---

This was now the third time Éliane had been invited to a grand Edrenian banquet. She had to admit that she was slightly apprehensive about it; her track record for attending such meals hadn’t been that great. The first time had been assaulted by a Valheimian crack force and diplomatic team had nearly died to a man for it; the second time had resulted in a very awkward family reunion that very nearly had food thrown across the table. Admittedly, Éliane had done little to help the situation, as annoyed with Galahad’s dad she was at the time…
Éliane was pretty sure the silverware that she had walked out with was still in Goug’s wagon somewhere.

Her eyes ran over the food in front of her. It was the Edrenian fare that she had come to expect when hosted by nobles, with delicious roasts, rich wine sauces, and hearty sides. Best of all, of course, was the coffee, and she made sure to consume a lot of the delicious, divine liquid. The pink-haired Skaelan was content to simply eat, drink, and half-listen to the conversations between the Demets and the rest of the Kirins –or at least some of them, given how quiet the Ospreyan members of the party seemed to be at these Edrenian events. She added her own comments here and there, but Éliane wasn’t truly a committed conversationalist here.

That said, seeing Rudolf’s change in behavior since returning here gave Éliane a funny idea in her head that eventually made her lean towards the man that she had been bumming stories off of since coming here, a grin on her face.

“So… Given you’ve known Rudolf quite well over the years, you must have some fantastic stories about him, Lord Wulfric…”

Not two days in Edren once more, and already a local lord proved more helpful without prompting than Drana Asnaeu's highest authorities. Gods help her, Izayoi may actually have to think rather charitably of an Edreni noble of all things. At least, of one that wasn't directly affiliated with them, so Galahad and Rudolf excepted.

As the conversation continued on, Izayoi tuned it out in favor of shifting her foot to press down hard on Chisato's after seeing the small viera on the verge of exploding, giving the shinobi a brief raise of her eyebrow. Her attention was piqued, however, when Chisato seemed more focused on...something else in the room? Izayoi followed her countryman's gaze to a blonde woman in traveling gear, suddenly sitting at the table and filling a plate as if she belonged.

By the time the woman met Izayoi's eyes, the samurai had her short blade drawn, halfway up to lunging across the table.

"Easy, General. I'm an ally."

Upon realizing exactly who infiltrated her way to his dinner table of all things, Cadmon could only give a long-suffering sigh and a reluctant nod.

"Kayliss Lambert, Deputy Director of SEED Operations in Falcon's Nest. Consider me Mathiassen's superior officer and the Dame Commander's temporary minder."

"Then well met, spymaster." Izayoi ground out, her wakizashi sliding back into its sheath with reluctance. "Tell me, what exactly possessed you to introduce yourself as you have?"

"Expediency. I'll keep things brief. What I'm about to tell you is a Skaellan state secret, above the clearance of anyone in this room. I hardly know exact details. In summation, you know nothing of this until you coincidentally stumble across it, with my name completely forgotten. But, to sum it up, we've lost Solitude."

"...Kayliss, that's hardly news. We've heard even as far up as here that Solitude has been completely silent for two months-"

"That was a convenient state-sanctioned lie. Overseer Baramoux placed Solitude on complete lockdown to root out Valheimr infiltrators. By all accounts, reports out of Solitude indicate it was going well, until one week ago. All contact stopped, and all agents sent to investigate haven't returned. Something happened. With Baramoux and over half the Seven still in the city, Skael's in full crisis, albeit a silent one."

"And I suppose you wish for us to be the vanguard for the next attempt at investigating, then?"

"You and yours have worked miracles already, even as of a week ago. To sweeten the pot, I'll even offer up the location of the Crystal of Wind right now: in a temple at the furthest tip of the continent's southern reaches, past Solitude's gates, walls, and wards. Even if you wanted to ignore the situation, there's no way to reach it without passing through the capital." Kayliss managed to say all this in between quick bites of food, somehow managing to polish her plate off while giving the briefing. She reached to fill up with seconds.

"When we're finished here, I'm returning to Skael effective immediately to help organize our response. The time for subtlety in our dealings with you has passed. You'll find your passage at the border completely expedited and given free rein of the country. I move faster on my own, but when you do cross the border, make for Falcon's Nest. Now, I'll be fielding questions, if anyone has any."

Well, this detour was proving a bit disappointing. No time to leverage the opportunity of access to a library, unless she skipped on the matter of sleeping and got as far into it as she could overnight, and there had been eyes on them the entire time they were there. Even though she hadn't really that strong a desire to sneak off (what would she even do with anything?), the attention was… uncomfortable. That level of observation usually meant that she was about to be in a lot of hot water.

But the food was nice, and Miina was amused by how much more nicely people seemed to be treating her than Izayoi or Chisato. That was a first, 'strange little Dranan weirdo' always seemed to get the worst in polite company. But national enmity overcame all that…

They were still treating her much nicer than Miina thought she was supposed to be. Was it the hat?

The Skaelan's arrival was a whirlwind of information that Miina mostly ignored for later: go to Solitude, more Valheim, find crystal. Something something spy stuff; all above her head. But it was nice to have a pretty lady around, even if it was only for a meal, and one that wasn't also her cousin to make looking more… awkward.

But maybe this was why she asked the first question that came to mind, to give the attention a bit more of an excuse.

"H-How could is Skael?"

"Very cold, Miina."

So that was why he'd felt a familiar chill enter the room at the back of his neck, while he was too busy fuming over his barely-laid plans being scuttled— and in what felt like an instant, his protestations, his burgeoning courage, everything he had been trying to build to beneath the surface had ample cause to be quietly set aside for... some point later. What he had been hoping to say had to come soon, before the Kirins crossed the border if nothing else. If he entered Skael with those words still locked beneath his chest... well, now more than ever, he doubted he'd ever dredge them up.¹ Be it due to a faltering resolve, or this brand new crisis that the familiar blonde had brought to the table. He swirled the wine in his glass, a Crandori Red that for all the world tasted of spiced cherries and blood as it warmed the back of his throat in a long, calming pull.

"At least as cold as Osprey was warm, and that's before the wind. They say Skael's sharpest knives lie not in the hands of its warriors, but instead pass between drifts, pines, glaciers, cutting men unlucky enough to get caught in the gust to the bone."

His copper-coated eyes flicked between the Earl at the head of the table and the interloping spymaster, unable to fully keep the wary, brusque grimace out of their depths in spite of a growingly dismissive affectation, the type that he always wore when playing along with "knowing nothing of what he just heard". For many, the task would be easy on the latter front she mentioned, save her two subordinates. that'd be all well and good and expected.

But, in a twist of fate, Rudolf's case was... a little more complicated.

He cleared his throat.

"I doubt a SEED Director would embellish details like that if one were around, but I remember hearing a lot about Skael in my youth from when my 'Aunt Kayla' came by to visit when I was, what? Eight? I'm bound to get certain bits about the place turned around."

