Obscene Symphony

Scion: The Prophecy of Anani

_{Collab with @Hero; took place before Bianca’s chat with Justinian}

---

Whatever measure of remorse Jannick had felt from his encounter with Hollyhock was smothered as he withstood Dame Irina’s assault. Anger wasn’t the right word for it - it didn’t feel complete enough to describe the deep-seated rancor simmering conspicuously beneath Jannick’s practiced neutral stare. With each word uttered in his direction, Jannick slipped further and further down into a chasm of bitterness, resentment, and (worst of all) humiliation that seemed to always have lurked somewhere in the back of his mind, but now yawned indignantly before him. What he would usually have pushed aside or buried under a new layer of cigarette butts, he was now forced to face head-on.

Dame Irina paced before him like the living embodiment of every little wound that had slowly killed his faith. Espousing an uncompromising philosophy of putting the Scions’ lives before all others, Jannick was almost astounded at her callousness; bit by bit, his suspicion that the Goddess, whose existence could (regrettably) not be denied, was revealed in Irina’s lecture as every bit the cold, heartless spectator to humanity’s suffering that Jannick had long suspected Her to be.

He had to wonder how the Ordo Templi got things so perfectly backwards. Every one of them was once a knight, tasked with the protection of the innocent and the pursuit of justice. Hell, the motto of the VPD was “Scutum Inopi” - “the shield of the helpless,” ostensibly named for the Goddess’ special tenderness toward the poor. But Templars, supposedly the best of the best of the Federation’s knights, were meant to put blinders on and focus only on one person in the whole world, no matter how the bodies stacked around them. Jannick couldn’t wrap his head around it.

And Irina’s heartless prattling was made even more intolerable by the fact that she was right. At least when it came to his performance review, Jannick couldn’t fairly deny anything she said: he did feel helpless in the midst of the attack, he did abandon Holly (as much as he wanted to argue the inverse, he knew it ultimately wasn’t reasonable), and he probably wasn’t nearly as capable as he should be by now. If even Ulysse, renowned for his skill, could be taken out by their attackers, Jannick (and by extension, Holly) didn’t stand a chance.

Jannick left his debriefing with a huff, sweeping rudely past the attendant at the door with only the merest glance to pick up his armour crystal. He squeezed the stupid thing angrily as he stormed through the halls, tempted to throw it at the nearest wall and smash it right there on the spot. Instead, he managed to control himself enough to pocket it, immediately replacing it with the next best thing: his box of cigarettes.

Fuming, he managed to find an exit on the first try, but was stopped by a pair of palace guards.

Jannick huffed. “I’m just going for a smoke.”

“The palace is locked down for the night,” one guard replied, “I’m afraid I can’t let you out.”

“Dude, I’m a Templar,” Jannick complained, indignantly producing his crystal for identification.

“I’m sorry, we’re under orders not to let anyone pass.”

Jannick gave the man a look that could curdle milk. “Fine,” he gave a haughty shrug, putting a cigarette in his mouth and pulling out his lighter. “I’ll smoke right here.”

The guards looked conflicted for a moment as Jannick lit up, but as the first puff of smoke curled up toward the finely decorated ceiling, the quiet one caved. “Okay, okay,” he surrendered, earning an annoyed look from his chattier companion, “just be quick, and don’t wander far.”

Jannick stuffed his lighter back in his pocket, cigarette still defiantly in his teeth. “Damn right, ‘okay’,” he growled as he passed, shoving past the first guard on his way into the dark.

The cold night air was bracing, but Jannick welcomed it; at this point, his face had reddened with anger, and the cold gave him some small mite of comfort as he paced the snow-covered ground, mercifully invisible to the swarm of security staged on the driveway some distance below. This appeared to be a side entrance; Jannick hoped he wouldn’t be disturbed.

The door behind Jannick opened and out stepped a weary looking Bianca. She shuddered slightly against the cold, pulling her shawl over her bare arms but not making any further attempt at covering herself. Her eyes were much more focused on Jannick’s cigarette, though she did give him a small smile.

“Mind sharing one?” She ended up asking, arms crossed to help her brace against the night’s chill. “I’ve lost all of mine.”

Jannick turned toward the sound of the opening door angrily, ready with a profanity-strewn retort for whichever guard thought it was a good idea to jump up his ass before he even finished his first cigarette - only to see a woman in his place. Jannick was ready to turn right back around and pretend nothing happened, concerned about insulting whichever noble apparently used this as their smoking spot, before he realized that the woman was kinda familiar. He didn’t really know her, but he recognized her from the debriefing - or rather, he recognized the dress, which also surprised him until he remembered that female knights probably don’t consider their Templar uniform “party attire.”

He looked the woman up and down suspiciously, not sure whether he should be angry or embarrassed, and all around annoyed at his own confusion. He came out here to smoke and take his anger out on the snow, not to chat with random women. But, he supposed, she might be gone faster if he just gave her a cigarette and got it over with.

“Sure,” he eventually grunted in reply, digging out his pack of cigarettes and tossing it to her. He gave her another questioning sidelong look as he did so. “Better be quick before you freeze to death.”

Bianca didn’t make a show of hiding how relieved she was that Jannick had given her a cigarette; Her eyes brightened considerably and she shuffled closer, ignoring the cold biting at her arms as she caught the pack. She plucked one with an unsurprising speed, offering the pack back as Jannick had his lighter waiting. That first smoke warmed her better than any heat could, and she made sure to turn her head away to avoid exhaling in his direction.

“I will. I didn’t mean to intrude, but…I needed this,” She sighed, poking her lower lip with her thumb. “It’s been a night.”

She was content to remain silent and smoke in peace, but she couldn’t help herself. The pair didn’t interact often, but she wasn’t looking forward to returning to her room. “How do you do it? I mean, with Scion Hollyhock,” She clarified. “You’ve been her Templar for less time than I have with mine, but you seem more…composed.”

Jannick raised his eyebrow when the woman - Bianca, he thought - decided to make small talk. He had to suppress a groan; this was truthfully the last thing he wanted right now. So much for fending her off with a cigarette.

Her comment, however, almost solicited a cold laugh. Almost. “Yeah, I’m doing great,” he replied sardonically, flicking the butt of his cigarette into the snow and readying a fresh one. “Even bagged myself a private audience with Irina. Next she’ll give me a medal.”

Bianca tried not to smile too much, not wanting to insult him. It sounded odd, but she was sincere. “I meant more your relationship with your Scion,” She continued. “The few times we’ve seen one another, I’ve noticed your relationship with one another. She can be a handful sometimes–Elizabeth was constantly keeping us in the loop of her woes in the group chat–but you’ve handled things with grace.”

She frowned, staring at her cigarette. “It’s been five years and I can’t get my Scion to listen to me. And now everyone knows it,” She sighed, perching the cigarette back between her lips.

Jannick frowned. The image of Holly, bloody and on the verge of tears, came back to him as Bianca sung his praises, along with the creeping root of guilt that had taken the backburner during his ordeal with Irina. Her praise fell upon him like blows, each word beating him down a little deeper.

“Yeah…” he mumbled noncommittally, staring down at the snow as his cigarette rapidly shrunk. He was silent for a moment, unsure of what to say. But he felt just as guilty saying nothing.

“She’s a good kid,” he eventually blurted out, surprising even himself. But he felt a strange need to come to his Scion’s defence; Holly seemed to have an iffy reputation as a Justinian-tier escape artist, but even in their few months together, he knew she was more than that. “I mean, you know, she really isn’t that bad. Can’t blame her, really. I mean, I already wanna kill myself anytime I have to take her to an interview, and she’s been doing it since she was a little kid.”

That much got a genuine laugh out of Bianca. “It takes a while to get used to. Better than drills but worse than any actual training,” She replied cheerfully. “It’s so different from being a knight or even a regular Templar. It’s a lot harder with a lot more complex rules and duties, more power with more responsibility…it’s a dream many won’t see within their lifetime.”

Jannick found himself nodding along with Bianca until she got to that last bit. Ah, there it is. That little barb of guilt, older and more insistent than the one he got from being an ass to Holly, stuck into his side once again. And again, just like earlier, he felt the Mother’s eyes on him, knowing his heart and finding it lacking.

He glared up at the stars, willing Her to go scrutinize someone else already.

“We certainly are lucky…” he replied, although it was probably clear his heart wasn’t in it. Suddenly, the fear of being found out - and subsequently ejected from service for apostasy - struck him, and hot on its heels were Irina’s harsh words to the other two lady Templars.

“I don’t care if every other Templar on earth is dead - your responsibility is to your charge. Everyone else in the world is ancillary.”

“Big responsibility,” he mused darkly. He thought once more of Hollyhock, alone and scared in the ballroom, with only one person in the world tasked with her rescue - and now doing the same in her room inside the palace - and felt that responsibility heavy on his shoulders.

