---

Esben twisted around and leapt over the waves of æther that Ferdiad lashed out at the Kirins with, though with Izayoi, Rudolf, and Galahad all in the way, he didn't have a clear enough shot that he was willing to take with his new pistol at the demon jester. They had a better shot with them, though, who had something better to hit him with as well: "Another flare, please," he bid Éliane, stowing the pistol and pulling out his journal, already open to a familiar page. "Right to its chest. Eos! Selene!"

The fairies materialized in thin air, free-swirling æther drawn into corporeal form just like the shadow creature that had accosted them. Eos immediately locked eyes with Esben, her diminutive features crunching up somewhere between a pout and a scowl. "Well, it took you long enough to call us back!" she accused, poking him in the chest. "No time, Eos—"

"Like hell!"

"Eos!"

Selene's screech, darting to hide behind Esben, forced her sister to turn away and look at the battlefield, whereupon she promptly did the same. "What is that thing?" Selene squeaked, barely peeking over his shoulder before the field of battle was cast in shadow. Well-honed senses let him keep himself safe from any stray swings of claw or blade as Ferdiad covered the field in shadow and reappeared right in their midst, though he didn't miss the flung drops of blood flying off the end of the demon's scythe right after swinging at Chisato, narrowly turning it from cutting or impaling him on the follow-through.

"Selene, give us all some more light, if you would," Esben commanded. "Eos, patch Chisato up, and then keep an eye on the rest." Both fairies moved to fulfill his command, Selene rising above the combatants, watching Galahad's halberd so that she could keep clear of it, while Eos dashed over to clutch onto Chisato's shoulder and start mending her wound. Esben slid his journal back into a pocket, pulling the buckler off his belt as he strafed around Ferdiad to come at the jester from the opposite side, taking an opportunistic swing as the demon pulled back from Rudolf's parry to try and attack at a different angle.

---

This jester was kind of cramping Éliane’s style. It wasn’t funny like a jester should be, and more importantly, it had committed the cardinal sin of snuffing out one of her pyrotechnics—in this case, the flare that had been so beautifully floating down from the sky.
Well, it wasn’t like Éliane didn’t have an abundance of options of producing light, violently or otherwise. The pink-haired Skaelan nimbly crested over the waves the demon put out, reloading her gunblade in between attacks.

“Right, right, more light, can’t argue with that. ‘Direct’ fire it is,” she agreed with Esben, slotting in another red shell into weapon before she clicked it back into a ready position—and a moment later, the retort of her gun slammed a brilliant glow right into the jester’s chest. Unlike one of her more volatile explosives, if it stuck, it continued to glow like an artificial sun, even if it wasn’t floating in the sky like its previous fellow.

Having closed the distance between herself and her enemy with each jump, the Skaelan finally slashed out, her blade joining with her fellow Kirins as she attacked the unfunny demon before firing point blank.

"Nobody likes a heckler, child!" Ferdiad jeered right back at Rudolf's provocations as it bore down on him with its scythe, pressing harder in an attempt to break through the lock. As Rudolf wrenched the scythe aside and slammed a boot into Ferdiad's gut, the demon found itself narrowly evading the following retaliatory blows, even as its gaze honed in on its opponent.

"And yet...why does your presence feel ever so familiar?" It mused, finally bringing the haft of its scythe around to parry a pair of strikes, its gaze narrowing. "You seem a relatively dull fellow, but still..." Its eyes gleamed a predatory gold, face breaking out into a smile. "Something about you makes me want to cajole you along, ever so much-"

"Fira!"

Miina's cast blindsided Ferdiad, who found itself engulfed in a blaze of flame for a moment. A twirl of its scythe dissipated the embers as its gaze turned back towards the caster. "Ah, yes, yes! How could I forget what I'd originally dove into your ranks to do? Here, kitty, kittyyy~" It reached out, but before Ferdiad could wring Miina's neck, Galahad's halberd toss pierced into the dome of shadow, embedding itself into the artificial ceiling as cracks began to show, rays of light falling directly on Ferdiad.

"GAH! How dare-" Chisato's flaming kunai detonated on impact with its chest, followed by Esben and Eliane's pincer attack with their blades. Wounded and very likely weakened, Ferdiad staggered back, spluttering in disbelief as it started to right itself...

"Ei!" Izayoi screamed a kiai to center herself as she barreled into Ferdiad from the side, a whirling slash carving a deep gash across its chest as the samurai planted a hand into the ground to slow her slide, rejoining the rest of the party.