Given the circumstances, mentioning the old assumed identity off-handedly was just about all Rudolf could do to satisfy his urge to grill her about deceiving him back when he was still just a snot-nosed kid²— though hindsight was hardly kind to him, now that he had its benefits. A mysterious woman from the south that he'd only met once, and then primarily existed in their household as fuel for what were basically spooky stories to keep him and his brothers in line; to anybody that would ever stop and think about it once they'd grown up a little more, obviously "Aunt Kayla" was a questionable identity at best.

But they all had bigger fish to fry, now. His indignation and surprise wouldn't just be unbecoming, they'd be downright obstructive.³

They were bound to have their fill of obstructions before they knew it.

He speared a roast potato with a fork, eyeing her, trying to make a mental note of all the questions he had burning at the back of his head that weren't immediately helpful before filtering out the ones that were. Why she knew Cadmon and his father. How long she had been at this habit of dropping in that none of the servants seemed particularly ruffled by her sudden ingress from the boundaries. So on.

He let the breezy indulgence in the bit fall from his face.

"... Speaking of Wind, then: Would we be correct to presume that because Solitude is our only mode of access to the temple, there's no necessary way you're able to tell if the Crystal is compromised as well? Beyond the presumable chaos it would throw the elements into, despoiling of the land, and so on— no direct observation, just praying we don't see those consequential symptoms?"

---

---

• _{1. Nothing ever happens.}
• _{2. Do I even need to say it, audience?}
• _{3. Hypocritical as well. Moreso, even— Director Lambert here was telling a child a white lie so as to not reveal to him any of the grisly details of her true profession, to keep both of their lives out of danger— whereas my charming and rock-brained host is just having a fight with dear old Dad, and stealing valor from a warrior-shaman culture he's only spent half a decade LARPing as.}

---

The Kirins' time in the Demet lands had been surprisingly productive. Without being constantly backstabbed or sold out or put upon by invading Valheimr, Galahad actually found a moment to work out some of their more mundane issues. Provisioning, for one. With Goug's help, Galahad had drafted up a rather comprehensive list of the things they would need for their journey south into Skael: Rations for the journey, both preserved and fresh; cold weather gear to deal with the oncoming chill; actual tools for proper weapons and armor maintenance; a supply of materials for their Skaellers to create ammunition; a small stock of potions; camping gear, rope and the like; fresh chocobos to haul the cart. It was all rather refreshingly mundane.

Galahad found that his time in the Demet estate was met with only minor annoyances- at least on Galahad's side of things. Of course, Wulfric wouldn't stop talking, but to a degree, Galahad found the conversation strangely comforting. Not necessarily because he enjoyed talking to Wulfric, but his grandstanding and storytelling felt normal- a bit aggravating, but normal- compared to their more recent tribulations. Well, as normal as accidentally ripping hearts out of blightbeasts or accosting foreign travelers could be. In fact, dinner in the Cadmon estate was actually rather pleasant. They weren't being accosted by Valheimr, and someone finally acknowledged their efforts. It wasn't necessarily that Galahad needed validation for their daunting task, but the recognition wasn't unwelcome. Was it a bit sad that Galahad found dinner with one of his father's political rivals a far more familiar and polite experience? Perhaps. But Galahad wasn't going to actively ask for a difficult time when he didn't need to.

Galahad shrugged as Cadmon asked of goings on in the North, particularly by Midgar. "Well, there have been increased sightings of blighted dragons, but for the most part it appears that Midgar's Dragoons have it handled. Or at least, I assume they do." Galahad remarked dryly, "As far as news worthy of your attention goes... Well, I'm not sure either. My father and I aren't really on speaking terms at the moment." Galahad gestured at Éliane and Izayoi, "Apparently, he's not too fond of the company I keep. He's disowned me in all but name."

That probably told him what he needed to know regarding that. Any further discussion about Galahad's home life was however interrupted by the presence of one of Skael's spymasters. On the one hand, it was good to know that Skael would cooperate with them- completely opposite of the debacle that had happened in Drana. Unfortunately it seemed as though they were heading back into the fire. Solitude silenced was hardly the news Galahad expected or wanted to hear. It appears that Valheim had found their way to Skael and its Crystal. That hardly bode well for them. It boiled down to rather simple terms: If they wanted the Crystal of Wind, they'd have to deal with Solitude and the Valheim within. Galahad frowned as he traced the pattern, and glanced over at Earl Cadmon.

"Earl Demet, when was the last time you spoke with King Leonhart?" Galahad asked, "It's becoming increasingly clear that Valheim have a pattern to their attacks. Kurogane, Brightlam, Solitude. They attacked Balmung the night before we set out- their assault itself seemed to be ultimately unsuccessful, but that doesn't mean they won't try again, nor does it mean they weren't successful in setting up their own infiltration teams... I worry for the Crystal, and the King's safety."

"You and my father might not necessarily get along, but if you sent a letter, I'm sure he'd send support- if for the good of the Kingdom." Galahad said somberly, "I fear it is only a matter of time before Valheim make another attempt on Edren and its Crystal. As much as I'd like nothing more than to head there myself- our journey takes us south."

I was not about to let my personal feelings show. While I would normally be quite willing to accept punishment by Izayoi-dono, I am not certain it was necessary here.

---Still, I have no intention of complaining. She obviously judged it to be necessary, and I should in turn defer to that judgement.

But rather---

I am certainly well-versed in infiltration, and spotting those who do the same. As such, I cannot believe I was nearly incapable of spotting her until now.

The moment Izayoi-dono moves, I wrap my fingers around the hilt of my blade and begin to rise. If someone has infiltrated here, then I must assume they are an enemy before all else.

Therefore, I shall strike them down as swiftly as possible. Their skill in infiltration is staggering, but it is my only option in order to fulfill my duties.

---But it's not an enemy at all.

My grip on the blade at the back of my hip loosens as I straighten. This is undeniably someone who could have easily killed someone at this table. Perhaps not myself or Izayoi-dono, but the fact remains she escaped notice, and I can tell as much simply by looking upon her.

But she has not.

That is not why she is here.

The Spymaster of Skael.

No wonder she is so capable.

And she wants our assistance?

The matter is in the defeat of the Valheimr. As it is my mission, I have no qualms with cooperating. In fact, it further expediates the remainder of our duty but making our entrance into the country far more smooth, and the target is our destination to begin with.

"As it relates to the defeat of Valheim's dogs and is our destination to begin with, I have no qualms with this request."

There is no reason not to accept.

Finally, we can leave this place.

---

"Stories like you wouldn't believe," Wulfric started when Éliane leaned over his way. "You should've seen the time he almost sliced the tip off his own nose when he was first practicing with a sword—" He cut off suddenly as a door quietly opened, a few blonde locks poking out from a hood being the most immediately recognizable thing to keep him seated where Izayoi got ready to fight...before 'aunt Kay' took over the conversation entirely.

