold and her Weichsen allies as beguiled men who were being taken advantage of.

Yes, her companions and trusted allies had all brushed off such accusations as pure fabrication. King Leopold of Weichsel was said to have even laughed at the ridiculousness of it given how he had seen Pascal and Sylviane around each other as children. However, as Sylviane took a brief glance towards Kaede, she thought about how there was also more truth than most people knew to these claims.

It would certainly not be wrong to say that Sylviane ''had'' been tempted to play with Vivienne in a manner that only men spoke of. However, that had only been in thought only, as in reality Sylviane limited herself to only cuddling the girls she found cute.

Part of the reason was because she didn't want to take advantage of the girls she adored or make them hate her. But the other part was more religious. Because despite everything about the Trinitian Church which she had come to despise, Sylviane was still a devotee to the Holy Father and Hyperion's faith. And in that, she felt both guilty and resentful towards the Church's accusations when she had fought hard against her sinful desires.

Perhaps if the Sword of Fortitude truly had been forged by Hyperion the Dragonlord as church legends claimed, it would not approve of her impure urges. However, the reality was that the artifact blade had little to do with the Trinitian faith, which emerged centuries after the sword had been forged and the Church had appropriated it for its own use. Yet, this was a fact known only to few. And as long as Sylviane wielded the holy armament, the people would see her as a true believer blessed by the Holy Father himself.

''What a convenient tool it's become.''

Sylviane looked down at the sword in her hands once more and wondered if its original maker would have approved. Nevertheless, it was thanks to the blade's recognizable symbolism that she could do this without taking the risk of bringing her uncle in chains to a battlefield.

"Your Highness, I see one half company... banner, having made it to the docks." Kaede's voice reined the Princess' wandering thoughts back to the present.

The Samaran girl pointed towards the northern entrance to the docks. And sure enough, at least fifty soldiers rushed through the gates and started moving towards the piers. Many of them carried torches with them which Sylviane could only presume was to light the docks on fire. Such an occurrence would not only seriously impede her landing efforts, but also sabotage the capital's ability to support the war in the months to come.

"Let's go," Sylviane dictated to both her and King Alistair's assembled armigers as she walked briskly towards the observation deck's main exit. "We ''cannot'' allow them to set fire to the docks!"

"No need to encourage me. I've been waiting for this!" Alistair replied gleefully as he slammed his armored gauntlets together.

The King's beaming grin was infectious as it often was. Yet, despite the restlessness Sylviane felt inside her to retake the capital, the throne, and everything else her traitorous uncle had taken from her, the Princess did not feel any of the eagerness or elation that King Alistair openly expressed.

Instead, the Princess felt this nagging, dreary feeling. It was as though she was about to face a reality that she did not want to see.

"Ladies first, Your Highness," the King gestured towards the door that his armigers opened which led straight to the open air outside.

''If you insist.''

Sylviane didn't look back before leaping off the deck and extending her arms as she fell through the chilly air outside.

"''Blaze Ignition.''"

The Princess felt Hauteclaire's radiant warmth meld into her body. The phoenix's magic seamlessly integrated with her own as the unison merged them together into one being. Flame-feathered wings erupted from gaps in the back of her cuirass as her greaves barely skimmed the lake's waters before taking off. Her long hair billowed behind her in a bright-blue hue as white-blue embers cored by traces of gold drifted off in the light morning breeze.

Sylviane could sense her armigers forming up behind her in their classic chevron formation. Her eyes remained focused on the pretender's troops in the docks who started shouting and withdrawing back to congregate. The soldiers threw away their torches and rushed to form a hedgehog of polearms to repel an aerial charge. However, this in turn would leave them vulnerable to ballista bolts from the skywhale, not to mention the shrunken barrel grenades and explosive torpedo javelins of the air cavalry who were waiting upon her orders to attack.

''Let's hope they're not complete idiots and it doesn't come to that,'' Sylviane thought as she eyed yet more soldiers rushing into the docks.

The Princess suddenly braked in the air and came to a complete stop less than a hundred paces from her nearest foes. Several longbowmen behind the goedendag formation released their arrows into the air. However, all of their projectiles were stopped dead in their flight by the sphere of tiny golden crucifixes that encircled Sylviane.

It was as though they had lost all momentum the instant they met the Holy Father's divine light.

Sylviane could not have asked for a more perfect demonstration that her sword was a true relic of the Dragonlords. And the Princess knew exactly what needed to be done as the last thing she wanted was to see her hometown turned into yet another battlefield.

"Soldiers of Rhin-Lotharingie!" Sylviane called out as she thrusted the holy sword into the sky. "I am Crown Princess Sylviane Etiennette de Gaetane, and I hold in my hand the true sword of the Trinitian faith! The Holy Father has judged me worthy in my battle with Gabriel yesterday, and my uncle has been found wanting and is now a prisoner of his fate!"

The Princess could see the soldiers on the ground exchange wide-eyed glances. Clearly, they had not been told that Gabriel had lost and been captured in battle yesterday. However, many of them also gawked upon the Sword of Fortitude and the sphere of golden light that surrounded Sylviane. There was no denying that she wielded one of the seven holy swords that symbolized the virtues of the Trinitian faith.

"I have come to reclaim the hometown where I grew up, and I've no desire to spill forth more Lotharin blood! Lay down your arms with honor, and those misled by my uncle shall have amnesty for partaking in his sins. Do not throw away your lives for a meaningless cause, not when the people of Rhin-Lotharingie still look upon you for protection and aid during this time of need!"

The tension that lingered in the air at that moment had frozen even those who had just arrived at the docks. However, it did not take long before the first soldiers began to throw aside their arms. A cry of 'lay down your weapons' could even be heard from a young nobleman at the back. He strode up with an awed look before bowing down to take one knee:

"Your Highness, I beg your mercy on behalf of my father Viscount Niels de Eprave. It was his weakness that allowed our family to be pressured into Duke Gabriel's schemes."

''Weakness as reflected in the state of your men,'' Sylviane thought as she looked upon the sorry state of his levy and even the few armigers in the docks. The only two armsmen who looked resolute enough to make a stand were those who followed their young liege.

Nevertheless, she returned a brief nod towards the young lord who was barely past his teenage years.

"I meant what I said, Your Lordship," she declared. "All shall be forgiven, so long as your men disarm."

The young lord then stood up and turned towards his men once more to shout:

"Lay down your weapons! That's an order!"

A clattering of steel and wooden poles hitting ground could be heard as the remaining holdouts threw away their arms.

The young lord then turned about to face the Princess once more before drawing his own sword and kneeling down to offer it in both hands.

"You may keep your weapon, Your Lordship," Sylviane responded courteously with the custom towards a nobleman in honorable surrender.

"Thank you, Your Highness," he answered before standing up with a half-hearted smile, before he looked back to his men:

"The Emperor is dead. Long live the Empress!"

<nowiki>----- * * * -----</nowiki>

"Pascal reports that Colonel Hammerstein's forces are now in position to the north," Sylviane heard Kaede say as the Samaran girl followed behind her and King Alistair's armigers in the vanguard. "The citadel is now surrounded by our air cavalry on all sides. And Pascal estimates only a hundred soldiers remaining inside."

"Let's hope they listen to reason like everyone else then," the King to her side said.

Sylviane wasn't sure if it was reason, flagging morale, or simply a lack of willingness among the remaining soldiers to fight for Gabriel's lost cause. But from the docks to the citadel's entrance, every group of soldiers they encountered had laid down their arms after only a brief exchange. Only one column from the garrison which took casualties had been ambushed by citizens who took up arms on their own accord. Though there were several others who surrendered to the armed locals before Sylviane's men even arrived at the scene.

"We'll find out. Keep your distance behind me until their intentions become clear," Sylviane ordered as she stepped out from the cover of the last building before the citadel's gatehouse and marched across the stone-paved open ground.

An arrow shot out from one of the slits in the gatehouse bastions. It was stopped dead in its flight just as its tip touched the light that enveloped Sylviane.

"HOLD!"

A hurried cry came from the crenellations on top of the tower. The Princess could hear the astonishment in the man's voice as he gazed upon what must be an impossibility based on the Church's claims.

"Soldiers of Rhin-Lotharingie!" Sylviane began just as she had done a half other times. "I am Princess Sylviane Etiennette de Gaetane, and..."

She had yet to go further when a feminine shout came from inside the citadel:

"Open the gates!"

With a loud creek, the steel-reinforced oaken gates began to part before Sylviane's eyes. Standing in the opening was a lady in her late-middle ages and six of her armigers. The noblewoman and her entourage stepped out as the gates fully opened until they stood only twenty paces in front of the Princess. They then knelt down on one knee and bowed before the lady looked up at the crown heir of the Empire.

"Your Highness, I am Countess Mathilda de Odrimont, and I beseech your forgiveness for supporting your uncle's treason. With my husband sick in bed and my young son held hostage by Duke Jasper, I could not bring myself to oppose my liege's wish to side with the pretender."

''Perhaps some nobles truly have been strongarmed into this,'' Sylviane thought to herself before gesturing to the Countess to rise.

"Please stand, Milady, and you may keep your weapon as I accept your honorable surrender," the Princess replied politely.

"You're most generous, Your Highness."

Sylviane then looked over the Countess's entourage and up towards the other men of the garrison as she declared in a loud voice:

"I offer amnesty to all those who have been misled by my uncle's treachery so long as they lay down their arms peaceful..."

Sylviane's last words died in her throat as her body froze before she could finish. She had been scanning the gatehouse with her eyes before her gaze encountered the remnants of a half-thawed human head.

The ghastly remains were placed on top of a spike just inside the citadel's gates. its eyes had been gouged out leaving behind only lifeless sockets that looked down her way. The skull bore a noticeable crack and its cheek bone was caved in from what must have been a blow to the face. However, the other half of the head was largely intact and Sylviane could immediately recognize her father's decomposing face.

"Your Highness?"

Sylviane heard the Countess' voice but her mind could not process what was said. Her thoughts had been racing since before the battle yesterday, yet now it felt like every part of her mind suddenly froze in place. A deathly chill spread up her spine and across her torso as though her body was turning to ice. Meanwhile, her consciousness seemed to drift and she felt like her body was no longer attached.

"F-father..." Her lips barely moved as she uttered in the quietest voice.

It was as though her grasp on reality would shatter if she made even the slightest loud sound.

"''Sylv,''" she could almost hear her father as her mind placed an image of his loving smile over the mangled head she saw.

"''I'm sorry, Sylv,''" her memories recounted his heartbroken words when she screamed at him that she never wanted to be the Crown Princess. "''I know you never wanted this, but... I don't have anyone else left. I have no other choice.''"

"I'm sorry, I couldn't hear that, Your Highness," the Countess spoke again and interrupted her father's voice.

At that moment, there was nothing Sylviane wanted to do more than to wrap her fingers around this despicable woman's throat and snap off the head.

She might have done it too, if she could only peel her eyes away from the remains of her father's mutilated head, to break the stare that she felt coming from those empty eye sockets that fixed her gaze.

How could these people be so cruel, to do such a thing to her father, to their emperor and liege who had dedicated his entire life to the development of the realm? Even those who have not placed the head up there were guilty of standing by and doing nothing as the crows pecked out her father's eyeballs and maggots consumed his flesh.

''You monsters, traitors, every last one of you!''

A dark emotion that the Princess had kept suppressed since she withheld from slaughtering her uncle on the battlefield yesterday boiled inside her mind. And now, with every other voice of her inner monologue silenced by the ghastly sight before her, it became the sole voice of authority inside.

Sylviane wanted to shout but her chin was trembling too much to speak. She wanted to crush the skulls of those who knelt before her with her bare hands if only her arms would stop shaking.

''You don't deserve mercy. Not a single one of you!''

A clear thought of judgment ran through the Princess' otherwise icy mind as she began raising her quivering arm into the air. Her entire body was trembling with a mixture of cold anguish and frozen fury as she wanted to see every traitor responsible for this travesty die a most gruesome death. She wanted, no, she ''needed'' to make sure that each and every one of them would pay for her father's terrible death. And her desire for vengeance would not be quenched until the blood of thousands flowed a new river to Lake Alis.

"Your Highness! Stop!"

The Princess heard another girl cry out, the shout of a familiar, soft voice that came from behind her back. Her slowly rising arms stopped for a brief moment as she felt puzzled by why someone would tell her to stop at a moment like this?

Surely they can see how these traitors must all die to show the Empire that justice has been carried out. That her father in heaven would not forgive any of them until blood has been repaid by blood!

''Kill the traitors! All of them!'' The words had formed in her mind and were almost at her lips when Sylviane heard another cry.

"YOUR HIGHNESS!"

The words came from just behind her before the weight of a petite girl slammed into her back. Two arms wrapped tight around her lower chest and forced her right arm back against her shoulders with astonishing strength. The intruder then used their own momentum to twist Sylviane's frozen body to one side until the Princess' eyes broke contact with her father's putrefied head.

The soft and usually wispy voice then shouted out with more desperation and demand than Sylviane had ever heard the girl speak:

"REYNAUD! TAKE THAT HEAD AWAY! ''NOW!''"

And in the moment, a crack of lightning lit up above their heads as her armiger shot straight into the gate.

''No!''

Sylviane found herself wanting to reach out, to turn back and stop whomever dared take her father away again. But the arms that wrapped around her chest only squeezed harder as they pulled her cuirass out of position, until the lower rim began to press into her hips and an aching pain at least entered her thoughts.

"Don't do this! ''Elder Sister!'' Please, come back to us!"

It was only then when Sylviane realized that Hauteclaire had left her body and now stood perched on the girl's shoulders instead. She could feel the phoenix's flames radiate against her cold body yet little warmth seemed to reach inside.

It was as though her body was no longer her own, as if her flesh had been replaced by stone and ice in its place.

And with it, her mind, her consciousness, her sense of self, everything had changed.

She no longer felt as she did an hour ago, or even a few minutes ago.

...And she wasn't sure how to go back.

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| Back to [[Daybreak:Volume_4_Chapter_17|Chapter 17]]
| Return to [[Daybreak_on_Hyperion|Main Page]]
| Forward to [[Daybreak:Volume_4_Chapter_19|Chapter 19]]
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</noinclude>

Daybreak:Volume 4 Chapter 17

2025-05-31T17:14:27Z

Aorii:

=== Chapter 17 - Fog of War ===

It was the first day of March, and Spring had arrived early this year. A warm front from the southeast had advanced into the Lotharin Heartlands over the previous evening. This brought a dramatic shift in weather as the air dampened overnight and by morning, a thick blanket of white mist had enveloped the land.

The oppressive fog cut vision down to only a few hundred paces which veiled everyone's sight. The high humidity felt stifling yet remained uncomfortably chilly to every soldier not in winter clothes. And as more than 28,000 men of Sylviane's host marched across the empty farm fields and tree lines between Lake Alis and the old Imperial Highway, none of its leaders could see more than a few banners of the massive army without magical enhancement.

"Is this the gods' blessing or curse?"

Caradoc muttered to himself as he turned around on the back of his light chariot. Several hundred cavalry and vehicles from his vanguard rode behind him as they advanced upon the cobblestone road of the Imperial Highway. He could not see the main body of the army and its tight formations of massed infantry. He couldn't even spot the expansive waters of Lake Alis -- the largest lake in Western Hyperion -- which was just a few kilopaces away.

Had the battle plan remained per his original proposal, then this fog would have been a godsend. It would have reduced the chances of his army being detected by either Gabriel's or Henri's forces until it was too late. However, given the new battle plan agreed upon in yesterday's war council, Caradoc ''needed'' Gabriel to observe their advance so the latter could sally out.

In fact, the longer it took for the false emperor to notice, the further he would be behind Sylviane's army. And this would force Caradoc to keep up the pretense of attacking Henri for much longer, which inevitably raised suspicions from all around.

"Order Lord Geraint to detach three banners of cavalry and sweep north," the General growled at one of the mounted adjutants who followed behind his chariot. "Find Gabriel's nearest picket or patrol and hit them with overwhelming force. I want the pretender to ''know'' that our army is on the move!"

"Yes Sir!" A young signal officer answered.

Caradoc then turned towards the eastern road and noticed that the fog was growing denser. Visibility ahead was reduced to around a hundred paces, and the general considered casting ''Fog Sight'' to aid his gaze. However, he also needed to be able to see the weather for himself, to recognize its effects on both his own soldiers and the enemy's. And in the meantime, his scouts were more than capable of keeping a lookout for any approaching threat.

''Though if this fog gets any worse...'' He frowned inwardly and considered the other problems brought by low visibility before raising his fist into the air.

"ALL STOP!"

The General and his personal retinue of elite troops had ridden at the head of the vanguard column. Each of the drivers slowed their horses until their agile chariots came to a full stop.

"Milord?"

"All of you –- collect a bundle of branches to tie to the back of your chariots," Caradoc ordered.

"Yes, Milord!"

The General didn't bother explaining further. But he also didn't need to. His retinue troops had followed him through thick and thin for decades and trusted him with their lives. Not one of them looked skeptical as they dismounted their chariots and began to hack down branches from the nearby trees.

"I'm guessing you've noticed that the mist is growing thicker as we advance east. And Henri's men will have to rely upon their ears more than their eyes to determine our numbers on first contact."

The one who spoke was none other than Caradoc's driver -- his friend, bodyguard, and close confidante Lestyn.

"Exactly as you say," Caradoc smirked before he turned to another adjutant. "Order the banners behind us to follow suit."

Perhaps in hindsight, the fog was a blessing from the Goddess of War herself.

<nowiki>----- * * * -----</nowiki>

Henri emerged from his cabin as he noticed the chaos spreading through his camp. The fog hampered his vision but did not muffle the confused cries and rushed preparations from twenty thousand men. There was a distinct sense of unease in the air as every noble or armiger who emerged from their cabins was still putting on their gear. The reason for this soon became apparent as Henri heard several more horn blows from the camp's western perimeter.

"Milord!"

A Count in his late prime cried out as his mount galloped across the grass of the inner camp. He then pulled hard on the reins as he forced his steed to come to an abrupt stop.

"We're under attack! Chariots outside the western camp perimeter!"

Henri's eyes widened at the mere mention of chariots. He immediately realized that he was beset upon by Sylviane's army. And while the lightweight Ceredigion chariots were agile enough to be used as cavalry, their main role was to serve as rapid transportation for Ceredigion's best-trained heavy infantry. As such, the presence of these vehicles rarely meant mere harassment, and were usually the prelude to a major attack.

"How many?" The young lord immediately demanded.

"Couldn't tell. None of my officers know how to cast ''Fog Sight''. And you can hardly see a hundred paces in this forsaken fog!" The nobleman cursed as he waved around.

Henri's lips formed a sharp scowl before he remembered that the Count and his men came from a region in the rain shadow of the South Lotharingie Mountains. Therefore, it should have been of no surprise that they rarely dealt with fog.

''I should have put a different unit on perimeter guard duty,'' the young lord berated himself.

"--But from the sound, there were hundreds of chariots and thousands of infantry following in close order!" The Count then added in a rattled voice.

"How did they get that close without being detected!?" Henri's tone grew alarmed. "What of Lord Reine and his cavalry picket?"

"Lord Reine and his retinue retired inside the camp late last night to rest," the nobleman replied. "And as for his pickets -- I don't know, Milord. They were likely overwhelmed before they could raise an alarm."

"Imbecile!"

A surge of anger flashed through Henri's eyes as he squeezed his right hand into a fist. He then noticed the faint flinch that struck the nobleman before taking a moment to calm himself.

Henri might not be a seasoned commander, but he knew the impact his mood would have on the morale of soldiers and officers alike. It would not do for anyone to see him lose control or panic, especially when they were already on edge themselves. Instead, he needed to be their pillar of imperturbability, and for that he needed to stay composed and in control.

The young man took a moment to purge his previous thoughts and inhale a deep breath. It was the same technique he learned when he first began to make public speeches in Arcadia's crowded forums.

"Rally what men you can gather and hold the western perimeter wall," Henri replied with a renewed steadiness in his voice. "I will organize the army into battle order and keep you reinforced!"

"Yes Milord!" The older noble nodded before he sped off on his mount.

"M-milord?"

A young adjutant asked breathlessly as he ran up with his hands still tightening the straps of his leather jerkin. He was the first of Henri's signal officers to arrive, and the young commander immediately gave the man his first order:

"''Farspeak'' to Emperor Gabriel -- tell him that we're under attack by Sylviane's army in force and we require immediate support!"

<nowiki>----- * * * -----</nowiki>

"Your Majesty, something isn't right."

Emperor Gabriel watched the elderly Marshal Menno lean over the map table and point at a spot north of where the Imperial Highway bent towards the lake.

"Why would Sylviane's cavalry rout a picket of ours here?" Menno pondered aloud. "If they were marching east towards Henri's camp, they should have done it along the Imperial Highway or south of it."

"Perhaps one of their columns got lost in the fog," one of the other lords in attendance said.

"Lost enough to depart the only road running east-to-west without realizing it?" Menno looked back up as he raised his eyebrows. "I don't buy it."

Meanwhile, Gabriel gave a half-hearted shrug and raised his hands to both sides before he responded:

"All we know is that they hit three of our scouting groups in the south, one of which is positioned halfway between my niece's camp and Lord Henri's. That could only mean one thing -- that Sylviane's army seeks to defeat us in detail by eliminating the Army of Rhétie first."

"I agree that would be the logical tactical move, as she certainly has no chance of defeating us first," Menno concurred before voicing his disagreement. "But there's also something odd here. Because if I were in her shoes, I would seek to draw as little attention as possible, and use the cover of this fog to reach and defeat Henri before we could even react. Yet the way they swept aside our pickets -- it's like they ''wanted us'' to find out that they're out in force."

"Plans and intentions are one thing. Execution is another matter entirely," Gabriel replied.

"It's perfectly possible that someone on their side messed up," another lord nodded as he pitched in.

"Besides, for what other reason would she have to march to Henri's camp?" The Emperor asked.

"Might Henri have switched allegiance and joined her?" Said a young lord that Gabriel recognized as Menno's nephew.

"No. Had that been the case, Henri would be marching to join her, and not the other way around," the Marshal declared before his eyes narrowed and he looked back at the map. "Unless... they did so in secret and are colluding to bait us out."

"I find that extremely unlikely," Gabriel commented with a frown. "Young Henri would not have the authority to abruptly overturn his father's decision on his own. And according to my spies in his camp, he's still keeping Sylviane's envoys as prisoners of war."

"But that itself could be a ruse..." Menno warned before one of Gabriel's armigers interrupted the conversation:

"Sire, I've just received a ''Farspeak'' message from a chevalier whom I know to be in Lord Henri's retinue. He reports that Sylviane's army is attacking their camp in force and Lord Henri requests our immediate support."

The Emperor pursed his lips as he stared knowingly back at his Marshal.

"Menno, I know you do not trust House La Tours due to their failure to reinforce you in battle long ago," Gabriel acknowledged first. "However, in this instance, I do count them as my allies. I cannot afford to have my allies defeated in detail while we stand and watch from afar! Especially not when Henri can serve as the anvil upon which Sylviane's army can be smashed by our hammer."

"Your Majesty, even if we march out now, there is no guarantee that we will arrive..."

However, before the Marshal could finish his retort, the Emperor put his proverbial foot down and declared:

"Marshal, I am ''ordering you'' to march out in full force."

A brief twitch passed through Menno's brow as he gazed upon the Emperor whom he had declared allegiance to. The silence dragged on as the Marshal stared intently at Gabriel, as though reminding him of his promise made back in the 'throne room' to not interfere.

Nevertheless, as Gabriel stood outwardly firm in his conviction, it was Menno who gave in with a faint sigh.

"I sincerely hope that my suspicions are wrong and you're right," the Marshal said before he began issuing orders.

"Gather all men into marching formation. Tell them to leave behind everything except their arms and armor. We move south to join the battle at double pace! Form the cavalry up outside the camp as I have special orders for them!"

"Yes, Sir!"

Gabriel turned south towards the windows as the assembled nobles and officers departed from the cabin to pass orders and rejoin their units. The lakeside breeze had cleared the morning mist and he could see the sun's rays through the partly cloudy sky. The Emperor knew he had overruled his senior-most military commander for a good reason, even though Marshal Menno might not agree with him.

Nevertheless, a wry smile formed on his lips as he thought of this pivotal moment and his choice.

''Everything is set. The rest... is up to fate.''

<nowiki>----- * * * -----</nowiki>

King Alistair could hear the roar of battle cries from the east. The clanging of swords against shields echoed through the thinning mist as the sun rose higher into the morning sky. The King didn't know if General Caradoc was able to deliver on his word of raising as much ruckus as he could without ''actually'' engaging in close combat. But if the experienced mercenary in Alistair had to venture a guess, the lack of tension he felt in the air was a sign that Caradoc's men were indeed more bark than bite.