"Very well, then!" No longer did Ferdiad have any trace of amusement in its tone. Batlike wings erupted from its back as it waved its hand, the dome of shadow repairing itself and dislodging Galahad's polearm down to the ground. "If you so wish to hurry up the show, then who am I to deny mine audience?" The gloom within the dome intensified, the shadows growing ever more foreboding. Additional spikes emerged from Ferdiad's body as its scythe grew in length. "Welcome all, to curtain call-"

And then, all of a sudden, Ferdiad froze, the demon's head tilting as if listening to a call unheard. For a brief moment, the situation remained in deadlock, until the demon snapped its fingers, the dome dissipating as Ferdiad itself began to melt down into the shadows cast by the ruins of Lunaris, its transformation reverting in an instant.

"What luck, what joyous fortune for you!" The threatening joviality had returned to Ferdiad's tone, the jongleur giving a devil's grin as it sunk into the earth. "None among us shall be ejected from this mortal coil today, for my patron calls! Farewell, my audience, adieu! I've yet more pliant targets to terrorize!" And with a final laugh, Ferdiad sunk into the shadows completely, disappearing from anyone's senses and leaving the Warriors of Light alone in the fading afternoon sun.

___

That evening, they'd gotten well clear of Lunaris's ruins by the time they'd made camp in a clearing, a pot of vegetable soup and a pan of flatbread heating over a fire. With dinner on the way, Izayoi turned her eyes upon Rudolf, in a moment he had to have been sure was coming.

"Now that we've settled in, perhaps you'd like to begin what you were going to say during the day before we were interrupted by the bloody clown?"

For his part, Rudolf had quietly collapsed into an almost-unstructured pile once they made camp, his cold granite edifice of a helmet at his side as his hands steepled at the front of his burn-scarred brow. Even knowing that the explanation he had almost courageously launched into was long overdue for revisiting, now that the treacherous ruins were well behind, the concern seemed almost a world away thanks to that singular, horrifying word that had slotted into Ferdiad's closing remarks:

"Patron."

Why "Patron"? What could he have possibly meant when he'd said "patron?!" Imir? Had the goddess who watched over the lost and forlorn have found it within herself to not only accept a blasphemous reprobate like himself, but the whole civilization and the vengeful, amoral ghosts it had left behind? Was Lunaris's vaunted moon goddess still out there, lurking in the shadows, awaiting to overthrow Etro's hegemony and replace the Mothercrystal's light with her own?! Had Valheim somehow found a way to worm its claws so deep even into the furthest corners of Edren?

No matter how many of his personal pet theories he cycled through, cobbled together from his own dabbling in archaeological studies or gleaned in armed escort of true professionals in the field, the result was the same— in the face of such an unprecedented development as the shades of Lunaris manifesting corporeal form, he was at a total loss. And what was more...

Hey. What the hell kind of "patron" do you have lurking down there?

...

Even when he tried to accost the second voice in his head for that context he was missing, only silence met him in return. His passenger had been quite thoroughly spooked, or otherwise convinced to clam up as they had in Drana Asnaeu— once Ferdiad had gotten too close to Rudi, and began sniffing out that "familiarity" he'd kept mentioning, it was damn near curtains for any measure of context on the matter. The only token point of direction left to him was the sense that, at the very bottom of their interwoven ties, the spirit was also spinning away at the problem, trying to make sense of all the things it had pointed out were very, very wrong with what they'd survived.

So given this abandonment, the young warrior was left only with his own devices to work out what the hell had just happened to them all, his own inferences from the piecemeal image of the ruins that multiple millennia after the fact left you with.

It almost came as a relief, Izayoi's harsh tone bidding him away from his newest spiral of uncertainty and back to the revelations he had been so close to finally making.

"No," he muttered plaintively, a wry thing between a smirk and a scowl nestling itself onto the delicate features of his face, so unlike his pedigree. "I'd like to never have shown the lot of you anything, and for you all to think me a run-of-the-mill swordman forever."

The words tasted bitter as they flew off his tongue, the barest edges of a chuckle tilting them askew. Like his lungs were choking with ash again, his chest felt tight, his heart seeming to thud against it, a cold sweat upon his skin. That was the most damning part of all this. No matter how hard he worked to build himself up to the task, however many reminders his conscious mind fed itself of how far he had already come———

He felt that same, stubborn impulse clawing at his heart. A spooked bird in a storm, wanting for all the world to bolt into the night as he willed himself to pay the piper. Cowardice, still living in his bones.

His brow then furrowed, and his gaze left the rest of the group, settling somewhere in the middle distance.

"But 'like' has left the picture a long time ago. I’ve kept everybody waiting long enough twice over."

He took a long, deep breath, bracing his core to stop the quivering in his soul. One hand broke the steeple in half, holding the palm out and flooding itself with an attempt to produce the accursed flame. His gaze hardened further. The scents of camp filled his lungs, the smoke of the fire, the herbs of the stew, the warm blanket of flatbread. He was, naturally, the furthest away from all these heartening things— he had parked himself upon a stump framed by the shadows of two high, old hawthorns. They seemed to grow deep and bold as they draped his head and torso in gloom, masking his features save for what caught firelight.