He and Cadmon both sat quietly for a moment as the entire group took in the news of Solitude's troubles. Knife and fork set silently next to his plate, he watched his father for their next steps.

The earl, of course, had already assumed something was wrong in Solitude. Earlier than he actually needed to, perhaps, but now he had confirmation. "Have you told István?" he asked Kayliss, letting Galahad's words hang for the moment. Wulfric, for his part, flicked Rudolf in the ear. Not quite the slap to the back of the head he might normally have given, but he couldn't entirely blame the younger man for being surprised by the revelation either.

"Of course not. That's your job. Shilage territory is in the exact opposite direction of where I need to be."

"Weeks since you last came through and told me to write to Leo, and you couldn't take care of that yourself..?" the grey-haired lord groused. "Take what you'll need when you leave. Wulfric, pack your things—you're riding north at dawn. Once you're done be ready to help the rest of them if they need anything."

"Aye." He picked up his plate, finishing off the last few bites that were on it before pushing his chair back and leaving the room. Cadmon's eyes passed over the table, lingering for a moment on the nearly-untouched plate in front of Chisato. "Eat your food, girl, it's impolite to leave your plate completely untouched," he commanded, before turning back to Galahad.

"I just wrote to him not long ago. I'll have to wait and see if I hear back—your father is probably a lost cause for me, but hopefully István and Wulfric can bring him around to get something done, though I hope he doesn't decide it's a good idea to toss his last remaining child into the meat grinder with the rest. I'll see if I can't find a way around that other problem he's made for himself while I'm at it."

He beckoned a servant over, refilling his cup of tea and taking a small sip. "What brought on the sudden change, Kayliss? It's not like you all to have something so stable fall apart so quickly."

"Unless they had someone that knew what they were doing finally chip in."

Esben had been almost totally silent since the problem presented by Chèrle d'Artoé had been dealt with. Given a return to near-safety for the moment, a place to rest, and not having the constant distraction of pain and healing, his mind was free to wander—and it had nowhere to wander to but the other ugly problem that had reared its head for himself just before they went to deal with the crystal beneath Brightlam. Alexia Sigursdottir, better known to most SEEDs as 'Loki.' One of the deputy-director's most promising protégés; perhaps even the most promising, bar none, at least in terms of skill. She had excelled in all of her studies, putting her natural talents to use in deception, infiltration, information gathering, the subtle manipulations needed to destabilize certain seditious elements that threatened Skael's internal peace and stability.

Alongside the deputy-director, had passed much of it on to him, though by his own estimation he was never quite as good, nor did he share the talent for disguise. Nor had he been as able to recognize it as he should have, given that she'd been wearing a mask right under his nose and he hadn't the faintest clue about it. It took Miina and Rudolf stumbling into her on the night they were figuring how to deal with the trio of Grovemasters for the deception to be revealed. He'd managed to overlook what were, in hindsight, completely obvious tricks, especially given the warning to be on the lookout that Kayliss herself had given him, saying that headquarters hadn't heard from her in some time.

It had added on to the near-sleeplessness he'd dealt with the entire time through Drana Asnaeu, barely reprieved by the forced rest after defeating Reisa, his mind racing non-stop whenever he didn't have something else to distract it with the multitude of possible problems that Alexia could cause. Just a day right back to it was enough that he could tell his own sorry state looking in a mirror as they had first gotten to tour part of the Demet estate—careworn. Tired. Haunted.

He'd barely touched his food too, although perhaps Cadmon had been inclined to be a bit more generous with him, recognizing him as the other Skaeller member of the group.

"Miina and Rudolf accidentally uncovered Alex while we were in Brightlam. She'd assassinated Grovemaster Alambert and taken his place—she managed to hide right in front of all of us, before you even told me and Éliane to keep an eye out for her. She was probably the one behind the entire plot to destabilize the country, it fits her style and it was still a bit too subtle for how Valheim normally does things. She left before they proceeded with their main attack...more than enough time to get back to Solitude, while I was convalescing."

He'd straightened up the second he caught Kayliss moving to the table, and his stiff posture hadn't let up since. His brow furrowed in thought, though as he stared at his plate he pointedly avoided meeting the eyes of anyone else around the table—certainly not the pink-haired officer sitting not far from him, who had far more to be upset about with this turn of events than he did. His family was at least somewhat safely set away from the capital city, and despite his time studying and working there, he'd never really called it home, and didn't have any close relatives that lived there who would be dealing with a hostile takeover.

Certainly not parents or a sister.

"You're organizing the wider response. What's the director's status?"

"Helping the remainder of the Seven keep the rest of Skael from falling apart." Kayliss caught Esben's eye when he avoided Éliane's, a minute nod given in his direction. "They're sparing what forces they can, but we're seeing Blightbeast outbreaks dispersed around the country. Nothing uncontrollable as of yet, though it's spreading our forces thin, especially after losing contact with all of our units stationed in the capital."

"Maybe we shouldn't have told Chèrle to piss off," he mused with a wry twist of the mouth. "He turned around and probably took a boat back south—if you didn't run into him, you might send someone to his family home, in case Coulos is one of the compromised ones."

"...That buffoon was here?" Kayliss didn't sigh, but her expression said enough. "No, his father remains safely outside of Solitude. Don't worry about him, focus on the task at hand. For the time being, we'll assume that Sigursdottir has gone fully rogue and act accordingly." In other words, kill on sight.

"I was already planning on that, with or without approval."

"Eat," Cadmon commanded, cutting into the middle of their back-and-forth with the same command he'd given Chisato. "And drink some coffee. You'll need your strength, and murder is best planned with a vigorous, sharp mind. It'll give you a moment to step back and focus on your immediate plans, as well. You too, Rudi." The chunk of potato that hung on the end of the faux-Sagramori's fork, as of yet untouched, hadn't escaped the earl's gaze either.

"What a lovely time for all of this. Always right into the shit with you." He spared a sidelong glance at Kayliss, biting back a long-suffering sigh. "There's something else I need you all to do when you head south, and luckily, it's far enough inland it shouldn't be any real detour on your way to Falcon's Nest. Stop and visit with Viscount Breien—he'll restock you for the next leg of your journey, and he has something important for Rudolf, anyhow."

Esben's eyes narrowed instantly, head turning to meet Cadmon's calm gaze.

"Halvor Breien? What do you have to do with him?"

This time, Kayliss couldn't help herself. She did release that long held-in sigh.

"Shiva's grace, I'm not dealing with this. Cadmon, this is yours and István's mess alone. You can explain to his boy." She said, completely washing her hands of any and all involvement in the matter, no matter if she may have provided the bones of the scheme or not.