"Cavalry from the west!"

The King turned about face as he heard the cry behind him. A rider emerged from the mist and galloped towards his troops in the rearguard. The mounted ranger came from one of the scouting parties posted behind the army to warn of Gabriel's approach.

''About fucking time,'' he thought.

Alistair looked to the distance where his spell-enhanced vision cut deep into the fog. The results weren't perfect, as the refracting mist caused objects in the distance to become blurry as if he had myopia. Nevertheless, the King could just barely make out a column of riders clad in brightly colored tabards and barding. They were emerging around the road's gradual bend nearly a kilopace away. The heavy cavalry was screened by two squads of light cavalry which advanced along the tree line on both sides of the Imperial Highway.

The King had heard that due to prolonged influence from their neighbors, some Belgae nobles, particularly those who had lived under the Imperium for too long, preferred to train their retinue as armored horsemen rather than foot soldiers. Nevertheless, the raising of heavy cavalry was frowned upon by the late Emperor Geoffroi for a reason -- they were simply too expensive to maintain in large numbers, and often cut deeply into purses that were better spared for developing much-needed civil infrastructure.

''It's no wonder the Belgae lords always cry poverty then,'' Alistair's lips twisted with annoyance.

The approach of the Belgae cavalry also created an annoying deviation to his plans. Alistair had hoped to lead a charge against the traitors' army with his elite shock infantry. But the vanguard of cavalry he was facing had far better tactical mobility than his soldiers did, which would allow them to either charge or evade as they best judged the circumstances.

However, the fact that Alistair couldn't clearly see the enemy meant that his opposing counterpart also would not be able to tell his elite guardsmen from common infantry. The conventional order of battle certainly did not place royal armigers at the rear of a marching column. His enemy would have to overcome their own expectations to realize that Alistair's men were not the usual mix of peasant militia led by a few dozen armigers.

"Rory, give me mist, just a little to obscure our position," Alistair said to one of his royal armigers, who had accompanied him since his days as a mercenary in the New World and had stormcaller training.

"Yes, Sire."

"Fionnlagh," he addressed his youngest companion next. "Open a link with Pascal's command and tell him that we're about to slay some Belgae heavy cav."

"Yes, Sire!"

"Lowlanders! Highlanders!" The King then cried out as he pulled a runestone from his pocket and activated it to amplify his voice.

"MEN! ABOUT FACE! FORM RANKS!" He shouted again as he unbuckled the leather straps on his back. His hand lifted the heavy zweihander and raised its huge blade into the air.

His orders were echoed as officers of the elite Black Guard and Royal Guard banners stepped forth to pass it down the ranks. Meanwhile, the King stepped through his men's shifting formation to take his own place facing a new front.

The armigers of the Glens' lowlands preferred lucerne hammers over the Highlanders' two-handed swords. And now, as ordered by their king, they formed a single line in front and braced their polearm-hammers against their greaves to create a row of pointed spikes. Behind them, the second and third ranks readied their huge swords at chest and shoulder-height. Together, nearly 1,200 guardsmen fanned out to form a concave hedgehog of bristling steel that expanded to the tree line on both sides of the Imperial Highway.

Behind him, Alistair could hear the shouted orders from six banners of rangers directly under Lady Lynette's command. Those lightly equipped woodsmen rushed towards the trees that flanked Alistair's formation, where they would take positions with a clear shot at the open road.

The King watched in silence as one of the Belgae scouting groups emerged from the mist by the tree line in the north. Eight of the horsemen were felled almost immediately by the rangers' precise shots. The last remaining two tried to turn about and flee but their horses were killed under them. One of the men fell into the bushes and out of sight which, assuming he was still alive, had probably just saved his life.

The second scouting group, advancing along the southern tree line, met a similar fate. However behind them, the ground began to rumble as an entire column of heavy cavalry made their approach. The morning mist had thinned to the point where the men could see around three hundred paces with the unaided eye. Nevertheless, Alistair heard shouted orders even before they reached that distance. The armored horsemen began to fan out as officers on the other side clearly used the same ''Fog Sight'' spell that he did.

''Hopefully they'll mistake us for common infantry until it's too late,'' the King thought.

It was the reason why his phoenix Almace was still not merged with him. Instead, Alistair could feel the bird's talons grasped around the sword straps behind his back. The lingering mist would make it difficult to clearly see his men's equipment at a distance. And once the heavy cavalry began to gallop during the final phase of their charge, it would be too late to stop their attack.

The King watched as two rows of Belgae cavalry tightened their formations as they trotted up for the first charge. The armored warhorses began to canter as they emerged from the mist and into plain sight. However, the rangers hiding to his flanks held back their arrows. Lady Lynette had agreed earlier that Alistair would call the first volley. His aim was not to scare his enemies off early, but rather to draw them into close combat instead.

"Archers!"

The King cried out for two banners of militia bowmen assembled behind his triple lines to start shooting first. Their volley soared overhead and rained down upon the heavy cavalry to little effect. The Belgae horsemen shrugged off the indirect shots with their wards and armor. The attack seemed to only spur on the riders as they closed to a hundred paces before hastening their steeds to attack.

"CHARGE!" Alistair heard the cry from the officers on the other side.

Six hundred armored warhorses began to gallop as their riders couched their lances and leveled them into rows of spikes. Two thousand steel-shod hooves hammered the ground in succession which made the earth shake and tremble. The onrushing cavalry loomed like a great wave of sharpened steel and towering beasts that was ready to sweep aside all resistance. And for most soldiers, the mere thought of trying to hold the line against such an unstoppable force would seem like folly before the natural urge to cut and run.

However, the men of the Glens who stood by their king were no ordinary soldiers. They were veterans and elites who had fought in past wars and knew that a cavalry charge's greatest weapon was its psychological shock. Each man knew that their adjacent comrades, their ''brothers'' whose bonds they treasured above even their own lives, depended upon them to stand their ground. And as such, there was no way a unit as cohesive as these guardsmen would even consider breaking to rout.

"RANGERS!"

Alistair cried out as his phoenix merged into him at last. Almace's soothing warmth filled his adrenaline-spiked body as his raised sword erupted into blue-white flames.

"VOLLEY!" He heard the response cry out from the mist-laden woods to both of his flanks.

Hundreds of arrows soared out from each of the tree lines. And unlike the militia volleys from earlier, these missiles flew in concerted waves with precise aim. ''Dispel'' arrows led the way as they crashed through the ''Repulsion'' wards of the Belgae cavalrymen which would deflect light projectiles. They were followed by bodkin penetrators and spell-infused arrows that delivered everything from fire to lightning bolts.

At the same time, the men in the rear of Alistair's formation threw out a volley of runestones. Many of the opposing officers had been thrown off guard by the sudden hail of arrows, and only a handful of them cast ''Mana Seekers'' to intercept. The runestones that landed activated their obstruction spells which terraformed the land. Their effects ranged from simple pools of mud to transmuted hard-clay spikes that sprouted out from the earth like stalagmites.

Chaos immediately broke out as some horsemen crashed into the obstacles while others pushed into their compatriots as they dodged. Large gaps emerged in the charging wavefront as more and more men and horses fell victim to the onslaught of arrows and spells.

Facing them, Alistair's guardsmen held firm against the oncoming tide like a solid embankment of bristling steel. And as a result, most of the horses who made it to his line either tried to veer away or balked at the unwavering steel by digging in their hooves.

Two of the horses that charged Alistair's position stopped suddenly before the row of spikes. Their armored riders were thrown off and flew into the defenders' waiting ranks. One of them landed next to the King and did not even have time to get up before Alistair shoved the tip of his huge sword into a gap beneath the man's outstretched arm. At the same time, the armigers who crouched in front of the King stepped forward and thrust their polearms into the horses' padded chests.

Arrows from both flanks continued to soar in and pick off those cavalrymen who either turned away or tried to retreat. Meanwhile, the King signaled for his soldiers to press forward and kill any downed cavalrymen before they could attempt to reform.

"ADVANCE!"

Alistair raised his sword as he readied himself to kill another fallen horseman who had just managed to stand back up. But an armiger to his right landed a lucerne hammer swing that pulverized the man's left hip. The dismounted horseman cried out in pain and collapsed sideways onto his knees. His bent posture left a gap open in the armor protecting his right lower torso. And the King took advantage of this as he hacked his sword in to finish off his enemy.

As he pulled his sword from the corpse, Alistair looked to his left and right to check the state of his men. The Glens infantry maintained their formation as they advanced to bring the fight to their foes. Many of the horsemen had been dismounted by arrow wounds and now fought in a disorganized mess. They were cut down one by one as the advancing guardsmen scythed through their ranks before stepping over the corpses of beasts and men alike.

Meanwhile, behind them in the foggy distance, Alistair could see a mass of at least three thousand infantrymen pouring forth from the road's gradual bend. They rushed forward in columns at double pace, as though the opposing commander could see that the first attack had failed yet nevertheless opted for a strategy of 'send more in'.

The King continued to advance with his men as he hacked his zweihander into the back of a Belgae man-at-arms who had just crawled out of a muddy pool. The soldier's helmet fell off and another armiger took the opportunity to land a decapitating blow. A youthful face rolled across the ground as the severed neck spurted blood onto the mud before the body went limp. A braided gold torc worn around the stump revealed that the young man had likely been an heir to his family's estate.

''Flower of Belgae nobility,'' Alistair pursed his lips as he looked around and saw another young man who wore a similar accessory cut down.

''What a goddamn waste.''

In that moment, the King perfectly understood why Princess Sylviane wanted to spare Henri's army from the merciless slaughter of battle. Or why the opposing commander was throwing in more men in an attempt to salvage the failed first attack. To see such promising members of the future Lotharin leadership cut down in a civil war between ethnic kin... it was truly a disaster from which only their enemies may gleefully benefit.

Yet, despite the bile that he tasted in his mouth, Alistair did not forget that he was a leader of men on a battlefield. There would be a time for mercy and reconciliation later. For now, his overarching priority was to ''win''.

"REFORM RANKS!"

The King shouted as his men mopped up the last of the survivors from the first charge. The cavalrymen who managed to stay on their horses had already retreated. However, many of them did not make it as the rangers shot arrows into their backs. Dozens of downed and wounded soldiers could be seen crawling along the ground as they tried to make it back to friendly lines.

The advancing Belgae infantry's front ranks stopped around four hundred paces away. However, squads of shielded men rushed forward to retrieve in their wounded compatriots.

This time, there would be no ambush. The last of the morning mist was beginning to disperse, and the rangers had already exposed their position among the trees. The enemy also knew they were dealing with an Oriflamme Paladin. This narrowed the candidates significantly on whom they faced.

"HIGHLANDERS! LOWLANDERS!" Alistair shouted for his men to switch formations.

It was his turn to press the attack this time. That meant the claymore and zweihander-wielding highlanders needed to be in front. The King himself stepped up as he pulled several runestones from his pocket and activated them. His skin tingled as several layers of fresh wards wrapped around his armored bulk.

"ADVANCE!" The mercenary-turned-king shouted as he led personally from the very front.

Over eleven hundred guardsmen -- his troops had suffered barely any casualties from the previous attack -- strode forward in the wake of their liege. They marched around the obstacles from earlier and reformed the line after passing each. The soldiers' discipline was perfect as they crossed the exposed flat terrain.

Meanwhile, Alistair could sense unease spreading through the enemy's ranks. The Belgae infantry watched the silent advance of men who had not just stopped, but utterly destroyed a heavy cavalry attack.

"Volley!"

A shout came from the other side before a torrent of arrows flew into the air. At least five hundred missiles formed a blanket of projectiles that arced into the sky before falling upon the King's men.

"''Mana Seeker!''"

Several officers who used aura magic shouted before sending bursts of magical projectiles into the air. The other mages had already passed out runes for every armiger to use themselves. A few arrows also flew out from the trees and intercepted the hail of incoming missiles. Their tips activated ''Cyclone Blasts'' on contact which blew away at least a third of the projectiles.

Alistair kept a ''Repulsion Field'' rune in hand in case he was hit by a dispel. However, despite the rain of missiles that his men waded through, few of them were receiving any meaningful injuries. Fire and thunder burst among his advancing ranks but they were largely nullified by ''Resistance'' spells. The poor coordination between the enemy's magic and archery revealed that his opponents were mostly inexperienced recruits.

The guardsmen strode forth undaunted through a second and third barrage. They closed to a distance where they could see the whites of their enemies' eyes. The King then raised his flaming zweihander aloft and bellowed "CHARGE!" as he led his retinue into a run. A wave of steel-clad armigers followed him into the thundering charge as they bellowed their own battle cries.

The loudest of these remained the screeching "DOUGLAS!" from the three hundred remaining members of the Black Guard. There was no boy raised in Lotharin lands who did not know the infamous Black Guard of Clan Douglas and the terror they inflicted. The unit's motto of 'no quarter, no surrender' exemplified their belief that there was no such thing as 'prisoners'.

Alistair could almost see the fear of his enemies as they realized exactly whom they faced. The first ranks of defending infantry faltered and fell back before his thunderous charge even reached their spear line. Dozens, then hundreds of men threw aside their weapons as they began to flee towards the rear. Only isolated groups of soldiers in the front ranks stood their ground -- most of them formed by the occasional noble and their armigers who shouted for their levies to hold their line.

A barrage of hundred missiles flew in from the trees to their left. Many of them were negated by wards from the defending mages who still held their ground. But some shot through gaps among the defensive spells caused by the fleeing soldiers. Explosions and thunderclaps rang out as they landed among the soldiers with infused elemental spells. This added yet more chaos among the troops and demoralized more to join the retreat.

Alistair surmised that the reduction in support -- there had been no arrows at all from his right -- meant the rangers to his wings had met more enemies in the woods. It would be down to only he and his men to crash through the enemy front.

A Belgae armiger stood before Alistair with his spiked polearm raised to receive the Paladin's charge. His thrust, however, was weak as the burning aura of an Oriflamme engulfed him before Alistair even entered his reach. The King easily dodged his attack before smashing the flaming zweihander between the soldier's neck and shoulder with bone-breaking force.

The defender's wards combusted as phoenix fire ignited the mana it cut through. A mail coif caught the steel edge and stopped it from hacking through the neck. Regardless, the armiger collapsed from the blow, though Alistair did not stay to finish him off. The King carved deeper into the heart of the defenders' ranks as he trusted his loyal armsmen to guard his back.

''Let's see how deep I can cleave into them before pouring Almace's flames.''

The furious onslaught against the traitors had proven more fruitful than he had anticipated. The defenders' ranks were a mess as he cut his way through the mass of men. Retreating soldiers trying to escape the slaughter pushed and shoved against those attempting to hold the line. This compacted the defensive formations further until many no longer even had enough room to properly fight.

The battle was turning into a slaughter as Alistair and his guardsmen hacked their way through layers of living flesh. The King and his royal entourage formed a wedge as they carved deep into the enemy lines. Blood drenched their polished steel as they cut down one man after another in their advance. Countless bodies fell under their blades until the ground was covered by the dying and the dead.

Then, after slashing his way through at least twelve ranks of men, Alistair finally came face to face with a banner of armigers and militia who held a solid line. A wall of polearms advanced in tight formation as the defenders sought to push him back. However, the King raised his flaming sword before driving it into the ground with a cry:

"''FLAMEBREAK!''"

Blue-white embers poured out of Alistair's sword and armor as an explosion of phoenix fire burst forth. The entire area was consumed within the blink of an eye by Almace's cleansing flames. Dozens of men screamed in agony as the conflagration roasted them alive. Their wards and armor did nothing to protect them as the sacred fire breached mana and steel alike.

By the time Alistair stood back up and the embers dispersed, not a single Belgae soldier stood within twenty paces of the King dripping a bloody red. Over a hundred burning corpses littered the ground around him. The towering monarch brandished his zweihander sword and raised it once more before his chest.

The Belgae soldiers who remained stared in horror as their hands trembled and they began to back away. And within seconds many of them had thrown away their weapons as they began to join the rout and run.

<nowiki>----- * * * -----</nowiki>

"General!" Caradoc heard his adjutant shout from the trees behind him.

The Ceredigion commander had just thrown a javelin into the tower that kept watch over the left side of the main gate. The three men inside ducked down and his missile struck a pillar on the far side. An infused ''Cyclone Blast'' rune triggered upon impact and blew apart the thatched roof. The tower's support groaned and buckled as the rudimentary structure collapsed into the camp.

Caradoc gazed across the clearing as his chariot driver took him back towards the tree line. The Ceredigion charioteers were making individual caracole attacks against the camp's walls while his dismounted infantry formed a solid line to beat their shields and weapons. It was a clear show of force that was probably starting to raise suspicion given how long they've been at it. But so far the Army of Rhétie had cowered behind their fortifications.

"General, Lord Pascal reports that King Alistair has stuck the traitors' vanguard in force!" The adjutant cried out as he rode closer while the infantry opened a gap for Caradoc's chariot to drive in. "Princess Sylviane is leading in the second wave!"

Caradoc grinned as he received the news he had been waiting for at last. There was no longer any need to keep up pretenses by skirmishing with missiles in front of Henri's camp.

"All banners turn about! Time to sink our fangs into our real foe!"

<nowiki>----- * * * -----</nowiki>

"PUSH NORTH! REFUSE THE LINE!"

Lynette ap Cadell de Luxeuil shouted to her rangers from behind a leafing bush. Her position was further concealed by a thin shroud of white smoke and the morning's lingering mist. Nevertheless, her cry immediately attracted two arrows which flew through the dense foliage and struck her armiger's extended shield.

The first arrow burst into a ''Fireball'' which engulfed their position in flames. It blasted away the concealing mist and smoke while setting alight the bush. Lynette and her bodyguard avoided the worst as their ''Resistance'' spell reduced it to little more than a severe sunburn. But the second arrow that struck the shield released a ''Dispel'' which brought down her protector's wards. And seven more arrows then flew in from two directions with one of them finding its mark in a gap between her guardian's cuirass and the left rerebrace.

The noblewoman from Ceredigion stood and sprinted to the back of a thick trunk where three more arrows struck the tree instead of nailing her. She then looked back and called out in hope that it would pull the attention from the expert marksmen that they faced.

"Ceri!"

Behind her, Ceri gritted her teeth as she retracted her injured shield arm to protect her head as she limped towards Lynette. The armiger then collapsed onto the ground between the large tree's exposed roots as another arrow sank into the side of the tasset covering her left thigh.

"I'm sorry, Milady," she uttered in a pained voice as she raised her heater shield just in time for another arrow to clang off. "I can't keep up like this."

Reaching out from the safety of her cover, Lynette grabbed her lady's maid and bodyguard by the back of her armor. The noblewoman dragged her closest companion along the ground until at least Ceri's torso was completely behind the tree.

"Stay here behind cover," Lynette ordered before dashing off to the next trunk where three of her rangers took turns returning shots.

"Uhhhnggghh!" One of them grunted in pain before dropping to the ground with an arrow buried into his padded chest.

"Sir! We can't keep extending! We're already outnumbered!" A ranger sergeant spoke out to her from behind an adjacent tree.

The Ceredigion rangers who fought for the Princess might have more experience in forest battles than their Belgae counterparts. However, Lady Lynette had only half of her rangers in the rear of the army, which was further divided in two to lay the ambush that King Alistair needed to defeat the Belgae heavy cavalry.

Meanwhile, the Belgae rangers were renowned as the most swift-footed in the Empire as they were used to sprinting between tree patches and journeying over wetlands. And now, their numerical advantage could also be keenly felt as Lynette's forces were receiving three arrows for every shot they returned.

The good news was that at least one of the banners she had initially sent south to support King Alistair's attack had finished crossing the Imperial Highway. Lynette could see their movement behind the line of contact as those expert woodsmen came up alongside a unit of urban crossbowmen. Nevertheless, the initial contact between her personally-led ranger banner and the Belgae light infantry had left her side with severe casualties.

"We must hold the line until more troops arrive!" She impressed her confidence upon her soldiers. "The Princess has already turned her entire host to engage!" She pointed at the urban crossbows and the much needed pavise shields strapped to their backs. "Our job is to tie down the Belgae wings and ensure they stay pinned until the 'vanguard' joins!"

Another cry came from several trunks away as another ranger on her side was struck on the shoulder by an arrow. The man dropped his bow and crawled as best as he could to behind cover.

"This isn't an infantry grind, Milady," the veteran sergeant protested in a low voice. "We won't last long at this rate."

"We need to buy time!" She answered before drawing another arrow from her quiver and looking down at her hand. "''Smiting Firestorm,''" she muttered before infusing the arrow-head.

Lynette made sure the spell was properly imbued before stepping out from behind the cover of the trunk. She drew back her bowstring and scanned the woods with her gaze to take account of her enemies who kept themselves partially concealed behind the leafing shrubbery. Her keen eyes spotted a bejewelled cloak brooch which often implied a noble. She took aim with her weapon to buy time for her reinforcements to get into position.

However, a ''Dispel'' arrow flew in from the northeast and burned its way through her wards just as she released her arrow.

Four more projectiles followed in quick succession as she was clearly the target of an elite marksman squad. Two of them bounced off her cuirass and one of them sank into a gap behind her outstretched left arm.

-- However, it was the last arrow that dealt the mortal wound as its bodkin head pierced her chain coif and penetrated into her neck at an angle.

Lynette immediately felt her throat retch as it began to fill up with blood. The arrow had cut her carotid artery, and the noblewoman couldn't breath as she fell to the ground while her hand struggled to clutch its shaft.

The sergeant pulled her behind the tree and was yelling for a medic. However, Lynette doubted even the best-applied ''First Aid'' spell could close the wound before she suffocated.

Her ''Firestorm'' arrow seemed to have its intended effect as the enemy largely stopped shooting at her to quench the flames that now surrounded their area. It bought enough time for the leading crossbowman to rush to her and set up his pavise shield as cover... only to receive an arrow in his face instead.

"CHARGE!"

Another shout came from the east as the first of the royalist light cavalry began to arrive on their flank. Even the Ceredigion chariots were used to fighting in wooded terrain as their units started to attack. Yet, despite the fact her allies must be drawing closer, their voices sounded more and more distant to the ranger commander who coughed and choked on her own blood.

Lynette felt the tears slide from her eyes as she thought back to that moment when the ''Cerulean Princess'' descended upon her troops for the first time. Perhaps she might have lived through this war had she not joined Her Highness' campaign with her entire entourage. Few of her men have survived the string of battles in Avorica, and fewer still would return home to see their families. Yet, the noblewoman who married far from her home would not feel any regret for partaking in this pivotal moment in the Empire's history in a manner that would surely make her grandfather proud.

She only wished it was him holding her as she lay dying instead of a man she barely knew.

<nowiki>----- * * * -----</nowiki>

Lieutenant-Colonel Ariadne von Manteuffel held firm against the backward shove of her enlarged Manteuffel swordstaff as its tip made contact with a gryphon rider. The impact of her charge dismounted her foe who fell from an altitude of no less than two hundred paces. She wasn't sure how bad were the injuries she inflicted, but the nobleman's excellent armor had definitely stopped her weapon from penetrating. Whether or not he remained alive after the fall depended on how many ribs she broke and how long it took for him to recover from the stunning impact to cast ''Air Glide''.

A sudden shriek came from her left as one of her own men swerved aside from a charging lance but his mount received it instead. The hippogryph he rode flapped its wings one last time before it either fell unconscious or died from the deep wound. The attacker meanwhile banked sharply right as he evaded a javelin that had been thrown after him by another Knight Phantom. This however took him in the same direction that Ariadne had turned in, and she tapped her pegasus twice with her right foot to signal another charge.

"''Negation Surge!''"

Ariadne cast the spell into her weapon as she leaned forward and braced it against the lance-rest on her cuirass. Her pegasus Edelweiss dashed through the air as she flew towards the enemy who turned his mount to face her attack. His powerful gryphon had deadly claws and was protected by steel barding around its chest and over the head. However, there was no matching Edelweiss' agility as the pegasus rose faster before diving down with an altitude advantage.

The young lady pressed her left greave against the side of her mount to prepare Edelweiss for a sudden swerve. Then, as the two riders speared towards each other with their polearms, she shifted her body mass to the left and evaded an attack that came so close it cut through several strands of her windswept pink hair. Her weapon made contact with his cuirass and the pushback almost shoved her off the side. The impact struck just beneath his right shoulder, which once again failed to penetrate but was enough to disarm and unseat her target from his gryphon. The ''Negation Surge'' suppressed even the protective enchantments that would have kept him in the saddle.

With her heart pumping and her lungs expanding in short breaths, Ariadne took a look down to see what happened to her friends and foes alike. The cavalryman she struck had activated a spell that slowed his fall so that he wouldn't slam into the ground. Meanwhile, her petite second-in-command had rescued the hippogryph knight whose mount had been killed under him. They climbed back up into the sky as arrows flew after them from the enemy infantry swarming the ground below.