Bianca finally looked at Jannick, taking the cigarette away from her mouth and contemplating. After a few seconds, she took another smoke and decided she was brave enough. “I don’t know if you remember the kerfuffle that arose when Dame Sara was chosen. Many argued that she wasn’t qualified or didn’t have sufficient background. Ultimately, Commander Fyodor himself put the dissenters to rest by informing them that he was no fool and had considered her flaws. He sees things in people and uses his experience to pluck out the capable. He can tell who can do what just from a glance and can read people like a book. It’s why he’s the one choosing Templars and assigning them.”

She almost stopped to smoke again, but hesitated. “It’s a shift, going from protecting the many to protecting only one. It almost seems selfish,” She told him. “But ultimately, we’re the ones that can.”

Jannick glanced at Bianca, raising an eyebrow. Was she trying to give him a pep talk? She wasn’t wrong, but he didn’t really think the platitudes of an after school special could really grasp the situation he was in. For the better, maybe - she was probably shooting in the dark.

But she still got a little lucky. Not that he’d admit it. “I suppose there’s no other choice,” he commented gruffly, taking one last drag of his second cigarette. “We’re deep in the shit now, and they don’t have anybody better.”

Jannick flicked his cigarette butt away once more, the glowing end making it an impressive distance into the darkness before it was snuffed out in the snow. “Don’t stay out too long,” he said by way of parting pleasantries, sauntering back inside.

---

Scion: The Prophecy of Anani

The Snuggery

Rosemary was enthused to hear everyone's response, her golden eyes wide with curiosity. She seemed to enjoy Dominika indulging her greatly, all to happy to have people that would actually listen. Her cup sat in front of her untouched as the little princess sat properly on her chair, legs swinging as she watched each person talk. She paused briefly after Justinian's response, but didn't understand his hesitation. She was temporarily distracted as she glanced down at her books and made sure to close them respectfully.

The doors to the snuggery opened and in stepped Duchess Patricia. Rosemary perked up at the sound of the doors opening, but she immediately drooped her shoulders in disappointment. The older woman curtsied respectfully to the Scions around.

"I thank you for accompanying our princess, Holy Ones, but I fear keeping her up too late would cause more harm than good," She stated. "If you find yourself weary, you'll find that your rooms are ready with servants patiently waiting to fulfill any need you may have. We will be serving breakfast in the morning and afterwards the archbishop will speak with you."

Rosemary sank into her seat and crossed her arms, her face furrowing with displeasure. "I'm not sleepy," She declared.

"It is prudent to rest well, Princess," The duchess stressed gently as she approached the table. She briefly glanced at Lucas, a slight frown gracing her lips, but she turned her attention back to Rosemary.

"I don't want to," She muttered, sinking further into her seat.

"Dame Sonia wants you to sleep where she will join you once she has finished attending to her duties."

The mention of Sonia was enough to catch Rosemary's attention. She reluctantly climbed down from her seat, shuffling to the duchess. She paused, turning around to curtsey again to her fellow Scions. "I'll see you all tomorrow for breakfast," She said quietly.

The duchess curtsied as well and took Rosemary's hand, and together the pair exited the room. The doors remained open and a pair of knights were revealed to be waiting, their backs to the wall.

_{@Raijinslayer@Xiro Zean@Abstract Proxy}

---

The Commander's Office

Once Sara was gone, Irina took her leave as well, back through the hidden door whence she came. She took the servants’ corridors to the office of the Palace Commander, head of all the royal family’s security forces. He was away, which would prove to be a terrible coincidence, but it worked well enough in Irina’s favour as she’d been offered the use of his office to coordinate the response to the night’s attack.

The room was a relic of its period; with dark paneled walls and walnut furniture to match, it looked rather like a dark cave lit only by the fire blazing brightly in the centerpiece stone fireplace. A few shaded sconces on the walls provided a little more light, revealing an oil portrait on each wall (presumably former commanders or people of note), but the main source of light was an antique green lamp on the desk. Previously clean, the desk was already piled high with reports and other papers relating to the attack. It had hardly been two hours.

A squire, the same one who had collected the armour crystals, arrived only shortly after Irina did. She had a knack for showing up places; Irina had only been supervising her for a few months, but already she was beginning to wonder if the girl was secretly a mage, teleporting all over the place. Whatever her method, it was certainly convenient for Irina.

The girl stowed the now-empty crystal case in a duffel bag (one of several that accompanied Irina tonight) as Irina sat down, eyes still trained on the tablet she’d been carrying. It took a moment for Irina to tear her attention away and notice the girl.

“Oh, thank you,” she greeted curtly, only glancing up for a second. “Go get Sir Edmund for me, please.”

“Yes ma’am!” the squire replied eagerly, saluting before she left.

~ /// ~

“Sir Edmund?” The squire girl appeared as if from nowhere in front of Edmund, her footsteps somehow inaudible until she called his name. She looked about eighteen years old, a little tall for a woman, of average build, and sporting a plain brown bob of hair and brown eyes to match. Despite the earlier tension between them, she was perfectly cordial - and perhaps even a little eager - as she greeted him. She saluted Edmund before speaking again. “Dame Irina asked to speak with you. Please follow me.”

Edmund nodded politely, his usual scowl on full display as he had stood down the hall from the ballroom. He was lost in thought, events of the night circling in his head like vultures. The squire didn't seem to phase him much, a roughly familiar voice. Though he did feel a hand gravitate towards his belt instinctively, towards the hilt of a sword that would usually be resting there. The paranoia seemed to be reaching a fever pitch in the quiet of his mind. But he kept it hidden underneath his grumpy demeanor, and followed without so much as a word. He reached into his suit pocket, making sure he still had the crystal in his possession.

The squire led Edmund quietly through the main halls of the palace, navigating surprisingly well for someone who had presumably never been there. A few times she took a breath to speak, but held back; she looked like she had a something to say, but was ultimately too nervous to say it.

She held her peace, bringing Edmund to the door of the Commander’s office and knocking sharply. “Sir Edmund for you, ma’am,” she called courteously.

“Come in.”

The squire pushed through the door, beckoning Edmund in behind her. Irina was sitting at the desk, back straight as a rod, but her focus was still on her tablet.

“Thank you, Sylvia.” Irina dismissed the squire, who saluted and departed, closing the door behind her.

Irina tapped a few more times on her tablet before closing it and returning it to a drawer. She locked it before finally turning her attention to Edmund.

“Sir Edmund, thank you for coming,” she commented flatly, holding out her hand. “I’ll take your crystal now, while you explain why you refused to hand it over earlier.”

Edmund's posture was more relaxed. He didn't bother with the usual formalities, his nerves and the bruising ever-present reminders of the day's events. He took a moment, taking a deep breath, before pulling the crystal out of his pocket and setting it in her hand. He wasn't in the mood to be treated like a squire again, not by her. “I expected more from the Ordo Templi. I had thought the loss of a Scion would have been a wakeup call… I wasn't expecting the response to be complacency.” His voice was cold, but delivered in the same even tone he always used. His hands rested at his sides, his arms tense.

Irina didn’t miss the foreign firearm slung over Edmund’s back, but she said nothing, appearing entirely untouched by his comment as she stood with his crystal. From one of several duffel bags lining one wall, she produced a clunky handheld device and inserted the crystal into a slot at the top. The crystal sank into the device, lighting up a small screen, and a few seconds passed before the device beeped and ejected the crystal once more.

“I wasn’t expecting a Blessed Templar to get into a pissing contest with a squire over a routine procedure,” Irina eventually replied in kind, although her tone was utterly disinterested as she retook her seat and offered the crystal back to Edmund. It looked like she had bigger things on her mind.

“That was all I summoned you for,” she stated, although she gestured to Edmund’s new rifle. “But if you have some information that can’t be gleaned from your armour log, now is the time.”

Edmund's expression was steady as he pocketed the crystal and turned to the door. As he stepped towards it, he showed the first signs of open hesitation as his hand hovered over the door handle for a moment. He took a breath, and listened to the voice in his gut. He lifted his hand up to lock the deadbolt to the office, before turning back to face Irina. “I had a brief conversation with a member of the terrorist organization responsible for the attack when things began. She identified herself as Salome, daughter of Termina. She had been posing as a member of the waitstaff… and she seemed to be orchestrating the attack.”

Irina’s expression, formerly unreadable, suddenly shifted. For the first time, a look of intense interest crossed her face, and she folded her hands under her chin, staring intently at Edmund. She looked like she wanted to jump all over the information, but she restrained herself. “What makes you think she was orchestrating the attack?”

Edmund's expression relaxed, if only slightly. Irina's interest helped ease his paranoid suspicions for the moment. “Her control of mana was… unusual. Her transformation kicked off the assault, and she seemed to be responsible for the disruption of the Scion's abilities… she also had particular insight in the optics of what would take place.” He paused, playing back the conversation in his mind again, trying to piece together the specific words. Recalling them felt like poison in his mouth. “Her exact words… she claimed a new king would be crowned when the year was done, due to his royal highness’ failing health… but that the public at large would blame Kaudus due to this attack and we would go to war.”