This time Cadmon's glance at Kayliss wasn't the soft, friendly one he'd given before. "It's very simple. Rudolf Shilage is, officially, a sickly young man who has been fostering with the good viscount and learning some of the arts of statecraft that are lost on his father and brothers. The colder air seems to do his poor lungs well, and he needed to be free of his cousin and his brothers' visits. Halvor, of course, hasn't figured out how to tell me that Rudolf never showed up, but there's some things for the both of you there. And he'll be able to resupply all the rest of you for the next leg of your journey."

Esben fell silent at that, pursing his lips for a moment before returning to his plate of food.

"Finish your meals. My tailors will visit you all tonight. We'll have proper clothes for you all heading down south in the morning. Try to get some sleep, but I'll be available if you need me. If I'm not in my study or the library, check the gardens." With that said, Cadmon pushed back from the table, leaving out the same way that Wulfric had minutes earlier, and leaving the Kirins to any remaining questions they might have for Kayliss as the servants began to clean up the two empty spots at the table.

---

Éliane had been excited to hear Wulfric expose Rudolf’s dirty laundry, but before he could barely start, things immediately changed.
The appearance of Kayliss at the Demets’ banquet had been unexpected, but it was the words that came from her mouth that sent a shock through Éliane’s system. The Skaelan officer had been aware of some degree of lockdown over the past two months. It had been concerning, and particularly annoying because it had meant that she had been cut off from communicating with her family as well as her allies and friends in the Household Guards, but such things weren’t atypical for Skael. In the aftermath of the coup attempt, Solitude had been placed on lockdown as well while the rest of the traitors were found and rounded up.

The fact that the city had become an intelligence void if what Kayliss was saying was correct… It sent chills down Éliane’s spine. She immediately thought of her parents at the bakery, and Therese. Suddenly, she didn’t feel so hungry anymore.

Her eyes flicked towards Esben for his reaction, setting down her fork with barely constrained tension as she listened to his words. She realized he was right; after the attack on Brightlam, given the distance involved, that gave that traitor of a woman enough time to make a beeline towards the capital. Whatever she had done didn’t bode well for Solitude or Overseer Baramoux. Being part of the elite force directly under him, and one that also acted as his protector, her team in the Household Guards was directly in the firing line of whatever attack had happened. With some luck, her family was fine—being a mundane bakery—and her father had been a trained city guard captain; he would know what to do to protect her mother and sister.

Her immediate urge was to fly to the capital, dammit, but she recognized that they needed to properly plan instead of attack guns blazing. But she was very tempted. Biting her tongue, she held back an outburst to demand to immediately leave for Solitude; no doubt that was the plan anyway.

Instead, her thoughts immediately turned to who they could trust or coordinate with, among the Seven or otherwise. “Lord Silvain,” Éliane finally said, breaking her silence –though no doubt the entire range of her facial expressions worn openly on her face the past few minutes entirely betrayed what she had been thinking of this mess. She of course was referring to the previous Overseer and one of the Seven, Silvester Silvain and the man that she had been in service under and her patron throughout these years. “Was he in the capital? We must coordinate.”

"Take that up with your father." Kayliss waved off Rudolf's attempt at a biting comment. "Anything he's told you is on him alone. Though it's nice to see you've grown up well enough. As for the crystal, you'd be correct. I've already been informed of your goals, and there's been no chance to confirm the Wind Crystal's status ever since we've known. For what it's worth, the last inspection was about six months ago, and there seemed to have been no issues."

She turned to Eliane next, her expression falling into a slightly sympathetic look. "Fortunately for everyone involved, Lord Silvain is outside of Solitude and active, yes. By now, he'll be on his way to Falcon's Nest as well. I'll try to arrange matters so that everyone we need will be within the walls by the time you arrive, but you know how weather and poor luck can delay things."

Once everyone was finished and questions concluded, Kayliss rose from her seat.

"Regardless, it was good to put faces to all the names finally. Try to stay intact and combat-capable. And keep an eye out for Loki. If at all possible, I'll handle that matter. But who knows? Cadmon, take better care of yourself. You're looking almost as decrepit as Istvan these days." Without any further ado, she drew her hood up and took her leave, leaving the Kirins to adjourn for the night and finish their preparations.

___

The next day, they were well on their way to leaving Demet territory, having been seen off by Cadmon at the castle gates. It was nearly noon by the time the Kirins and their caravan reached the ruins of Lunaris. Ancient, dilapidated stone buildings littered the landscape before them, with a single main structure in the center.

Rudolf felt it. His passenger knew the familiar, frenetic buzz of umbral aether, shadows coalescing in front of the party. A wicked scythe,, emerged from the gloom first, followed by what appeared to be a twisted, demonic jongleur, taller than even the most prodigious of Skaellers, its head adorned with curved horns.

"My, my. What have we here? I thought I sensed something familiar, but all I see before me are uninvited guests. And yet..." Its gaze passed over the group in an instant, searching. It swept back and forth, before its shoulders came up in an exaggerated shrug. "Oh, no matter. Perhaps I was wrong. But...shall I simply apologize for startling you and let you pass?" The abyssal jester laughed, lazily twirling its scythe. "Nay, I will have my amusement before retreating to the dark below. Blood and aether are the least you can repay me in for drawing me out into accursed light! Come, my audience! Know that you face Ferdiad, for the performance begins!"

And with a cackle, it slammed the butt of its scythe into the dirt, grasping hands of black aether clawing up from the ground at lightning speed to grapple and slash at the Kirins.

Hn.

"Grew up well enough", huh?

Rudolf's nostrils puffed as he rubbed at the ear the redheaded goliath a seat down had flicked, but he said no more after his questions received their answer, popping the cube of potato into his mouth and chewing the whole thing over. Give the others their space to ask what they need, once the big picture concerns were as addressed as they ever would be. The roast vegetable was wonderfully-seasoned, a light coating of spices cutting through the rich butter that dressed it, but the words tasted too bitter on his tongue.

I know a few people here who would hardly agree, if they were around to say it.

His eyes rolled over to the empty seat, now void of that giant cousin of his, bid for a long ride north in what was basically the blink of an eye. With him, Wulfric had carried out the last of Rudolf's chance to offer his team a palatable alternative, a trade up by basically every measure—

Impulses he'd already warned some of them about, and even had questioned in response. He had every reason to be confident, by all rights, that he was just living in his own head when it came to the subject— hardly any ill will had come his way in recent weeks. Galahad, who knew the full¹ story now, had even rescinded basically all their prior tensions. He'd even bridged the gap, found some measure of common ground, in offering support.

Even so.

That man had felt like an escape hatch. Somebody who, if it all went to hell, Rudolf could have pointed at and said : "If you're not happy with me, just bring this guy along in my place. He's everything I am, but better, and he doesn't make mistakes."²

That had been half his courage... and he'd let it slip. It fit, in a way.