"Look out!"

Ariadne wasn't sure whom the cry was directed at but she ducked forward as her training taught. A javelin flew over her head from behind while a deep-green forest drake –- a wyvern per the Ceredigiens' name –- charged straight towards her from dead ahead. The armored man seated on the beast's back let loose an arrow which flew through the air less than a pace before her eyes.

The startled lady swiveled around in her saddle to see the arrow lodged in the mail-clad chest of a Belgae hippogryph knight. He had been charging towards her with a sword drawn but his eyes now stared above her head in fright. The wyvern from earlier flew over and past her before snatching the man off his mount and throwing him into empty air. The hippogryph tried to follow its master but another arrow from the mounted archer sunk into its shoulders and crippled its ability to fly.

"T-thank you..."

Ariadne spoke in a gasping voice as she struggled to calm her breathing. Meanwhile, her savior circled around in a wide arc and as he flew back towards her she recognized the dashing face of Earl Hywel. The air battle around them was slowing down as the remainder of their enemy had begun to retreat. The Weichsen-Ceredigion air cavalry had won through an overwhelming advantage not only in numbers, but also in the quality and experience of its riders.

"Milady! The Belgae air cavalry is broken and your Colonel is chasing away their remnants," Hywel commented loudly as he drew near.

"Chasing? We're supposed to bombard the enemy rear after winning the air!"

Ariadne replied in bewilderment as she looked towards the northwest. And exactly as the Ceredigion air commander spoke, she could see Colonel Hammerstein's ''North Wind'' Knights Phantom flying north after the twenty or so remaining Belgae fliers.

"Your Colonel seems to think he can take Gabriel's fortified camp with a single banner."

"He's a brave fool," Ariadne voiced her honest opinion for once before turning back to the Earl and blinking in realization. "Though... if he sets the camp on fire with his attack, the traitors' army might believe their camp has fallen even if it isn't true."

After all, the primary mission given to the allied air cavalry during this battle was to stop the enemy from retreating back behind their fortifications. Whether they do that by harassing the enemy rear or through other means was up to them.

A sly grin crept across the Earl's face before he replied:

"You Manteuffels truly have the devil in you. I'll take my wyverns to reinforce his attack while your unit disrupts the enemy's rear."

"Understood, My Lord."

The Ceredigion air commander then flew off with his drakes while Ariadne shrunk her Manteuffel Swordstaff back to its normal size.

"Reform! Prepare for ground attack!" She yelled to the riders of her company who flew all around.

"Reform!"

Ariadne heard the order echoed by her platoon and squad leaders. Meanwhile, she looked down to the barren forest beneath her and reassessed the overall tactical situation.

The frontal attack led by King Alistair's 'rearguard' had thrown back the Belgae vanguard with heavy losses. And now, Ariadne could see the blue-white flames of two Oriflamme Paladins leading the assault into the densely-packed spear formations in the center. At the same time, the energetic war song of a third paladin began to resound just south of the main battle.

''Good timing,'' the Lieutenant-Colonel thought as her adrenaline from earlier was beginning to subside, which left her feeling somewhat winded. Yet now, she could feel her energy returning once more as she listened to the mysterious song-magic.

Looking to the flanks, Ariadne tried to make out the shadowy figures who skirmished among the trees without any formations. The Ceredigion rangers and light infantry who had began the battle on the backfoot had since recovered with the influx of reinforcements. And while it was difficult to tell for certain, Ariadne was fairly sure that her side was starting to push back Gabriel's left wing.

The arrival of chariots from General Caradoc's 'vanguard' only further bolstered the strength of their northern flank. The aim seemed to be to collapse Gabriel's left wing and roll them back towards the west. The Princess' army was superior to Gabriel's but they were also in a precarious position. They ''needed'' to defeat the Army of Rhétie as quickly as possible before Henri could join in the fight.

Ariadne turned her eyes to the Imperial Highway that ran towards the northwest. She could see a mass of infantry and wagons where shattered units of Gabriel's army had been stopped from retreating by officers of the rearguard. There, several of the banners seemed to be reforming their ranks. Meanwhile, others grabbed supplies from the wagons and... are they replenishing their ammunition or their stomachs?

''We can't let them reform and rejoin the battle,'' Ariadne thought as she glanced around and met her signal officer's gaze. ''We can't afford for this to turn into an attritional slow grind.''

"Tell headquarters that Gabriel has a wagon train at the back of their roadbound column. I'm going to smash it and wreck their field resupply!"

"Yes Sir!"

"''Ghost Riders!'' Follow me!" She yelled before driving her pegasus Edelweiss towards their next aim, all while she reached into her extradimension storage pouch and pulled out a shrunken-barrel grenade.

<nowiki>----- * * * -----</nowiki>

Sylviane threw her meteor hammer out in a wide arc against the wall of spears. The enchanted cylindrical head increased its mass as it gained velocity, weighing as much as a sledgehammer as it crashed into an officer and caved in his armored chest. The trailing chain then flew into six militiamen who were also knocked off their feet. This created a gap in the spear wall which her armigers dove into to exploit.

They batted the defenders' polearms aside with their shields as they clubbed into the soldiers with winged maces to crush bones. It took only a minute before the breached schiltrom unraveled from within. The troops who were not killed or crippled lost heart as they broke formation and began to flee. However, behind them came three more schiltroms – their ringed hedgehogs were packed tight with goedendag-wielding men who surrounded themselves with layers of poles with spikes.

''There's no end to them!''

Sylviane huffed as she flapped her phoenix wings and rose up to hover above the reach of the tallest spears. She peered into the distance through the sparse trees and could see that Gabriel's army had formed up for a defense in depth. There were three lines of polearm infantry in schiltrom rings of a hundred or so men each. And between them rode small units of horsemen who provided flanking support with their counterattacks.

It reminded her of the Battle of Glywysing where the Tauheed attackers had to clear her troops from each building in town. The fighting was devolving into a bloody attritional grind that consumed precious time that she could not afford to waste. Her entire battle plan required speed to finish off Gabriel's forces before Henri could join in. Furthermore, with the sun already touching the horizon in the West, she had only two, three hours at most, to conclude the battle before darkness fell.

Then, in the distance, Sylviane spotted a shallow ridge upon which stood a group of fifty-plus men. Four flag bearers waved their banners above to pass orders, while two others stood with the royal banner of House Gaetane held high. Two rows of armigers who stood protectively in front all wore the finest polished plate armor. There were even a handful of Knight Templars with their helmets gilded by golden crosses standing in the mix.

"''Uncle.''"

The Princess gritted her teeth as she eyed the figures atop the ridge. Three men stood conversing to one another within the protective formation of armored retainers. Sylviane could see the glint of a crowned helmet and she had zero doubts that it was from her father's murderer. She could almost see his charming yet fictitious smile sneering back at her in taunt.

"ARMIGERS! FORM UP!"

The Princess landed on the ground once more so her ten remaining armigers could form a chevron with her at its tip. A quick glance to each side confirmed that Elspeth and Reynaud covered her flanks. The redheaded armiger had rejoined her ranks upon her request during the army's approach towards Henri's camp. And although Reynaud had his reservations as Kaede's fate was still in limbo, the Princess made it clear that Henri must not be provoked to take further action at this time.

''And the faster we finish this, the safer Kaede will be!''

Sylviane kicked off and leapt into the air with a burst of flames from her steel-shod feet. The special capes worn by Oriflamme Armigers had phoenix feathers woven in, which allowed a paladin to pull them behind her as she flew. This offered better speed and flight control than the ''Levitation Flight'' spells they used to stay airborne, but they had to stay in her wake to take advantage.

Sylviane kept her eyes nailed to the command trio on top of the ridge as she flew up to fifty paces high. She could just make out a narrow-shouldered figure with plum-colored hair before she went into a shallow dive. Her uncle's face grew clearer as she closed the distance between them. His sides were flanked by an old general and a templar, though the Princess paid neither of them any attention as she cried out in rage as she envisioned her father's head on a spike.

"GABRIELLLLL!!!"

The Princess spun twice and hurled out her meteor hammer as the pretender drew his sword from an ornate scabbard. A cloud of tiny golden crucifixes surrounded him as the cylindrical weight struck one and was brought to a sudden halt without even the sound of impact.

The complete loss in momentum startled Sylviane as it unbalanced her fighting style. She was supposed to change the vector of her hammer's motion while maintaining its speed at all times. The Princess could only yank the chain of her meteor hammer and wrap it in a wide arc around her arm as she landed three paces in front of Gabriel. However, none of this broke her hateful stare into her uncle's eyes as she screamed:

"''FLAMEBREAK!''"

A burst of blue-white fire erupted from her body as she had been saving it for this very moment. The templar and the general to Gabriel's sides both screamed in agony as they were immolated and burned alive by Hauteclaire's sacred flames. Blood-curdling cries came from around them as the flag bearers fell along with dozens of steel-clad retainers. Those who survived were plunged into a fight for their lives as Sylviane's own armigers flew down from the skies and crashed into their ranks.

Yet, despite being a mere pace away from the epicenter of the fiery blast, the false emperor was completely untouched within his sphere of glowing crucifixes.

"Protect his majesty!"

Sylviane heard someone cry out and knew she had only a short time before her armigers would be overwhelmed. Her ''Flamebreak'' had wiped out most of Gabriel's bodyguards and bought her some time. However, she was still deep inside the enemy's army with no one to support her except ten good men-at-arms.

It had been a spur-of-the-moment gamble to take the head of the enemy and bring the battle to a swift end. However, Sylviane had forgotten about Gabriel's holy sword in her abrupt decision that was fuelled by thoughts of revenge. She had already heard from Saint Edith who told her what little she knew about the Sword of Fortitude that was given to Defenders of the Faith. The sphere of countless glowing and floating crosses created an impenetrable barrier that granted effective invulnerability to its wielder.

Hoping to prove her information wrong, Sylviane grasped further down her steel chain and slung her meteor's head against her uncle like a flail. Her other hand blasted him with spells ranging from ''Dispel'' to ''Earth Reaver''. However, no matter how many times she attacked, her magic would splash off his barrier and her weapon would always be stopped by another floating crucifix.

"Give it up, Sylv! You cannot win against me!"

Gabriel taunted with a smirk as he raised the Sword of Fortitude up to an overhead stance and slashed it down. Its pristine steel blade shone like a beacon of light to the men surrounding the shallow ridge who cried out "Charge!"

The Princess caught the blade in her steel chain before wrapping the links around to hold the sword in place. She kicked out at Gabriel but even her steel-shod foot was stopped by a glowing light cross.

She then tried to yank the sword from his hand next but his grip proved stronger than her tug.

"Highness!" Sylviane heard a desperate cry from her bodyguard Elspeth. "We cannot hold this position! You must fly!"

''I can win now if I just disarm him!''

However, Gabriel grasped the wide guard of his sword with his other gauntlet and began to pull the blade from the Princess' grip. Sylviane tightened the chains that wrapped around the sword but the polished steel was slowly slipping away.

"Air cavalry!" Another one of her armigers called out which made both the Princess and the Emperor look up into the skies.

A formation of riders who had concealed themselves above the low-flying clouds came down in a steep dive. They numbered not merely a dozen or two, but over a hundred as an entire banner of elite cavalry rode in flying the colors of House La Tours.

Sylviane knew her own air cavalry had already been committed. She could see a few dispersed squads of Knights Phantom harassing Gabriel's rear in the distance. Those men were busy fighting their own battles based on their pre-arranged battle plan. And even if they noticed her precarious position, they would never be able to interdict the diving charge in time.

"Fuck."

The Princess cursed uncharacteristically as she felt all her hopes fade away. With her trump card already expended, there was no way she could even extricate herself from the vertical envelopment. Sylviane knew that she and her armigers were now trapped by hundreds of assailing enemies from all sides. Her audacious attack to win the battle in one decapitating strike had led them all to their demise.

<nowiki>----- * * * -----</nowiki>

Kaede's nerves were strung tight as she looked up at the clouds that blew towards the northwest. She had seen Henri's air cavalry climb and vanish into those soft cotton shapes. A wind had picked up since then which made the rolling clouds move across the skies in greater speed. It would not take long before the Rhétien air cavalry reached the battlefield where Pascal and Sylviane would be fighting for their lives.

And with all forces in both Sylviane and Gabriel's armies committed, even a single banner of elite cavalry could prove decisive in turning the tide.

The Samaran girl watched anxiously as Henri finished talking with his nobles in the distance before walking back across the grassy field. She had overheard his orders to stay put in their encampments. His reasoning had been sound on a tactical level –- his army was still too exhausted from their forced march and too demoralized from the scare of a morning raid.

However, Henri did not mention any political reasons for his choices. He also consoled those nobles who urged for battle by reminding them that he had sent in his air cavalry and was assembling his light horse before the camp as they spoke.

''But who is he siding with?'' Kaede couldn't help worrying as she exchanged an anxious glance with Cecylia to her side.

She had a feeling from their previous few dinners that she was making slow gains in changing Henri's allegiance. But the young lord kept stressing that it was not 'his decision', which hinted to Kaede that there was some sort of negotiations happening behind her back. Yet, the morning raid -- if one could call it that, given the Ceredigion chariots never even broke down the palisade walls or breached the wooden gate -- showed that there was clearly no peace between Henri and Sylviane.

"Lord Henri..."

Kaede called out as she scurried towards him. Her steps were hobbled by her ankle chain which she struggled to drag across the tall grass and not trip.

"Have you made a decision? On whom you will be siding with then?"

"Of course." Henri beamed with the kind of bared smile that young men made when they were planning something bold if not dangerous.

"My mind was made up since last night."

"And?" Kaede asked impatiently.

"Her Highness refuted my offer of marriage," Henri said without the faintest shadow of regret or loss in his smiling countenance.

Meanwhile, Kaede's jaw fell open as the bombshell news hit her for the first time. She never even realized that Henri's 'not my choice' meant he had offered a secret marriage contract to the Princess. And considering the fact that both Henri and Sylviane were Trinitians who believed in monogamy, it meant he expected Sylviane to call off her betrothal to Pascal if she agreed to it.

"T-that means... you will be siding against her?" Kaede said nervously as though she dreaded even hearing the answer.

"No." Henri beamed again as he shook his head.

It made the Samaran girl tilt her head as she looked back in confusion.

"Her Highness would rather lose her crown than betray her marriage -- her Weichsen allies and her fiancé who helped her so much," Henri explained. "It shows that when push came to shove, she would rather stay true to her allies and compatriots than to profit from opportunities."

The young lord looked towards the northwest with a contemplative smile as he declared:

"I ''respect'' that, even if I'm not sure I could have done the same in her shoes. Regardless, what I do know is that if I help her today, then she will remember her gratitude for years if not decades to come, which is more than I can say for that backstabbing kingslayer who murdered his own brother for power's sake."

<nowiki>----- * * * -----</nowiki>

"--FOR THE PRINCESS!"

Sylviane's eyes swelled as the air cavalry diving down from above declared in her name. Her emotions, which had been sinking into the abyss mere moments ago, soared back up like the rebirth of a phoenix in roaring flames.

"Traitors!" Gabriel screamed in anger but his cry was drowned out by the follow-up yell.

"FOR RHIN-LOTHARINGIE!"

The Princess and her armigers watched in awe as the Rhétien air cavalry threw a hail of torpedo javelins towards the ground as they pulled out of their dives. The earth surrounding their ridge erupted in a series of explosions as the blast-powder-filled tubes slammed into the ground and their flint triggers sparked. Hundreds of men who had been climbing up the shallow slopes to aid their false emperor were blasted apart as staccatos of explosions tore through their ranks.

Blood and limbs were torn asunder as most of the Belgae officers never had a chance to cast defensive wards. After all, they were not facing mages or archers in a stand-off exchange, but assaulting an Oriflamme Paladin whose phoenix fire ignored such spells.

Within seconds, the tide of battle had turned once more. The hundreds of infantrymen who were rushing up to reinforce the false emperor were now in full rout as they fled from the air cavalry circling above him. Dozens more threw away their weapons and knelt down to surrender as they looked up to the cavalrymen who hovered above. Only a handful of them continued to fight and were quickly dispatched by Sylviane's men.

-- And as the Belgae soldiers surrounding them either died or surrendered, the cloud of glowing crucifixes that surrounded Gabriel also began to vanish.

Seizing the opportunity, Sylviane released Gabriel's blade and spun her hammer around her forearm before slamming it into his hand. There was no floating crucifix to stop it this time as the cylindrical weight smashed into the steel gauntlet.

"GAaaahhh!"

The Sword of Fortitude fell from Gabriel's grasp as he withdrew and cradled his armored hand. His pained cry hinted that the impact must have broken several fingers within. Sylviane's bodyguard Elspeth then struck him on the knees with another meteor hammer blow. The false emperor fell onto the ground in a half-kneeling pose before the Princess whose burning hair and piercing gaze glowed with blue-white flames.

Sylviane picked up the sword and pointed it at Gabriel's face while one of her armigers pulled the crowned helmet off his head.

"I... forfeit," her uncle spoke between gritted teeth as he half-straightened his back for one moment before collapsing into the dirt in pain.

''Forfeit? Did you give my father a chance?'' Sylviane's fuming thoughts objected as she clenched the sword's handle in both hands and pointed its tip down towards his neck.

With her father's killer kneeling helpless before her, the Princess desired nothing more than to drive the 'holy sword' in her hands through his throat. She wanted to see his blood ignominiously spilt, to repay that of her parent whom he murdered in cold blood.

It would be a moment of ironic retribution, for the man entitled 'Defender of the Faith' to be killed by one of the Trinitian Church's seven righteous swords.

''This isn't right.''

The Princess realized as the pointed blade trembled slightly in her hands. Her emotions cycled from anger to sadness to hatred to loss as she stared at her father's murderer who lay pitiably on the ground before her.

Nobody could accuse her of killing him unjustly on the field of battle. However, she also wasn't the only one needed closure for the death of her father. The Empire of Rhin-Lotharingie also needed an end to its civil war. And while it might be easier to kill Gabriel on the battlefield, what the country truly needed was a trial for treason to expose his allies and an execution to conclusively end this chaotic and dark chapter in the Empire's history.

"Giselle," Sylviane called to one of her armigers as she lowered her sword. "Give my ''uncle'' first aid so that the bleeding stops." She requested despite the acid dripping from her voice.

"Yes, Your Highness."

''And after that...'' the Princess thought as she looked around the battlefield where thousands of men still clashed.

"It's time to put an end to this wasteful butchery of Lotharin lives."

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| Forward to [[Daybreak:Volume_4_Chapter_18|Chapter 18]]
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</noinclude>

Daybreak:Volume 4 Chapter 16

2025-05-13T02:40:55Z

Aorii:

=== Chapter 16 - Triangle Strategy ===

"Geoffroi?"

A ten-year-old Sylviane heard the muffled cry from within the sanctuary of her own room. She didn't recognize the male voice. However, she did hear the subdued sound of knocking that came along with it.

''Who would come knocking on the doors in the royal quarters?'' The child princess thought.

Only the palace servants and the Highland Guard would normally even have access to this hallway. But none of them would come brazenly calling for the Emperor by his given name, nor to knock so loudly upon the bedroom doors.

The young crown princess put aside the heavy tome that she had been reading. It was yet another dry treatise on the laws and administration of Rhin-Lotharingie that her father had ordered her to learn. He had set a goal that demanded she remember a high-level description of every major law of the Empire by the end of this year. He would personally test her knowledge then, and in the intervening months, her father had set aside two hours every Sunday to discuss with his heir apparent just what she had learned that week.

Sylviane had protested at first. Surely there were more interesting topics to begin her political education on than dusty old tomes? It then surprised her when her father recommended a book that came, of all places, from a renowned Tauheed jurist named Abu Zayd ar-Raḥman... she forgot the rest of the extremely long and foreign name. The Emperor had recited a passage from his book, where the scholar had argued that laws form the foundation of state and society which all other institutions and customs revolve around. Therefore, all rulers should conduct every action they take through the perspective of legal jurisdiction and lawmaking.

Yet, despite knowing the importance of legal treatises, the child princess found her curiosity more compelling as she climbed out of bed. The young girl scampered over to the door of her room. She slowly, quietly turned the handle and opened the door, leaving just enough space for her to peek out with her curious gaze.

"Geoffroi!" Sylviane watched the interloper cry out alongside two more knocks on the thick mahogany wood. He then leaned his head against the door as his voice dropped to a more pleading tone. "Open up. Please."

The unknown man had a lean build and was modest in height. He was richly dressed and bore the same plum-black hair that she and her father had. It was clear based on both his appearance and his conduct that he was a relative of the royal family. However, Sylviane was sure she had never met him in all her years growing up in the Oriflamme Palace.

Nevertheless, the door he was knocking on did not belong to the Emperor, but to Sylviane's deceased mother. Over a year had passed since she, along with Sylviane's two older brothers, had been killed by Mantis Blade assassins from the Holy Imperium. But her father insisted that everything in the room remained as it was, and he still vanished behind those doors every week to grieve.

"Brother..."

The bedroom door partially opened to reveal the tall and broadly-shouldered Emperor standing inside. His lips were pursed and his eyes still carried a tinge of redness that hinted at tears.

''He's my Uncle Gabriel?''

Sylviane almost gasped as she remembered her mother and father bringing him up multiple times in conversations over the years. But it was never more than a mention, as every time the topic came up, her father's mood immediately began to plummet.

"Geoffroi..." The uncle that Sylviane had never met until now looked up at the Emperor's sullen expression. "You still... recognize me as your brother? After all the years that I've been missing, all the decades that I've ignored you?"

"Have I ever stopped inviting you to join us for...?" Her father asked before his question trailed off and his eyes widened slightly. "I forgot this past winter... I'm sorry. It's been hard since..."

Geoffroi's words abruptly stopped as though he couldn't say it out loud. Instead, the Emperor could only glance back into the room of his late wife.

"And here I thought you had finally given up on me," Gabriel answered wryly with an audible sigh of relief. "But that's not your fault. It is mine. Had I been here these past few decades... Had I been there for you during the wars."

"It doesn't matter now. It's all in the past," Geoffroi said with a solemn expression before a trace smile entered his countenance. "You will ''always'' be my elder brother," he declared as his blue-violet eyes glistened in the light. "And I will ''always'' be happy to see you back."

For a moment, Sylviane watched as neither of the two men said anything. The shorter but older brother continued to look up into the eyes of his younger sibling. The child princess could not see the expression of her uncle. But the faint shaking that came from his thin shoulders showed that he was no less afflicted by emotions than her glassy-eyed father.

"I-I'm sorry," Gabriel's voice cracked as he finally replied in a somber and sincere apology. "For your loss... For not being here... For my absence these past four decades...

"I'm so sorry, Geoffroi," he added after a moment of pause. "I wanted to stop by, to at least express my condolences for the passing of your wife. I know you loved her dearly, and I should have been here for you during the funeral."

The young princess watched from a distance as tears flooded into her father's turbulent, blue-violet gaze. He pushed open the door fully and emerged into the doorway in his full girth. His thick and muscular arms extended out to wrap themselves around the smaller man who stood just outside.

"It makes me happy to see you nevertheless."

The Emperor laid his head against the brother whom he had long thought lost. Bittersweet joy overflowed from his closed eyes as he voiced the words that he had wanted to say for so long:

"Welcome back, brother."

...

"Will you be staying this time?" Geoffroi asked an hour later as he sat with Gabriel inside a private sitting room at the end of the royal residence hall.

Just like when he was in the bedroom of his late wife, the Emperor had requested to be left alone by the palace guards. His bodyguard Lindsay and her royal armigers kept a watch from outside the royal chambers. The only one who stood in the hallway was the young princess Sylviane, who currently had her ear pressed against the thick mahogany wood of the door.

"Think you can let me?" Gabriel answered with a smile in his voice. Though before the Emperor could retort, he raised a finger to clarify:

"I'm not speaking from a personal perspective, Geoffroi, but one of national interest. Part of the reason I came back is because I heard you've been overworking yourself half to death over the past year. And that after losing a number of trusted advisers during the war, you need help in the territories more than ever."

Sylviane heard an audible sigh from her father before he replied:

"That's certainly true. Now that I've reclaimed all Lotharin lands in Belgae and pushed our borders right up to Cross Lake, I need someone in the east to help consolidate the new lands. General Mathias has agreed to take command of the strategic Lotharin river estuary as his new fief in retirement. I actually just promoted Macdonald to general to replace him. But you know as well as I do that Mathias thinks too differently from most people to be a good political leader."

"'Thinks too differently' is an understatement," Gabriel scoffed in response. "Haven't you heard? Mathias has already named his new duchy 'Baguette'. Ordered the local town to change its name and shape to match. That eccentric old man claimed that since his strip of land looks like a piece of long bread, why not just call it as such?"