Irina listened with rapt attention, pausing when Edmund was done to process his words. She tapped her fingers on the desk in silence, deep in thought.

“Her… transformation?” she finally asked, still visibly pensive. She seemed almost hesitant, as if she had to choose her questions carefully. “What do you mean by that?”

Edmund paused, considering the question for a moment. “A blue light enveloped her, and her appearance changed. The lights were out, so I wasn’t able to get a good look. Her shape just looked… different… and I think it all came from the gloves. Whenever she snapped… that’s when things went sideways. First with the soldiers, then again with the magic disruption… from my point of view, it looked like they managed to plant things all over the ballroom to make that happen. A preliminary sweep by the Templars should have caught that.” With the final line, Edmund’s tone changed slightly. There was a slight edge to it, the hint of anger or frustration.

Irina continued tapping the desk as she listened, eyes unfocused as she appeared to concentrate entirely on her thoughts. But, much like Edmund, the last comment brought about a change in her demeanour.

“It would have, if the devices had been present,” Irina replied in a warning tone. But she did not linger on it; instead, she stood up from the desk and began pacing in front of the hearth. “What else? Was she part of a known terrorist cell? Did she mention anything about her group’s aims? Any information that could be used to identify the organization responsible?”

Edmund’s eyes widened only slightly at Irina’s first remark. He had misjudged the situation, at least partially. Though, the revelation that the devices had been planted potentially during the party only raised more questions than answers. But as he played through the events in his mind, he answered, “The guns they used read as foreign make to me… wealthy benefactors for something on this scale. The only thing she said about her aims… she claimed she was going to ‘liberate Gaia from the false Goddess.’” His tone shifted slightly, mimicking Salome’s grandiose delivery as much as he could. He felt a little sick saying it, but just shook it off. “The best lead I can think of as to the organization just comes from that thing she said… she claimed to be a daughter of Termina, the same way we call ourselves children of Incepta. That sounds like a starting point to me.”

A rapt knocking interrupted their conversation, accompanied by the muffled nagging of a squire from beyond the door. “I need a meeting. Urgently. You can’t pass me over twice,” one Tyler Morris called into the room. He even tried the door handle, masterful in manners as he was, though it didn’t budge.

Irina paced as Edmund spoke, looking more perturbed by the minute. “The only group by that name is a wandering band of lunatic street preachers harassing the Doumerc borderlands as of late,” she mused, “but they haven’t been known to be violent…”

The insistent knocking interrupted her, and her attention snapped up to the door, looking like she’d been rudely disturbed from slumber. At first, she chose to ignore it, but when it did not stop, she tsked and strode past Edmund to open the door.

“Sir Tyler,” she greeted him coldly, “if this is not a lead on tonight’s events, it can wait.”

“Wonderful, I was just thinking the same thing,” Tyler chirped with a fake mirth in his voice, “I have information on what I assume was one of their officers.” His impressively feigned smile fell off his face as he leveled a more serious gaze at Irina. “And I believe I know why they might be aiming to kidnap the Scions.”

Irina quirked her head in wilful concession, stepping aside to bid Tyler to enter. “Sir Edmund, you’ve been upstaged,” she quipped over her shoulder in her closest facsimile of a joke, locking the door behind Tyler. “From the beginning, then. What makes you think you encountered one of their officers?”

Edmund took a step back at this, folding his arms as he listened close, jaw clenched slightly.

Tyler stepped inside and nodded, once to Irina and then to Edmund. “It’s okay, I have that effect on people,” he said playfully in Edmund’s direction before he refocused on Irina. “Right. Prince Lucas froze time at one point to stop a group of them from advancing on us, except one of them kept moving. He had a strange… mana veil waving from his neck, which is where I assume the ability stemmed from. Lots of cybernetics, from what I could tell.”

He furrowed his brow as he continued, visibly agitated by the thought of the man. “From what he said, it seemed like he’d been sent specifically after me, but he underestimated the strength of Lucas’ blessing. His sword seemed designed to neutralize mine, and the thing around his neck either neutralized time magic or mimicked it perfectly.”

Edmund sighed, looking towards Irina briefly before looking back at Tyler. “You're saying someone other than a Scion could manipulate time? Slow it down and stop it?” For the first time in a long time, Edmund's scowl dropped into a confused frown. He wiped his face with his hand. “That could explain how they installed the devices so quickly… whatever it was that disrupted the Scions’ magic.”

Tyler met Edmund’s gaze briefly, then averted his eyes downward. “It appears that way, yes. His scarf thing glowed red while time was stopped, sorta like oversaturated environmental mana, then turned blue after everything started moving again. It has to be the source.” A frustrated huff escaped his mouth at that. “But personally? I don’t think it’s someone other than a Scion at all - not really. I think they stole it from Theodore. And I think they want to do the same thing to Nadine.”

A slight gasp erupted from Edmund's mouth, first at the mention of the color change… and then again at the mere notion that a Scion could be stolen. Through gritted teeth, he muttered, “Salome's gloves… they were blue as well. The mana…”

Tyler snapped his head up at the mention of the strange salami woman and her mysterious gloves. “They sent one after you too?”

Edmund paused for a moment, weighing his options. He still wasn't exactly sold on who to trust at this moment. After all, Tyler lost one Scion already, and another was kidnapped the day he was blessed again. But the mention of the blue mana was enough to push him over the edge. “No… not quite. I encountered another officer… if not the one leading the assault. She made the call kicking things off. She called herself Salome, and a daughter of Termina. She had been posing as waitstaff, managed to get close to the royals… but she didn't attack anyone directly. Just… snapped her fingers and everything went dark.”

Irina listened silently as the two templars spoke, expression growing graver by the minute. At some point during the dialogue, she sat back down at her desk, pulling her tablet out once more and producing a stylus to make marks on something on the screen. After Edmund finished, she tapped a few times more before stowing it away once again, propping her chin on her folded hands.

She was quiet for a moment. “Scion Lucas is very new to his power,” she said cautiously, looking at Tyler. “Are you absolutely sure that this combatant defied his power? Is it at all possible that His Holiness somehow faltered?”

Now, Tyler had absolutely no confidence in his Scion’s ability either, but did she really think he wouldn’t have noticed if something odd was happening? “Even I had trouble when His Highness did it, you expect me to believe that metal bastard spontaneously got lucky? No, the room was entirely frozen except for the three of us. And, from what I could tell, the enemy broke the time stop spell before Lucas could release it himself, after I beat his ass too hard.”

Despite maintaining her typical stone-faced expression, Irina was starting to look pale. “If the enemy had the power to manipulate time like a Scion, they could have captured every Scion in the blink of an eye,” she reasoned. “So why the assault?”

“Fear.” Edmund's response came quicker than he expected, leaving an awkward pause before he continued. “Salome hinted she wanted the Federation to go to war against Kaudus… it doesn't explain why they didn't take all the Scions, but maybe there are bigger goals at play than just abducting them all..”

Tyler opened his mouth to respond, though Edmund beat him to it. As good an explanation as any, he supposed. “Maybe that was the intent, but he went for Lucas first as the only one that could potentially stop him. Or maybe, if it is a stolen Scion ability,” even saying it left a bitter taste in his mouth, “he needs proximity to the real thing to activate it- no, that wouldn’t stop him from targeting the other Scions.” At best it would explain their decision to attack specifically after the blessing ceremony, but Edmund’s idea would explain that just as well, if not better.

Irina frowned. She had the look of someone who was desperately hoping to be wrong, but probably wasn’t. “It would take far less to trigger war with Kaudus,” she reasoned futily, “Rodion never stops skirmishing with them, and even though Doumerc seems to have misplaced its backbone, any more intrusion on their eastern border would necessitate a Federation response. The whole continent has been foaming at the mouth for war ever since Scion Theodore’s disappearance; if the goal was simply to start a war, it could have been accomplished at far less expense.”

She shook her head, staring at the lamp on the desk for a moment. “Is there anything else the two of you noticed? Anything at all?”

“Yeah, actually,” Tyler piped up, “In the middle of his insane ramblings, he mentioned wanting to summon the Goddess in the name of his own false deity. I can only assume this attack was meant to glorify it in some way that wouldn’t be accomplished by a mere strike at the border.”

Edmund turned his gaze back to Tyler again, waves of paranoia subsiding for but a brief moment. “He mentioned summoning the Goddess? Did he… did he call Incepta a false goddess?”

“Not that I can recall,” Tyler responded with a shake of his head, “He seemed quite assured of Her existence, but claimed it was detrimental to humanity. He mentioned that word you used too, Termina. I think his recruitment spiel needs work.”

Irina looked as if she’d eaten something rotten, her face momentarily screwed up in disgust. “We will look into this… idol of theirs,” she spat, “and communicate everything we know to each Templar once we have a more complete picture of tonight’s events. Until then, if there’s nothing else, then the two of you are dismissed.”