Wouldn't be you if there was an easy out, now would it?

He shoveled more food into his mouth, gathering what he had left of his ideas, now each a piled of shards at the feet of the crisis at hand. It was true. He'd have to do it the hard way, with the Kirins all stuck with him, and him stuck with however it changed the way they considered the strange young man they kept on board. Skael was shaping up to be a real shitshow, so, if he had to set a deadline...

With some effort, he brought his eyes up to share a mildly befuddled glance with Esben, as the earl took his leave. After learning that his family had been keeping up a charade to a rhyming tune with "the illness that had nearly killed him in infancy resurged" after his exile, the story developing into Rudolf being sent to a colder, crisper, and more isolated part of the world wasn't as big a shock as it could have been, per se. Cadmon did mention, deep in the text of their communications, that he had been working on a new arrangement. Knowing that much, the track was easy enough to follow to a point.

But for all the apparent familiarity the tall Skaeller held for the Viscount... he was just as lost as to what the man could have possibly "had" in store for either of them.

They both returned to their food, Esben following his countrywoman's input, but both silently agreeing that they'd just have to find out when they got there. For the rest, he did as he was bid, quietly shoveling down the tastes of...

"Home", he supposed.

————

The next day saw them set out in earnest early into the morning, with a short farewell at the castle gates to mark the Warriors' return to proper deployment. It had taken some fussing over the issue internally, but in the end Rudolf's childhood chocobo, Argo, had remained stabled in Castle Demet rather than joining the fresh flock at Goug's reins. It had been good to see him the day before, if only for a little while— but a warbird like him was hardly suited for ferrying freight, and he'd be an extra hungry mouth as they made tracks toward sparse frostlands³.

Close to noon, he saw the all-too-familiar pillar of stone crest the horizon in the distance— and felt an all-too-familiar pit sink, deep in the bottom of his stomach. Their timeline having sped up like this, their course south had now been charted to cut straight through the one place he had hoped to avoid entirely—

"I'll take the lead through this stretch. We'll want to get through the ruins as quick as we can, and I've spent more time in there than anyone reasonably should."

Lunaris. Not the Lunaris that was the clan Demet's seat of power, the city of the western reaches of Edren that offered lifesaving respite for many a traveller or trader— Old Lunaris. The ruins of the protoculture. An ancient, ancient Empire, so long-dead it barely survived in stone, story, and a select few traditions, however mangled they'd been by time⁴. He shouldered his way to the front, setting pace for a forced march. His tone sharpened and tensed, but any dissent that may have came fell on deaf ears— as far as he was concerned, he held the same authority as back in the days of playing armed escort to intrepid archaeologists.

Sagramori employment that seemed a lifetime ago, ever since the appearance of blightbeasts had upended every job board from here to the southern tip of solitude in a sellsword's line of work.

He carried that tense silence at the front, as the sun crept towards its midday zenith and the ruins gradually approached into the foreground. As the looming, moss-riddled stonework began to graduate into "surroundings", his eyes flicked to and fro, noting positions of the buildings, all dilapidated brick and column and fragmented terrace, of shadows, of the many branching passages that wound between the heavy stone walls. Nothing out of place, near as he could tell, but nonetheless...

"This is treacherous ground," he warned. "No matter what, the group sticks together while we pass through. Nobody breaks line of sight, nobody takes detours. It's more labrynthine than it looks from out where we are. Believe me. No good comes from chancing the depths."

He breathed in thickly. On his tongue, he tasted a nostalgic sweetness; on his nose, the inescapable, musty notes of old brickwork, low-hanging fog, creeping moss, and settled dust. The aura of abandoned earth permeated this place... and to his growing attunement to the aethereal, thanks to the second voice within him, a palpable, uneasy edge to that atmosphere. Heavy and foreboding it was, like the eyes of a large animal with a lot of sharp teeth upon him, or a stormcloud appearing over the horizon at sea.

"A proud people once lived here, so long ago that their empire had died out by the time 'Edren' was a concept, let alone a kingdom. Stricken by some great calamity— their disappearance swift, sudden, and total. In this city, at least... it could be said that it was wiped out in the span of a night, near as any archaeologist that's been here is able to tell."

He looked over his shoulder, as if to verify the positions and presence of everyone he had left the castle with that morning. "The truth, as it is whenever said civilization is helmed by such a city full of sorcerer-kings, astrologers, alchemists, and other such... boundary-pushing types, is no doubt messier."

His eyes seemed to pierce. In the shadows between his skin and his armor, obstinately donned for "until they were through the ruins", an almost mirthful bubble coiled, unknowable to any but Rudolf and his passenger. Old, fond memories, for one— a world-shattering event for another, a mistake that was likely never unmade.

"So if there's anything we all know about messy, sudden tragedies, it's that they leave behind ghosts. Old ghosts, that want nothing more than to lure you into what's left of their dominion— If you listen to anything I say today, let it be this: Heed no voice calling you anywhere but through. If you can't see who said it, don't you dare listen. Consider anything you hear that you can't place a lie. There are things down there that will absolutely twist you to their own ends if you're lucky, and if you aren't, you'll just outright disappear. They'll prey upon your base desires, upon your fears, upon your most painful and precious memories alike— all to get just a pound of your flesh." His words escaped him almost as a bitter growl, once you stripped away the unwavering command they carried.

He turned back to face the front, eyes falling to rest upon the central pillar, a singular column of verdigris that appeared to claw and rend the sky, cast as a talon in its slight lean. If one squinted at the wide field it sat within, they might believe a mighty ziggurat to have once surrounded the spire of aged bronze. They would be right to.⁵

Hell. He had practically given the game away, just in saying all that that way. May as well get right into the shit while it was the topic at hand...

"... I don't say any of this lightly. I haven't quite been forthright as I needed to be with you all." he began, neither stopping his march nor meeting the eyes of the others. "I know a lot of you have pieced this together, and I'm late in addressing it, but—"⁶

Belay that. We feel that. We should not feel that. Company we shouldn't have, right in front of us. Do NOT invoke the pact.

Feeling the raw, palpable spike of twisted aether, like a bee trapped inside the base of his skull, Rudolf cut his admission brutally short, holding a hand up and bringing their procession grinding to a halt behind him. His coppery eyes went wide and alert, as his other hand flew down to draw one of the curved blades at his hip. This was what the aethereally-attuned sensed whenever he invoked the blackflame. More than even a borrowed awareness from his hanger-on, Rudolf's instincts told him this, as the tall, evil scythe split the pooling shadows in front of him. It was a sensation that he would never have forgotten, only growing in strength as the tall, tenebrous jester revealed his full form and launched into a one-act of his own volition———

The same as when he had accepted his contract. there was no mistaking what they were in the presence of.⁷

Ferdiad. Really? It couldn't have been anyone else? It had to be this kitschy jester that's breaking the rules and manifesting? What next, do I finally get to see Danube's toes?