A brief snorting sound came from the Emperor as he voiced in half-amusement and half-disbelief: "That man... I have no idea what's going on in that head of his.

"Nevertheless, I trust Mathias to exert control over the estuary with a firm hand," Sylviane's father continued. "We may have failed to capture the trade hub at Nordkreuz during the war, but we must ensure that naval command over Cross Lake remains in our grasp. Without it, our enemy can project power straight up the twin rivers and threaten the entirety of the Lotharin Heartlands."

''Pascal said much the same thing.'' Sylviane thought as she remembered how the energetic young scion of Nordkreuz showed her the threat that her father now spoke of on his family's map table.

"Aren't the Wickers our allies now though?" Gabriel then asked. "I've even heard that you've betrothed young Sylviane to the son of their Marshal."

"I've been hoping to consult with you on that, actually," Geoffroi replied with a wry chuckle. "After all, you are her ''Godfather.''"

"Some Godfather I am, when I wasn't even there to witness her baptism," Gabriel countered in a miffed voice.

''What is a 'Godfather' anyway?'' The young princess herself wondered as she stood listening in.

"I know why you did that Geoffroi -- you wanted to show me that I would be welcomed if I ever came back," the older brother then added. "But still... I wish you had picked someone more reliable for Sylviane, and not just used the position as political bait."

"But you're back now, aren't you?" Geoffroi's tone came across as though he was grinning.

"For all the good that I can do." The older brother sighed as he retorted with sarcasm. "I can't even be a good husband, let alone be a good godfather. Though, I guess I might as well uphold my responsibility as one and point out that this betrothal which you have arranged with the Wickers runs against our proud family tradition," he added as his tone stiffened to criticism.

"You are ''sacrificing'' your daughter's happiness on the altar of political agenda!"

"See, you can be a good godfather," Geoffroi countered first with a pleased tone.

"Besides, Sylv is also keen on young Pascal. The two apparently became quite close friends during her year's stay in Nordkreuz," Geoffroi continued as his words took on a sense of irony, since everyone knew that she was actually held there as a political hostage. "I do plan on helping them hold onto that friendship as they grow. So at the very least, it's not completely against our founder's principles, nor must it sacrifice her happiness."

''Pascal is just a friend. Why do you have to say 'close'?'' Sylviane retorted in her thoughts as she felt a strange heat rise up her cheeks.

She then had to chase away the nagging thought that outside of Pascal, Cecylia, Robert, and Mari, she really didn't have any friends, close or otherwise.

"And as for Weichsel, they used to be allies of the Imps as well," Geoffroi's voice then drew Sylviane's attention back inside the room. "Until we can solidify our alliance on something more meaningful than just a piece of parchment, I will continue to take action in the east to ward against their military," he declared.

"Nevertheless, General... Duke Mathias will never be anything more than a military leader," the Emperor sighed. "Though I guess that's just as well, since the last thing I want to see is that corrupt and bloated Duke Hugh expand House La Tours' influence north to dominate the Belgae region in addition to Rhétie."

"I can make sure of that," Gabriel responded. "Though it won't be easy. The eastern lords have been crying foul towards your focus on prioritizing infrastructure development in the Lotharin Heartlands for years. To gather their support, I will have to take a stance in speaking out ''against'' you."

"As long as you don't seriously mean it and collude with my other opponents," Geoffroi answered with a deep sigh. "Both Queen Katell of Avorica and King Elisedd of Ceredigion have been giving me enough headaches. The last thing I want to see is some Lotharin ''Triumvirate'' stand in opposition to the crown."

"Geoffroi..." an armchair creaked as Sylviane's uncle leaned forward to beseech his brother and liege. "I know you have no reason to trust me as I say this, not after the years of my long absence..."

Gabriel's voice then came to an abrupt pause as Geoffroi interrupted him:

"I meant what I said, brother. What's passed is past. No length of time is enough to bury our adolescence and youth spent growing up hand in hand. I will ''always'' look upon you as my dearest elder brother."

A moment of silence passed inside the room where only two men sat.

Then, Sylviane heard Gabriel speak solemnly as he declared in a heartfelt oath:

"Then I promise you, here and now, that no matter what I say, no matter what I appear to do, I shall always stand with you, just as we once did as youths."

<nowiki>----- * * * -----</nowiki>

''In the end, your oath came to nothing but a fat lie to hide your knife behind.''

Sylviane wiped the tears that pooled at the corner of her eyes as she woke up from her brief nap. She had dozed off in an armchair inside her 'command cabin', likely due to her troubled sleep last night. The Princess looked through the window to the setting sun outside which hinted no more than a half hour had passed. Her army had marched to within striking range of her uncle's forces and was now building a fortified camp.

Her agents in Gabriel's army had informed her that the false emperor had arrived in person this afternoon. This meant less than twenty-five kilopaces now separated her from the man who murdered her father in cold blood. The Princess had called a war council from her leading lords and generals. Nevertheless, she knew it would take some time for them to arrive as they had to get their respective forces settled in first. Therefore, she had asked Elspeth to guard the door while she took a brief respite.

''Had it not been for your traitorous actions, uncle, I would never be stuck in the dilemma that I'm in now,'' Sylviane reflected on the question that she had been mulling over all day.

Henri's offer of a bilineal marriage had come as a bit of a surprise. After all, the Gaetane dynasty had turned down many offers of political union over the centuries and gained a reputation for it. Though it was possible that since Henri had never met her and Pascal, he had thought of her current betrothal as just another purely political relationship.

However, even from the perspective that Henri would be replacing one political union with another, the fact he was all too willing to ignore Sylviane's precontract reveals his cutthroat approach towards politics. The young lord clearly didn't care whether this was right or wrong in the laws of man or in the eyes of the Holy Father. All that mattered to him were his family's best interests, which meant that he would just as eagerly turn against her should she fail to match the prospects that her traitorous uncle offered.

The thought of winning against both Gabriel's and Henri's forces was not impossible, but certainly improbable. Sylviane had arrived a full day before Henri's Army of Rhétie would, which left a brief window of opportunity. However, the battle ahead would be gamble enough even without adding Henri's forces to the opposition. The Princess badly needed some assurances that victory would favor her, and not merely pray upon landing another high roll of the dice as she had at Glywysing.

''But to forfeit my marriage with Pascal?'' Sylviane frowned.

It would not only destroy her reputation as a trustworthy leader which she had cultivated over the past decade. It would also infuriate her Weichsen allies and guarantee that they would withdraw from the difficult war ahead. And worst of all, it would cast aside Pascal like a rag doll after it was for ''her sake'' that he became injured. Such a deed would shatter their decade-long friendship, leaving a scar in her soul that would be reopened every time she thought back to her childhood.

Yet, without a victory on the battlefield tomorrow, none of those would matter.

Sylviane knew that her fate in the politics of Rhin-Lotharingie would be decided by the outcome of the battle to come. If she was defeated, then even if she escaped, she would have lost her only foreseeable opportunity to retake the throne. The fresh invasions in the spring would only solidify Gabriel's authority and force the lords that had sided with her to stand with him. Such an outcome would leave Sylviane with nothing -- no power, no influence, not even her identity as a girl who had spent most of her life studying to become the crown princess.

''If I lose, then what else is there for me?''

Pascal had once joked after the Battle of Nordkreuz that she could just live as his wife. But Sylviane knew that she was too independent-minded to ever be satisfied with such a life. She wanted to live on her own, to push forward her aspirations for the Empire's political reform, and not merely be a companion and ornament to her spouse...

A soft knock on the cherry-wood door roused the princess' attention from her thoughts. The soft voice that followed came from Elspeth as she announced:

"Your Highness. Your council is ready."

''Might as well discuss battle plans first.'' Sylviane sighed in the empty room as she stood up and took a brief stretch.

The Princess pulled out her spellbook and opened straight to a page that held her most recent bookmark. She closed her eyes and channeled mana through her nerves in the same fashion that the Worldwalker Gwendolen had shown her weeks ago. Her spell was one of many fae sorceries that Gwendolen had rediscovered and modernized to cast using Aura Magic. The old queen had transferred dozens of them to her spellbook, which could easily take Sylviane years to learn and master –- though there was one that the Princess had recognized immediately as worth learning.

"''Faerie's Blessing: Gwenhidw's Grace.''"

Gwenhidw was one of the faerie queens who ruled the lands of Rhin-Lotharingie in ancient times. Known as the 'White Enchantress', the queen had a reputed ability to read the emotion of her court. The spell named after her used divination magic to enhance its caster's subconscious to notice every minute detail from those whom she interacted face-to-face with -- be it the slightest shift in mannerism due to interest and focus, or a subtle change through their skin pores' chemistry from anxiety and nervousness.

And best of all, since the spell did not actually intrude upon a target's mind, it was neither illegal nor could it be blocked by most defensive wards –- not even a mage's innate mana resistance.

The spell wasn't entirely foolproof. After all, truly pathological liars could deceive without the slightest inkling of ill conscience and guilt. But for everyone else, it basically allowed Sylviane to read falsehoods, misdirection, and even concealment as though it came with a warning light.

''Thank you, Gwendolen.'' The young faekissed smiled as she took a deep, calming breath and thought of her senior -- the woman who had almost become her great-great-grandmother, and whose aid to the Princess's journey literally made the queen her fairy godmother.

Then, after taking another moment to straighten her wardrobe, Sylviane put on a welcoming yet confident smile as she strode to the door and opened it.

"Your Majesty. Your Grace. My Ladies and Lords," the Princess greeted King Alistair, Landgrave Pascal, the Oriflamme Paladin Vivienne, and the dozen or so commanders and nobles who waited outside.

"Please, come on in. We have much to discuss."

...

"Our scouts report that the fortifications surrounding Gabriel's army are formidable." Sylviane watched as the recently promoted Colonel Lynette went over their enemies' current position and status to the remainder of those assembled. "The triangular peninsula that juts out into Lake Alise is surrounded by water to its north and west. Four layers of ditches, ramparts, and walls guard the south and eastern approaches. The two inner layers wrap completely around to defend even the coast. And Gabriel has already moved in the majority of his army to garrison the defenses.

"Nearly his full host, according to our intelligence," Major Hans Ostergalen added as he spoke for the information provided by Weichsel's Black Eagles. "Gabriel left only a token force of roughly a thousand men to defend the capital. This means that his fortress on the peninsula is held by nearly 24,000 soldiers."

''Fortress...'' Sylviane scowled as Hans described the position in a manner that she had been avoiding. Just hearing the word made their task of taking it seem much more daunting.

"Bastions with interlocking shooting angles, protected by ravelins and hornworks and surrounded by ditches and palisades." General Caradoc observed as he leaned over the three-dimensional map. "This is General Menno's work, without a doubt."

He then turned to the Princess with a severe gaze and slanted lips:

"Your Highness, I do not think that assaulting this camp is a battle that we can win."

"Certainly not within a day or two before Henri's army arrives." Pascal nodded in agreement with displeasure. "The minor numerical advantage that we have pales in comparison to the force multiplier those earthworks offer Gabriel."

"And not just that," Caradoc added as his scowl grew. "We also lack siege equipment and artillery, which must be built from scratch to bombard and breach those defenses. Without at least a week of preparation, any assault against that position will be a bloodbath that will bleed our men white."

"But we can't simply wait for Gabriel and Henri's armies to unite either!" One of the attending lords pointed out the obvious.

"Then, what do you all suggest?" The Princess asked in a seemingly calm and steady voice. But below, her hand gripped the map table in a squeeze so tight that her chuckles began to turn white.

''Yet again, I allowed that murderous uncle of mine to be one step ahead!''

Perhaps in hindsight, Sylviane wished she had dispatched several banners of rangers east to harass and disrupt Gabriel's efforts in entrenching. Yet with every man needed during the Siege of Roazhon and her march into Ceredigion, she couldn't imagine justifying such actions at the time. Then after the relief of Roazhon, the depleted banners were in desperate need of rest and reorganization.

"Why don't we attack Henri first then?" The leader of the Weichsen contingent, Colonel Hammerstein, said plainly as he pointed at an armored figure on the map table that approached from the east.

"Indeed." General Caradoc's scowl transformed into a wolvish sneer as he returned a look of approval to his Weichsen counterpart. "The Army of Rhétie is not only a smaller force at only two-thirds of our strength. Their pre-war professionals had mostly been sent south to assist Marshal Cosette, which leaves this force to consist largely of militia and reservists. The young and clearly inexperienced Henri also pushed his men hard to march four hundred kilopaces in the past seven days. Even with Invigorate spells, his repeated and grueling forced marches have no doubt taken a toll upon his soldiers' stamina and morale."

"I must similarly agree," Pascal nodded with pursed lips after Caradoc finished explaining. "Henri's army has already exhausted itself and will require several days of rest to recuperate. Yet he is encamped only thirty-two kilopaces due east."

Nevertheless, Sylviane could clearly read the reservations on his face as he worried about how such an attack would affect Kaede, who was still Henri's prisoner.

''Sir Reynaud did report that Henri's soldiers were too exhausted to even properly pitch their tents,'' Sylviane thought.

"I propose that we detach our cavalry, chariots, and mount half our rangers to cover that distance at night and storm Henri's camp before daybreak," Caradoc then added. "With little rest to recover from their exhaustion, Henri's army will likely shatter straight away. And if it doesn't, we advance our main force towards him at daylight. With the excellent roads of the Imperial Highway, our foot soldiers can easily cover thirty kilopaces by mid-afternoon and rout Henri's forces by dusk."

''Except that would also force Henri's hand,'' Sylviane thought as she held back her urge to frown.

"And what if Gabriel's army marches after us to intervene?" The lord who led the Avorican contingent asked with concern.

"I'm counting on it." The General's reply came in a low growl.

Caradoc's cold gray eyes were ruthless beyond measure as he stared at the figure representing Gabriel's forces. His savage grin and bloodthirsty glare made Sylviane's hair stand up and reminded her of why he was called the 'Dread Wolf'.

"That would indeed be the perfect outcome," Pascal explained as a faint smile tugged even upon his lips. "Gabriel will be at least a half day behind us, as he has to extract his forces from those fortifications first. We can rout Henri's army before turning all of our forces around to engage Gabriel. And he will be caught in the open without ''any'' of his advantages."

"Defeat them in detail. I like it," King Alistair concurred with a crafty smile on his face. Most of the lords in attendance also similarly nodded and expressed agreement.

Meanwhile, a slight frown entered the Princess' brows as she considered how both Pascal and Alistair often favored pure military solutions while ignoring the political ramifications.

The problem was that she had been hoping to keep Henri's army out of this battle altogether. Because even if she won against the Army of Rhétie, it would only be to the Empire's detriment, as the casualties taken would no longer be able to contribute to the fighting come spring. Worse yet, confronting the Army of Rhétie would officially brand all of those men traitors, which might lead to lingering suspicions even after the battle that would reduce any future political support she might receive from them.

–- And that was assuming her soldiers didn't kill them in large numbers once the fighting started, which would spurn their families with misdirected hate and vengeance.

Sylviane couldn't help but remember Kaede's speech before the Relief of Roazhon, when the Samaran girl reminded them all of who was it that truly benefits from provoking a cycle of violence and vengeance, which would only lead to an ever-growing list of enemies...

"If we could march our entire army towards Henri to lure Gabriel out of his cowardly shell, then I would rather not have to fight Henri's army on the battlefield at all," the Princess voiced her intent to her commanders. Yet most of them only turned towards her with an odd look.

''Why do these military types only ever think in terms of friend or foe?''

"Over the past week, my envoy to Lord Henri has continued her work even as his army marched upon the capital," the Princess reasoned. "Since then, Henri has reached out to me to discuss possible terms, though we have not reached any agreement as of yet. Regardless, it seems to me that the young lord is no longer guaranteed to reinforce our enemies as Gabriel might still believe. And should Henri refuses to side with us, there is a strong possibility that he would simply stand back and watch while we fight Gabriel's army.

"But if we were to attack him, it would only force Henri to choose Gabriel's side," Sylviane pointed out. "Furthermore, even if we could swiftly defeat his army, the loss of 20,000 trained men, not to mention the discontent this would bring from the people of Rhétie, would be a heavy blow to the Empire's total fighting strength."

"Your Highness, I understand your noble desire to preserve the lives of your... of our countrymen," General Caradoc responded before his voice took on an ominous tone. "But the only chance we have to draw Gabriel out of his camp is by marching east to attack his reinforcements. And by the time Gabriel sallies out of his fortifications, we will be positioned between his and Henri's forces."

The imposing commandant seized a telescopic rod from a nearby adjutant and pushed the chariot representing Sylviane's army to the Imperial Highway. He then walked to another side of the table and pushed the shielded armiger that stood for Gabriel's army out of his camp. The threat of Sylviane's forces being sandwiched between the two other armies immediately became apparent. This was especially the case as the further east they marched, the denser the woods on both sides of the Imperial Highway grew, which in turn entrapped them between two armies and the forest.

"Under normal circumstances, positioning ourselves where we could be caught between two enemies is a death wish," Caradoc warned in an ominous tone. "In our case, this gamble is only sensible because Henri's exhausted troops present us with a window of opportunity for a quick and decisive victory. But if we ''turn around'' and attack Gabriel first, we are throwing away that opportunity to grind our teeth upon a stronger foe that is both better-rested and better-trained."

''I know that my proposition is risky,'' Sylviane acknowledged to herself. ''But...''

The Princess felt a bit dejected that Caradoc, despite his fearsome reputation, turned out to be such a cautious commander. Though... she did sense from the subtle signs in his expression -- from an almost imperceptible hesitation before he made his counterpoint, to the faint twitch of his lips as he said 'normal circumstances' -- that something was also holding him back, some reason that she didn't yet know.

Yet before she could even reply, it was Pascal who piled on against her with a shake of his head:

"I concur. This is far too risky. If we fail to achieve a breakthrough of Gabriel's forces, then an attack by Henri against our rear, after our soldiers have become exhausted while his had time to rest, would utterly annihilate our forces."

"And that's an outcome that we simply cannot afford!" One of the Ceredigion lords stated, to the agreement of most of the war council.

''Pascal you're not helping...''

Sylviane raised her eyes in a glare that she directed at him. However, her fiancé looked away as though studying the map yet again. A shadow of pain could be seen in his remaining good eye as the young lord clenched his right hand into a trembling fist atop the map table. The possibility of watching nearly thirty thousand allied soldiers cut down from a failed gamble did not at all seem acceptable to him.

''His miscast at Glywysing is still bothering him.''

The Princess couldn't help but feel both sympathy and disappointment at the same time. Of course, she was empathetic towards Pascal's apprehension, and had they been in a private setting she'd even try to comfort him. Nevertheless, her war council was anything but a private affair, and Sylviane badly needed support and backup to convince the reluctant General Caradoc.

Pascal had proposed many risky battle plans in the past -- such as the daring air attack at Nordkreuz -- precisely because he knew the strategic benefits were worth the risks. And at this moment, Sylviane wished that she still had the old Pascal with her and not this... damaged version of him.

"''If'' we fail?" The Princess challenged as she stared at Pascal before turning towards a frowning King Alistair. "Even with two Oriflammes to lead the charge?" Her piercing gaze then met General Caradoc's and Colonel Hammerstein's in turn as she added: "Even with your renowned chariot corps, with double Gabriel's air cavalry, ''and'' with a third Paladin in support?"

"Battles are not won by numbers alone," the hooded Vivienne spoke so quietly that it was almost a whisper.

"Exactly!" Sylviane nevertheless caught on as she smiled at the petite Winterborn. She then swept her eyes through the audience and declared with absolute determination: "As long as we can lure Gabriel out of his camp, our forces ''will'' break through his lines! The only question is how many hours it will take. And whether Henri might intervene before we succeed."

"I agree with Her Highness," said one of the Heartland lords who marched with General Macdonald's old forces. "It may be a calculated risk, but it's certainly one with good odds that's worth taking!"

A faint nod of agreement came from King Alistair and several other lords as they began to sway toward her cause. Meanwhile, Colonel Hammerstein leered with a toothy grin as though he was more than willing to face such odds. The quiet Vivienne looked impassive, but Sylviane knew she could count on the girl's support. Even Pascal frowned inwardly as he wore a scowl that realized the disappointment in her rebuke was directed towards him.

However, it was General Caradoc, the person whose support she needed the most, who refused to budge. And without him, she had little chance of swaying any of the Ceredigion lords who all looked to him.

"Your Highness' courage is commendable. And had circumstances been different, I would gladly follow the light of your phoenix-fire into battle." The commander of the Army of Ceredigion met the Princess' gaze with equal challenge and respect. "But I have also sworn to my king that I will ''bring back'' the Army of Ceredigion in one piece. The Western front cannot afford to lose its only remaining army when the Caliphate's new offensive arrives with spring."

''So that's the real reason.'' Sylviane tried not to scowl as King Llywelyn's 'generous support' had turned out to be a double-edged sword.

More than two-thirds of her army came from Ceredigion, whose soldiers nominally followed her but actually obeyed Caradoc. And if the General cannot be persuaded to wager the army on a battle of risky odds, then even attaining the support of every other lord present would not allow the Princess to fight her battle.

''Never thought I'd miss having Edith's recklessness around,'' Sylviane thought as she exhaled a soft sigh. It would have been so much easier to persuade the Crusader Saint to launch a frontal assault -- if only Edith was willing to fight against fellow Trinitians.

"I understand your concerns, General," the Princess began as she looked up and met Caradoc's stern eyes with a sympathetic gaze. "But please, consider the state of the war from the Empire's overall perspective. Both Garona and Avorica have already been battered by the Caliphate's invasion thus far, and we have no choice but to destroy the Army of Belgae to end this civil war. The Empire will ''need'' as much support as it can muster once spring arrives. Yet every soldier of Rhétie whom we kill now is a family that would resent us more than the foreigners!

"Do you honestly not believe that this gamble, as risky as it might be, is not worth taking?" Sylviane stared into the General's cold gray eyes as the emphasis in her voice escalated over time. "The more men we can secure for the Empire's southern front, the more Rhin-Lotharingie can aid Ceredigion in the West. However, the reverse is also true -- if Rhin-Lotharingie is beset and overwhelmed on all sides, then there is little help we can provide Ceredigion when the hour of need arrives!"

A faint twitch from the corner of Caradoc's scowl revealed that at least a part of him did not wish to deny the Princess. Nevertheless, the stubborn general opened his lips to speak in opposition... only to be cut off by King Alistair before he could start.

"General Caradoc, I don't think you have fully considered the repercussions of turning your back upon the Princess at this critical juncture," the King said as his eyes sent a flash of warning. "We all know that the battle before us will decide the contested crown. We also know that Gabriel is not a man fit to rule the Burning Throne. Her Highness is wise and determined to fight this battle with the Empire's long-term interests in mind. Should your forces fail to lend their support and lead to her loss, I have no doubt that ''every history book'' in the Empire will record who is ''really'' responsible for the war's eventual, unfavorable outcome."

Sylviane knew Alistair had struck a low blow as the General's eyes flared and hot air rushed from his nose. Caradoc had spent his entire life faithfully serving his kingdom's long-term interests. Even when the previous king declared neutrality in the war, he had repeatedly argued for joining the conflict behind the Empire's cause.

To be viewed as shortsighted and selfish now would tarnish his reputation for life in a manner that he might never be able to wash clean.

However, before Caradoc could decide on a renewed response, it was Pascal who returned from his thoughts first.

"''IF'' Gabriel sallies out from his fortification. ''IF'' we can catch Gabriel in the open and rapidly break through his lines. ''IF'' Henri does not stab us in the back while we are preoccupied," the young lord spoke in a low and dreary voice as he gestured at the map table where the Princess' army would have to fight with its back exposed. Meanwhile, his other hand remained clenched in a fist as though he was trying to muster every bit of strength from within himself.

"I maintain that this battle plan is far too risky compared to the alternative of destroying Henri's army first," Pascal said before he met his betrothed' eyes with a stony gaze.

Sylviane couldn't help but feel her stomach turn as her irritation rose. Having Caradoc in opposition was already bad enough. But for the General to find an ally in her fiance simply made everything worse.

Yet, before she could interject from her opened lips, Pascal added:

"''However'', Sylv, you are also correct..."

''I am?'' Sylviane felt taken aback as she had almost resigned herself to Pascal working against her.

"Military preferences ''must'' be placed as secondary beneath the context of long-term political needs," the young lord declared. "To take the shortcut now might make our jobs easier against the immediate obstacle. But it would also borrow a costly debt from our future that may be too expensive to repay."

The Princess could almost hear the unsaid words 'that's what my father taught me', before Pascal turned his renewed determination towards Caradoc's clouded gaze.