She stood from her desk, folding her hands behind her back as if she were giving another assembly. She looked gravely at each Templar. “For now, say none of this to anyone. What you’ve told me tonight will cause widespread panic; that’s just what they want. If this is true, then it is all the more important that you stay at your charge’s side. A power even approaching what you’ve described will give no quarter; stay alert, stay vigilant, and do not let your charges out of your sight. I’ll relay the same to the others.”

She nodded to Edmund. “Leave that rifle with me. If either of you remember anything else, come to me or the Commander immediately. Do not trust the phone lines, or anything of the sort. Do not trust the palace Knights, do not trust the Church Knights. This information cannot fall into the wrong hands. Understood?”

Edmund paused for a moment, mulling the orders over in his head, before simply nodding. He slipped the strap of the rifle off his shoulder and grabbed it, setting it down on the desk as he turned to leave without so much as a word.

“Yes, ma’am.” Tyler saluted dutifully. He did have a sense of decorum, if only to one-up Edmund. Though, he wasn’t quite in the mood to pick a fight after the night they’d all had, and the unattended prince still nagged worryingly in the back of his mind for some inexplicable reason. Taking Edmund’s departure as a dismissal, he similarly turned and made his way outside the office.

@webboysurf @Scribe of Thoth

---

Scion: The Prophecy of Anani

---

Irina returned her attention to her tablet the moment Jannick left, entirely engrossed in its contents until the sound of the door opening alerted her to Sara’s presence. Mild surprise turned to irritated disappointment when she saw who it was. She listened quietly as Sara said her piece, her eyebrow raising when Sara held out her hands.

She was quiet for a moment, looking the other Templar up and down as if waiting for a punchline that never came.

“Wow,” Irina finally commented, her former intensity somewhat dimmed behind genuine surprise. “Who needs persecutors when you do their work for free?”

Before Sara would get the chance to wonder if she’d just been party to Dame Irina’s first-ever joke, Irina grew serious again, if not a touch exasperated. “You think too highly of yourself, Dame Sara,” she droned, stowing her tablet under her arm. “Half the Church’s Knights and the entire Ordo Templi are combing the wreckage of Giles’ ballroom for evidence as we speak; if we thought it was that simple, I would already be home and you would already be executed.”

What little levity Irina had left fled from her as she approached Sara, folding her hands behind her back. “I am not interested in questioning you. In my opinion, your abandonment of your Scion was incompetence and cowardice, but nothing more. But you're right: we are in a crisis. Right now, I need you standing guard over your Scion. These are some of the most dangerous times you’ll likely face in your career; you can’t get out of it that easy.”

Irina came to a stop just steps before Sara, looking down at her. “Whether you think you’re capable of protecting Scion Theobald is irrelevant; right now, you are his only option. You hold the Blessing of Fire, no one else. Now,” she pointed to the door, almost overtaking the other woman, “reclaim your crystal, and go do your duty.”

---

@Stern Algorithm

Scion: The Prophecy of Anani

Ballroom A

Dame Ionna’s comment earned her only a harsh glare as the dismissed Templars filed out. When the door slammed behind the last departing Templar, Irina did not speak; silence stretched almost too long, the Dame standing with her back to the assembled Templars seemingly examining a tapestry on the wall.

“I seem to recall three vows taken by every Blessed Templar when they receive their Blessing,” it was almost startling when she finally spoke, her tone sharp and accusatory even compared to the speech she’d just delivered as she kept her back to the assembly. “What was your final vow?”

The Templar of Metal’s hand shot up with an “Ooh!” like a student eager to show off that they knew the answer.

“To defend your charge with all your strength of arm, heart, and mind, at the cost of your very life!” She recited, seeming proud of herself for remembering.

Irina glanced over her shoulder, looking equal parts incensed and exasperated when she saw the source of the reply. She took a deep breath.

“Do you vow to defend your charge with all your strength of arm, heart, and mind, at the cost of your very life?” Irina recited the final vow from the Blessing ceremony verbatim, pacing back and forth as if in deep thought. “This is a solemn oath. It is a vow to the Goddess Herself that you will take the life of one person - one of Her ten most beloved children - into your hands, and preserve it at any cost, using every strength, skill, and faculty available to you. If you must run, you do it; if you must fight, you do it; if you must die, you do so with perfect satisfaction in your heart that you have done the Mother’s will.”

Irina sounded almost fond as she spoke, as one reminiscing on a much-beloved poem. But that glimmer of tenderness didn’t last long, and her gaze soon hardened once again, somehow even darker than before. She almost looked as if something personal was at stake. “And yet here we stand. Each of you abandoned your charge tonight; be it for an hour or an instant, it matters naught. I would ask what you have to say for yourselves, but I really don’t care; It would be well within canon law to strip the three of you of your Blessings right now.”

She paused for a long moment, then wearily sighed. “Lucky for you, the Commander isn’t available to degrade you, and although you make sorry shields indeed, your Scions still require your protection. Perhaps now more than ever. All the more vital to remind you of your duties.”

Her gaze fixed on Ionna and Sara. “Like you two,” Irina snapped, “You may recall that your final vow was to protect your charge. Not Scions in general, not whichever Scion is in need; your charge. That is your solemn and only duty.”

Irina held up a hand to cut off any potential rebuttals. “I do not care that Scion Nadine was missing. I do not care that Ulysse was incapacitated. I don’t care if every other Templar on earth is dead - your responsibility is to your charge. That is your only goal. Everyone else in the world is ancillary. If you somehow manage to keep your Blessings after tonight, remember this well: Never, never abandon your Scion for the sake of another ever again.”

“And you,” Irina addressed Sara. “Your vows were made to the Goddess, not your Scion. He may have been the one to administer your Blessing, but your power comes from The Mother, and your duty is owed ultimately to Her. It was Her to whom you vowed the protection and oversight of Her child. Your duty is not to obey your Scion, it is to protect him. If that entails dragging him, kicking and screaming, from the battlefield, so be it. You are not at liberty to allow him to fend for himself. See that it does not happen again.”

Irina stepped back at long last, waving a hand. “You two are dismissed.”

She was silent as Sara and Ionna departed, the hollow slam of the door echoing throughout the ballroom as Jannick waited, alone, for his turn on the breaking wheel.

“And you,” Irina finally growled, placing herself only steps in front of Jannick. He remembered her glowering down at him like this from training, but it felt a lot worse now that he knew she had something legitimate to be angry about.

“Those other two may have abandoned their charges willfully, but at least they did so in order to fight back,” Irina spat. “You, meanwhile, looked like a child lost in a crowd, barely holding your own against untrained heathens while you awaited rescue from your own charge.”

Jannick chafed under Irina’s critical gaze, his eyes fixed on some point on the wall behind her. If he were the Templar of Fire, that spot would probably have burst into flame.

Irina glared for a long moment before speaking, apparently wanting some explanation. “Well?”

Jannick kept his eyes stubbornly forward for a moment, trying to contain the petulant anger welling up inside him. A million comments came to mind, each more venomous than the last, but he was at least experienced enough not to let any of them surface. At long last, he only croaked, “I was outnumbered.”

“So was I!” Irina barked, pacing once again. “So was every other Templar in that ballroom! And so you shall be from now until you draw your last breath: there is a world of Godless heathens out there baying for the blood of your Scion, and only one of you. That is what Blessings are for.”

Irina scoffed. “Honestly. Six months as a Templar and you can barely break wind,” she mocked harshly. “You aren’t a cop anymore. You’re up against far worse than thugs and rabble on the Veradis beat. A pistol and some grappling doesn’t cut it anymore. You have been touched by the Goddess; you should be a force to be reckoned with, not a mild inconvenience.”

Irina looked upon him with contempt; Jannick stayed silent. “Remember what I told those two. You are not a public servant anymore. Your job is to protect one life, and one life only. If that means you need to climb over the bodies of civilians, so be it.”

Jannick finally met Irina’s eye, so incensed at the comment that he almost gasped. His mind swirled with rage at the audacity and callousness of that comment, and even more so that Irina showed no sign of insincerity. He could scarcely believe someone in her position could say something so brazen, or that someone as allegedly pious as her could even believe it. But he was ultimately so shocked that he could muster no reply.

“Good. Now get out.”

---

Outside the ballroom door, the squire who had collected the armour crystals earlier awaited the last three Templars’ departures. She stood with her ear pressed to the wall, eagerly listening for any snippet she could hear of the debrief. When Sara and Ionna emerged, she hurriedly jumped back into place, offering their crystals to them with a reverent bow of the head.

As the two lady templars departed, however, she noticed that they seemed troubled. “Hey, um,” she called, suddenly much less the firm and buttoned-up squire who had contended with Edmund, and more of a nervous, somewhat star-struck girl simply wanting to help. “I-I’m sure it must be hard to leave someone else’s Scion alone if they’re in trouble, but… remember that you guys aren’t the only ones looking out for them. That’s what we’re here for.” She offered a comforting smile. “So don’t feel guilty tending to your own Scions, okay? The whole Ordo Templi is here to fill in the gaps.”