"Everyone into the daylight!" Rudolf bellowed, swiping his steel through the nearest wave of the sprouting, grasping arms, mind racing as he began to reverse-engineer a plan of action. "Even if he can follow us there, he'll be weaker in the midday sun than if we stray towards the gloom! He's attuned to primordial darkness— he'd love nothing more than to drag us into a lightless abyss below!"

You said his name before he did. You know this guy?

Regrettably. the demon within seemed to growl, the shadows below black steel coiling in distaste. More important than that, I know he shouldn't be anywhere close to being able to manage corporeal form.

"Miina!" Rudolf called, drawing his second blade as he flipped the visor of his new greathelm down, his voice more "metered" than truly "muffled". "Prep a Dispel! Treat him like Isolde treated us!"

Not my point, but worth a try— I wasn't kidding a second ago. If he's walking around, your precious Himstus, Imir, or Danube should be walking around. Let alone me. And last I checked, we don't have any pretty river maidens with dainty feet running around with dominion over our fates, now do we? Don't answer that, this is a function of rhetoric. I know there are creeks that run down this way and that you're lonely—

With a more forceful growl than usual⁸, the armored swordsman swung again, racing through what options he had yet to call for. "Your act is a few millennia out of date, clown!" he snarled, venom flickering on his tongue. "You'd rather let a tough crowd like us go until you've got new material— trust me!"

I'm all for provocations, but don't get off-message. Whatever's allowing him this concrete form, your world is going to be significantly better off by having Ferdiad dead, not by convincing him to 'beat it'. I want to make that clear.

---

---

• _{1. Full-ish.}
• _{2. You're quieter. That's something. Less egotistical, too.}
• _{3. There's a lot more due emphasis to be put on "hungry", here. Judging from my host's reaction, he had no idea his Chocobo could have ever grown to terrorbird size like this— as if it doesn't make sense that him being the former scion of cavalrymen would naturally mean whatever dinosaur he inherited, provided ample nutrition, would make all "smallness" relative.}
• _{4. You know what the strangest one is? Sword dowries. That's extant exactly where you think it is these days, but they got it from right here. It was Lunarian Princesses that kicked the tradition off.}
• _{5. Massive, megalithic, majestic it was. The superlatives and alliteration, both my favorite literary tools, don't do the real thing justice. The crown jewel of our nation, the envy of the whole world, and a feat of architecture we thought would last a thousand years. To be fair, maybe it did. Down in the depths of the ruins, where things get nice and, subterranean, keeping track of years goes out the window past the first fourteen or so.}
• _{6. Hold on, hold on, what the fuck is that? "Raising terror level"? Why?}
• _{7. Far and away, even with the necessary admission that we're both demons, this is the most distaste I've ever felt for anything said in relation to me for the past century. And I've been privy to every impulse you've had that said "characterize our deal like you were misled in some way", too. But this I won't laugh off. Fuck you. Do not lump me in with this stupid prick.}
• _{8. Well, that stung, didn't it? Here's hoping that we do a little better than "sting" when the small red cat tries to recreate that time some compromised asset broad lit most of my essence on fire without even really noticing.}

She knew that Skael was going to be cold (and why did the spies have such an attractive boss? That was a bit unfair, it had kept her distracted all the time), but this hat was already getting a bit annoying. Miina was sure she could get used to it… but any muffling on her hearing was just frustrating. Maybe she could do some sort of inverse-Silence spell to improve it? Something tiny and unnoticeable, just enough to even it out.

That was the thing about travel, it was just… such a dull experience that she had plenty of time to get lost in her own head even more than normal and think about things. Magic, normally. It wasn't like keeping an eye and ear open took too much focus, so…

Maybe that was just her upbringing speaking, though? She should ask one day, see if it was a more active job and that was how the non-mages kept themselves from getting bored while they were travelling.

The greenery giving way to ruins drew the Mystrel out of her musing and into sharper observation. Rudolf was a surprisingly active tour guide, but her real interest was the cloud hanging around the place, and aetherial miasma that she just couldn't ignore. Not like the blight, nor the heavy element down by the water crystal, but rather… black magic? This place had something to do with whatever was going on inside him, though, right? Maybe it wasn't surprising.

Oh, it wasn't meant to be like this? Of course not, when could they ever just walk from place to place. Miina was sure she hadn't had anywhere near this trouble with just travelling before she joined the Kirins, did one of them have some specific curse or something…

Right, nasty darkness thing (Rudolf had better give a nice, proper explanation after this) to fight, enough wondering about why later. Shame she didn't have anything white-magic attuned more offensive to use than a Dispel, and that was a very definite melee engagement. But it ought to work, white magic unweaving the bonds that held something aetherial and especially something attuned to black magic to the world…

If she could get in close. And that scythe looked nasty.

"Protect," there, that gave her something (she needed to work on that clothes-repairing spell after this, no doubt), and everyone else an extra layer of defence too…

And then she ran in towards the thing. Yeah, yeah, lure it out; wasn't that easier when you provoked it? But she needed to be in touch range for a Dispel. Hopefully someone else got the memo and covered her.

---

Despite the surprise intrusion by the Skael spymaster, dinner went, by all accounts, rather smoothly as far as dinner with nobles in Edren went. Granted, this was only their second, but in comparison to the first this one ended quite well. True to his word, tailors came by and by the morning the Kirins had ready made cold weather clothing. Galahad's took the form of a rather thick cloak that was rather aerodynamic for a cloak. Well, as much as a heavy cloak could be. It was no doubt more limiting than without, but better than Galahad expected. With their wagon loaded up with fresh provisions as well, Galahad offered the Demets a short, courteous bow before they left.

"Earl Cadmon, you have my thanks. I am grateful to have received such hospitality." He said, he offered them a wry grin. "Hopefully, the next time we meet, it will be under better circumstances."

Their travels saw them to Lunaris, a place Galahad had even less experience with than the Demet Marches. He rarely made his way west, and when he did it was rarely to go to Lunaris. For good reason too, this place gave him the creeps. Pulling back on Korin's reins, Galahad was all too happy to let Rudolf lead them through this stretch. "The faster the better, Rudolf." he remarked. As they came within sight of a lone pillar, Galahad raised an eyebrow. Rudolf had been cagey about his past all this time. That he was finally ready to let them all know was perhaps the best thing that could've come from a place like this-

But unfortunately it was not to be. The Kirins were once again set upon, this time by some sort of shadowy jester.

"And here I thought jesters were supposed to be funny." Galahad growled as he leaped off of Korin, his halberd twirling through the air as he threw it, intercepting one of the crawling arms of shadow. He nodded, Rudolf's advice was solid- get him into the light. Unfortunately, there were plenty of shadows around them- ancient ruins tended to do that. Galahad paused, and glanced over at Éliane and Chisato, two that he knew had explosives.