"The odds may not be as favorable, but the demand is logical and in the Empire's best interests," the young lord spoke. "Therefore, it is our duty as soldiers to carry them out, to find a way to achieve victory by our pain and blood, ''no matter what it takes.'' For the opposite can only be remembered as cowardice and our kind's greatest sin."

Pascal's hand finally loosened as he pushed both palms down against the map table. He then swiveled back to face Sylviane with his single resolute gaze and nodded.

''He came through for me after all.'' A thankful smile grew across the Princess' lips as she nodded back. Meanwhile King Alistair moved up to behind him and patted the young man's shoulders with respect:

"Spoken like a true warrior."

All eyes then fell upon General Caradoc as he was the last figure who held out in the opposition camp. A stiff and uncomfortable silence gripped the room as everyone waited for the final judgment to fall.

"His Grace's words do indeed ring true." Caradoc exhaled moments later before he put on an odd smile. "It seems that I am the one who has forgotten what it truly means to be a soldier."

It was as though the old wolf was admitting honorable defeat to a younger cub.

"Not at all," the Princess replied with an appreciative smile. "You were arguing for the sake of your homeland. I can respect that."

The general cracked a faint grin before nodding politely in return.

"Your Highness shall have your wish -- we will march upon Henri's camp tomorrow at dawn, not to engage directly, but to lure out Gabriel's forces," the General then declared without a shred of insincerity in his voice. "I shall take personal command at the front of the column to ensure that ''real fighting'' does not break out. Ceredigion's chariots are adept at maintaining distance, and we will be sure to growl as fiercely as we can toward Henri's forces without actually biting down."

"With his men exhausted, I doubt that brat Henri will wish to be the first to attack," Colonel Hammerstein pointed out. "Not unless he's a complete idiot."

"Quite the opposite," Sylviane nodded in assurance. "Henri is quite calculating in choosing what favors him. And it is precisely that ''choice'' which I hope to exploit," she added with a grin that never made it to her gaze.

"Then, assuming that Gabriel's forces do sally from their fortifications," Caradoc continued. "Our formation will then turn about face and march straight at him in reverse column order. Colonel Hammerstein will lead the Weichsen Knights Phantom, followed by Earl Hywel and the Ceredigion wyvern riders, in to engage Gabriel's air cavalry and bombard his rearguard."

"Colonel, Lord Hywel, your main focus should be to sow enough panic that it would be impossible for Gabriel's forces to retreat through their own confused ranks," Pascal then added.

"Easy." Hammerstein nodded as a ferocious grin lit up his savage face.

"After that, His Majesty and Her Highness can lead the banners of our starting rearguard, and now vanguard, in a full-frontal attack," Caradoc said next as he pressed the chariot model into the shielded armiger on the map. "This of course means that the Royal Guard of the Glens, along with the veterans of General Macdonald's army, should be placed in the rear when we begin the march."

"We should also leave some of Lady Lynette's rangers in the rearguard, so they can begin skirmishing with Gabriel's wings to tie them down," Pascal suggested, to which Caradoc returned an approving nod.

The young lord then turned towards King Alistair, whom everyone already knew would be leading the first charge:

"Your Majesty, please remember that the more ferocious our assault against Gabriel is, the more an inexperienced commander like Henri will hesitate to intervene. Just as we must make Gabriel believe that we are attacking Henri to lure him out, we must also make Henri feel that it's too dangerous to get involved."

"Sounds reasonable." Alistair nodded before turning to Sylviane. "I'll lead the first charge in to carve as deep as I can into those traitors' ranks. We'll be counting on Your Highness to lead the follow up."

"Don't worry, I won't leave you hanging," the Princess smiled as she jested in return.

"Just make sure you leave some traitors for us to kill," one of the Heartland lords added with a malignant grin.

"It's time for Gabriel to pay for his abuses while we were away from our homes!"

''I'll need to make sure this doesn't get out of hand either,'' the Princess silently reminded herself even as she openly nodded to them. It was a balancing act that she had to play as she wanted her subordinates to be eager to fight, but not so overly eager that they don't wind up massacring those who should have been spared.

"And I will bring the remainder of the Ceredigion chariots and cavalry to engage as soon as I can," the General concluded, despite leaving out one crucial member of the war council's ranks.

"Vivienne, because your music is extremely noticeable and could be perceived as the focus of our attack, I need to ask you to go with General Caradoc first to support his feint," Sylviane requested. "Once Colonel Hammerstein and King Alistair successfully entangle Gabriel's forces, we will then need you to relocate to support the new front in haste. That is unless Henri emerges from his camp to attack, in which case your music is our last option we have for slowing down his advance."

"Of course," the hooded girl responded with a brave nod and an uneasy gaze. It was a reminder to Sylviane that the mere presence of the wolvish general left the winterborn feeling anxious.

"I think that about wraps up the highlights of this battle plan," Caradoc then declared before a scowl returned to his expression. "However, we should talk about what happens ''if'' Gabriel doesn't take the bait..."

"If Gabriel does not emerge to join the battle," Sylviane interjected, "then he clearly shows that he views Henri's forces as nothing more than disposable fodder. And in that case..."

The Princess then lit a dangerous smile as she confidently declared:

"I will ''personally'' come to the front of Henri's camp to reopen negotiations and make him recognize the facts."

<nowiki>----- * * * -----</nowiki>

Later that night, Sylviane stood outside her cabin to gaze upon the clouded indigo 'moon' as she recollected the day's events.

Pascal had ended up playing the secondary role after all, though it wasn't for a lack of trying on his part. In fact, Sylviane had no doubt that his words to General Caradoc were the weight that finally tipped the scale, not to mention his own contributions to the battle plan.

''Military preferences must be placed as secondary beneath the context of long-term political needs.'' Sylviane mulled over his decisive words with a smile. ''He could not have given me better advice.''

Sure, if she accepted Henri's offer and they worked together to lure Gabriel out, then she was virtually guaranteed a victory in the battle tomorrow. But the cost of such immediate gains in military power was a debt borrowed against her future long-term needs. She would have to cast aside her reputation, her allies, and even her own conscience to agree -- all to take a 'shortcut', as Pascal called it, that she might never be able to forgive herself over.

''And that I simply cannot do,'' the Princess decided as she clenched her fist.

"Your Highness," Sylviane heard the approaching Lord Perceval greet with a courteous bow. The armiger she sent stood to his flank as the two met in the dim 'moonlight' beneath the clouds.

"Your Lordship, thank you for coming." She smiled before she raised her casting glove.

"''Telepathy.''"

"<nowiki><I</nowiki> need your help in sending a message to Lord Henri in person. Could you please cast a ''Farspeak'' spell to him and link in our telepathy?>"

"<Of course,>" Perceval answered as he immediately began to cast his spell. It took a minute before the connection opened with a soft chime.

"<Hello, my dear cousin Henri.>" Sylviane heard the young man speak nervously over their link. "<nowiki><It's</nowiki> been some years since we've last talked.>"

"<Cousin Perceval!>" Henri's reply had none of Perceval's jitters as he genuinely sounded ecstatic and warm. "<nowiki><It's</nowiki> been what -- six, seven years? -- since we last spoke? I heard you've not only become a royal chevalier, but were engaged recently too. Please have my deepest and most heartfelt congratulations!>"

"<Thank you, dear cousin,>" Perceval replied as he glanced towards Sylviane with a slightly awkward smile. "<nowiki><I</nowiki> would love to catch up with you in the coming days ahead, as it's been far too long since we've last met in person. However, I am also in service to Her Highness, Crown Princess Sylviane, the rightful heir to the Burning Throne. I hope we may stand as allies in the battles to come and not as foes.>"

"<nowiki><I</nowiki> hope for that as well,>" Henri responded. "<Unfortunately, the decision is not mine to make.>"

''He must know that I'm listening.'' Sylviane frowned as she felt the proverbial finger pointed at her.

"<nowiki><In</nowiki> that case, I'd like to tell you that I'm actually here with Her Highness in person. The Princess has requested that I act as an intermediary so that she may speak with you,>" He then added before nodding at Sylviane.

"<My Lord Henri,>" the Princess greeted with due courtesy first.

"<Your Highness.>"

"<My Lord, as you might imagine, I am here to respond to your message from last night,>" Sylviane began. "<nowiki><I</nowiki> must thank you, once again, for your generous proposal of marriage...>"

Perceval's eyes grew to the size of saucers as the young man stared back at her. However, Sylviane never returned his look as she took a deep breath to settle her nerves before she crossed the line of no return.

"<However, after much consideration, I'm afraid I must reject your proposal. After all, I am already precontracted to Lord Pascal, sworn to be wed to him in the eyes of the Holy Father. Furthermore, my betrothal to him lies at the cornerstone of the Empire's alliance with the Kingdom of Weichsel, whose forces I will need to rely on in the long war to come.>"

"<And that is why I suggested that our marriage contract may remain a secret until after the war,>" Henri interjected.

"<That may be so, My Lord. However, I cannot, and will not, in good conscience abuse the trust and goodwill of my allies,>" Sylviane stated plainly as she turned and looked upon Perceval with an appreciative smile. "<This goes doubly so for my companions and friends, whom I have relied upon so much for my successes thus far. It is to them that I owe my gratitude and trust, to see that they are honored in return for their deeds and sacrifices, and none more so than my betrothed.>"

The Princess' smile turned bittersweet as she thought of everything Pascal had done for her in their journey thus far. He had lifted her out of her depression in Nordkreuz, before offering every asset his father passed down to help her retake her throne. He had stopped her mania-fueled tirade against Edith on that hill through the worst impropriety, yet he bore her anger and ingratitude almost without complaint in return. He then lifted her from depression a second time at Gwilen River, and fought with her every step along the way as they faced near hopeless odds.

Sylviane remembered her shock that day at Glywysing when an earth-splitting explosion consumed his entire flank. She recalled her horror at seeing his badly burnt body in the battle's aftermath when the healers were convinced that he would not survive. She recollected her tears of joy and relief when she found out that thanks to Kaede, he would make it after all...

Yes, the Pascal that returned from the brink of death was different than before. Yes, he was no longer the same confident and energetic boy whom she had fallen in love with. Yet, today's meeting also proved that deep down, he was still the same as before. Pascal was still the young man who bet everything to see her succeed her father's throne, one whom she could rely on and trust with her life.

The last thing Sylviane could bear was to partake in a lie that would surely destroy him.

"<And that is my final decision, Lord Henri,>" the Princess declared with steel in her voice.

"<nowiki><I</nowiki> ''will not'' simply use and abandon people as a means. For I would rather not be the monarch at all than to sell for my soul and conscience for a throne.>"

<noinclude>
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| Back to [[Daybreak:Volume_4_Chapter_15_Interlude|Interlude Chapter 15.5]]
| Return to [[Daybreak_on_Hyperion|Main Page]]
| Forward to [[Daybreak:Volume_4_Chapter_17|Chapter 17]]
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</noinclude>

Daybreak:Volume 4 Chapter 15 Interlude

2025-05-11T16:32:15Z

Aorii:

=== Chapter 15.5 Interlude - Concessions of Faith ===

Gabriel Gautier de Gaetane sat alone in the Oriflamme Citadel's war room. His cushioned armchair had been raised on top of a wooden platform, which had been built inside the room so he could use it as his royal throne. The real throne room of the Empire of Rhin-Lotharingie was only one hallway down, but he had it abandoned and its doors shuttered.

It would be farcical for him to use the official throne room when he couldn't even sit upon the rightful seat of the Emperor. The aptly-named 'Burning Throne' would incinerate anyone unprotected within a minute with its unquenchable blue-white flames. The fires that emanated from the enchanted stone seat were so hot that even a ring of fire protection was not enough. Within seconds after sitting down, Gabriel would feel like he was being roasted on top of a searing grill and had to stand up before his rear started to cook.

So instead, Gabriel sat upon a makeshift throne with one arm propped against his cheek. He looked down upon the giant oval table where a three-dimensional terrain map of the Empire was displayed. His reasoning was that given their current state of conflict, it was more practical to always meet in a room where they could discuss matters in the context of the war. However, Gabriel did not doubt for a single moment that anyone who heard this claim would quickly see through the poor excuse.

Most of the court had refused to recognize him as the Emperor. Over a third of the ministers had outright defied him and been arrested as a result. This included the late Emperor's Grand Chancellor and Grand Chamberlain, both of whom were locked in the dungeons beneath the Citadel's sixth tower. The Grand Squire had attempted to escape to Weichsel, but was killed instead by a downriver garrison. Only the Grand Master, the steward of the palace, had agreed to cooperate; yet even there, Gabriel had to assign his own household's steward to watch over the man, under the pretense of being the latter's subordinate.

The result was that most of the people who currently worked inside the royal castle either obeyed him only due to coercion, or because they were faithless political opportunists who sought only their own gain. Gabriel could only trust the nobles whom he had brought in from his home region in Belgae. Unfortunately, few of them were qualified to administer an office that oversaw an entire Empire.

Just this morning, Gabriel had found out that the new Minister of Land and Resources had forgotten to send orders to stop shipping timber from logging camps along the North Lotharingie River to the town of Peruwelz. The settlement, which lay on the western coast of Cross Lake, had capitulated to Weichsen forces last week. It had since been handed over to Duke Mathias, whose men marched on behalf of the Princess. Any wood being sent there would certainly get processed into lumber, but only to fill their enemies' coffers and aid in the reconstruction of Nordkreuz.

It would be another matter entirely if this was a lone occurrence, except events like these happened at least once a day. Perhaps even worse was the fact that Gabriel often couldn't even tell if it was due to sheer incompetence or because someone was acting in bad faith. This left the entire administration of the Empire feeling more like a carnival stage play. It felt fake, phony, false -- not only the orders he issued to these unreliable fools, but even the crown he wore upon his own head felt like a sham.

''Clearly, the phoenixes were right and I was never fit for the throne from the start,'' Gabriel thought with a scowl as he thought of the reality that he had denied for decades.

Growing up, Gabriel's mother had always favored his younger brother Geoffroi, who had been such a large baby that the healers had to cut open his mother's stomach to deliver. And although Geoffroi had always shown Gabriel the love of a sibling, as they were almost inseparable as children, it was impossible to not feel bitter after the phoenixes ''also'' chose the younger instead of him.

''I've always sought the chance to prove to everyone that I could be just as capable as Geoffroi,'' Gabriel thought to himself as he opened the locket that hung around his neck. He reached his finger in and touched the image of his teenage little brother with arms wrapped around his thin shoulders.

''...Yet now, everyone can only see how we truly compare.''

The Emperor shut his locket as he heard the doors to his throne room opening. An elderly-looking man with a long head and thin shoulders walked in. His gray hair had turned white in several places as he was well over one-hundred-twenty years of age, which even for a mage was entering the final stage of his life. Nevertheless he wore a suit of half-plate armor and carried a helmet beneath his right arm.

Marshal Menno van Britsum was the commander of Gabriel's forces. Since Marshal Cosette pledged her loyalty to Princess Sylviane, the Emperor had officially stripped her of the office and given it to his leading commander.

Menno was also one of the most competent leaders that Gabriel had. The man had once loyally served under the late Emperor for five decades and was the Empire's finest in the art of siegecraft. However, when Geoffroi chose Cosette Louise Granger, who was only known as the ''mistress'' of Duke Gaston at the time, to become the new Marshal of the Empire, the incensed Menno resigned and went into early retirement.

"Your Majesty." Menno walked up to the map table and bowed toward the throne. Two officers flanked him to his sides, both similarly dressed in armor with Chevalier's Swords hung from their belts.

"Marshal Menno." Gabriel nodded as he put on one of his charming smiles. "I hear that forces loyal to my niece are almost upon us. How goes your preparations?"

"The fortifications surrounding our army's encampment are complete," Menno declared. "Two concentric rings of stone and earthworks plus two more layers facing the landward approach. There is no chance that Sylviane's army can break our position before Lord Henri's arrival. And once that happens, we shall ''crush'' her outnumbered forces between our two armies," he concluded with complete confidence.

As the sovereign who commands the Empire's capital at Alis Avern, Gabriel could have stationed his forces on the island in the middle of Lake Alise, upon which the capital was built. Without a significant fleet of ships, it would be impossible for Sylviane to mount an amphibious assault on the island and win against an almost equal force.

However, this would also make it difficult for him to project power over the Lotharin Heartlands, not to mention joining forces with Henri after the young lord began his march. Therefore, Gabriel and Menno had encamped their army upon a peninsula on the southern shores. The soldiers had spent much of the winter there constructing a new lakeside town, which was now further bolstered by recent fortifications built over the past two weeks.

"Very well done, Marshal. I knew I could rely on you," Gabriel beamed as he stood up and walked down to the table. "I plan to join the army once the Princess arrives to bolster the men's morale. I may not be an Oriflamme, but I do wield one of Saint Michael's seven holy swords," he said as he drew the Sword of Fortitude from its scabbard and looked upon its pristine blade.

"However, rest assured that you shall retain full command of the army," the Emperor added as he looked back at his marshal. "I will not second-guess your decisions on the battlefield."

"Thank you, Your Majesty," Menno said as he bowed his head once more. "I have no doubt that as long as Lord Henri comes through, we are in an overwhelming position to win the battle ahead.

"However, I must ask My Liege," Menno then inquired in a concerned tone. "The treasury has been replenished thanks to the new taxes and Your Majesty's authority over the Church. Why are we not hiring mercenaries to further bolster our ranks in the decisive battle to come? The stronger our hand is, the more Lord Henri can be relied upon to join us."

"You need not worry about Lord Henri, Marshal Menno," Gabriel replied with an assuring grin as he sheathed his blade once more. "Duke Hugh has not only rebuffed, but already arrested my niece's envoys, and is holding them prisoner even now. His forces are marching upon the capital at double pace precisely because they come to defeat Sylviane. Whereas if he merely intended to reinforce the Princess after her own army already lay bloodied upon our earthworks, then he could afford to take his time.

"The funds that we have acquired from the latest taxes and Church sales will be needed more come Spring, when the Caliphate renews its offensive," Gabriel explained further. "I have prepared an edict to summon mercenaries to our banner ''after'' we have secured prestige from our coming victory. It would also be far more enticing for warriors of the faith to know that they are fighting the enemies of our Lord, and not merely the politics of the Empire's Civil War."

"Understood, Your Majesty," Menno answered with a convinced nod. "In that case, I shall return to our army to make final preparations. We look forward to Your Majesty's arrival." He bowed once more with his men before turning on their heels to depart.

The Emperor's confident smile vanished as all eyes in the room left him. Gabriel could not admit that his 'prepared edict' didn't actually exist. Even if it did, the Empire's communication network was in too much disarray for him to properly distribute the message. He certainly could not request the ex-mercenary King Alistair to help put him in contact with the high quality mercenaries of the Glens or the Northmen.

Without such means, the only sellswords he could expect to hire were poorly-trained opportunity seekers, who would serve as little more than fodder on the battlefield.

-- However, all of that was subject to change.

The clash between his army and Sylviane's would change the political landscape of Rhin-Lotharingie. The victor would command the Empire when the Caliphate and the Imperium make their moves come spring. Then, the four kingdoms and various lords had to bow before their ruler regardless of their political preferences, as their very ''survival'' through the upheaval to come was at stake.

''And at that time, the treasury that I have refilled will see its intended use,'' Gabriel promised himself.

He might not be much of an Emperor in any other way. But in this, he would see that the best course of action for Rhin-Lotharingie was taken. After all, to become Emperor meant he was no longer merely himself. He was now the leader, the herald, the ''icon'' of the entire Empire in conflict.

''And this is the path that I have chosen.''

<nowiki>----- * * * -----</nowiki>

"Uuughhh, what is the Princess waiting for!?" Reynaud scratched and pulled at his short red hair as he saw the setting sun through the forest canopy. "At this speed, Henri's army is only two days away from meeting up with Gabriel's. She needs to make a decision, whether that's agreeing to his terms or sending us the men to get Kaede out!"

Behind him, Gerard was helping the men prop up their tents for the night. They had recruited over two dozen soldiers from the villages and towns they passed along the way. Most of them were local guardsmen who had been left behind as sentries or local quartermasters. Many of these men scoffed at the thought of being conscripted by Henri as they remained loyal to the late Emperor.

Reynaud could have easily recruited quadruple the numbers he had. It was a sign of just how popular Geoffroi was among his subjects in the Lotharin Heartlands. However, there were not enough horses for all of them. And it was important that their entire group stayed small and mounted for extra mobility -- not only to stay ahead of Henri's army, but also to stay hidden from the scouts, screens, and air cavalry.

"Oh come off it. It hasn't even been a full day yet," Gerard replied as Reynaud had only left to meet Henri last night. "Her Highness needs time to make a decision as important as this. Though..."

The tall engineer sighed as he couched beside a tent pole and added with a frown:

"I know the fate of the Empire hangs in the balance and all, but I certainly hope our princess chooses to stay with Lord Pascal. They've been through so much together. The same goes for us with him. It feels ''wrong'' to simply betray him like this."

Reynaud scowled. Truth be told, he didn't like it either. The redhead might still think of Pascal as a prick, but the ''Runelord'' had certainly come a long way in the past few months. Reynaud may not go as far as to call Pascal a 'friend', but they have fought together enough to be comrades.

Nevertheless, the royal armiger also knew how important it was for Sylviane to resolve their Civil War as quickly as possible...

"I think Her Highness should just make some empty promises to Henri," Reynaud said as he turned back to his friend. "What worth is there in being faithful to a traitor anyway?"

"Except... you know that's... not how most people... will see it," Gerard answered between several grunts as he tied down the rope that held up his tent. He then leaned down and began to knot the rope in a well-practiced manner.

"As Cecylia said during our trip," he continued. "The Gaetane dynasty has a reputation for negotiating in good faith and keeping their word to their allies. "Furthermore, Duke Hugh has only sworn fealty to the late Emperor, not our princess. With the throne contested in a power struggle, 'traitor' is but a point-of-view as so many nobles are re-examining their own loyalties," he finished before looking up with a lopsided frown.

"Since when did you become so political?" Reynaud stared back with a scowl.

"I've been reading ever since Her Highness knighted me." Gerard returned a wry smile. "Haven't you seen me with that book that I borrowed from Pascal? Not everyone is like you in their dislike of learning, you know."

"Hey, I've been paying attention to your lectures on all the flora and fauna that we've passed by," Reynaud countered. "Besides, it's easy for you to stay calm on this trip, seeing as your job as a chauffeur is over and your raven is off surveying the land even now. Meanwhile, I was entrusted to provide security for Kaede, which if you can't tell I've failed ''super hard'' at," the redhead said in a peeved voice as he crossed his arms. "How am I going to explain to Her Highness if anything should happen to the cute girl?"

"Her Highness also knows that it's not your fault," Gerard answered before furrowing his gaze. "Well, you ''did'' tell Her Highness how that lightning transform works, I hope?"

"Of course I did," Reynaud answered. "I told her back in Nordkreuz. It would have been foolish to head into battle as her armiger when she didn't even understand my skill set."

Because Reynaud was a licensed Wayfarer, people he met often believed that his lightning transformation was some kind of a unique elemental teleportation spell that could bypass lockdown wards. However, the reality was that ''Lightning Leap'' was an alchemy spell invented by the Imperial Mantis Blades, which Reynaud had learned from his mother. It transformed the caster's body into lightning for a split second, which made it useful as a spell to escape sticky situations.

However, like all other instantaneous movement spells, ''Lightning Leap'' left the caster dazed and disoriented for a dozen or so seconds after use, which made it almost useless in combat. Reynaud was only able to overcome this thanks to his Wayfarer training, where he cast such spells thousands of times to train his body to continue performing the same action it was doing before.

Nevertheless, unlike teleportation spells, self-transmutation spells could not bring along others, even if the passenger had no mana resistance to thwart the external alchemy magic. This meant Reynaud could not bring Kaede with him, nor would he have been able to escape at all without his lightning transformation -- which he only did after Kaede ordered him to leave.

"Look, I know what you're thinking, I think..." Gerard continued in a not-entirely-convincing tone. "But even should we fail to rescue Kaede, Her Highness isn't the type to hand you over to Pascal as some kind of scapegoat."

Reynaud scowled again as Gerard hit it on the nail this time. If something should happen to Kaede on this mission, he had little doubt that the ''Runelord'' would be irate. And as Sylviane was not only Pascal's betrothed, but also the person who sent Kaede on this quest, it was a possibility that she would use him to deflect the blame.

''But that's no reason to think ill of Her Highness' relationship with Pascal...''

The redhead scratched his head as he had always considered himself above such petty politics. Yet now, when faced with two problematic options, he felt his concerns weigh down upon him no matter which option was chosen.

Perhaps this was why it felt so much easier to face the third option -- rescue Kaede or die trying. At least then, he wouldn't have to justify the events that followed to his own morals.