The squire bowed as they left, hopeful that her encouragement could ease their concerns.

---

@McMolly @Stern Algorithm

Scion: The Prophecy of Anani

---

The Snuggery

“On waves of gold,
She waits for me.
The sands of time,
Shift to the sea.
On waves of gold,
She smiles at me.
To her embrace–
We’ll be happy…”

Rosemary’s voice carried through the majority of the room and greeted her guests before the princess would do so herself. She sat at a round table, slippered feet swinging back and forth without care. Her hands clutched a delicate looking cup but she made no effort to drink from it, golden eyes staring at the table.

The snuggery was elegantly decorated and looked to belong to someone much older than a six year old. The walls were painted a soft gue of gold and amber, flowing curtains draping the windows. The furniture was well maintained and carved of mahogany, a beautiful piano sitting in one corner of the room painted to match. Another corner boasted a small collection of what looked like picture books in an adorable reading nook. In the furthest corner was a miniature wooden castle bigger than the young princess that was modeled after the same castle they were currently in.

At the arrival of her first guest, Rosemary looked up from the table with a bright expression. “Sonia?” She asked, her expression falling a touch as she realized her protector hadn’t returned just yet. Nonetheless, she hopped down from her chair, revealing a simple, cream colored gown. Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail with a blue ribbon, and tiny bunnies decorated the slippers she wore.

She picked up the skirt of her dress and curtsied properly. “Welcome, my honored guests,” Came a mechanical and well rehearsed greeting. “I am Princess Rosemary Clarabel Bachmeier Veradis and I am happy you decided to take up my invitation.”

Raising her head, she dropped her dress and looked up at each person, a tiny frown on her face. “...my heart is beating really fast so the Duchess said maybe this was a good idea ‘cause the party was scary,” She ended up admitting. “But we have tea here, and tea always helps ‘cause it’s warm and tastes like honey. Or I can read a story. I have Petey’s Pumpkin and Messy Marie and William’s Prayer so I can read and we can drink tea. Do you want a cup…?” She offered the room at large, looking at each Scion as her hand touched the table boasting a teapot and several empty cups.

---

The Infirmary

Over the drum of the Damias at work, a pair of medical professionals approached the machine. One double checked the settings and made sure Maya was comfortable while the other placed a delicate chair down not too far from the Scion. After a few seconds, the curtain was drawn and the Templar of Water, Abram, cautiously led Princess Belle to her seat.

“Worry not, Princess, I was assured by the duchess that these professionals are some of the finest,” He assured her. Once Belle was properly seated, he knelt down next to her. “I have been summoned by Dame Albakova. I will return once our business is concluded.”

The blonde let out a heavy sigh. “I’ll be retiring after this; I’ve had too much excitement tonight and a bath sounds divine,” She admitted, wincing as she instinctively tried to wave him away. He nonetheless understood and bowed to her before leaving. She gave the room a look at last, letting herself look tired. Her eyes landed on the Damias and she realized Maya was in there.

Suppressing a giggle, Belle rested her chin on her right hand as her lips curved into a smile. “Oh my goodness, I think that gown may be your best look yet,” She couldn’t stop herself from teasing.

It had taken a few minutes for Maya to get comfortable inside the Damias. She was no big fan of small spaces, but the device did a good job of mitigating her burgeoning claustrophobia: it was lit softly, with a gentle breeze circulating fresh air throughout the glass compartment, and if she closed her eyes and focused hard enough, she could convince herself that she was laying in an open room rather than a glass coffin. It took a few tries, but she eventually relaxed, especially as the Damias’ healing effect started to take hold. Soon, she had nearly drifted off to sleep - until an unwelcome voice disturbed her.

Her eyes flew open at the sound, and for a second, panic gripped her as she was met with the sight of her reflection in the Damias lid, only inches away from her face. She didn’t get the chance to glare disapprovingly at her unwelcome guest; she had to close her eyes again and take a deep breath, willing herself to be calm and imagine a larger space around her.

“You’re awfully chipper for surviving a terrorist attack,” Maya finally shot back coldly, not opening her eyes. If the pain medication she’d been given dulled her irritation at all, she couldn’t tell. “Or did you avoid the mess by flushing yourself down the toilet?”

Belle let her laugh ring out. “What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. I can’t say this is the first or last time I’ll be attacked,” She replied. “That’s the life of a royal, after all–people will always target the powerful and beautiful since they envy our position. I can see how that could be confusing since you’re only a Scion.”

“Oh, blow it out your ass, Princess,” Maya huffed, much too drained to bother coming up with a sly remark. Irritation was more welcome a feeling than the fear and panic that had previously seized her, but she was perilously low on patience for entitled brats. She felt around the Damias for a call button to have Belle removed from the room, but came up empty.

“Can’t they treat your broken nail somewhere else?” Maya complained, “Maybe if you go somewhere private you can bribe the medic for a pelvic exam.”

Belle was entirely amused by Maya’s words. “Projecting, much? I could be a friend and ask on your behalf if you’d like,” She said cheerfully.

The medic returned and checked on the screen at the base of Maya’s feet before turning his attention to Belle. She temporarily ignored Maya and gave the medical staff her attention, looking much wearier. “I still can’t move my arm. Is it broken?” She asked, a little worried.

“Could you tell me your symptoms, Your Highness?” The medic asked her.

“It feels weak and I can’t move it,” She frowned.

He paused for a moment before he tenderly touched her shoulder. “I believe it’s dislocated. Please fetch something for the pain,” He asked another medic before turning back to Belle. “I can put it back right away.”

The princess stiffened considerably, her smile widening. Her eyes flickered to Maya briefly and she cleared her throat. “Very well, then…” There was the tiniest waver in her voice, her eyes glued to the medic as he took his place next to her. “...I don’t suppose you could–”

“Please look at your friend in the Damias, Princess,” The medic instructed.

Belle let out a laugh, looking back at Maya. “Did you hear that? We’re frie–EEYAAAAAHHH!” Her sentence was punctuated by an unwilling shriek erupting from her throat. She immediately whipped her head back to the medic, furious. “Must you manhandle me so?!”

The medic, likely used to hearing such things, nodded. “Yes, Your Highness. This is the easiest way to go about it, but I urge you not to move your arm too much just yet,” He said as the other medic returned with a small tray that had what looked like several bandages and an ace bandage. “I promise, you’ll be right as rain in the morning. These will help you with the irritation, swelling, and pain, and they’re waterproof so you can have a bath if you so wish.”

Maya was about to unleash an even less polite insult when the medics returned, and she was forced to hold her tongue as the Princess got her arm looked at. Eyes still stubbornly closed, she huffed out a breath as Belle chided her, only to jump when she suddenly shrieked. Maya started to jolt up, thinking they were under attack again, but Belle’s complaint quickly banished her fear, replaced by a laugh that she struggled to conceal as a cough.

“Efficient here, aren’t they?” Maya teased at last, smirking. “I suppose even for royalty the tried-and-true methods are still best.”

Belle’s good hand gripped the chair tightly as she took in a deep breath, putting on a painted smile as she tried not to glare at the medic wrapping her arm up. “Very efficient,” Her words came between her gritted teeth.

She took in another deep breath to better compose herself, wincing a touch as the other medic applied a bandage on her upper shoulder. “Speaking of tried and true, I suppose you’ll be joining the others and accept the Crown Princess’ invitation?” She asked Maya. “I can’t imagine you’d pass up the opportunity to get a photo of the little princess.”

Well, Belle took the fun out of the situation awfully quick. Hearing her squirm was fun, but then she just kept talking.

Truth be told, it took a moment for Maya to understand what Belle was talking about. She had to think about it, gradually remembering bits and pieces of the speech she hadn’t really paid attention to in the first place. Something about the Rose Wing and the Archbishop’s orders. She had originally assumed they’d been brought to some Church property, but if Belle was to be trusted - a very big if - then they might actually be in Veradis Castle. Which made sense, she supposed, considering the wealth of security measures, but Maya was still uneasy.

“Unlikely,” she replied flatly, content to leave it at that until she remembered there were medics overhearing her. She cleared her throat. “These gentlemen warned me that I’ll be a bit weak after my treatment, and besides, I don’t imagine Her Highness is in a picture-taking mood.” Even if she was - and Maya herself certainly wasn’t - Maya had no idea where her phone was. Probably smashed in a thousand pieces back in the ballroom. And what a time to lose her phone; if she had it, she’d have already called Edmund to come and rescue her from this interaction. “I think rest is the best thing for me for now.”

Belle made a small noise of affirmation, watching the medics work. She managed to move her thumb a little, much to her relief. “What an entrance to the New Year,” She couldn’t help but muse, frowning. “I’ll have to petition Dame Irina for whatever information comes to light about the attack. Fortune favors the prepared…and I think anyone bold enough to attack a group of Scions won’t take it easy after their first try.”