He let the breath loose. No black flames greeted him. So much for a visual aid. Fine.

He crushed the thought, and used the hand to slick his hair back, it and the sweat on his brow forced away from his eyes as he met the expectant stares of the party.

---

---

"Let's get into it, then. I surmise some of you have already put most of this together, between the way I've been acting and the events of the past few days. From where I'm standing, at least, the whims of fate have already laid out enough of the hints. If you think you have the basic gist of it, we can probably both assume you're right."

He leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. His gaze flickered between the faces before him— first to Galahad, who had hunted him down for his many withheld truths the longest. By all accounts, he had held to his words, that night in the forest when Rudolf had finally broke. He hadn't told anyone else.

"I'll start with laying out the obvious: Rudolf Shilage is weak. He is craven. He is dishonest. He is weak. Too weak to stand and meet expectations, too weak to hold faith that he can do anything on his own, too weak to face a fundamental truth if it's painful. That is how I am, and that is how I've always been. A dim spot on the family name, ever since an illness tried to take me in the cradle. I lagged in my study, I lagged in my training, there was no part of being the second son of a knightly house that I didn't make into a struggle."

They flashed to Esben next. His oldest companion, here from before the very beginning. He, surely, had always known Rudolf was lying. Good liars, the kind that became accomplished SEED Infiltrators, knew all the tells. They knew how to spot dishonesty while it was still brewing in your head. It was how they had learned to iron them out. Esben had skipped that first step. He had the ability to sniff out the truth while always telling it. It wasn't even remotely fair.

"So, naturally, knowing this fundamental truth of who I am began to grind me down. For fourteen years I'd lived with it, and despite every effort I had made to the contrary, I could never really get over feeling powerless. Runt of the litter, unable to save himself from loss after loss." He dismissively waved his hand. "Spinning my wheels without end, and watching the world I was living in pass me by. Before I knew it, the call to war had come knocking, and I wasn't up to par. Rather than joining my father and brother on deployment, I ended up being sent here, to Lunaris, to further my studies and training until I might one day become useful."

To Chisato, who had narrowly missed his being there by a couple of months. Maybe sooner, depending on how quickly she had been thrown behind enemy lines to swipe enemy bargaining chips. With how fast the Shilage Cavalry liked to move, and how stubborn Rudolf had been about accepting being sent away, it wasn't the biggest stretch of the imagination that Izayoi might have known of one of her approaching enemies quickly— quick enough that the little hare was already inside Edren when Rudolf had finally been convinced to go study on the other end of the country.

"As it happens, I was no swifter a learner or bloomer there than I was at home. The breadth of my mind may have expanded, but the depth of my ability was still a shallow puddle. I grew sick of myself. Sick of knowing that I would, inevitably, have nothing to show for all those that placed their sincere hope that I would finally get it all together. That I might become somebody to be proud of. Not at Castle Demet, not at Sagramore Village, nowhere did I see any breakthrough. Anything to pull me out of the pit, as I kept despairing, kept losing, kept failing. I always trend down. So down I ended up going. Into the deepest, darkest pit I could find, where the gods could no longer remind me of their 'cruel ambivalence'."

He spat the words out, clearly disgusted with his own thoughts, as he slid his gaze to Izayoi now. Izayoi. She had terrified him for so long. Existed in his head as a demon, to twist his skull from the spine and drink the marrow from his still-wet bones. Surely, even after knowing her, breaking bread with her, and sharing the road with her, that fear had somewhat quelled— even if it still flared to life, however briefly, when he met her steely, demanding gaze. In a way, this had started with her. When he had first, in the heat of the moment, decided that her life that terrified him was worth more than his safe, comfortable masquerade. All to try and not let somebody he knew down, one more time.

"That lead me to those ruins. A great place to get away from everything that hurts, really. Stony, gloomy, dead, silent. If you want to be alone to wallow in your disillusionment, Old Lunaris has you covered. If a dozen guiding hands can't help you, to the point where they begin to fall away, you may as try camping out in isolation before you trudge home to deliver the bad news to a returning war party." There was a snap, as the firewood split somewhere in the middle of the blaze. "Only you're never alone there. There's always a taunting voice, beckoning you down, below the earth, towards a chance to rewrite the rules, to take the rails you're stuck on out from under you. It's at the edge of your hearing. You think it might just be your mind playing tricks on you at first. Like you're just jumping at shadows. But as we all saw— the shadows are jumping too. It's all too real. More real than ever, apparently."