"I guess we'll just have to see that it doesn't come to that," Reynaud declared before looking up to see a pretty young woman in her early twenties approach them from atop a horse.

Her name was Laetitia Leclerc. And true to her surname, she had been left in charge of the granaries in the town of Roulans. When Reynaud stopped by to gather several men-at-arms from the remaining guardsmen in the town, she had refused to let them leave unless they also took her along.

"Sir Reynaud," the plainly dressed woman addressed him as she climbed down from the saddle. "I'm done gathering information on the interior layout of their army camp. It's clear from these past few days that while the exact positioning of buildings and tents might change, the overall layout always stays the same," she finished before handing over her hand-drawn map of the camp's major divisions.

Every Lotharin army had thousands of camp followers as well as locals who catered to the soldiers to make money. Henri's repeated force marches had also caused many camp followers to fall behind, which made his army rely even more on temporary help from the nearby settlements. Taking advantage of the girl's local accent, Reynaud had opted to send her in to perform some 'scouting'. It was also a test of courage as the yeoman girl had no military background or militia training.

"Nicely done," Reynaud smiled encouragingly before he looked down upon the map. Its contents had been corroborated yesterday with Gerard's information from his familiar scout.

"What's the army's condition?" He asked next.

"Exhausted. Some of the men can barely stay upright long enough to pitch their tents," Laetitia answered. "If we strike at night and during their rest, I doubt most of them will be in any shape to properly fight."

Reynaud nodded as he focused on a star near the middle of the camp, where Gerard's raven had glimpsed Kaede and Cecylia the day prior. The inner camp's security was too tight for a civilian outsider to penetrate. But knowing where all the checkpoints and guard posts were would nevertheless give Reynaud a significant advantage.

"When the time comes, I'll sneak in alone while you all create distractions here, here, and here." Reynaud leaned towards Gerard as he pointed at three junction points near the edge of the camp. "With any luck, the girls and I will meld into the chaos, make our way to the edge of the camp's wards, and then teleport out. And if Cecylia knows how to cast ''Wind Walk'', it might be even easier than that."

"Cecylia's shadow magic excels at staying inconspicuous, and Kaede is easy to overlook as long as her hair color changes." Gerard nodded before he turned to Reynaud and raised a skeptical eyebrow. "But you? An armiger escorting two camp followers is bound to raise some eyebrows."

"Nonsense. I'll dress up as a girl too," Reynaud replied with a beaming grin. "People always did tell me that I'm pretty." The redhead said as he turned to Laetitia and wagged his eyebrows, which made the girl start giggling.

"Heavens forbid, can you go one day without flirting with the girls around you?" Gerard rolled his eyes. "I'm being serious here."

"So am I," Reynaud reaffirmed with a goofy grin. "Laetitia here can do my makeup and hair."

"Sure, I've had some practice helping a theater troupe in town before," Laetitia answered with a sunny smile. "But first, Sir Reynaud, I expect you to uphold your end of the bargain. I've passed your test, haven't I?"

"For joining our little operation? Sure. But that's your not real aim, is it?" Reynaud asked with a knowing look.

"No. I'm searching for a chance to prove myself so that I might become an armiger," the young woman answered. "Though seeing as nobles only extend offers to those that catch their eye, it's hardly a position that I could simply seek out."

"Outside of specialists and family connections, armigers are usually promoted from veterans with battlefield valor," Gerard commented.

''Which is why I decided to become a Wayfarer,'' Reynaud thought.

"Sure, but I can't get any combat experience since the militia and guards in my area won't accept women!" Laetitia expressed her frustration. "And when I tried to join the banners heading towards the front, the recruiting officer just laughed at me!"

"Why are you so keen on becoming an armiger anyway? Not exactly the best choice of career for a young woman, you know?" Reynaud replied as his voice took on a sarcastic tone. "Lousy hours, constant peril, zero opportunities to start a family. The only real good benefit is that you get first dibs on loot."

"Then why did you become one?" The young woman challenged.

"Because money can't buy the brothers that I want." Reynaud flashed a knowing smile. "True brotherhood can only be earned."

"And money can't replace the calling that I feel!" Laetitia declared. "My parents named me after Laetitia the Greenheart Paladin, if you can't already tell!"

"Figured as much. You've got a fancy name for a yeoman's daughter," Gerard pointed out.

"Yes, and I grew up listening to my grandfather's war stories." The girl added. "I want to serve my country and my people just as he did. But the only way a girl can do so is apparently by becoming a ranger or an armiger!"

"Or move to a different area where the recruiting standards are different." Gerard shrugged before he turned to Reynaud with a smile. "Well, how about it? She's certainly enthusiastic enough."

"And she has the guts," the redhead acknowledged as he dug deep into his extradimensional pocket and pulled out a pair of wooden kukris that he used for practice.

"Time to test your skills then, girl," he returned a haughty smile. "Grab your spear and shield and show me just what your grandpa taught you."

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</noinclude>

Daybreak:Volume 4 Chapter 15

2025-05-11T16:03:31Z

Aorii:

=== Chapter 15 - Tangled Alliances ===

"Please watch your step, Your Excellency."

Kaede heard the maid as she stepped off the four-person carriage that she had ridden in with Cecylia all day. A small, expandable cabin stood in front of them near the top of a shallow hill. The sound of hammers and saws could be heard from all around, as they were deep inside a compartmentalized marching camp that was being erected. Twenty thousand Lotharin soldiers filled the plains and sparse woods around them, as they took turns to work after another exhausting day of forced march.

Almost a week had passed since their departure from Outremont. A beautiful blend of red, orange, blue, and indigo filled the skies as the setting sun slowly sank into the distant horizon. They had already traveled several hundred kilopaces over the paved Imperial Highway that connected Rhétie to the Lotharin Heartlands. It was a reminder to Kaede that they were drawing ever closer to the shores of Lake Alise, where her fate and that of the Empire would be decided.

''And I'm no closer to persuading Henri to switch sides.'' She sighed before stretching her back in the dusk sun.

"Your Excellency, this way please."

The maid gestured as she led the two envoys to their arrangements for the night. She had been assigned by Henri to take care of Kaede and Cecylia's needs during their travels. The accommodations had been excellent, as Henri even granted them the use of a magical cabin that could shrink down to a palm-sized model, which was expensive enough that only lords could afford. However, there was no doubt that the girls remained prisoners -- as the heavy fetters wrapped around her ankles and the four female armigers assigned as guards served to remind Kaede.

"Your Excellency," the senior-most of these armigers addressed Kaede as the familiar approached the cabin door. "His Lordship asks if you would be open to having dinner with him again tonight."

"Of course," Kaede answered before adding in her thoughts. ''He needn't even have asked.''

Nevertheless, even though she was Henri's prisoner and the young lord could do just about anything he wanted, he still made it a point to request permission for something as simple as coming over for dinner.

Then, before the Samaran girl reached the door itself, she caught sight of a raven flying overhead. The bird had white feathers above its neck while its wings were entirely black. And she could hear it flap its wings as it landed on the roof.

"Mirèlha", Kaede addressed the maid, "could you bring us some hot water from the kitchens? I'd like to make some tea to calm my nerves after the day's travel."

"Yes, Your Excellency."

The maid curtsied before departing, which left Kaede and Cecylia alone to enter the cabin themselves. The armigers stood watch and patrolled outside, seemingly confident that the enchanted fetters would make it difficult for their prisoner to escape.

However, the real reason Kaede requested the maid to go fetch was because she wanted a moment of privacy with Cecylia to ask:

"Was that bir...?"

Cecylia returned a warning look that immediately made the familiar go quiet. She then smiled a little and gave a slight nod in response.

Kaede had only seen Gerard's familiar a handful of times during this whole trip. The engineer had been content to let his raven roam free in surveying the land and returning only at night for food and rest.

''Reynaud and Gerard must be shadowing the army then,'' the girl thought as she wondered why Reynaud never tried to make contact with ''Farspeak'' since their separation.

''I hope Sylviane passed my word to him and he isn't about to try anything reckless.''

<nowiki>----- * * * -----</nowiki>

"Your Excellency, if you don't mind me asking, just how exactly do you feel about Her Highness the Princess?"

Kaede heard Henri ask as the two girls and their 'host' sat around the small dinner table inside the cabin. They were attended by only one maid, though a lean and somewhat effeminate man in full armor stood just inside the door as Henri's armiger bodyguard.

Dinner for the trio turned out to include the head of a roasted boar, several kinds of pickled vegetables, and the classic onion soup. And just as the previous few nights, Henri had asked about Kaede's experiences over the past several months, from her days helping Pascal in Alis Avern to her time spent in Nordkreuz.

"I heard that after your arrival in Avorica, the Princess had been seen raving at the unconscious Saint Edith-Estellise after the battle," Henri said with a discerning expression. "And even Your Excellency yourself had been punished by the Princess to kneel upon a rock for an entire day."

''Your information is way too thorough,'' Kaede thought as her lips formed a scowl from that day's difficult memories.

It was also a reminder that her decision to tell only the truth in her stories had been a prudent choice.

"Her Highness has a temper, there's no doubt about that." The Samaran girl chose her words carefully as she began to describe the incident. "We had arrived in Avorica just as Lady Edith offered battle to the Cataliyans, and her army was enveloped and nearly destroyed as a result. Her Highness was incensed that Edith almost cost an entire front to protect a column of refugees. And in her exhaustion from both opening the faerie gates and the battle itself, she did not notice that she was berating an unconscious woman whom others had surrounded.

"And that was when Pascal intervened... by knocking her out," the Samaran girl finished with an exasperated sigh as she saw no way around telling this fact in explaining the events that followed.

"He ''really'' did that!?" Henri's eyes grew to the size of saucers. "And here I thought that was just an overinflated rumor."

"It was a ''Mental Blackout'' spell. Pascal really lacks common sense at times and apparently that was the quickest solution that came to him at the moment." Kaede threw up her hands as she didn't know what went through his head at the time either.

"It's ''barbaric!''" Henri voiced in anguish as he almost threw down his spoon. "It's about as heinous as a man beating his wife in public!"

"That's what Her Highness said after she woke up," Kaede reminisced. "She was angry enough to have him whipped in public, except I stepped in then."

"And you took her punishment upon yourself instead of your master?" Henri asked expectantly.

"More or less." Kaede scowled. "Her Highness did apologize to me afterwards. Quite profusely, in fact." She thought of that night when Sylviane hugged her tightly and cried nonstop for hours.

It made Kaede wonder if she should bring up the Princess' bipolar nature. However, without knowing just how much understanding Henri had with psychological concepts like mania and depression, this was more likely to cause misunderstanding than not. Therefore the familiar resolved to simply describe it as an episode of runaway anger -- which everyone, especially a young man, could understand as they've likely had similar experiences.

"Her Highness realized after her anger wore off that evening that while Pascal's actions were extreme, he did it with the best of intentions," Kaede said with a wry smile. "As the two of them were close childhood friends who went way back, she felt guilty when she should have known better... not to mention the fact she ended up taking it out on me."

"And what about you? Do you still fault her for that?" Henri inquired.

"No. Not at all." Kaede's smile turned genuine as she thought of that night after the Battle of Glywysing when Sylviane truly opened up. "Yes, it was a difficult experience for me. But in the end, it was what allowed Her Highness and I to understand one another. It helped me realize that while the Princess is not without her faults, she is an exceedingly self-aware individual who recognizes both her own mistakes and flaws.

"And as a result, she places great value on the good counsel of others to help guide her decisions... people whom she views not merely as subjects, but as companions and close friends, whose wellbeing she comes to care deeply about," Kaede finished as she remembered the sight of Sylviane crying her eyes out on that same night after Glywysing, when she grieved for the loss of Robert and Mari.

"Brave enough to lead the charge at Nordkreuz, shrewd enough to devise the plan of intervening in Avorica, charismatic enough to convert Lady Lynette's picket without a single arrow, yet wise enough to recognize the limits of her own ability." Henri nodded as he spoke with admiration. "And to think the Princess is only twenty-one years of age. She truly is the successor to Geoffroi the Great."

''Elder sister really does have amazing prospects as a future ruler when you put it like that,'' Kaede thought.

It was also a sign that the Samaran girl had made progress over these last few days after all. She had been taking advantage of Henri's thirst for information to tell him stories of Pascal and Sylviane. She had hoped to appeal to his honorable nature, as well as the nationalism that surely resides in his heart as it does in all Lotharins, that Sylviane would be a far more just and capable ruler than that pretender Gabriel.

"Do you think that would make a difference for your father?" Kaede steered the conversation.

"You mean in terms of his decision to side with Emperor Gabriel?" Henri asked in return, to which Kaede nodded.

"I doubt it myself." The young man shook his head.

"Is Duke Hugh not concerned about whether the Empire has a good or bad sovereign in such a time of crisis?" Kaede pondered aloud.

"My father's concerns are more immediate to the current war," Henri answered before he paused to take another sip of his soup.

"You see, when my Great-Great-Grandfather, Roland the Gallant, established the fortress city of Outremont near the Empire's then-borders and built our family holdings there, it was because our greatest concern was defending the Rhin-Lotharingie's hard won independence against the Imperium."

Kaede nodded. It was clear from Outremont's strategic position and stout defenses that Roland sought to make his family the guardians of the Empire's southeastern 'gateway'. Though this only made it more ironic that his descendants later grew their wealth by raking in the Imperium's bribes.

"However, after the current war began, I realized from the Imperium's propaganda -- when they cast Geoffroi in the wrong after every turn of events -- that they were planning to take advantage of the situation, likely through an intervention in the second year of the war," Henri went on to explain. "It was the reason why my father was against sending our soldiers to reinforce the Kingdom of Garona, as he firmly believed that it was only a matter of time before Rhétie became a new front line."

Kaede nodded again as she thought back to the conference in Alis Avern after the war started. At the time, Duke Hugh was against sending troops to the Garona front. Nevertheless, the late Emperor forced his hand, and 10,000 men from Rhétie were dispatched to reinforce Marshal Cosette in the end.

"Nevertheless, since Gabriel raised his flag against the late Emperor Geoffroi, my father has lost any confidence that Rhin-Lotharingie may emerge victorious from this conflict," Henri expressed with a scowl that signaled he himself mostly agreed. "Since then, Father's priority has switched to damage mitigation -- to reduce the losses our family is likely to suffer in the eventual peace."

"And your father thinks Gabriel might make a better peace deal?" Kaede asked with a tone that betrayed how absurd she considered this to be.

"Yes," Henri replied with a firm nod. "Being entitled 'Defender of the Faith' has clearly proven that Gabriel has significant backing from the Church, and therefore influence within the Imperium. In addition, he has promised my father that he will only sacrifice lands in the Kingdom of Garona in any peace treaty that will eventually be signed. In the worst case scenario, Garona will be abolished as a Kingdom in the treaty to come, and any lands the Imperium insists on taking from Rhétie will be compensated to our family from lands in Garona."

''Roland must be spinning fast enough in his grave to electrify Outremont.'' Kaede scowled as she considered how far the La Tour family had sunk, from 'guardians of the Empire' to nobles who openly sacrificed Lotharin interests.

Worse yet, if such a peace deal were to go through, the people of Garona would remember it as Lotharin betrayal for generations to come. Such events would likely shift the fundamental identity of the Garona people, as they move away from the rest of Rhin-Lotharingie to forge an independent group.

''And this is how empires rot, when the elites care more about themselves than their state.''

"Is this what Your Lordship also believes?" The Samaran girl then asked.

"I agree with my father in that the Empire is unlikely to emerge from this war without territorial losses," Henri responded. "However, I disagree with him on the role our family still has to play. Because even if we are to lose territory, it is important that we fight hard to raise the cost of every kilopace of land seized from us."

"In which case, Your Lordship also realizes the importance of having a capable sovereign at the helm to lead the Empire through this difficult time," Kaede steered the conversation back.

"Yes, which is why I wanted to hear just what kind of character Her Highness has, as well as her fiancé, who clearly serves as her closest military advisor," Henri said with a knowing smile.

''I suspected as much.'' Kaede smiled back as she was finally able to confirm where their interests met.

After all, when it came to diplomacy, the best outcome wasn't a negotiated compromise, but rather a 'win-win' solution that promoted the interests of both sides. The tricky part was to find out where the two sides' objectives overlapped, as well as on how to build enough trust for the two parties to cooperate instead of antagonize.

-- And now that she understood the concerns of House La Tours as well as Henri's own views, it meant she could focus her efforts on portraying Sylviane and Pascal as the 'better solution', at least in comparison to Gabriel.

"Speaking of which," the familiar took the opportunity to bring in an old topic. "Back in Outremont, Your Lordship said that Pascal 'had to fight a war against his instincts' -- what did you mean by that?"

"Your Excellency has a keen memory for details." Henri chuckled as he sat back into the armchair. "Based on my information, I believe His Grace the Landgrave has certainly performed better in Avorica than anyone has reason to expect. But I would also venture to claim that he wasn't the right man for the job."

Kaede felt an immediate urge to defend Pascal as she opened her lips. But before she could speak a word to interject, Henri raised his gloved hand to indicate he had yet to finish.

"His Grace was taught in the Weichsen ways of war, with a focus on decisive battles and offensive operational maneuverability where he holds the initiative. The Weichsen army is built to bring superior forces and spellpower to a single focal point in the conflict, where they may attain a tactical victory to exploit as operational and strategic advantages.

"This, however, does not match the Lotharin way of war in the slightest," Henri pointed out. "Especially not when an ''offensive'' specialist like His Grace is forced to fight a ''defensive'' campaign."

"You're speaking of indirect approach and guerilla warfare?"

Kaede quickly caught on as she thought back to all the campaigns and battles she researched back in Alisia Academy. If there was one trait above all that described the Lotharin way of war, it was their preference to avoid pitched battles against the better equipped and more disciplined Imperial Legions. Instead, they relied on skirmishes, ambushes, and raids to slowly wear down their opponents until the odds swung decisively in their favor.

"Yes." Henri nodded. "We Lotharins have never been able to match our opponents in the quality of our troops. And aside from the Glens, our armies have a consistent shortfall of heavy infantry, which are vital to holding the line in a set-piece battle. Lotharin armies perform at their best when we can strike fast, strike hard, and then quickly withdraw back into the mountains or forests -- which is exactly how Marshal Cosette has been fighting in the south."

"But isn't that an oversimplification?" Kaede countered with a complaint she often made against those who evaluated events from afar. It was particularly the case for the many pundits that filled the airwaves of modern media on Earth, who applied little rigor to their analysis and largely entertained the existing biases of their audience.

"Yes, Lotharin armies have traditionally focused more on guerilla warfare and fighting over rough terrain," she began. "However, the Avorican plains -- especially the area near its capital at Roazhon -- is largely flat and offers few good ambush sites. Furthermore, Pascal had to work with both Saint Edith-Estellise's ''Steel Lily'' Knights Hospitaller, and King Alistair's ''Black Guard'' Galloglaichs. And both of these commanders and their elite troops performed at their best in a direct fight.

"Furthermore," the familiar continued. "The opposing commander on the Cataliyan side was General Salim, a former judicial advisor who was a stickler for details. Pascal had originally planned to make use of the Lotharins' favored night raid tactics, until he discovered that his opponent was exceptionally well-prepared in camp security. Had we gone ahead and done as the Empire always did, it was possible that we would have walked into a trap against a foe who has clearly studied the Lotharin ways of war."

Her response caused Henri to raise his eyebrows before he stared at Kaede with an impressed smile.

"I did not expect Your Excellency to also be an expert in military affairs at such a young age."

"Well... Pascal did teach me a thing or two," Kaede replied sheepishly as she looked down and felt a mix of emotions that could only be described as 'it's complicated'.

Leaving aside how it felt to be complimented by a true prodigy, Kaede also never wanted to be a 'military expert'. It felt ironic, for a young boy who had spent years telling friends that there was more to history than battles, to be praised for her insights in the art of war.

"Nevertheless, it is reassuring for me to hear that His Grace views warfare with such nuance that even his familiar understands it to this detail," Henri declared in a pleased tone.

It reminded Kaede once more of how familiars -- no, anyone in service of a liege lord -- also reflected upon the character of their master by their own conduct.

...

The dinner lasted nearly three hours before Henri finally decided it was time to call it a night. During this time, Kaede not only recounted to Henri more details of the Avorican campaign, but also broached the topic of Sylviane's offer:

"Her Highness promises that if you help her retake the capital of Alis Avern and return the Empire to normality before the Caliphate's Spring Offensive, she will either make you the Grand Master of the royal household, or permit you to take charge of any ministry of the Empire to which you see yourself as most able to make an impact," Kaede said as she did her best to make the offer and its opportunities sound impressive.

"Furthermore, if you perform capably in the job, she is willing to consider you for the exalted position of being the youngest Grand Chancellor in Rhin-Lotharingie history, second in civil matters to only the Empress herself."

There was a brief second, when Kaede mentioned 'Grand Chancellor', when she saw even Henri's eyes light up.

"That is quite an offer," the young lord remarked as he wiped his lips with a handkerchief and replaced it with a charming, but hard-to-read smile. "And I am honored that Her Highness has such high regard for me."

"Does that mean you will consider it?" Kaede smiled politely in return.

"It means I will do what I can to persuade my father, both of Her Highness' capable leadership and her generous offer," Henri replied before he stood up from his chair. "In the meantime, I have already stayed longer than appropriate. The night grows late and we have an early start and long march ahead of us tomorrow."

"Of course, Your Lordship," Kaede nodded as she stood up in response. Her movement caused her to feel the weight of her ankle chains once more, which reminded her of the status that she had almost forgotten about during their pleasant dinner.

"Thank you, as always, for your generous arrangements and kind company," the familiar then added.

"Not at all. It is the courtesy that Your Excellency rightly deserves," Henri said with a courteous bow before he motioned to depart. "And with that, I bid you a good night, Your Excellency."

"Good night, Your Lordship." The Samaran girl dipped down in a light curtsy as she smiled in return.

<nowiki>----- * * * -----</nowiki>

By the time Henri left the cabin that Kaede was staying at, he had already made up his mind. Nevertheless, it took a ''Farspeak'' call and another hour to make the appropriate arrangements.

Now, with the night already late, the young lord stood outside the main entrance to his sleeping army's camp with six armigers in tow. His armored retainers fanned out behind him and to both sides in a loose, parade formation. Each of their shields held a glowing quartz crystal that had been enhanced with illumination spells. And together they lit up the clearing in the forest where the well-paved stonework of the Imperial Highway cut through.

Then, with the snap of a twig from the nearby woods, a short red-haired man bearing the cape of a royal armiger stepped out. He walked steadily up towards Henri until they came within only ten paces. The man kept a hand on the handle of a sheathed blade but otherwise showed no hostility.

"Lord Henri?" The youthful armiger asked.

"Sir Reynaud," Henri responded with a welcoming smile. "You are a brave man for accepting my offer for parley at this location."

"And you are a braver man for agreeing to meet me face to face." A chilling smirk tugged at Reynaud's lips as though he was about to bare a mouthful of bladed teeth. "Surely you understand that I killed Skagen's renowned Admiral Winter from such a distance?"

"Which is why I did not come unprepared." Henri beamed as he raised his left hand and revealed four runic pebbles grasped between his digits.

The runes were not his, but rather from his loyal bodyguard. Nevertheless, the defensive wards he could raise in the blink of an eye would easily buy him the time needed to disengage while his own armigers stepped into the fight.

"Well played, Your Grace," Reynaud addressed wrongly as he kept a close watch on not just Henri, but all six of the others. "Nevertheless, I'm sure you did not call me here just to exchange pleasantries, or to make a futile attempt to capture me. May I suggest we get to the point?" He added whimsically. "The night's not getting any younger, you know?"

"Of course." Henri chuckled before he raised his right hand which wore his casting glove. "''Telepathy.''"

The redhead armiger clearly looked surprised as Henri formed a link between their minds. Nevertheless, Reynaud accepted the link request before the young lord spoke:

"<nowiki><I</nowiki> require your aid in sending a message to Her Highness.>"

After all, ''Farspeak'' spells could only be cast from one mage to another if the two already knew each other. And while Henri had only met Reynaud briefly before the armiger burst out of the castle at Outremont -- a moment that left a rather striking impression -- he didn't even remember the last time he came face-to-face with Princess Sylviane.

"<Her Highness?>" Reynaud's eyebrows shot up as he breathed out in the late winter night's chill. "<Certainly. But why me? You have the Princess' envoy in your grasp already.>"

"<Because as much as I trust Her Excellency's honest character, it would not be appropriate for me to pass this message through her, as it would represent too great a conflict of interests,>" Henri answered.

<nowiki>----- * * * -----</nowiki>

"Not that I don't appreciate a dinner between old friends, Sylviane. But couldn't you have invited Vivi to join us also?" Sylviane heard King Alistair ask from beside her at the dinner table inside her expandable cabin.