She looked at Maya, her expression stern. “It goes without saying, but I hope you won’t let this shake you, lest it cause you to crack and crumble when there’s more to come,” She warned her. “But if you’re content to cry and cower, then I recommend hiding yourself somewhere and try not to let the paranoia take you.”

Belle’s look was lost on Maya, who had kept her eyes stubbornly closed throughout their encounter. Her expression was the picture of serenity; she might as well have been in a mud bath at her favourite spa. “I’ve already sent six heathens to the moon, Belle, my heart won’t break if I have to send a couple more after them.”

She said the words with utter nonchalance, but it was a lie. Even as she laid there, the very thought of the night’s events - and the memories it conjured - was almost too much for Maya to bear. She managed to keep her composure thanks to all the practice she’d gotten smiling demurely for cameras, but it took every fibre of her being to keep her breathing even, focusing on the thrum of the Damias to slow her heart as she prayed to the Mother to send Belle anywhere but here.

And the Mother answered, the sound of a chair scraping on the ground heard as Belle stood. “Stick with the ‘sweet girl’ act; the face of a psychopath doesn’t fit your preferred aesthetic,” She sighed, but she said no more as she waved off the medics and left.

---

Ballroom A

Ballroom A filled gradually, the Blessed Templars eventually peeling themselves away from their charges to report for debriefing. As was perhaps expected, the ballroom was empty save for a white-clad attendant at the door who requested each Templar’s armour crystal. Dame Irina was absent at first; it seemed she had adopted Commander Fyodor’s “hurry up and wait” methodology. Tension grew as more Templars filed in, likely goaded on by the conspicuous absence of Sir Ulysse and Dame Sonia. Fortunately, anyone who asked after Sonia was soothed by the knowledge that she had been exempted from the debriefing to tend to Princess Rosemary; unfortunately, no such assurance was offered for Ulysse. Any conversation in the room was hushed, the night’s events weighing heavily on everyone.

The Templars were all unarmoured and in various states of disarray, many freshly out of medical treatment and sporting bandages or casts. Jannick, who forwent treatment, was the first to arrive, looking particularly agitated as he paced laboriously in circles, his eyes fixed blankly somewhere on the floor. With his armour dismissed, his uniform was surprisingly neat; a sharp contrast to the blood still smeared down his face.

Irina’s eventual entrance seemed to jolt the room awake, and any conversation immediately quieted. At her signal, the Templars lined up side-by-side, and for a moment, Irina was silent. She examined them each with a critical eye; to many, it would feel like being an Ordo Templi recruit again, submitting to morning inspection. Tilting her head up, it seemed that whatever she saw, she did not like.

“Tonight’s events are currently under investigation,” Irina announced at last, pacing back and forth as she spoke. It was an old habit. “Duke Giles is being questioned as we speak; additionally, several of the attackers were captured alive, and will be interrogated overnight. By sunrise, we will know exactly what happened, how the attack was carried out, who planned it, and their intentions. As it stands, it appears that the invaders were targeting Scions for capture; you will be informed when we know more. It is imperative that tonight’s events are kept as confidential as possible: the attack has enough publicity already, with the potential to spark widespread panic. Keep in mind that the chief desire of a terrorist is fear. We will not give it to them.”

Irina stopped pacing, turning toward the group. “You should know that Sir Ulysse is dead,” she informed them abruptly. Her posture visibly stiffened, and she paused for a long moment, but she maintained her composure. “At this time, Scion Nadine is unaccounted for. A search is underway; we will not stop until either she or conclusive evidence as to her whereabouts is found.”

She drew a breath, eyes hardening. “This is the threat you are up against. For some of you, this was your first exposure to real danger in your career as a Templar; for others, it would be better if it was.” Her expression darkened. “The Mother is truly with us; if she were not, your performance tonight would surely have ended catastrophically.”

“Like you, Sir Abram,” Irina’s sharp gaze locked onto Abram at the end of the line, who kept his gaze professionally forward. “You might as well have hung a neon sign around your Scion’s neck, with how she ran rampant tonight; I would think a Templar of your experience would know that attracting enemy attention is precisely never a good idea. Or you,” she moved on to Dame Bianca, “who made Scion Isabella look positively demure by comparison. You’re lucky your Scion didn’t kill a civilian with his reckless magic; it would have been safer for him to open fire into the crowd with a rifle of his own.”

“And speaking of,” she crossed to the opposite end of the line, eyeing Tyler, “It defies me how you decided that giving a delirious Prince a firearm was a good idea, or why you--” she turned to Edmund, “--concluded your acrobatic routine by shooting into the crowd yourself, but you’re both fortunate not to have bagged yourselves a stray Countess in the process.”

“But at least you were both acting in defense of your charges, which is more than I can say for these two,” she gestured to Ionna and Sara, moving down the line to tower over both of them, “one of whom abandoned her Scion to be rescued by Sir Zacharie--” she threw the mage the most commending look yet, which was only a slightly less disparaging glare, “--while the other left her charge to carve a bloody ream through the ballroom while she played at mother duck.” Irina fixed Sara with a chilling glare for a moment. The mark on her face did not go unnoticed, but Irina made no outward acknowledgement of it.

“Meanwhile,” Irina continued, turning her attention to Jannick, “Officer Weber here made the rest of you look like heroes while he waited to be rescued like a damsel in distress.”

Jannick glared defiantly at Irina, anger bubbling up inside him as the Dame’s piercing eyes bored dangerously into his own. They contended for a moment, but Jannick flinched first, tearing his face away in shameful and brooding disgust.

“You are not in training anymore,” Irina finally barked, casting an icy glare over the whole assembly. “You do not live in a world beyond danger; your chief adversaries are not stalkers, paparazzi, or rogue heretic preachers on the street. You are not babysitters,” she eyed Bianca, Edmund and Jannick in particular, distaste clear on her face. Her eyes burned with religious fervor. “You are Blessed Templars, the highest of the Ordo Templi, the holy aegis of the Mother herself, and you are all that stands between Her chosen and hordes of godless heathens bent on Her destruction. I expect you to act like it.”

Irina’s glare lingered on the assembled Templars for a moment, the weight of her words settling over the ballroom like a sheet of ice. Her absolute conviction was clear, as was her disappointment. Finally, she turned away, waving her hand dismissively. “You are dismissed,” she declared heartlessly, although she turned enough to point out Jannick, Sara, and Ionna. “Except for you; I’m not done with you three.”

@Hero @Scribe of Thoth @webboysurf @Mcmolly @Stern Algorithm

---

Scion: The Prophecy of Anani

---

The sprint out of the ballroom turned into a marathon as Jannick led Hollyhock through the darkness. Jannick’s lungs should have been burning, his body complaining about injuries and exertion, but he didn’t feel any of it; as he ran, it felt almost like he was floating, eyes and hands and feet without a body connecting them, with the only object in his mind reaching the fortifications at Stern Hill.

Jannick didn’t miss a step when a Knight ushered the pair of them through a solid wall; even if he wasn’t already familiar with this fortification from his policing days, he wouldn’t have questioned anything coming from a friendly uniform. The first pause he allowed since they fled the ballroom was sitting down on the train, Jannick ensuring Holly took the window seat so he could box her in, just in case. His whole body thrummed with adrenaline; it took several minutes on the train before a coherent thought even entered his mind, and that was only in response to a squeeze of his hand, ensuring that Holly was really there next to him.

He eventually gave Holly a cursory look-over, seeing that she didn’t appear injured, but the blood staining her arm concerned him until he found its source. His armour was full of it, in addition to a few dents in his pauldron and breastplate where the masked gunmen shot him. He was sure there were more dents he couldn’t see – by the Mother, with police gear he’d be dead three times at least from these injuries - but an exploratory wiggle told him nothing seemed broken, and if he ran this long without falling over dead, then he couldn’t have been bleeding much.

But the longer he sat, the more he felt the true toll of his time in the melee: no broken bones, that was good, but gradually every joint in his body started to ache, his neck grew stiff, and his shoulder seemed less enthusiastic about moving by the second. His free hand still gripped the shortsword he’d liberated from one of his attackers, and after a brief examination, Jannick was almost disappointed. Under all the blood, it was junk; maybe not the absolute bottom of the barrel, but pretty close. Terribly balanced and made of cheap steel, it looked like something he might have confiscated in a drug bust – minus the kitschy home modifications. This thing was bog standard, straight out of the bargain bin. If he’d have been able to see it in the light, he probably wouldn’t have entrusted his life to it.

Hollyhock was silent when it came time to disembark, and Jannick followed her lead, tucking his sword away for use as evidence later. A few times he thought to say something, maybe ask her if she was okay, but the words never formed. It was a useless question anyway: of course she wasn’t okay, she just lived through a terrorist attack and saw more death and destruction in the space of twenty minutes than most people ever experienced in a lifetime.