To Miina, to whom he owed more explanation than anyone else here, if only in that he had promised she'd get it when they came. It was hard to read her through the cloak of shyness, stuttering words, and fraying nerves, but she was the only naturalborn mage here— he doubted that she hadn't felt the similarities between Ferdiad's essence, and every big expression of the blackflame Rudolf had brought into the world. With the time they had taken to put the ruins behind them once the demonic jester had scurried off, he was sure that her arcane intuition had ample time to put the requisite pieces together.

"Your senses," he began, each word heavy and final, impossible to catch and stuff away once they had dropped from him. He looked between her and the two points of light orbiting Esben, a green and purple duo that had pinch-hit for his dumber ideas almost as much as the Red Mage had. They were part of the team too. "Don't lie to you. That clown's aether and my own are of the same kind. Demons, the vengeful ghosts of the Lunarian Empire that vanished in a single night. When my faith in the Gods bottomed out, I followed those voices down into the abyss. Into the shadows, until..."

The briefest glance to Eliane. In truth, there seemed nobody in the world less concerned with what was going on regarding Rudolf's unholy bent and insincerity as her— she was always, simply, assured that he was working towards the same goal as her, and that it was enough that he contributed to her eventual victory, for the glory of Skael. He wished he had that in himself. For all he weaselishly grumbled in his own mind about the way she wielded that self-assurance, it was also true that he wished he could be more like her, in that simple, pure way.

He stared into his palm again, his expression a stony, austere knot. Tight around the eyes, mouth a hard, dispassionate line, he would throttle that little fool if he could ever walk back to that moment of nadir and undo this mess he'd made of his future. But the depths had taken it from him. He had given it away. With that same upturned hand, he had held out his soul, his life, and his fate. He had been a beggar. A servant. A knight swearing fealty. A vagrant accepting alms. A man at the end of his rope, making a payment in quiet desperation. All of these. None of them.

There it was again. That knot in the gut, like they had all stabbed him while he had weaved his whinging tale.

"I forged a contract with the demon that now resides within me. They are not manifest the way Ferdiad is, but they are the source of the black fire that stains my sword, my armor, and my aether. I burn away at the luck that was ordained to me and house its soul upon my own, our essence intertwined. In exchange for my ties to Mother Etro's will, I gained the power to do what you all have seen me do. Obviously, right?" A rueful chuckle came as he shook his head. "It's not through any mundane means that a reedy half-rate son of cavalry raiders can summon a barrier strong enough to withstand a blow from Izayoi's teacher wielding the greatest blade Kurogane produced, or that he can put a spear through the scales of Leviathan, or that he throws around Black Magic so primordial it can structurally break down Materia for greater effect at the cost of rendering it inert, or that he could throw a ball of clinging black fire into his own brother's face because he's mad he's still the nail and not the hammer and he thinks nothing's changed."

Without realizing it, the bitter, loathsome tone in his voice had grown stronger, fiercer, rawer, until he was all but shouting his final words. His veins throbbed behind his skin, and the burns felt newly hot, remembering the fire he had forced through his eyes when he began to use his own blood as fuel. One breath, shaking, quivering. A second, likely saving him from spewing his guts out right in front of dinner. A third...

And he grew still.

"That's why I was warning you all away from paying anything in there any heed. I made that mistake already, and now I am a walking totem of ill omen. Right down to the fibers of my being. That's the dramatic way of saying it— the plainer way is that you've all been trusting a craven idiot with your lives, the whole way through."

He regarded the group as a whole hollowly. At this point, he would live with whatever they made of this— if Galahad were any indication, it just as well might have ended up that the most foolish part he had played in it all was of the man too scared to tell the truth. If that was he case, he gave up. If they reacted the way he'd feared, and excised him from the group, he could accept that too. It didn't really matter, did it? He'd finally put it out into the open. He had cast another die, the way he had when he first forged the pact, when he had first accepted the redirected call to action, when he had first revealed that something was very, very wrong with him.

If he had come up snake eyes on all of them, so be it. What was done was done. He had boiled the whole thing down, only leaving the complete basics.

"I turned my back on the light we're now fighting to save because I was a scared, hurt child, looking to appease my own ego. There's no justification at the end of this. I wanted to feel like I could win. There's no misunderstood or misapplied noble intent. I wanted to tell the way of the world to go to hell if it kept letting me lose. Just a stupid boy with a stupid decision made for the stupidest reasons. I'm not asking any of you to pity me. Don't get it twisted. I'm not a victim. I made my bed and I've been lying in it for five years. This isn't about any reconciliation or sympathy. It's about getting this useless lie off my back. I was selfish then, I was selfish when I told you all to believe I was just some bum from a swordsman village, and I'm being selfish now."

