[center][img]https://fontmeme.com/permalink/231109/0ba929c62ce0023295985d603785fcba.png[/img][/center][hr]It wasn’t a great start, having her hand crushed in the soldier-Scion’s grip, but she wouldn’t have survived the embarrassment of wincing or pulling away or, Incepta-forbid, saying [i]ow[/i]. So she grinned and bore it, and a good thing too. Theobald didn’t soften in the slightest, he had a face carved from stone that she guessed only cracked with emotions like rage, or gleeful bloodlust. Dragomir had been the same way for most of her life; maybe it was a hollowing, or pride, or perhaps it was just the way of soldiers. 

But she didn’t miss the honesty in his answer, or the miniscule lilt in his words. “[color=E40040]What do you think would be easier? Teaching a solider to dance, or a dancer to fight?[/color]”

She didn’t expect an answer, really, and when he asked after her stunt at the ceremony, she couldn’t help preening just a bit. “[color=E40040]Oh, super, yeah. Everyone’s so nice! I mean, everyone I met, anyway. Guess I’ve gotta bake up another excuse to touch base with the rest, huh? Oh speaking of, do you like—[/color]”

Ionna blinked. Her skin prickled like she was standing next to a cold window, and for a moment she swore her vision tinted blue. Arcane instinct pulled her head, and then her attention, towards the Scion of Time as he steadied himself against the wall. Worry struck her, then confusion. Her father had a saying about coincidences—there weren’t any—but she didn’t have the expertise to put together [i]why[/i] she thought the prince was connected to her little…glitch. Anyway, he was off in a huff moments later, and Ionna realized she had rudely left her conversation with Theobald mid-sentence. 

“[color=E40040]Sorry,[/color]” she said, snapping her focus back to the former commander. “[color=E40040]But, yeah—cookies. So are you more of a snickerdoodle man, or—?[/color]”

The lights flickered, and this time it wasn’t a trick of the mind. That was weird, right? A place like this might have been important enough to have its own grid, or at least layers of contingencies to keep the power steady. But they flickered again, and again, and just as she made to remark on it, they went out altogether. 

She got another, different chill then. When the windows shattered, hers was among the first screams of surprise—she’d never been any good with horror. But she wasn’t a kid anymore, watching from under a blanket. The panic made her acutely alert, which was good because otherwise she might not have seen the figure rushing her with a blade. She slapped their hand on a reflex, sending the weapon clattering to the ground, and for a moment just stood there, staring. The figure reached for a backup on their belt. 

“[color=E40040]Now, hold on. You wait a second, mister.[/color]”

Manalight burst to life along the blade’s edge, and they swung again for Ionna’s head. Time wasn’t her domain, but all the same, she felt it slow for her now as it often did in her duels. No time to deploy her own blade, and dodging now might put Theobald in the way, or put her in worse positioning. Like with most things, she chose to trust her gut first, and then figure out why later. Her arm came up—her real arm—to block the blade’s path, and before she could lament her own idiocy, she remembered that her armor was manawoven. With as much thought as one gave to their own heartbeat, she channeled mana from not only her armor, but also her own pool, into her gauntlet just as the blade hit—and stuck. 

An inch of edge dug into the arcane metal, but stopped there. She took a strong stance, pushed to keep the rest of the blade away from her face, and then wrenched her arm aside, tearing the sword from the assailant’s hand for the second time. Despite the mask, she thought she could see the bafflement on his face, briefly, before she slammed her metal hand into it. The material cracked, the lights in the eyeholes buzzed out, and he fell to the ground groaning. 

“[color=E40040]Stay down, please![/color]” she snapped, as her focus redistributed her mana and her armor reformed. The mana blade fizzled out and fell to the ground.

There wasn’t time to gloat, more figures approached, and a terrible worry gripped her. [i]Dom[/i]. Ionna scanned the dark in vain, but it was useless. Rosemary’s light didn’t reach the whole ballroom, and everything else was a mass of shadowy panic. She cast a glance back at Theobald, and the attackers approaching them, and grit her teeth. 

He was a fighter, Dom was a dancer. Dragomir would call it triage, but Ionna still felt guilty leaving him on his own. She slipped back towards the old soldier, metal arm snatching one of the figures by the neck. With more strength than befit her, she hefted them up into the air, then slammed them onto their back. They shouted, writhed, but didn’t get back up. 

“[color=E40040]I have to find Dom![/color]” she shouted to Theobald. She hoped he would understand. 

Ionna left him then, dashing towards the ballroom’s bulk. She leapt up onto one of the tables, hoping the higher vantage would help her spot her Scion. 

“[color=E40040]Dom![/color]” she shouted into the dark. “[color=E40040]Dom where are you![/color]”
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