"If either of you ever fancied destroying valuable artifacts or things Edreni culture finds important, now is the time!" Galahad barked, "If we can't drag this thing into the light, then we can just bring the light to it."

With that, Galahad sprinted forward, using wide sweeps of his halberd to intercept any twisting shadowy arms heading Miina's way.

---Gaudy.

This thing's very appearance and existence is gaudy. Excess. I suppose it's impossible to describe a living thing in such terms, or whatever you would describe this being as.

But nevertheless, that is how it feels to me. I recall performances in theater, once when I was assigned to slay a criminal and a handful of other times. The exaggerated costumes of kabuki performers is a vivid image in my mind.

This creature's body and appearance are reminiscent of those plays.

I did not dislike those performances, of what I witnessed of them, but laying eyes upon this creature inspires an entirely different sensation.

I want it to disappear from this world. The faster it is gone, the better. Just laying eyes upon it almost makes me feel ill.

But that won't hinder my own performance.

I wrap my fingers around my sword, drawing it smoothly and bringing to fingers to its edge. I run them along the blade, heat rushing down to my fingertips and springing to life as flame along my weapon, the red-orange light flickering across the features of my allies.

Once again, Caradoc-san's advice is not ill-informed. My free hand reaches into my pouch as I step forward, and as I bring one of my explosives out of it I swiftly flick it against my blazing katana, igniting the fuse.

"Stay clear!"

And with that, I take aim and hurl it forward, aiming to destroy the vile thing's shadowy refuge and open it up to the light as much as possible.

---

"It seems this voice gave us no chance to heed it or not," Esben remarked drily. "No wonder it's a clown, it must have been so starved for attention..." As the shadows around his feet rapidly coalesced, inky black pools of aether reaching towards him with hands and claws, he deftly danced around them and away from their grasp—tangling no small number together with themselves.

If he had to fight a cursed, ancient clown, he'd at least make a fool of it in the process.

"Any other interesting aquaintances we'll get to see before we're out of here, Rudolf?"

Even if the news of what was happening in Skael had been a shock, Esben's mood seemed remarkably improved compared to when they'd all been riding up to the Demet estate. Having something tangible to work towards always had made him feel better than just a general problem to worry over, he supposed, so it only made sense that he'd be back to his usual self.

And few things were more tangible than a demonic jester trying to harm him. He came to a stop in a clear spot, drawing his sword and pulling out the pistol he'd taken off a Valheimer corpse aboard their airship, and fired as Chisato lobbed a bomb at the ghastly thing that had accosted them.

---

Éliane’s concern over the events in Skael had been obvious long after leaving the hospitality of the Demets. The revelation from Kayliss that at least the previous Overseer –and her patron—Lord Silvain was the reassurance that she was able to latch on to. Although there were others in the Seven that hadn’t been in the capital, Silvain was an experienced political leader who could provide continuity of government should the worst have happened.

But in these ruins of Lunaris, even those thoughts weren’t so important anymore. In fact, the shadows, whispers, and the rather more obvious evil demonic jester manifesting right in front of Éliane was a far more tangible threat.

Just like Esben, it was one that she far more welcomed. Glad for the distraction, she immediately focused on the creature. “Explosives? I’ll do you one up!” Glancing at Galahad with a grin, she produced a uniquely red colored shell from her pouches and fed it into her gunblade, replacing a regular bullet. Raising the blade towards the heavens, she fired the bullet into the air. Unlike a regular bullet, it was slow, arcing into the sky before exploding into a brilliant flash. The flare remained in the air, slowly drifting downwards as it kept the entire battlefield illuminated to drown out the shadows in light. Together with Chisato’s own explosives, the field was thoroughly lit and would be for the next several minutes.

Bringing her gunblade back down to level, Éliane then took the opportunity to actually attack as her weapon barked out its remaining five normal rounds.

Izayoi's blade cleared its sheathe from the moment Ferdiad stopped talking, a low whirl slashing at any grasping hands around her. Rudolf and Miina's proclamations had her charging forward, bringing her blade around in whirling strikes to keep Ferdiad occupied while her much younger cousin, bordering on niece in terms of age, readied her Dispel.

Being the only one insane enough to engage the daywalking demon in melee combat from the moment it started the battle, Izayoi went toe-to-toe with Ferdiad for several strokes before the latter slammed the butt of its scythe into her gut, sending her tumbling back across the ground.

"We had best hear an explanation after this thing is banished, boy!" Izayoi called out to Rudolf, though with no true heat in her voice for him: just exasperation.

Meanwhile, Ferdiad simply laughed at Rudolf's attempt at provocation, continuing to hover in midair, so confident it was in itself.

"Trying to interrupt the pierrot upon its own stage? How rude of you! Perhaps I ought to-" Whatever Ferdiad had left to say was cut off by the dual explosions originating from Eliane and Chisato (with Esben's support), bathing it in a wave of shrapnel and flame. When the dust cleared, the jester emerged, rattled, but not unbroken. At least until Miina got her hands upon it. Her Dispel did much to eradicate Ferdiad's component aether, forcing it to retreat into the light, where it screeched in agony for a moment until composing itself.

"Oh, ho ho! Not mere pawns and vermin, you lot! Perhaps fit to sup at the table, even!" The clown cackled, slashing repeatedly with its scythe to form waves of darkened aether that flew towards the Kirins. Izayoi leapt over the ones targeted at her, closing the distance with Ferdiad once more to lock her katana against the blade of its scythe.

"Begone, clown! Are you so arrogant to believe you can defeat us, so obviously weakened as you are?"

"Perhaps, perhaps not~" Ferdiad tutted, backstepping away from a series of cleaves that left cuts upon its arms. "But I see I shall have to try ever so much more against the likes of you! How about it, then?" It spread its arms out wide, demonic madness emanating from its gaze. "Stay around for the show, for it's only just begun!"

A dome of shadow erupted around the battlefield, engulfing every combatant within it. No longer hampered by light, Ferdiad surged forward, disappearing in the blink of an eye and reappearing to rip at Miina with its scythe and tear Chisato with its claws, having identified them as having done the most damage to it previously.

"Boy".

Rudolf grit his teeth, as Izayoi made her frustrations known and the word crossed his ears. It was hardly the first time she'd used the dismissive appellation for him, or similar towards anyone else for that matter, of course. Her gruff manner of speech and referral was something even a callow-hearted, sensitive little runt like him had gotten used to, somewhere between Atsu and the raid upon Mizutani's manse. In fact, he was sure he'd brushed it off a dozen times between all the little moments of their travels in just the past week— idle encounters while stuck on a boat at sea, setting camp while on foot, or pointing eachother towards where they'd last seen another of their unit.