He barely registered his own words, but out they came. Was this catharsis? He hadn't felt much when he had first told Galahad most of the story. He'd chalked it up to the Knight-Dragoon's acceptance and reassurance, in hindsight a practical choice to keep an able sword arm around when he had lost so many in the span of a week. But maybe this empty feeling was that 'lightness' he'd always heard it described as. Maybe the weight coming off his shoulders had only revealed a fine, unrecognizable powder beneath, this lie a grindstone for the fragments of his life that he had hid beneath it. What else could possibly be under there, at this point?

"What else. As far as I'm aware, the clown manifesting the way he did is a very recent development." he dully explained, noting Izayoi's other demand from their skirmish near the Pillar. "My passenger knew of him previously, though they were adamant that any of them popping up and putting claws to our necks was on the same tier as waking up next to a river and having a face-to-face chat with Danube herself. It was the whole reason they took residence as a shadow overlaid onto my soul. And I suspect their taking my luck as payment for these ill-gotten gains has something to do with it too— luck is the Divine ordaining the flow of the world. Black Magic is rooted in destruction. Like we discussed, I'm not a 'proper' mage. I can make vague guesses and associations, and I was really hoping I'd be able to confront all this with more answers than I have."

He wiped his hand against the red of his armor's tabard. He had drawn blood when his fury spiked a few paragraphs ago.

"But as whatever's even left of my luck has it, I've now got more questions."

He sat back, pressing his spine into the trunk of the nearer tree. His arms folded across his chest, and he looked up, away from everyone, towards the moon as it hung in the sky overhead. The nightfolk, they were sometimes called, so venerated that thing...

"I imagine there's also some you all have that I've missed while indulging in writing my little autobiography. Go ahead and hit me. Do your worst. If there's one thing we can all agree on, it's that I just love talking. Let's break it all down while we have the time. Once we hit the border, I imagine more immediate deceit's going to take the stage from me."

Miina had slowly inched closer over the course of the explanation, freezing at Rudolf's attention, only to continue her slow onwards progression once he continued. Maybe with a little extra magic involved, to dampen her presence in every sense she could think of; better to be uninteresting than missing.

Why? Well, she didn't want him spooked. Not until she was close enough to almost be touching, golden eyes flicking all over Rudolf, narrowed into conspicuously feline slits. If he hadn't noticed that attention, there was no missing when she started giggling from this close.

"F-F-Fascinating… it's so interesting," now that she had the space from the medical demands, the idea of binding an entity of black magic to yourself… well, Miina had no interest in doing that; it would cripple her in no short order when she tried to channel its antithesis, and she didn't want to give up white magic anyway. "D-D-Does it hurt? Have you th-thought about trying b-black magic properly?"

She couldn't see why you couldn't learn to use it intentionally if you were already pulling on black magic to do all sorts of things.

…

If everyone else overreacted, that would be annoying. She didn't want to leave, and abandoning her cousin on such a deadly task would be kind of unpleasant, but new magical knowledge was so enticing, and it wasn't like they were really on a course to run into her brother, now.

But then again, the Kirins might also find some white-magic equivalent, and Esben was summoning things, and there were the crystals themselves…

Miina...

Well. He supposed her focusing more on the technical aspects of what he had become was a given. They had already done this, in part, once before while he was stuck mummified beneath a mountain of medicinal bandaging. She was already pretty out of sync with the societal norms he had once believed basically universal, and short of seeking out her missing brother, or...

Let her off, Rudi.

... It seemed the finer details of magic, that she had been pulling out of the aether from first principles for so long, had held the lion's share of her interest in the time they had been traveling together. He had a feeling proper schooling would put her over the moon, were it realistically available.

He closed his eyes, letting his mind's eye proliferate through the nerves of his body, focusing on feeling.

"...No." he intoned after a moment in response. "Not unless it's a situation like the last battle of Drana Asnaeu, where that aethereal essence, is basically stitching me together from the inside."

One eye opened.

"Other than that, it's just kind of heavy—"

The brow above it rose, and though his stoic mask didn't leave the features of his face, he did lean away from the diminutive Mystrel as she seemed to have all but teleported right on top of him, the golden irises catching the firelight and seeming to glow as they scanned his frame, as if trying to peel back his outer layers to reveal the meat inside, as if on a hunt— however benign her intent might have been,. he couldn't help but be reminded of the very first sabertooth he'd slain, who had been stalking him even as he stalked it, whose fang had forged the knife at his hip.

He scooted away, a small shuffle of the hips.

"No, I haven't. Unless I've missed something, I still have no innate ability to weave aether the way you, Neve, or Eve do— Everything is downstream of the contract. Were it to be severed, I would go back to the days where I had materia, and materia alone."

The profaned swordsman frowned, glancing towards Galahad before meeting her eyes again.