But she wasn’t injured – that was a good start. Instead, she wanted to wash up. Jannick followed dutifully behind, reasoning that he would see a medic about his shoulder after he was certain that Holly was safely put away. That was, until Holly threw him an all-too-familiar smirk and took off down the hallway.

Ambling along up until that moment in a sort of post-adrenaline haze, Jannick suddenly snapped to attention, almost bowling over the poor servant as he broke out after his charge. Foreboding questions flashed through his mind; had she seen something? Was the castle being infiltrated too? A quick glance around revealed nothing threatening, but his mind flooded with fear that he would lose her for a second time that night – and that this time, he wouldn’t be as lucky. It took Jannick’s now-cold and aching body everything it had to keep up with Holly, joints protesting loudly as she came upon a guest room.

Jannick burst into the room after her, stopping only when he saw that she wasn’t escaping through the window to lean against the door frame. He tapped his chest, breathing hard in the new open air as his helmet receded back into his gorget. His hair was damp and stuck to his forehead, but his eyes were wide with alarm.

“Why are you running?!” he demanded, heedless of his volume. “Mother’s tit, Holly, why do you always run away from me?!”

What Jannick had seen after he had charged into the room wasn’t the same Hollyhock that had sat in a cold silence. It wasn’t the smug Hollyhock that had decidedly managed to sprint away in full view. It was a Hollyhock that had tears welling, but a refusal to cry. A Hollyhock that kept her arms tight to her body so that she wouldn’t shake.

She could have refuted his words. She could have played the dozens as the two of them usually did. She could have explained why she felt that, in that moment, decided to run away. But she didn’t. Instead, she slowly approached the entry that Jannick had been leaning against. Her feet dragged each step. Her gaze avoided his face.

And Hollyhock slowly closed the door.

Jannick had more words waiting in the wings, ready to launch into a disorganized tirade about how Holly’s escapism habit could have gotten her killed, how none of this would have happened if she’d have just stayed by his side, how she needed to grow the fuck up and listen to him for once in her pompous, sheltered life - but it all died in his throat when he finally saw what was standing in front of him. Holly wasn’t getting on with her night, she wasn’t snickering at him. She wasn’t the bored, mischievous aristocrat’s daughter he was used to, nor was she one of Incepta’s glorious chosen like the stained glass window behind her. She was just a scared little girl coming apart at the seams.

He only watched in mute horror as Holly shambled closer, wishing he could recapture his words as she slowly closed the door. He stumbled back when the door nearly met his face, staring at it for a moment in stunned silence. He rubbed his face, inadvertently smearing it with half-dried blood from his gauntlet, and used all of his strength to drag himself down to Ballroom A. All anger had drained from him in an instant, replaced only by cold regret – for his outburst, and for everything else.

---

Collab with @OwO

Scion: The Prophecy of Anani

---

Maya’s landing in Edmund’s arms wasn’t much gentler than her landing on the chandelier, and the rigid edges of his armour would be sure to leave her with even more bruises. But she didn’t care; at that point, she took little notice of her injuries, gasping instead with equal parts relief and surprise that she’d fallen into her Templar’s arms and not the marble floor. She clung to him like a life preserver, maintaining a white-knuckled grip on his armour as he sped away. The moment Maya braved a look beyond Edmund’s shoulder, she was rewarded with the sight of more pursuers, before they were abruptly cut back in a sickening shower of blood, the assailants falling screaming to the floor. She had neither the time nor presence of mind to decipher what she saw; they were chasing her, and then they were on the ground, with nothing separating the moments but a shadowy blur. Had Kasper come to her rescue? It was impossible to know; she only looked for a second before burying her face in fear.

Somehow, Edmund got the two of them out of the ballroom, but the shock of cold winter air comforted Maya none until several minutes had passed and the gunfire had faded into the distance. For a long time, she dared not look; but after a little while, the adrenaline of the situation began to subside, and in its place rose the pain she’d been ignoring. By the time Edmund boarded her onto a train - she was too distracted to wonder about its source or destination, only happy that it seemed to be staffed by Veradis soldiers and not Kaudian captors - her whole body was a dull thrum of pain, her individual injuries standing out sharply and troubling her more the longer she sat.

When the train finally came to a stop, every little movement was agony; each breath was accompanied by a sharp, stabbing pain, she couldn’t even hope to walk, and she was sure there were a hundred other injuries waiting for their turn to raise their voice among the aching chorus. Tears brimmed her eyes, but she didn’t make a sound. Her chest hurt too much to draw the breath to cry.

Edmund brought her inside somewhere, and a woman spoke to them, but Maya wasn’t listening. The relative calm was just insult added to injury, giving her nothing else to focus on but her pain. Edmund brought her to a new room, this one crawling with white-clad people in surgical masks and gloves, paramedics with the symbol of Incepta’s Star comfortingly embroidered on their uniforms.

Edmund set Maya down at last on a cot and turned to leave, but Maya didn’t let him. A spike of fear shot through her as he turned, and she caught his wrist before he could go, clinging to him with all her might.

“No! Wait!” she exclaimed, immediately cringing at the pain in her ribs. The tears that had been loitering in her eyes finally spilled over, and she hugged herself. Her voice came out as a quiet sob. “Don’t leave me.”

Edmund sighed, his back to Maya as she held on to him. After a moment, he relented and turned to face her. With the tiniest pulse of mana, the armor retracted back into the crystal on his chest, which he used his free hand to remove and pocket. He let Maya hold tightly on to his wrist as he took a step closer. “I will stay a moment as the healers do their work,” he said softly, with clear exhaustion on his face. He paused a moment, studying Maya’s panicked expression, before adding, “Take a breath. We are not in danger for this moment.”

Maya’s breath quickened, the relief of Edmund’s reply allowing the rest of her emotions to overwhelm her. She tried for a moment to close the floodgates, but it was no use; tears fell in droves and quiet sobs wracked her frame, Maya wincing as she cried and burying her face into Edmund’s arm. After a moment, a medic gently pried her off of him, Maya relinquishing her grip on his wrist only when a nurse coaxed her behind a curtain so she could disrobe for examination - and only after repeated assurances that Edmund wasn’t going to leave.

The examination was mercifully brief; the medic used a device to scan Maya’s painful spots (after a moment of convincing her that “everywhere” wasn’t a sufficient description) and diagnosed two cracked ribs, several breaks in her ankle, some puncture wounds on her chest, and a broad smattering of bumps and bruises.

“Half an hour in a Damias should do the trick for you, Your Holiness,” the medic concluded, placing an adhesive patch on her upper arm. Maya’s pain immediately began to subside, reducing quickly from all-encompassing agony to only a dull throb in her ribs and ankle. A new, potentially drug-induced calm washed over her, and for the first time since their escape, Maya drew a deep breath. She nodded.

The medic looked to Edmund. “Are you injured, Sir? We can take care of you while Her Holiness is in treatment.”

Edmund simply shook his head. “No… I’m fine right now. I’ll let you know if that changes.” He was lying through his teeth, but getting checked out was at the bottom of his list of priorities. He poked his head in to check on Maya, giving her his patented stoic nod. She seemed calmer by his approximation. “Maya… they’re going to keep an eye on you while I check in with Dame Albakova, but I will be here with one phone call. I’m not going to let these cultists hurt you.” Edmund’s hands balled into fists for a moment, knuckles white as nails dug into his palm. “I swear it.”

Maya was indeed calmer; the painkiller patch seemed to affect more than just her pain, but she wasn’t going to question it. She was, however, still uneasy when Edmund announced his plan to leave. She had a protest ready on her lips when she took notice of his tone; fists balled up and posture stiff, even in her growing medicated haze Maya could tell that her Templar was gravely serious. She wasn’t entirely trustful of the security of their new locale - she’d been confident in Giles’ security too, she recalled bitterly - but something about Edmund’s resolve was comforting enough to earn him a nod.

“Okay,” she reluctantly agreed, repeating the word she uttered just before her fall. This time felt like just as much of a leap of faith. As she allowed the medic to assist her onto a stretcher, she considered insisting that Edmund come back quickly as soon as he was free. However, something told her it didn’t need to be said.

---

Collab with @webboysurf

Scion: The Prophecy of Anani

---

Navigating the crowd felt like fighting against the ocean; Jannick could barely make it a few steps before he was jostled this way or that, flinching violently at every unexpected touch as if they were all a new opponent. Sometimes he was right; as he searched for his Scion, he was set upon several more times by masked suspects, melting in and out of the crowd like ghosts as they tried their luck against the Templar of Wind. That said, he might as well have been Officer Weber again: aside from his armour, which saved his sorry hide more than once in the scuffle, his near-total lack of command over his element made Jannick easy to mistake for any other cop on the Veradis beat. Fortunately, he’d been selected as a Templar for a reason, and his opponents, while zealous, were little more; but while he fended them off well enough to keep himself alive, he wasn’t making any real progress.