But something about it struck him wrong, this time. Something contextual, it must have been— Because it was here, or because it was about this shit— he couldn't place it exactly. He just knew who it reminded him of, and that it made him want to snarl. So, given that they were now neck deep in a fight, stuck trying to get a demon the hell off their back the way he should have been the last time he was around here—¹

"That—"

Snarl he did, planting a sabaton into the earth and vaulting over the waves of shadow.

"Was—"

As he landed, a dome of darkness fell over them all, casting the battlefield in midnight umbra. His eyes adjusted quick enough— quicker than he remembered them ever doing beforehand— but the enshrouded steel of his armor still almost seemed to melt away into shadows, leaving only streaks of blood red and the soft glint of his blades to mark his movement. But more importantly than his—

His eyes scrambled as Ferdiad's form vanished behind the gloomy veil, alight behind his greathelm as he desperately searched the void for movement. It was the very edges of his perception, almost there to read and not guess at, the swirling eddies and shifts within the darkened aether— the feeling of having motion pass just outside your peripheral vision. You couldn't see it, you couldn't track it, but you could feel something happening—

The aether's pooling again, boy.² He's going to pop up in a moment. Miina and Chisato are your VIPs. Clown going after the two that look like kids, this fits.

But fortunately, he had a more skilled hand at this on the job.

He kicked off, flying through the night, surging forth through the gap between the two, and bringing both blades to bear—!

"The plan!" he growled, capping his response with a shower of orange sparks and the ring of steel against steel as the Crane Wings met the reappearing Ferdiad's claws and scythe, checking their arcs before either could get up to speed and rip into his two smaller compatriots. It was a closer-run thing than he would have liked. The weight of the armor, even with darkness embedded between the gaps of its structure, wasn't the issue— but even having enough forewarning to be moving in place during that half-second of confusion still left him getting there in, as far as he was concerned, the nick of time.

Margins nobody should accept living in.³

"Going after little girls part of your act too?" he jeered through grit teeth, driving as much power as he could through sturdy legs and back to hold the demon at bay. "Pathetic. Nobody likes a creative who plays it too safe!"

A surge of force, as he finally wrenched his body through the swing and knocked the attacks aside, whirling into his own counteroffensive by slamming a boot in the demon's gut. Like the Wild Dance before him, his swords then blurred as he brought across a series of paired and sequenced hews into the space between himself and Ferdiad, aiming to make the most of this small moment of tempo his interception had gained—

And buy the rest the window they needed to keep pounding this thing back into the depths it belonged to.

---

---

• _{1. The widow you're whinging at would have died without me. I'm never gonna let you forget.}
• _{2. I'm evil. I enjoy triggering "sensitive young men". It brings me great joy, knowing that you've willingly broadcast a sore point for me to poke at. What do you expect?}
• _{3. Since he's correctly deducing the fault here lies with him, I'll let him off, but if we want to bring up "unacceptable margins": Get Me. The Hell. Away From This Screeching Chimpanzee. I'm pretty well embedded into this armor, and if there's a chance of him smelling me on you in the middle of this, let's just say I may have discovered the cure for gambling addictions— I don't want to take it. I want somebody to teach Miina Holy, or for Esben to reveal he still has the Cid-summoning crystal.}

"Ha–" Miina was halfway through buffing herself to deal with the onslaught when Rudolf intercepted. Well… never mind that, then; if someone with actual specialised sword skills wanted to engage the demonic scythe, so be it. When was the last time she had actually put hers to any use, anyway? Her knife saw plenty of engagement, comparatively, as it was a useful tool as well as a good thing to shove into someone.

Her sword was… basically a glorified lightning rod? Hm, maybe she should address that at some point, or at least see if it could be improved. But magic was so much more interesting.

What she wouldn't give for an offensive white magic spell, though… well, nothing too serious, bodily; maybe an eye at most. It seemed like such an oxymoron, but… well, why couldn't it destroy just as thoroughly as dark magic? The mechanism would be different but it should still be possible. Same as how she had improvised that black magic dispel the other week.

It was just that fighting against some maybe-summoned entity was not the time to start trying to improvise one of the two pinnacles of the art. They had better not ever need the other one; Miina didn't want to test how close someone could come to being dead before magic became ineffective. Going beyond it seemed like something that involved a rather complete trade, or probably just the downfall of civilisations.

Still, even with her mind racing on hypotheticals (and bemoaning the lack of library access to answer any of these questions) and her need for defence stilled, the redheaded mystrel wasn't completely lacking in instinct or sense. She wanted to hurt this guy, and while she couldn't do white magic, there was the all-purpose all-bright elemental equivalent:

"Fira!"

---

The light was a good idea- with their combined efforts, they had this thing on the accursed jester on the ropes. Or at least they did, until this clown decided to nullify their efforts with a dome of shadows. Now shrouded in darkness once again, Ferdiad seemed to be able move around the battlefield at will, attacking at one place, only to spring up in another spot entirely to strike again. He seemed to target the two of their smallest combatants, taking their size to be a measure of their constitution no doubt.

Rudolf moved to intercept Ferdiad before he could get to his targets. Galahad's eyes could barely track him in this darkness- he needed light. Galahad's eyes tracked Miina, how she had cast dispel on the jester earlier, and how she now attempted to bring her own light into the fight. It was at times like this that Galahad wished he had more aptitude with magic- if he could dispel this dome, then they'd be able to fight on more even conditions.

Recalling that the shadow arms that Ferdiad had thrown at them earlier, and how they were able to counteract them with their weapons, Galahad wondered if he could do the same with the dome of shadows. One way to find out. Galahad took a step back from the relative front towards the pink haired gunner as he twirled his halberd in his hand. The materia on his gauntlet glowed as he began to channel electricity into the tip of his weapon as he reared back. As lightning wreathed the entirety of his weapon, Galahad flung it directly at the top of the dome, hoping to break, or at least crack it. If he could even get spots of light down on the terrain around them, the Kirins could use it to their advantage.

A dark shape, approaching fast. The rush of air and sound.

My body tenses, and my legs move, pushing back and away from the ground. I can feel something as sharp as the edge of a blade path skin, bite through flesh, and draw blood---

But no deeper.

My left arm trails faint streams of red, and sensation of a thousand gnashing needle-teeth stabs into my nerves, but the damage isn't serious. I can check on it when the fight is over.

For now---

I draw a kunai, raising my katana to intercept any potential second attack in the same motion, flames leaping from its edge. The head rushes to my fingertips once more, flowing from them and to the smaller blade, washing over it and rapidly causing the temperature to raise. It builds swiftly, steel going from cool silver-grey to white hot in a matter of seconds.

I aim for the center of the gaudy demon's mass and let it loose, aiming to detonate the thrown kunai the moment it reaches its flesh.