The King had arrived in mid-afternoon on the skywhale of Reynaud's father, Sir Claude Moreau. He had attained the services of the Samaran Captain Marko once more, and used the two whales to ferry another eight hundred elite troops from the Glens.

The Galloglaichs he brought this time were from his royal guard. Many of them were veterans from his days serving as a mercenary abroad, who had followed Alistair for decades before he even became a King. Therefore, while their numbers might seem only a small addition to Sylviane's 28,000 strong army, their contribution provided a significant boost to not only morale but combat effectiveness.

Furthermore, the presence of the royal guard made it clear to everyone that King Alistair himself would be participating in the battle ahead.

The Princess knew she owed a great debt to the King of the Glens that should be repaid once she retook her throne. The fact that Alistair was a personal friend did not mean she could take his help for granted. Until then, it was necessary that she do what she could to show gratitude.

"I have tried," Sylviane responded with a soft sigh. "But alas, Vivi said she felt ill and excused herself."

"Is she sick?" Alistair expressed with genuine concern. "Or is it just that time of the month for her?"

His comment caused a brief block in Pascal's throat as the Landgrave sat on the opposite end of the short, six-seat table. It was a reminder that Sylviane had once made it clear to Pascal that it was not acceptable to blame her periods whenever her mood turned against him. Nevertheless, the young lord did not comment further as his gaze remained fixated on his own food.

-- It was probably a good thing that he was only half participating, as Pascal wore a frown and a scowl that showed he wasn't in a good mood.

"That is ''not'' an appropriate statement to make about a lady, Alistair," Sylviane chided Alistair sternly before a gentle smile returned to her lips. "Vivi is fine. Don't worry. I think... she just wasn't in the mood to come."

Her frank response made the King of the Glens sigh in response. Alistair put down his spoon and reached up to scratch his head like a teenage boy who looked lost.

"I swear Vivi has been avoiding me ever since I let slip that I liked her last year," Alistair grumbled as he looked down at his creamy potato soup.

The vichyssoise had been made using sacks of potatoes that Alistair had brought from the Glens. It was a treat for the whole army as most of the men had never tasted the tuber that originated from the New World.

"It was the same back when I came to help you at Gwilen River," the King continued. "And she hardly ever speaks to me these days outside of official settings!"

"Has Vivi... told you why?" Sylviane asked before taking a bite of her own delicious soup. Though she could already guess at the reason herself.

"''No!''" Alistair exclaimed with frustration in his faded-blue gaze. "I don't know if it's the supposedly enigmatic nature common to Winterborns or something. But that girl hardly tells me anything!"

''It's because you're a man,'' the Princess thought but avoided speaking out loud.

Both Alistair and Vivienne were dear friends whom she trusted. And while she had... complicated feelings about handing the young girl over to Alistair, she certainly didn't want to see the King suffer from his not just unrequited, but completely unanswered affections.

"This is really not my story to share, but I'll throw you a bone here, Alistair." Sylviane put down her own spoon as she began to explain. "Vivienne has had some rather... traumatic experiences with men. She's androphobic."

Alistair's eyes widened as though he could hardly believe it. "B-but she..."

"She manages it well, and it's not so serious that she cannot even be in the presence of men," Sylviane added before contemplating. ''Or former boys for that matter, considering how quickly she warmed up to Kaede.''

It really was an odd case, when she thought of how secretive Vivienne was normally about her past. The Princess could only surmise it had to do with Kaede and Vivienne's similarities in appearance, as well as the fact that Kaede also had experience 'being owned' by a man.

"So she's literally afraid of me..." Alistair grumbled as he lowered his head into his hands and sighed. "And like an idiot, I went up and told her that I liked her and wanted a ''closer'' relationship."

"That's not your fault, and I doubt she blames you for it." Sylviane comforted him in response. "I'm willing to bet that Vivi would feel at least a little flattered by it. Any woman would. But that doesn't change the fact that she's also scared."

For a moment Pascal looked over and frowned at Sylviane as though he took issue with some of her words. However, all he did was make a scowl before he gazed back down to his food.

"Because I have a penis?" Alistair complained in frustration as he turned to face Sylviane, only to receive another 'that's inappropriate' stare.

"Yes, but more so because you are a ''King''," the Princess answered, which made the King in question scowl and frown and scratch his head again.

"Please explain."

Sylviane exhaled as her inner thoughts struggled with whether she should even share this much. But in the end, her desire to help Alistair won out, as the voices that supported the pro-Alistair camp in her head argued that this wasn't information that Vivienne had shared with Sylviane to begin with.

-- At least, as long as she avoided mentioning the fact that Vivienne bore a curse of the most vulgar form of slavery.

"Vivienne is exceptionally weak and delicate of build for a girl, despite ranking as one of the Paladins of Rhin-Lotharingie," she began. "She doesn't have much strength to speak of, has no close combat training whatsoever, and her unique concordance magic takes a long time to activate..."

"Yes, I know all that," Alistair responded curtly. "But I'm trying to court her, not ''assault her!''"

''Not you. Though she has been assaulted before.''

"But you should understand how such a vulnerable girl, given her traumatic experiences with men, would be far more wary than any typical noblewoman might be?" The Princess inquired yet did not wait for a response. "Furthermore, were you a lesser nobleman, especially a lord who owed direct fealty to the Emperor, she could at least rely on me to protect her..."

"Am I not the Emperor's loyal vassal also?" The King countered with pursed lips.

"Yes you are. And what I meant is -- House Mackay-Martel and the Gaetane dynasty share a ''special relationship'' that goes back for generations," Sylviane pointed out. "The Kings of the Glens literally provide the bodyguards that protect the Emperor's family. It's unthinkable to believe that a future empress might sacrifice such an important alliance for the sake of a single girl."

Alistair sat silently with a frustrated scowl as Sylviane finished. He grabbed his silver chalice and downed an entire cup full of the mead he brought in one go.

"''Damn it,''" the King cursed, which didn't even draw a disapproving glare from Sylviane this time. "Why couldn't I have met her back when I was just a bastard sellsword? Everything is so much more complicated now that I'm King!"

"What can I say..." Sylviane shrugged with a wry smile. "Welcome to the dilemmas of royalty."

''And Vivi won't be the only girl who is wary of being a King's consort,'' the Princess thought with a heartsick feeling in her chest.

Sylviane's own late mother once said that had she not fallen in love with Geoffroi, she would have never agreed to join the royal court. The constant atmosphere of political intrigue and treacherous schemes was simply not her idea of an 'enjoyable life'.

Meanwhile, Alistair turned towards the quiet Pascal and voiced:

"I cannot be more envious of Your Grace right now -- to have secured your life partner in childhood when everything was so much simpler, and none of these complications existed to muddy the waters."

It brought amusement back to the Princess' lips as she considered: ''Pascal and I were anything but simple...''

However, she hadn't even finished her thought before the fiancé in question spoke up with a rather scathing tone:

"Are you ''mocking me'', Your Majesty?" Pascal challenged as he tightened his lips beneath a hard gaze. "Is there anything to be envious of about being a ''cripple'' at my age? Or have I fallen so far in your eyes that you no longer even see me as worthy of the Princess and can now openly flirt with her in my presence?"

"Wha--?" A bewildered Alistair was just starting to say when Sylviane interrupted him.

"Pascal! That is out of line!" The Princess' voice was stern as iron as she glared across the table at her betrothed.

Silence fell across the room for a moment as nobody spoke. Even the King looked unsure as he looked between the young royal couple.

Then, Pascal exhaled a deep audible sigh as he looked down at his empty bowl of soup.

"Yes, that was out of line. I apologize, Your Majesty." Pascal offered Alistair a curt nod before he rose from his seat, grabbed his walking wane, and left the table.

"Pascal?" Sylviane's tone softened with concern as she followed his limping steps to the door.

"I am sorry, Sylv," the young lord said without ever turning his face. "I have not been in a good mood today. And I should not have ruined your dinner like this. Please excuse me."

He then opened the door and departed into the night.

"I'm so sorry about that, Alistair," the Princess turned back to her guest with a frown above her slanted lips. "Pascal has not been the same as before ever since his injuries from the Battle of Glywysing. He has made significant recovery since then and is no longer down in the pits, but without his familiar here to help him..."

Unfortunately, that was only half the reason. Pascal's mood had swung high and low on multiple occasions over the past week, and Sylviane could only guess at the trigger of what caused his attitude today. The fact Pascal was quiet and contemplative for most of dinner meant something in his thoughts must have been troubling him.

''Did he overhear more unpleasant rumor mongering from the men about him?''

"Actually," the King replied with a surprised face, "to see him apologizing to me is quite refreshing. Nevertheless, I do understand how he feels."

''You do?'' Sylviane's eyebrows shot up.

"For us men, there is nothing worse than feeling inadequate and useless before our family and loved ones," Alistair said with a subdued smile. "Had I been injured as badly as His Grace had been, I'm sure I would also be lashing out at the people around me, especially towards a man whom he used to see as a rival in romance."

''A rival... you!?'' The Princess' eyes lit up as she never realized that Pascal's frequent condescension towards Alistair might be caused by this.

"I would have thought it obvious..." She began before trailing off.

"Oof, this must be what it feels like to be 'friended' by a beautiful lady," Alistair joked as he feigned bending over a pain in his chest. "But alas, Sylviane, I think you forget that for all of His Grace's confidence, he has never been good with women. Whereas I..." The King waggled his eyebrows.

"Oh stop bragging, you!" Sylviane waved him off as a joyful smile returned to her lips.

It was moments like these when Sylviane was reminded of how much more mature, and ''rounded'', Alistair was compared to Pascal.

"Who said anything about bragging?" The King protested with a beaming grin before his expression turned back into a plain smile. "Though to be serious -- I've seen fellow companions go through what Pascal is going through after being grievously injured. But it is always temporary, and Your Highness must have faith."

Sylviane blinked as Alistair rarely addressed her formally when they were in private. It was a clear sign that his words were less for Pascal's sake and more for hers.

"His Grace will recover," the King declared with certainty. "And you must believe in him until he does -- believe that he will rebound from his fall with a more mature, better tempered confidence. As that is the future Emperor Consort whom we all hope to see."

<nowiki>----- * * * -----</nowiki>

Later that night, after their dinner and an extended conversation as the King left, Sylviane finally returned to her room in the expandable cabin. The Princess stretched out her arms as Elspeth helped to unlace her dress from behind.

Although Alistair's reassurances helped her to feel better, Sylviane was still worried about Pascal. The young lord might have returned to actively partaking in various deliberations of military and political strategy. However, he was still often moody, and certainly no longer the cheerful, optimistic, and overly confident Pascal that she remembered from before.

After all, it was that Pascal who had so attracted her ever since they met on the shores of Cross Lake a decade ago.

''I guess I can't expect him to recover fully after just a few talks,'' the Princess thought.

Then, as the leather stays sewn into the narrow waist of her dress completely loosened, Sylviane felt a chime in the back of her head that indicated an incoming ''Farspeak'' spell.

"<Sir Reynaud?>" Sylviane's brows furrowed with concern as she opened the link. "<Has something happened?>"

"<Hello, Your Highness,>" Reynaud said with noticeable tension in his voice. "<No, I haven't broken Kaede out or anything, but rather... I'm here with Lord Henri de La Tours. He'd like to speak with you.>"

''Why is Reynaud with Henri?'' The Princess frowned as confusion wracked her thoughts.

"<Yes, of course,>" Sylviane nevertheless responded as she made a 'shhh' gesture to Elspeth before tapping the back of her own head.

The petite armiger nodded back as she continued to help the Princess undress.

"<Your Highness, I am Henri de La Tours de Lorraine,>" a youthful and velvety voice began politely over the link. "<nowiki><I</nowiki> apologize for calling so late at night. I wanted a chance to speak privately with you and this was the only available time.>"

"<Your Lordship,>" the Princess answered in due courtesy. "<This is very unusual circumstance indeed. Not only for you to reach out to me directly, but also through an armiger who is trailing your army, rather than through my envoys whom you are holding prisoner.>"

"<Yes, I'm sorry for the improper etiquette. I must also apologize for my father's breach of diplomatic protocol,>" Henri replied candidly. "<And while I must follow his orders, please rest assured, Your Highness, that so long as Dame Kaede and Dame Cecylia are in my custody, no harm will befall either of them.>"

''Until they're no longer in your custody.'' Sylviane's thoughts filled in as she knew full well how this game was played.

"<nowiki><I</nowiki> appreciate what you have done for them, Lord Henri,>" the Princess acknowledged. "<Nevertheless, I must ask why they are not the intermediary in our conversation right now.>"

"<Because I am here to make a proposal, Your Highness, one that would put Her Excellency in a position of conflicted interests,>" the young lord responded.

''This has to do with Pascal and Weichsel then,'' Sylviane considered. "<Go ahead.>"

"<Your Highness, over the past week, I've had the pleasure of hearing of your deeds and accomplishments on behalf of the Empire in our moment of crisis,>" Henri began in earnest. "<nowiki><It</nowiki> is now my belief that you have shown yourself to be a ruler who can better uphold Rhin-Lotharingie's long term interests, and I have spoken as such to my father.>

''Kaede has done a good job then,'' Sylviane thought.

Nevertheless, she suppressed the feelings of elation that rose inside her. Henri's tone came as someone who spoke as an equal and not as a subordinate, which meant he wasn't simply pledging his allegiance and there was yet another shoe to drop.

"<As Your Highness might already know,>" Henri continued, "<Emperor Gabriel has already dispatched 5,000 of his soldiers back to his home provinces to delay the Weichsen invasion. This leaves his remaining 25,000 troops to defend the capital, which stands at about even parity with the forces that Your Highness has brought against him.>"

''Which is unfortunate, as I had hoped Gabriel would dispatch twice that amount to defend Belgae,'' the Princess frowned.

"<Meanwhile, the Army of Rhétie under my command marches upon the capital in haste with 20,000 men,>" the young lord added. "<And I expect to arrive within three days to sway the balance of this decisive conflict for the future of our realm.>"

"<nowiki><I</nowiki>ndeed, Lord Henri, which makes me all the more anxious that you are currently holding my envoys prisoner,>" Sylviane replied as a scowl formed across her lips.

''Stop flaunting your leverage and get to the point.''

"<For the moment, Your Highness,>" Henri replied as though everything was about to change. "<My father may have offered the support of House La Tours to the Emperor Gabriel, but there is no binding contract between us and no oath of allegiance. I have therefore been able to petition him to switch sides in this conflict, which he has expressed willingness, but only on one condition... Though we understand if this condition cannot be met until the war is at an end, for Weichsel still has a role to play.>"

Sylviane pursed her lips as she had a bad feeling about where this was going, even before Henri laid down his demands:

"<nowiki><I</nowiki> ask for Your Highness' hand in marriage, in a true union between fellow Lotharins for the future of our Empire.>"

<noinclude>
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| Back to [[Daybreak:Volume_4_Chapter_13|Chapter 13]]
| Return to [[Daybreak_on_Hyperion|Main Page]]
| Forward to [[Daybreak:Volume_4_Chapter_15_Interlude|Interlude Chapter 15.5]]
|-
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</noinclude>

Daybreak:Volume 4 Chapter 13

2025-04-26T02:59:12Z

Aorii:

=== Chapter 13 - On the Road ===

"Ahhhhhhhhhhhhh..." Kaede held her mouth wide open to catch the wind as she rode in the front of the horse-drawn carriage.

Cecylia had used her contacts through the Black Eagles to arrange for a carriage several towns back. The vehicle had belonged to one of the local merchants and was currently 'on loan' to Kaede's traveling party. The carriage was richly furnished with a sturdy, mahogany frame and leather benches. But it was also a lightweight model with a folding canvas top, and was pulled by four horses and two ''Phantom Steeds'' for extra speed.

Of course, their travel speed still couldn't compare to any modern car or train. Though with the conjured and tireless Phantom Steeds pulling at the front, which reduced both wind drag and exertion on the magebred horses, they were able to maintain a consistent fast canter. It also helped that Cecylia had planned their travel route to start by teleporting from Aouta to a town in the South Lotharingie Mountains and then journeying downhill for three days. The horses were currently moving at a near-gallop as they rushed downhill, and it was a sign of Gerard's aptitude as the driver that he was able to keep the carriage under perfect control as they bounced down the straight slope.

"I suggest you close your mouth before you accidentally swallow a pebble," Gerard cried out in a humored tone over the sound of iron horseshoes striking the dirt and gravel road.

"Not to mention it's extremely improper of a Lady's Maid," Cecylia said from inside the carriage. Though her tone was also more amused than reprimanding.

"Sorry," Kaede remarked sheepishly as she closed her lips. "Old habit."

The petite girl sat next to the tall and burly Gerard in the front of the carriage. It made Kaede feel like a child again as Gerard was easily tall enough to use her head as an armrest. It wasn't exactly proper for a Lady's Maid to sit with the chauffeur. However, Kaede both hated the smell of the leather ''and'' suffered from motion sickness, which prompted her to trade spots with Reynaud who now sat inside the carriage.

"Kaede, where you come from, do people like to keep their mouths open while traveling?" Cecylia asked with both humor and curiosity. Though her voice also betrayed her discomfort from the bumpy carriage ride. "Because that is a really odd habit."

"No. It's more something kids from my world like to do when the wind is blowing into their faces," Kaede answered as she felt embarrassment creep into her cheeks.

Growing up, it was something she did almost daily during the summer when the electric fan was turned on. It was an activity she found extremely relaxing, especially in the years before she learned to meditate.

"It's good to kick back and relax during moments like these. Don't ever let anyone tell you otherwise." Reynaud beamed. "Besides, it's cute!"

''I wonder if people would still say that if I was still a young man?'' Kaede thought as she gave a little wry smile. Her chest felt constricted as her mind dwelled on the kind face of her Russian grandmother from her childhood memories.

"Whoooooaaa!" Gerard then cried out as he used both verbal command and a steady pull on the reins to get the horses to slow down. There was a bend in the road coming up ahead in a few hundred paces, and the surface was not at all inclined to match their speed.

"Gerard, when did you learn how to drive?" Kaede took the opportunity to shift the topic.

"When I was ten and my papa began teaching me how to make deliveries for the family bakery," the burly 'chauffeur' replied. "It was also what allowed me to get a broader education than mere literacy, as my parents sure didn't have the time to bring me to and back from the monastery every day for years."

It was yet another reminder to Kaede that before the dawn of modern universal education, only the children of affluent families could afford to pursue proper schooling.

"I thought you told me once that most middle-class families would send their children to the monastery for basic education?" She asked.

"Yes." Gerard nodded. "Most yeomen parents would send their children to an abbey or monastery during the summer, when there were plenty of spare farm labor to go around. Children from far away settlements like myself would even stay at the convent for many weeks, and this usually went on for three to four years between the ages of seven and twelve. It was considered good for a child's spirit to experience a monastic life while growing up, not to mention meeting kids from neighboring communities. And during that time the monks taught us reading, writing, and accounting -- basic mathematics -- in exchange for a donation from every family."

"That can't be easy for the monks," the familiar commented as she imagined the rambunctious kids turning the quiet monastery upside down.

"No. Not at all." Gerard laughed. "But compassion and patience are Trinitian virtues which the monks sought to practice. They also had plenty of land that we can run wild in, and good behavior was only enforced by the stick during meals and lessons."

''How is caneing a child 'compassion'?''

Kaede's eyebrows rose slightly as the complete banning of corporal punishment on children in Japan was one of the last major events she remembered from her former life. It had been signed into law on February 2020, much to the disapproval of her traditionalist father.

-- And just like that time, she opted not to comment.

"Though if you had lived in the convent during your education, what necessitated the trips back and forth?" The Samaran girl then asked.

"Because I wanted to continue," Gerard said. "I wasn't satisfied with just the basics. I wanted to learn more words and more ways of using numbers!" He commented excitedly as though reliving his childhood passion. "The monks are the keepers of so much knowledge in our society, from records and scriptures to illumination and fermentation. It seemed a waste to learn only the basics and ignore everything else that could be used to make the people's lives better!"

"I'm amazed, Gerard," Cecylia commented from the back. "You've never struck me as the particularly bookish type."

"I'm not," the tall engineer countered. "Books are just another tool. What I want is the knowledge to help people!"

''You really are a big brother through and through,'' Kaede thought with a smile before she asked:

"I'm guessing your parents were supportive of you expanding your education then?"

Even in the modern world, too many struggling families had to pull their children out of school early to help supplement the family income. And this was especially the case for any 'eldest son'. Kaede herself had known a classmate in high school who slept through many of his classes because he was too busy working at his family's ramen stand at night. Needless to say, there was zero chance of that young man going to college to receive higher education, which left him stuck doing the exact same thing as his own parents.

"Not initially," Gerard commented in a plain voice. "They had expected me to become another baker, just like their parents and grandparents before them. After all, my extended family collectively owns over a dozen bakeries across the region. It's actually pretty fun when everybody gets together for a wedding or childbirth and we all exchange the latest ideas and recipes," he noted with a chuckle.

''Generational professionals were certainly common enough back in the day.'' Kaede smiled and nodded.

"But I convinced my parents that even as just a baker, I could stand to benefit from understanding more advanced studies like alchemy," The engineer continued. "After all, is the fermentation of yeast not itself a science? Do bakers not constantly experiment with different ratios of ingredients cooked at different temperatures? Well -- how about having someone in the family who actually understood why dough rises in a certain way, instead of relying purely on trial and error?"

"That's more or less the same argument I remember you using when applying for engineering at Alisia." Reynaud chuckled.

"Yes, well, nobody said you can't shoot the same arrow twice." Gerard shrugged. "Besides, it's true. As I always say -- ''baking is a science''."

Kaede nodded. Too many people forget that science isn't just a career or profession, but also a way of life. To make a hypothesis, test a method, and observe results was a process that could be applied to every aspect of daily life.

"So anyways, that argument got my parents halfway there, but I still had to play my part in the family business," Gerard continued with a sense of pride in his voice. "I convinced my parents to let me run all the daily bread deliveries, and to make up for the rest by being the first person to get up every morning to start the ovens. I also took all of my younger siblings that were willing to join me, as well as anyone else from the nearby villages -- as long as their family was a good customer of our bakery." He looked down at Kaede with a smirk.

It was clear that the tall engineer considered the journey to acquire his education as one of his life's accomplishments.

''Complimentary services.'' Kaede chuckled. "You'd make quite the entrepreneur."

"My parents thought so too." Gerard beamed before his smile turned a hint sour. "They were actually disappointed when I accepted Perceval's generous offer to help me enroll at Alisia as an engineering student. Thought I'd be able to leverage my relationship with ''Lord Baguette'' to establish a renowned bakery that would bring prestige to the whole family," the engineer finished.

Kaede almost snorted, but managed to half-suppress it into a weird exhaling sound at the last second.

"Parents are always disappointed when we refuse to be the next torchbearer of their lifelong dreams," Reynaud commented. "All you can do is prove to them that we can soar even higher, just like I did."

The redheaded armiger's proud statement only brought mixed emotions to Kaede's chest once more.

''I wonder what Papa would think of me today, as the Grand Squire of an Empire?'' The Samaran girl couldn't help thinking.

Though she didn't doubt for a second as she imagined her father's face glowing with pride as he grinned back from ear to ear.

<nowiki>----- * * * -----</nowiki>

"Is that...?" Kaede asked as she pointed at a small town in the distance while the dusk sun began to set behind her.

"Blancheroche, yes." Gerard nodded. "We're almost there. And it'll be the last stop before we arrive at Duke Hugh's Castle at Outremont."

The settlement was built on the southern slopes of a hill near a river's bend. And as the carriage descended from the roads that traversed the edge of the South Lotharingie Mountains, they had a perfect view of the river valley as well as the small town on the opposing bank.

"I swear these towns all look like they're cut from the same mold," Kaede thought out loud as she examined the settlement that likely had a population of roughly four hundred. "It's always a stone castle on top, a walled community built along one slope, and surrounded by a ditch plus ponds at the bottom. Even the buildings' layout inside the walls feels similar."

"The Lotharins do like to build them in that pattern," Cecylia remarked. "Even the layout of Alis Avern followed the trend."

Kaede thought back to her days in the Empire's capital when she realized it was true. Alis Avern might be situated on an island and had a far bigger castle on top. But the royal capital was still built along the southern slopes of its hill, stretching from the harbor to the rocky crag where the Oriflamme Palace stood.

"Is there a reason for this?" Kaede looked up at Gerard to ask.

"Of course," the tall engineer said before he happily began to explain. "Most Lotharin towns are agrarian settlements built as defensive holdouts. Several centuries of incessant conflicts have taught us a lot on how to build farming communities that are defensible, low maintenance, and easy to renew. These experiences allowed us to create a set of rules that have since become common wisdom in Lotharin culture."