Soon, the doors burst open and the cavalry arrived, but the relief Jannick would normally feel from the arrival of backup was deadened by the desperation of his situation. It was all he could do to stay standing under the attackers’ oppressive assault, let alone protect his Scion, who was nowhere to be found. And without the magic on display by the other Templars who could actually do their jobs, there was little he could do to tip the scales in his favour; sick to his stomach at the prospect, he was struggling to hold his own as he waited to be rescued.

But rescue did come in the unlikeliest of forms: moments after Dame Irina’s arrival, Hollyhock burst through the crowd, grasping for Jannick’s hand and pulling him toward the bright new exit. Jannick’s heart jumped; for a second, he almost thought she was another attacker. He didn’t need to hear Holly’s message; as if willed by the Mother, he saw a path open up to the doors and broke into a sprint in that direction, his gauntleted hand like a vise on Hollyhock’s. He was surprised by her speed - or rather, her lack of it. Normally, Holly propelled herself around like a hurricane, but on their now-opened path he soon felt himself overtaking and then all but dragging her behind him. He had no time to worry if she was injured or to question her over the problem; he had only the mind to charge out of the ballroom and down the road, following Irina’s orders with all haste.

As the pair left the blinding light of a ring of utility vehicles shining their headlights into the ballroom and disappeared into the darkness on the road, Jannick could still hear the popping of gunshots all around them. Mercifully, that shameful chorus was soon drowned under the drumbeat of hurried footsteps and his own laboured breath.

---

@OwO

Scion: The Prophecy of Anani

---

Maya clutched Edmund’s bulletproof cape around her, cowering behind his armoured form until he took off to deal with the incoming assailants, leaving her alone.

One arm hooked around the chandelier chain, Maya looked frantically around at the darkness, seeing intimidating shapes in the shadows and assuming every gunshot she heard was aimed in her direction. Her breathing quickened, each breath sharp and inadequate as her heart thundered against her chest. A few times she raised her gun at a shape in the darkness, but she could never make out enough of a target to fire; probably for the better, considering how her gun hand quaked.

Edmund was little more than footsteps in the blackness around her, the sound never clearly friend or foe, and Maya found herself wishing he hadn’t left; she felt alone, dreadfully alone, in a moment of terror that stretched on forever. She found herself longing for someone, even an enemy, to appear - if only to put an end to her tormentous suspense.

Incepta must have been listening, because Maya got her wish.

Heralded by an ominous red light from the floor, a loud noise ripped through the ballroom. Maya didn’t have time to wonder what it meant; her stomach heaved as her grip on gravity was suddenly cut off, and much like the assailants on the zip lines Edmund severed, Maya was sent careening head-first into the darkness.

She screamed. She was only suspended for an instant, sliding down along the chandelier chain like a fireman’s pole, before she came painfully to rest on one of the chandelier’s arms. Gold-plated ivy leaves rammed into Maya’s ribs, and she was sure she felt one crack; but that was of lesser concern as the chandelier itself jolted downward, remaining aloft by the grace of the Mother alone.

Maya clung on for dear life, heedless of the pain in her ribs. Her legs swung freely below her, scrambling for purchase, but there was no foothold to be found. “Edmund-- help me--” she sputtered, pain and terror confining her voice to little more than a frayed whisper. But she couldn’t imagine how he could help her, especially if he fell when she did. Edmund might be a broken mess on the floor right now, and then she’d have no chance--

"Maya... we are leaving. Now."

Maya gasped at the sound of Edmund’s voice, her gut quivering once more as she felt the force pulling her down lessen. But it was far from gone; she was still dangling over three storeys at least of empty space, and if she let go of her precarious perch, she would still certainly fall.

“H-how..?” she stammered, only audible to herself. Her heart pounded, and her head began to swim, but she was torn from her panicked speculation by the startlingly close whirrr of another zipline. This time, she could see the glowing eyes of her assailant ascending from the darkness below to meet her.

“Okay,” Maya gasped, taking a few quick breaths to steel herself. At the end of the last one, she held it, squeezing her eyes shut as she released her perch and fell.

---

@webboysurf

Scion: The Prophecy of Anani

---

Jannick smiled gratefully at Hollyhock, relieved and surprised in equal measure that she released him for a smoke. He was well aware of her opinion on his habit - the first few cigarettes dunked in water glasses had gotten her point across quite clearly enough for his taste - so the party must have gotten her in quite the pleasant mood not even to make a snarky comment about how she could already hear the tumours growing.

Which, she probably wasn’t wrong, but…

He barely managed one step toward the balcony before a suspicious flicker in the lights stopped him in his tracks. Veradis, even in the poorer areas where Jannick grew up, never had trouble with the power grid, especially not on a calm night like this one, and especially not at the homes of the rich and powerful. Jannick squinted apprehensively at the light fixtures, hand wandering to his holster of its own accord when the room went dark completely.

Suddenly, glass crashed; Jannick ducked instinctively, and his gun was already in his hands when he whirled around at Hollyhock’s scream. A light went up somewhere in the ballroom, but it was almost worse than the darkness; it wasn’t bright enough to illuminate the entire room, and the long, kaleidoscopic shadows it cast of panicked civilians scrambling this way and that did more to confuse Jannick’s view of the situation than enhance it.

Gunfire filled the air, and Jannick’s instincts kicked into overdrive. He pawed for his radio to call in the threat, and when he realized he didn’t have one, found the next best thing; his armour crystal, slamming it into his chest. The situation was a policing nightmare: panicked civilians everywhere, gunmen coming out of the woodwork, and no way to call in backup - not that he had any to call in. And not that that mattered; his job was to end the threat or die trying, backup or none.

Before Jannick could tell Holly to get to the exit as quickly as possible, Sara chimed in with potentially the worst idea he’d ever heard. And what was worse, Holly immediately followed her instructions, which would have been excellent if her instructions made any sense.

“Wait, Holly--” Jannick reached out to stop her, but it was too late: she was already gone. Why on the Mother’s green earth would Sara want to collect the Scions inside the building?! The active shooter gospel for civilians was Run, Hide, Fight; Holly was very adept at the first one, but Sara seemed to want to skip straight to what was supposed to be a last resort.

“Fuck!” Jannick searched around in the chaos, gun already in his hands; he didn’t remember taking it out. More gunfire popped around him, suppressed, from several different directions, and suddenly, a woman collapsed in front of him, revealing a masked figure with a rifle.

“DROP THE WEAPON!” Jannick commanded, his training kicking in. He raised his gun, but it was worse than useless; in the dark, with so many civilians so close by, he couldn’t risk shooting. But the gunman didn’t care; he shot before the words had even left Jannick’s mouth, a burst of three shots peppering his shoulder ineffectively. The Templar armour was a lot more effective than kevlar, he’d give it that. Growling with in frustration, Jannick rushed the gunman, evidently inciting enough panic to make him hesitate and giving Jannick the chance to gain muzzle control on the rifle and pistol whip him with his Glock.

To Jannick’s considerable surprise, the gunman didn’t go down immediately; instead, he surrendered the rifle to disengage, stumbling back and producing a blade. Jannick only had a second to lament his lack of a melee weapon before the two of them had to duck to avoid falling debris; splintered wood and upholstery rained down on them from the sky, and a mostly-intact wooden chair leg fell at Jannick’s feet, as if sent by Incepta Herself.

That would work.

Hastily holstering his gun, the chair leg made for an effective club when the attacker ran at Jannick again, notably less coordinated this time; Jannick caught his blade in one armoured hand with ease and hit him repeatedly over the head with his improvised weapon, ceasing only when he was certain the masked thug wouldn’t stir again.

Jannick spared one pitiful glance at the injured woman before moving on; in these situations, there was no time to aid the wounded. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he remembered that he needed to find Holly, but dispatching the gunmen felt more important; almost a decade of police training was rooted far deeper than his scant year of Templar training, after all. But he wasn’t given any time to debate the two; two more red masks emerged from the crowd, charging at Jannick together.

Jannick got one of them with the chair leg; he stumbled, confused enough to relent for a moment as the other drew a shortsword. Jannick blocked the blade just in time, the metal biting deep into the wood of his improvised club, and he took advantage of the swordsman’s distraction to kick one of his feet out from under him, throwing them both to the floor.

Jannick quickly wrestled himself on top of the masked man, the attacker’s lack of training evident as he writhed and swung his blade erratically, Jannick just out of reach on his back. When he could get a hand free, Jannick produced his gun once more and buried it between the swordsman’s shoulder blades, shooting straight down until he stopped moving.

Relieving the swordsman of his blade, Jannick stood to find the one he’d bashed with his club on his feet once more. This time, Jannick went on the offensive, burying his new sword into the second man’s abdomen before he had the chance to collect himself for an attack.

“What the fuck are you people after me for?” Jannick hissed as he let the body fall. He’d have time to be confused about the attacker’s targeting later; for now, he tried to orient himself, diving into the crowd in the direction he saw Hollyhock depart in. “HOLLY!”

---

@OwO mentioning @Stern Algorithm