"Additionally, Black Magic is going to be hard to track down from here on out. I don't know whether the proliferation of white mages has changed attitudes in Drana Asnaeu— given how my mother reacted to all this I doubt it's much different— but naturalborn mages are shunned if they're lucky, on the rest of the continent. Hunted if they aren't. Black Mages most of all. What society wouldn't fear somebody that can do... What Eve did, for example. Tampering with the aether the Mothercrystal has allotted for the world to produce such an unholy firestorm that not even Valheim's airships could withstand it? You would always be looking over your shoulder, praying they don't decide they want to take that power and call themselves King with it."

Another crackle from within the flames, as if punctuating the argument.

"Galahad and his fellows hunt dragons to protect Midgar from them. A proud, specialized warrior tradition, going back hundreds of years, if not millennia— but what happens if a dragon can take the form of a man, and walk right inside the walls, where a bunch of unsuspecting normal humans are there to be burned? That's how black magic is seen— volatile, untrustworthy, destruction itself wrapped up in a person. Even if I could manage magic... anyone that would be able to teach it to me would keep themselves very, very hidden. I appreciate what you're trying to get at, but I doubt it's in the cards."

Miina blinked once, then very slowly and emphatically raised her hand up. A hand that was icing over despite the heat from the fire.

Okay, point, but...

He raised an eyebrow, remarkably calm in the wake of his oversight staring him in the face like he was an idiot.

"I thought you meant properly properly. I was under the impression you're essentially reverse-engineering things through feeling and observation, not rigorous study. To be blunt, I figured half the reason you brought it up was because you'd also be in the market for contact with a specialist— But... Sure. If I ever suddenly run into a wellspring of untapped potential to turn myself into more of a walking bonfire, I'll keep you in mind if you're really that confident."

All told, there was an undercurrent of sincerity in that glib rejoinder, if you listened for it. It seemed she really had slipped his mind, be it from the differences between Black and Red mages, her not exactly fitting the dismal image he was describing when shooting the idea down, or whatever else.

---

While he wouldn't call it a victory, they had left the fight with the demonic clown more or less unscathed. Nothing that couldn't be patched up with some white magic and rest. While not defeating the jester outright left a somewhat bitter taste in Galahad's mouth, he was more than happy to be rid of the ruins for the foreseeable future. As they made camp, he provided whomever needed it with minor healing, courtesy of the healing materia he had acquired. As they gathered around the fire with soup and bread, Rudolf began to tell truths that were long awaited- at least for some of them anyway. Galahad had always had the feeling that Rudolf had told him just enough to keep him aware of his nature, without really getting into any of the details. Well, at the very least it seemed that Rudolf had picked up Wulfric's verbosity when it came to storytelling.

In lieu of any snide comments, Galahad offered Rudolf a wineskin. Liquid courage, an aide to a throat parched from speaking for so long, whichever was more convenient. "Well, I'm not sure what else you learned from the Demets, but you certainly picked up their propensity for tale telling. Perhaps you ought be a bard in the next life." Galahad remarked idly as he considered the rest of the information Rudolf had indulged them with.

Galahad sighed, with a dismissive wave of his hand. "I don't suppose we could ask your... Passenger, to just leave, or let you go, right?" Galahad chuckled at the thought- if only it were so easy or simple. "Regardless, my position has not changed. You, Rudolf with your 'Passenger', are still the same Rudolf I've known throughout our journeys. So long as your Passenger does not seek to harm us, and your powers do not loose themselves upon us, I see no issues. You've controlled it well enough thus far, which is enough for me."

"Keeping it from us is perhaps another story, but I'm sure we all have our own stories we'd rather not leave out in the open just yet." Galahad remarked, "The Kirins are already a weird lot, what's one more weirdo to the menagerie?"

"As far as what to do with being cut off from Etro herself... well, I imagine that's a hurdle we'll tackle when we get there. If we get there."

"So many things." he replied, nodding gratefully and taking a pull from the offered wineskin, letting the warming sweetness cascade down the back of his throat before staring into the blaze once more. "And so little of them what they had hoped I would. Add that to the list, Miina: I'm a terrible student. If we were there longer than a night, you'd have heard Cadmon talk up a storm about the thorn I am in his side." he joked sardonically, before passing the wineskin over his shoulder towards her. She did like her drink— surely that would help serve as an apology for earlier.

He sighed, the catching between his nose and soft palate a little— in that specific, fricative way that managed to stretch an "h" sound.

"Regarding control... the chance is low. Lower now than ever, given how deep I've had to go down the well to get any pull— he and I are intertwined enough that there shouldn't be too much chance either of us screw up the way I did with Otto. But, in that same vein: I know it's never zero. And with that demon from earlier openly manifesting now, which I am assured should never be possible, I worry I may be walking into a relitigation of the terms if before I know it. I was all the way down to burning blood against Reisa. That's not a good place to be when taking out a loan."

