“You may as well get comfortable, Sir Knight.” She certainly wasn’t going to stand the entire time. The battlements made for a good enough bench, the parapets a table for food and drink. “It’s not a short story, nor one I tell often. I see it often enough, in my head, but out loud?” Her heart turned inside her chest. An absence, at her side. “Not even...I’ve only told snippets, never the whole thing. I don’t know what ought to be cut and what ought to stay. I don’t know if you are the right audience, but…” She had to start somewhere. Enough stalling. The beginning was a fine enough beginning. “I don’t supposed you’d have known of Lakkos, except as a footnote in the star charts. It is positioned just so, between the orbits of much greater stars, that anything adrift in that sector [i]will[/i] wind up crashing to its surface. In the old days of humanity, they made the atmosphere thick, yet yielding, that nothing would hit the planet with enough energy to shatter it or itself. Even living things could enter atmo with only mild burns. They turned it into a scrapyard, I think. A mine for parts and materials. The old machines and foundries are still there. As are every servitor they set to work there, and every servitor who found themselves drifting through space in that sector, once humanity retreated to Tellus.” “But before humanity completely vanished, the Armada made one last call, to scoop up any remaining humans by imperial decree. They left.” She coughs. “An [i]impression.[/i] Along with a fair number of ‘artifacts’ from the capital. Likely meant to ensure they’d never forget the awesome power of the Empire. It turned out to be highly educational. We learned a lot. And never forgot it. Overnight, the planet was united in one sentiment: To build the biggest and best plovers and war machines, that they may serve the invincible Empire as their allies, when they returned in their war against the stars.” “Our worship went further still. We sought to emulate the perfect ways of Tellus. We selected our leaders through the divine rites of the Olympics, showering them with crowns and gold, as they did in the Empire. We held great, public trials of combat and skill, but mostly combat. Power was, after all, the chief virtue of the Armada. But we picked up their knack for corruption rather quickly too. Those who won at the Games enjoyed positions of wealth, power, incredible fame, while the rest of the peasants spent their days mining scraps for the Senator’s pet plover projects. And though the Games were open to all, well, if you didn’t have the time, money, or equipment to properly prepare, what chance did you have?” “If there was a silver lining, at least our wars became rather less bloody, but none the shorter. Why send your precious plover into battle with your neighbors, and risk damaging your best asset to the Empire? Better to sabotage their works, while jealously defending your own. Take them down a peg in the next Games, and enjoy the spoils of victory afterwards. But with no end or Armada in sight, the arms race never ceased. The toll on the citizens never faltered.” “Mind, I know all this through hindsight. Years of time spent away, epiphanies from awkward stares, that sort of thing. At the time, I was merely the only daughter of a noble house of Lakkos. Our star had been rising, and there I was; bright, strong, quick-witted, fiercely competitive, gifted in speech, a gem in need of polish only. They told me I was destined to rule, and I was quite ready to tell everyone else the same. Greatness, glory, light, those were all I could see in my future, and I shone with promise.” “Here, I must mention my friends: wild Clarissa, and dear, stern Alethea. Daughters of nobility both, I met them through the many, many training classes we attended to prepare us for our debuts in the Games. We were the same age, most of our days were spent together, then most of our free time afterwards, we got along so well. Clarissa and I were both from rather notable families, at the zenith of their power. Alethea, though, her family’s fortunes had been sinking, and she was their last shot at retaining what standing they had left. It was through her that we had our window into the world outside the palaces, of the terrible fate that awaited her should she fail to take home any prizes. The same fate that most of our citizens woke up to every day, without hope. We swore that we would all win - and thus save her from poverty - but I went one step further; I swore that we would put an end to the endless ‘wars’ that had inflicted such harm on our people. With all I had going for me, with how I was learning to break and mend hearts with nothing more than words, surely I could turn the hearts of all of Lakkos to peace?” Here, she pauses. “You asked, when we first met, about where I first learned of the Glaive? Well, this is where I started. Amid the detritus that our family had claimed as treasure was a single, unspoiled scroll of wondrous martial forms. They detailed a style I had never seen before, one I could hardly believe was possible. Of course, it was years until I learned what grav-rails even were, but at the time, I thought I could surely master it, with enough effort. I spent all my spare hours in training, practicing, trying to get it right. I never quite managed to replicate it *exactly*, but I got rather close. Close enough to devise a form that no one on Lakkos had ever seen. I could say that inherent advantage was the reason why I picked it up but...no, that would be a lie. Because you’re right; there are other styles that could have given me similar results much quicker and easier.” She nudged a grape around her plate, steering it expertly through the pile of produce without stopping. “I think...what ultimately drew me was the [i]promise[/i] of the Glaive. There are things I can do in this style, openings I can create, victories I can achieve, that I can’t get anywhere else. All it takes is enough imagination, inspiration, and instinct. And that is how I wished to fight.” And perhaps she’d never told this story out loud, but the words slot into her heart so neatly that they couldn’t have been anything other than the truth. *********************************************************** Failure. Funny, he’d been so worried about getting so many Captain-ly things wrong, when it was the quest itself he ought to have been looking out for. Not that he’d been careless with his life, it’s just. It’s not something you can really keep looking at if you’ve got to keep moving forward. If he’d never done anything dangerous, he’d still be in the Manor’s kitchen right now. Whole. Alive. They’d told him so. Hadn’t they told him so? No good would come of a chef wandering from the fold. The mouse’s cries came through fuzzy but the Majordomo’s snarls were on his neck, heavier and louder than any bell. Reason! Order! The right thing, in the right way! So it was! So it always must be! He, the silly sheep, he thought, maybe, if he wore the Captain’s hat, maybe he could be a Captain, and not a chef, and never have to fear the consequences again. Silly him. Silly Dolce. So quiet, about Lord Hades. No dogs barking there. Quiet, and still. Rest, at last. No trouble, moving his hand now. Slowly, it rose, white against the black of Lord Hade’s perfect suit, save for, for a little glimmer of gold, ‘round his ring finger… [i]So I swear…[/i] He stopped. Fingers hovering over Hades’. “That...that so long as I draw breath…” He heard himself mumbling. “First of my loyalty. First of my heart. Never...never to leave…” Whole? Alive? When had he ever felt that way in the Manor? Would he have ever left if he was so happy there? Why, his hours had been filled with nothing but books, and kitchens, and meals that no one ever ate, and long nights without rest wondering what was the matter with him. Hadn’t he prayed to Hera then too? Hadn’t she promised him an answer? And though she spoke in action, and not words, was it not the same answer she’d given him a few weeks ago? Then, his goal was to run, to leave, to live among the stars and have others taste his cooking every day. And now? Now? “I’m, sorry, Lord Hades.” He draws back his hand, and gently curls his employer’s hand shut. “Not yet. There is. I think.” Still so tired. Still so hard to think, but, but, he couldn’t, just couldn’t stop now. “I want to make Redana’s dream real. I want ships where no-one is afraid. I.” His vision blurs. With tears, and cigarette smoke. “I want to talk to Vasilia. There’s, oh, there’s so much I need to tell her. We can’t, we can’t leave it like this, not any longer, please, we can’t...”