"What do you mean by 'easy to renew'?" Kaede raised her eyebrows.

"Are you familiar with the study of Permanent Agriculture, or Permaculture?" Gerard asked in return, to which Kaede shook her head.

"It's a field of study in land management that I focused on quite a bit during my days in Alisia," Gerard continued. "The idea is that farming communities should not rely on expensive subsidies like spells and fertilizer to stay productive and not deplete the land. Instead, we should be designing our villages in a manner that allows nature to regenerate itself even as we benefit. But to do this effectively, we must understand the land first -- how the soil, the forest, the animals, the weather, the hydrology, how ''everything'' must work together. Only then can we manipulate the biome without disrupting it in a manner that's harmful to our descendants."

''Synergistic agriculture with environmental engineering.'' Kaede nodded as she thought back to the environmental science boom of modern Earth. She could swear she has heard of the phrase 'permaculture' once before.

"Didn't one of the Oriflammes start that whole field of study?" Reynaud pitched in.

"Not quite. Laetitia de Estrées, one of the twelve Oriflamme Paladins of the Independence War, is often attributed with bringing Permaculture to national recognition," Gerard corrected him. "But the knowledge of permaculture has been passed down by the druids since the days of the Faerie Lords. Ceredigion historians even argue that it was the Faerie Lords themselves who first introduced agriculture to humanity."

"I guess it's quite important for a country that had just emerged from centuries of continuous bloodshed to have a means of productive agriculture," Cecylia added.

"Very," Gerard responded as he carefully maneuvered the carriage through a one-eighty bend in the mountainous road. "We Lotharins have neither the human nor material resources to match our wealthier neighbors. All we have is an abundance of land, which means it's all the more important to ''utilize'' that land in an effective manner. The greatest advantage of Permaculture is that it requires minimum maintenance for the land to stay productive. And it matters less when foreign invaders burn down every field if we could revitalize them within a year."

It was a reminder to Kaede that every field of study in the world was interconnected. And also how the military history of the Lotharins fundamentally affected every aspect of their culture.

"So is that why every town seemed to be built on the southern slopes of a hill near a river or a lake?" Kaede pulled the discussion back to her original question.

"Yes." Gerard nodded as he raised his hand and held it against the outline of the hill to highlight its slope. "The standard design for a Lotharin settlement is to build on the south-facing slopes of a hill, starting at the slope-break where the incline turns from gentle to steep. The area below the break is dedicated to farming fields while the area above is where the settlement begins. We also usually build several wide, crescent-shaped ponds just beneath the town, both to serve as a reservoir moat and to naturally replenish the water and nutrients to the fields."

"But why only the southern slope?" Kaede inquired.

"It's to maximize the amount of sunlight each home receives." Gerard gestured to their sun in the southern skies. "Lotharin homes are built with their widest side facing south while the narrowest side faces west. This is crucial in the winter when the sun is low on the horizon and can be blocked by mountains or hills. Meanwhile, the summer sun is high and we limit exposure to the east and west to stay cool. This also plays a big role in internal design -- living areas and large windows face south, kitchens face east for the morning sun, and storage sheds face west to keep the summer nights cool.

"And because of this, it's conventional for streets within our settlements to zigzag uphill, with buildings constructed at a sharp angle to the road," Gerard added as he pointed at the town in the distance where Kaede could see the stitch-like pattern of roads. "This both makes it harder for attackers to reach the top -- as every house can be turned into a strongpoint to shoot down -- while allowing every home to be built facing south."

''And here I thought Fengshui was mere superstition.'' Kaede felt a little stunned as she connected the dots back to what she knew.

"What's 'Fenshi'?" Gerard asked with a frown as the petite girl had unknowingly muttered out loud.

"Ah, sorry. It's a traditional practice of landscaping and home design from my world," Kaede replied. "I don't know too much about it. But I think it's founded upon the same core principles as what you speak of."

"Well, you wouldn't be the first to mistake it for superstition. The Imperials do so all the time and endlessly mock us in their propaganda," Gerard said with a sigh. "Even merchants from the forests of Ceredigion and the temperate coastal plains of Avorica often fail to understand why the rest of Rhin-Lotharingie build in this manner. People often forget that as the climate and geography changes, so do the local customs."

''Ethnocentric thinking,'' Kaede frowned inwardly as it has been a long time since she herself could be accused of it. This was actually one of her pet peeves back on modern Earth, where netizens often belittled other cultures for traditions that they failed to understand.

"The Lotharin town design does remind me a bit of the motte-and-bailey setup that us Weichsens used to build," Cecylia commented as she brought their conversation back to the main topic. "Though with a castle placed on top of the hill and a sloped ditch running down both sides, it's certainly easier to defend."

"More than just defend." Gerard returned to his explanation. "The fortifications built on the hilltop offers significantly more visibility for the garrison, which allows them to better spot threats and command the countryside. The ditch that surrounds the walls also serves as drainage, with a variety of berry bushes and small fruit trees planted to the side to stop soil erosion and impede scaling ladders. It also funnels rainwater from across the hill to the crescent ponds that you see flanking the main gates. Those ponds are used to irrigate the fields between them and the river through subsurface seepage, while simultaneously protecting the most vulnerable part of the settlement."

"It truly is a synergistic design," Cecylia openly admired.

"What about the ponds and ditches in the surrounding hills?"

Kaede pointed out as she noticed the lanes cut across the surrounding slopes, except this time the entire ditch would be dug at roughly the same altitude. Each of them fed water to a pond while being secured by trees on both sides. It made them look almost like elevation lines drawn onto the rolling hills.

"Those are purely for irrigation and groundwater replenishment. Though many larger ponds are also used to raise ducks or frogs, which are not only useful for pest control but are also a delicacy for nobles and commons respectively," Gerard beamed. "Since this town is built in the shadow of the South Lotharingie Mountains, it becomes all the more important for them to catch what rain they can. Otherwise the only water their crops have is what they can bring uphill from the river. And that often requires more labor or magic than we'd like."

"Even with ley lines?" Kaede brought up the nigh-infinite energy source that Geomancers in Hyperion tapped.

"Not all of these smaller towns are built along ley lines. And those that are generally prioritize security and industrial needs over farming," Gerard answered. "Ley-lines anchors aren't just expensive. They also have limitations on how closely they can be built together, so small settlements can only have a few ley-line powered enchantments at most."

"So it really is all about reducing external resource needs." Kaede concluded. ''Even modern Earth could learn a thing or two from this.''

"Yes." Gerard nodded. "There's a lot more to talk about, like why it's necessary to always convert the waste of one actor into nutrients for another, why it's important to divide the fields based on the topography and its effect on water flow, and why it's essential to rotate the fields between a diverse crop of grains, roots, brassicas, and legumes." Gerard outlined several more topics to show that they were just scratching the surface of this field.

Meanwhile, Kaede looked up briefly as she heard the flapping of wings approach. A black raven with white feathers above its neck dove down from the skies before slowing its descent and matching speed with the wagon.

"But in general, Permaculture is all about maximizing access to the resources that are freely available, from sunlight and rainwater to gravity and biomass," Gerard added as he stretched out an arm for his familiar to land upon. "This allows us to create productive and resilient farming communities that are entirely self-sufficient. No need for fancy nitrate fertilizer, pumped water, or expensive Stormcallers."

''India, that's where I remember reading about this!'' Kaede remembered at last, as India had been undergoing a massive permaculture revolution to revitalize the depleted water tables caused by over a century of intensive farming. And in many places, the people were returning to traditional methods of land and water management, which they had used before the British colonial administration arrogantly changed them.

It was an excellent example of how society really did not need to brute force every problem through magic or industry. Sometimes all that was needed was a thorough understanding of the environment -- the wisdom that human communities accumulated through generations.

<nowiki>----- * * * -----</nowiki>

Night had fallen by the time Kaede's party crossed the stone bridge over the river and entered the small town. They made their way to a tavern near the front gates, where Reynaud requested two rooms for the night. The inn wasn't fancy in any way but its guest quarters were surprisingly clean. Kaede and Cecylia also took the best room, which consisted of a large wicker bed covered by furs as well as a smaller one dressed in quilts that were likely reserved for a child or close servant.

"Haaaaa..." Cecylia sighed as she collapsed onto the big bed as soon as she took off her outerwear.

"Tired? Milady?" Kaede said as she closed the door.

"I hate traveling by carriage, especially down a mountain," Cecylia remarked as she stared up at the nondescript ceiling. "All that nonstop rocking and bumping. Having to keep my body braced the whole time... it's exhausting. And my stamina isn't great to begin with," She finished before propping up her torso with her elbows.

Kaede returned a sympathetic smile as riding a carriage certainly wasn't as easy as it looked. Riding a horse -- even a semi-physical ''Phantom Steed'' -- was far more preferable in comfort as one could at least predict the ups and downs. Nevertheless, Cecylia had argued that an all-mounted four-person party was too easily mistaken for enemy infiltrators and scouts.

The Samaran girl fared a bit better since her small frame didn't shake as much and she was riding up front. Nevertheless, as the day drew to a conclusion, Kaede was feeling more and more nervous about what lay ahead. By tomorrow afternoon, she would expect them to have arrived at Outremont and begun negotiations with Duke Hugh.

''And I don't feel ready by a longshot,'' the familiar thought as she closed her eyes and took a deep breath, only for her moment of solitude to be disrupted by a growl from Cecylia's stomach.

"Kaede, could you go get us some food from the kitchens?" Cecylia asked as she giggled. "<I'll get up to scan and ward our rooms in a moment.>" She then added over telepathy.

Cecylia had been careful to always scan their rooms for scrying sensors and to ward them from eavesdropping. It was yet another layer of precaution to ensure that their true identities wouldn't be revealed by accident.

"Yes Milady," Kaede dipped in a slight curtsy before leaving through the door and closing it behind her.

The Samaran girl walked through the narrow corridor and took the spiraling staircase down. The main floor of the tavern was filled with rowdy locals who sat around several tables drinking. Two men in plain tunics played an aerophone and a tambourine while those gathered around the bar led a singalong. Dozens of locals including several barmaids all joined in as a jolly and festive atmosphere filled the floor. And Kaede herself couldn't help but beam until she realized just what they were singing.

"...The land fell into chaos and the holy men feared for their poor souls! But we don't care and order some more and get drunk like there's no tomorrow!"

''What a depressing drinking song.''

Kaede thought before she noticed a bald man who sat at the head of a table. He sang with a tankard of sloshing liquor in hand while he leaned over to slap the rear of a tavern girl. The young woman shook her finger at him but otherwise didn't seem bothered as the men continued their song. However, what astonished Kaede the most was that the bald man also wore a pastor's robe.

"...So pour me some more and make my world spin! Cause who knows if demons may show up again in the morrow!" The entire group all cheered and raised their steins to take a deep drink as the singalong came to an end.

"And I say f-fuck those fat bishops and Gabriel!" The bald prelate shouted in a slightly slurred voice as he downed his liquor and slammed the tankard onto the table. "I ain't selling those filthy pieces of pi-pigskin just so the kingslayer could collect two extra silver from us! You all know that (hic) I have my sins but avarice ain't one of them!"

"You said it, Father," one of the townsfolk shouted back. "Who the fuck does Gabriel even think he is? A pretender who can't even sit on the throne -- no phoenix chose him for the Emperor's crown!"

"The Imps chose him. And those corrupt decadent Papists who spit upon our Lord's legacy!" Another man cried out while those around him nodded in agreement. "And if our duke, His Hugeness, had anything but fat in that thick skull of his, we'd tell the fake Emperor to shove his new taxes back up his sodomite ass!"

"<Someone sure is unpopular,>" Kaede commented over telepathy as she noticed Reynaud leave the bar and approach her.

"<Can you blame them?>" The short armiger replied. "<Both the new taxes and the sale of indulgences are deeply unpopular with the commons. The towns have already contributed to the war effort, yet the pretender Gabriel -- who hasn't sent a single banner to reinforce the front -- insists on squeezing every copper out of them.>"

Kaede then looked over as the redhead came to stand beside her with his armor already off and his hand carrying a tankard of booze.

"<You weren't the one who led them to start this, were you?>"

She had already learned earlier this trip that Reynaud was excellent at mingling with the common folk.

"<Nah, I was just chatting with the priest when I asked him about the new policies,>" Reynaud answered with a smirk. "<The rest was all his pent-up frustration. Though I'm sure the tankard I bought him loosened his lips,>" he added before taking a sip of his own.

''You're a natural-born agitator.'' The familiar half-chuckled and half-scoffed.

"So what'd you come down for? I thought Her Ladyship wanted to rest?" Reynaud then asked as he returned to regular speech.

"Her Ladyship is also famished," Kaede answered. "So am I, for that matter. Please tell me they have something other than liquid bread."

"Oh no, this is just appetizer." He glanced down at his drink. "They've got something ''much better'' here. I'm waiting for them to finish my order." Reynaud grinned like a kid in a candy store. "And don't worry, I requested enough for all four of us."

Kaede was curious about what Reynaud had opted for as she followed him back to the bar of the tavern. The local men glanced up and down her dress with interested looks but otherwise said nothing about her presence. A few of them glanced at Reynaud before receiving a serious look from him. It seemed the armiger had already built up some rapport with the townsfolk during the brief time Kaede was upstairs.

One of the barmaids approached Kaede and asked if the girl would like to order anything. Kaede smiled nervously and replied that they were already waiting. The barmaid then left for the kitchens to check on their food before returning several minutes later with a huge wooden platter. Four bowls sat on top with bread and cheese, hearty stew, cooked lentils and nuts, and what looked like a mound of elongated and sauteed chicken legs.

"What are those?" Kaede asked as she took one of the smaller bowls that another maid brought out. The familiar began to ladle soup into it so she could bring two meals back upstairs.

"Fried frog legs." Reynaud beamed as he grabbed one and immediately stuffed his face with it. "<nowiki><I've</nowiki> missed this so much during our time in Avorica.>"

Kaede blinked back in surprise as she hadn't encountered this once during her time in Alisia and Alis Avern. She then remembered Gerard's comment about ducks and frogs being delicacies for nobles and commoners 'respectively'.

Anxious to try, she tore a small piece off and placed it in her mouth. The aroma was mouthwatering and a glowing smile immediately came to her lips. The way the meat slid off the thin bone left an exquisite taste on her tongue. And the herb seasoning added just the right touch of spice to the tender, juicy meat.

"Oh this is so good." The familiar closed her eyes as she savored the moment.

"Isn't it?" The redheaded armiger grinned.

"Hey you ordered extra, nicely done!" Gerard's gruff voice then joined in as the 'chauffeur' finally arrived after taking care of the animals. He shook free the water on his freshly washed hands before diving his fingers straight into the plate of frog legs.

With complete disregard for the other food, the two young men quickly began to devour the meat using their bare hands. The way they ate made Kaede realize why this food wasn't considered high class, as sauteed frog legs were basically the equivalent of 'finger food'.

Nevertheless, Kaede snatched some for Cecylia and herself before the men could hog them all. She then scooped out balanced servings of all the other dishes -- while trying a bite of each in turn -- before she placed the small bowls onto another wooden tray.

"I'll be taking these back upstairs to eat with Her Ladyship then," Kaede said as she turned to leave. "Don't stay too long or overdrink. We have quite the day ahead tomorrow."

"We will, we will!" Reynaud answered with a mouthful of food as she left.

The Samaran girl smiled as she realized that her anxieties about tomorrow still affected her behavior. Though her brief trip into the festive tavern certainly helped in taking her mind off things.

Kaede continued to hear the music and the rowdy crowd as she slowly made her way back upstairs. Though the instruments had changed as the Lotharin men demonstrated their musical culture. She focused her attention on keeping the tray in balance as they walked across the hallway and back to her room with Cecylia. The door had been left open and she walked straight in, only to almost jump as she raised her head and saw what Cecylia was doing.

The dhampir girl stood with her right arm extended against a wall. Her hand clenched like talons around the throat of a mousy young man in his early twenties. The man tried to kick her but his legs were feeble and barely had any impact. Meanwhile, Cecylia's eyes were glowing with a deep crimson as she stared at the terrified man's gray gaze.

"Wha..." Kaede looked between the two before she rushed to close the door.

"Imperial spy," Cecylia said in a cold voice. "Caught him sneaking inside."

"I'm not... a spy... for the Imperi..." The young man barely managed to say in a choked voice. His arms struggled against Cecylia's grip. Yet despite how thin the dhampir's own wrists were, he couldn't move her by the slightest.

It was as if he was being sapped of all strength.

"I'm... Emperor Gabri--"

"''Silence.''"

The young man didn't even finish before Cecylia squeezed harder around his throat while kneeing him in the groin. The man spasmed and tried to cry out as tears rushed out of eyes that almost popped out from their sockets. No sound emerged from either of them as Cecylia's spell completely suppressed all noise. And it was only when the dhampir withdrew her bloody knee when Kaede saw the blade that jutted out from it.

''Holy...''

The Samaran girl winced as she realized that Cecylia had just shoved a dagger straight into the man's groin. However the dhampir girl wasn't done yet as she leveled her right hand against his neck before a blade extended from her sleeves. She then pushed the steel edge straight into the underside of his chin. It took only a few seconds after that for all life to leave the man's gaze.

Cecylia finally let go of the lifeless corpse and allowed it to slide onto the floor. The girl was breathing hard as she dismissed the ''Silence'' spell and cast ''Cleanse'' on her blood-soaked dress.

Meanwhile, the familiar stood dumbfounded by the closed door as her mind struggled to make the transition from festive tavern celebration to cold-blooded murder scene.

"Sorry about that, Kaede," Cecylia said as she pulled out an extradimensional storage sack from her belongings. "Help me get his corpse in here. We'll have to dispose of this after we leave town."

"W-won't they notice he's missing?" Kaede whispered as she could still feel herself trembling. The familiar stared at the body that had been alive a mere minute ago as her mind still struggled to process what had just happened.

"Not before we leave," Cecylia answered as she 'tossed' the sack to straighten the enchanted fabric. "Besides, I don't think he works in this inn. A delivery boy at best." She gestured towards the flat messenger bag he wore to his side.

Finally coming to her senses, the Samaran girl put down the tray of food on a nightstand before she slowly moved up to the dead body. It took another minute before she crouched down to help Cecylia roll the small sack over the corpse that was much larger than it.

"How did you do that?" Kaede asked several minutes later as Cecylia cast several more cleansing spells to return the room to normal. "He might be on the short side but he's still a grown man."

"A dhampir's gaze can mesmerize and weaken through direct eye contact." Cecylia smiled knowingly back at the familiar, which reminded Kaede of that night at Alisia Academy when Cecylia had looked into her eyes after they first met. "Aside from that and a strength-booster for myself... well, there are some ''state secrets'' that I shan't reveal, hehe."

It was certainly more than enough to make Kaede realize that she should never piss Cecylia off.

<nowiki>----- * * * -----</nowiki>

None of the members of Kaede's group managed a good rest that night. Cecylia couldn't be sure if the spy informed anyone else before she caught him, so they warded the rooms with extra precautions and took turns staying up to keep watch. The four of them checked out as soon as dawn arrived and headed back onto the road.

Gerard and Reynaud also helped Cecylia dispose of the corpse. They buried it twenty kilopaces outside of town in some woods.

Unlike the previous days, the four of them talked very little before making it to their destination -- the fortress-city of Outremont, capital of the Duchy of Lorraine.

The city was built onto the southern slopes of an outcrop mountain that stood at the northeastern end of the South Lotharingie Mountain range. It kept watch over a strategic nexus of several major roads, including the South Lotharingie River as it widened past the steep terrain. The fortress settlement was formidable, with two layers of thick stone curtain walls that rang rings around the city, large projecting bastions that protruded from the lower walls, and even a crowded market built atop an elevated ravelin that shielded the main gate. This design left it looking like an odd hybrid between a Medieval castle and an early Renaissance Star Fortress, except one built upon very rough terrain.

Yet, unlike the declining fortress-town of Aouta, Outremont was a prosperous and bustling city of commerce that had long outgrown its old self. The city's stout walls separated its districts into the old and rich 'upper city', the poorer 'lower city', and several suburbs built atop external earthworks. Meanwhile, Duke Hugh's white castle sat at the peak of the small mountain that the city stood upon. It held a commanding view that towered over the fortress's surrounding countryside by at least twenty stories of total height and elevation difference.

As the group made their way into the city, Cecylia had met someone at the local tavern to 'return' their borrowed carriage. The four of them then trekked through the imposing gatehouses of the inner walls and castle. A squad of soldiers met them at the castle gates and offered to escort them to meet the Duke. It was clear that the Princess had sent a message ahead of them and their arrival was expected.

The Samaran girl had shed her maid outfit back at the tavern for her new dress as the Princess' Grand Squire. She forced herself to take deep breaths as she strode up the red carpet with her head held high. The familiar was flanked by Cecylia in a Weichsel dress uniform on one side, while Reynaud and Gerard followed on the other with the redhead wearing his royal armiger's cape.

Kaede wasn't surprised when she was led into an audience chamber that was as grandiose and kingly as any royal court. The place felt more like a small cathedral than a ducal court with its high ceiling and ribbed vaults. Intricate sculptures decorated the gables while sunlight poured through the tall, stained glass windows. The entire room was arranged to ensure that the light best illuminated the raised platform where the Duke sat and those who stood before him.

Around two dozen nobles and courtiers stood in the back of the court as Kaede made her way up to the throne. The Duke's soldiers and armigers lined up on both sides of the carpet in full armor with their weapons drawn. Their silence was unnerving as every pair of eyes across the huge audience chamber fell upon Kaede. Only the sound of her companions' boots could be heard as the four-member party approached the throne in a tense and oppressive atmosphere.

''Ignore the pomp and concentrate,'' the familiar swallowed as she tried to ignore her skittish nerves.

The muted ceremony was clearly intended to unsettle and intimidate the Princess' emissary, all the while serving as a reminder of House La Tours' power and influence. Kaede knew that her battle ahead would not be easy, as she would be fighting on her opponents' home ground. Therefore, she did her best to not be distracted by the surroundings and centered her gaze on the Duke whom she came to greet.

The corpulent and severely obese body of Duke Hugh sat upon a stone throne like a supersized blob of man-shaped pudding. His blubber overflowed onto the chair's armrests as though the generous seat was still too small for him. It was a potent reminder of his unflattering nickname 'Huge the Rotund', which conveniently passed through Kaede's mind in the mocking tone of Elspeth's schoolgirl soprano.

''Can he even get up there by himself?'' The familiar couldn't help but wonder.

It wasn't quite enough to bring a smile to Kaede's lips. But for a brief moment, she felt the tension and pressure upon thin shoulders alleviate. The Samaran girl took a deep breath before she stepped into the light that criss-crossed before the raised platform.

"Your Grace." Kaede dipped down in a curtsy while she lowered her head in a deep and courteous bow. She then placed her hand on top of her chest and introduced herself.

"My name is Kaede Nikita Konstantinovna Suvorskaya, Grand Squire of the Empire of Rhin-Lotharingie. I come before you as the emissary of Her Highness, the Crown Princess Sylviane Etiennette de Gaetane."

"Yes, I know who you are," the Duke said with an expression that was rather hard to discern due to the swaying fat of his many chins. "To think that the Princess would send a ''familiar'' to treat with me. I would be amused, if I wasn't offended by such ridicule." His gaze hardened as he finished.

Kaede drew in a sharp breath as she felt taken aback by how badly this was going from the very start. Pascal's intelligence officer Hans Ostergalen did inform her that Duke Hugh was one of those nobles with an abundance of blue-blooded prejudice. Nevertheless, it was not uncommon for those of low birth to be promoted into offices of state service even in the Empire. It would be a stretch to claim sending Kaede was 'discourteous', let alone 'offensive'.

"Y-Your Grace," Kaede tried to speak up and not retreat back to her usual, wispy voice. But the Duke cut her off without giving her any opportunity to explain.

"Yes, I have heard that you are close to Her Highness. But you are nevertheless a mere servant, and your undeserved promotion does not change that fact," he declared before giving a derisive snort. "Nevertheless, your intimacy to both the Princess and her Wicker fiancé does give you value. And I shall gladly make use of it, by offering you to His Majesty, Emperor Gabriel, as a sign of my goodwill."

The Samaran girl heard the sound of cold steel being drawn as her entourage pulled out their weapons. But as a translucent magic barrier crackling with electrical charge slammed down in front of them between her and the Duke, she immediately realized that this was all prepared theater and she had walked into a trap.

It was clear that Gabriel had been one step ahead of them, and the false Emperor had already secured House La Tour's crucial allegiance.

"Arrest them all." The Duke unilaterally ended the negotiations before they even began.

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