A twitch of the eye hit him for a fraction of a second, when the matter of hiding it from everyone came up. He hid it behind a wry smirk quickly, though, and shot back.

"And I don't know, Sir Galahad, true as that may be I'd wager my position's the same too— whatever shame we all hold close to our chests, attempted fratricide by way of primordial darkness is going to be a tough one to beat. Everyone here loves their families, last I checked."

---

Given how abruptly and inconclusively the fight had ended, Éliane couldn’t help but to feel let down by the entire experience, especially with how little payoff there was for what she had expended. Those two flare rounds were really not cheap, and it was in the category of stuff that she usually reserved for emergencies. Nonetheless, her poor mood had faded by the time they made camp, content enough with a rich brew of coffee and some simple but quick flatbread that she had whipped up for everyone.

What followed was not the usual campfire banter and discussion.

Rudolf’s story had obviously been a tale of great personal import to him, and she could tell that just discussing this was a pain for him that cut to the bone. But for Éliane, Rudolf’s assessment of her had been completely right. While she never truly had the full picture, Éliane did have an inkling that there had been more to the man. However, from her perspective, given all his actions and his character, she still saw no more than the ally and important member of the party that he was—one that had saved her skin on more than one occasion—and not too long ago, either.

She found Galahad’s response resonating with hers, and she nodded, leaning forwards towards Rudolf from her sitting position by the fire. “Some of these details about the nature of your magic and your passenger still flies above my head, admittedly, but your… story hasn’t changed anything in my eyes. You are the man that I’ve known for this entire journey. You’ve saved me from likely death on more than one occasion. And in the end, you’re still working to the same goal as a valued member of this team as the rest of us.”

She didn’t comment on the general secrecy. As a Skaelan, she completely understood, even if it was never truly ideal. No doubt Esben, the proper SEED agent, had long completed the puzzle over this mystery in the secret of his own mind long before this, and given he had never acted, she felt assured by her own judgment.

Crossing her arms under her chest, she nodded once more. “Assuming your health is assured for the future, I see no real problem as things are.”

---

"So long as you don't get into specific members I'm sure you're correct," Esben mused off to the side, at Rudolf's comment of everybody else supposedly loving their families. "Took you long enough to get around to this, though. I told you right after leaving Kugane that you needed to get on top of it, didn't I?"

It appeared that even he couldn't entirely resist getting an 'I-told-you-so' in. Multiple discussions having to do with this and related topics, and he'd never found the younger man lacking in awareness of the problem and his own issues in dealing with it—just in the follow-through.

"You'll have to lay off the self-castigation, though. After a while it starts to lose its effect when you do it too much, especially thrice in as many sentences."

”Things came up between then and now if you’ll recall. Anyway. Now that I’ve proper harness, my health is as assured as it realistically can be in these circumstances.” Rudolf replied, laying a hand to rest atop his greathelm as he addressed Elaine’s chief concern. ”But I’ll need to play things smart going forward, if Reisa was any indication— my senses are still a little dulled, and after Leviathan’s near-disaster, my eyes and my body are still moving slower. Drana Asnaeu took me in a bad direction wholesale.”

He rolled his eyes. “Lose its effect”. Everything a performance to this guy, was it?

”You want me to spill, don’t begrudge me the splash, SEED. If they trained you right you’d know how this works. Depersonalizing’s for you guys, not me. Now, is that all?”

---I was still unhappy.

Of course, my feelings hardly matter to the mission. Overall, the outcome of retreat from that decorated fiend was enough to ensure continued progress towards out goal.

But it meant that twisted thing, with a presence that made my stomach turn, had yet to be destroyed. I'd hoped we would kill it before it escaped, but...

It fled before we could do anything.

---But that's not it.

I knew I'd sensed a similar presence from Sagramore-san. Or, I suppose, his true name... Shilage. It explains some things I had yet to question, though I admittedly had not been immediately concerned for them. While I have a dislike for the men of Edren, if he contributed to our overall goal it was not my place to voice further opposition. And, so far, he had.

But this---

This is something I didn't expect. I knew I'd detected an unpleasantness to him that went beyond my initial enmity with the people of his homeland. But I had no ability to place it, and as his performance in service of our duty was worthwhile, I had not chosen to pursue my misgivings further.

But now...

How is it that Izayoi-dono has remained unbothered? I can't understand it. Knowing the true source of this presence that has licked at the corner of my senses has only made it worse.

---But he has still performed well and done his best to serve our shared goal.

He---

I open my mouth, and slowly shut it.

He is wrong. I know that. To do such things simply for one's own selfish reasons, to invite a demon into your body, is not something I could ever considerable to be the correct path.

But his contributions also cannot be ignored. Accomplishing the goal of the mission at all costs is an ideal that has been ingrained into me for nearly my entire life, and using his past mistake in order to forge ahead is certainly the definition of 'all costs'.

"..."

My own discomfort, too, should not interfere with the mission.

But---

...

I avert my eyes from Shilage-san for a few moments, cast downwards, my teeth clenched.

Slowly, I relax my jaw, my gaze raising once more.

This has been the situation from the very beginning, since I was assigned this task. This truth, no matter how discomforting I may find it, does not change the objective.

"... I do not like it."

I am almost surprised by my own words. Expressing such things when they could disrupt our objective---

What am I thinking? I nearly clamp my jaw shut, and force myself not to speak.

"However, you have used this mistake to reach towards our goal. That, at least---"

I avert my gaze once more.

"---Is something worthwhile."

”I trust if that ever changes, you'll be the first to let me know. At the end of your knife or otherwise.”

No more needed saying between them, the rest carried through in the cold standoff between their respective bearings. Asakura Chisato and Rudolf Shilage held no friendfship between them that might bridge this gap, the way the others could, but within that same distance...

He nodded, curt and slight enough that it could be mistaken for a simple shift in posture. Of all the people that came out of this speaking sense... He was a little surprised it was her. Maybe expressing an actual like or dislike was akin to an outburst of disgust, or maybe she was just far enough and cold enough to have no qualms about trying to ameliorate a ranting comrade—

But all the same, it brought a strange sense of satisfaction, hearing that at least that unfriendly and stiff shinobi agreed with him. She didn't like it. That was good.

That was correct.

Recognizing he had leveraged the consequences out into as good a furthering of their common goal as he could, as the others had been sure to note, was one thing. He could accept that his desperate efforts were recognized for what they were... But brushing off the act as a whole had never struck a chord that sounded sane in him.

It was strange. In the back of his head, he knew it was strange, this interplay of distaste and tension... but it felt like the way things should be.

Izayoi sat. She listened. When she had the opportunity to get a word in edgewise, she acted. She remained where she sat, putting her sword in her lap. The blade left its sheath. She moved...

...and bonked Rudolf on the head with the scabbard.

"Foolish boy." She sighed, returning blade to sheath and both to her sash and sitting back down. "That was for putting yourself so horribly at risk with such an ill-thought out decision." The Mystrel intoned, looking and sounding more concerned for Rudolf than anything else. "I cannot condemn its utility, especially after saving several of our lives repeatedly. I can only tell you to keep your own well-being in mind with further uses of the demon's strength."

A few more moments passed, with Izayoi seemingly having nothing more to say regarding the matter.

"Now, dinner, anyone?"

The pile of notes that Miina has been carting around since before she even left home look, on the surface, like a collection of disorganised scratchings; half research journal and half personal diary, written in a badly-spelled chicken scratch that wanders off-line with distressing regularity.

A deeper inspection (and not hard to pull off; she doesn’t seem to have any concern if someone else wants to look through them) reveals that they seem to be loosely grouped on magical theme, although prone to going off-topic or including seemingly unrelated sketches at a much higher quality than the rest of her work.

Interestingly, despite the regular dips into water, there’s no ink bleeding or water damage to the notes.

(The following are cleaned up, especially the older ones)

---

Spell Levels (?)

Zeke told me that I need to keep notes sometimes. I can’t just memorise everything (i don’t know why) when it comes to spells.

And he taught me about spells today! Mages outside don’t just manipulate aether constantly, there’s specific patterns and everything. You need to know how to form them but

---

I don’t think I like spells. Why are they stronger? They’re all so limited and you can’t control it

What use is Fire as a spell? It’s too much power to light something for cooking and doesn’t last long enough for anything else. Animals don’t need it

---

Before he left, Zeke told me about Cura and Fira and Firaga and

So more power isn’t enough? Better spells are entirely different? how do i work this out

---
gutting the mafia would have been easier if i spent more time working on these

(The next few sheets are full of strange diagrams, Miina seemingly trying to represent the manipulation and flow of aether through the process of spellcasting in static images)

---

I met some people today and finally a mage that knows more than i do! Only about black magic but that’s fine

She’s all spiky and lizardy and her tail is really neat to watch. She’s cute, and she knows bigger spells

I should ask her

but that’s scary

i’ll just watch

---

(there are occasional diagrams, but there seem to be a lot of sketches of Eve interspersed throughout here)

I mostly worked out Fira now and I think I can extend the same idea to the other spells I know, even the ones that Zeke never told me proper names for. It’s a shape(?) to it that lets the effect hook around, but it’s hard in the moment to make sure it has the right target.

But it should be stronger too, right? Am I just not throwing enough power at it?

---

White magic doesn’t use the same shape, the spell falls apart. I think it needs to be looser, more guided than forced. White magic never seems to like being pushed.

---

(the diagrams get increasingly circular and full of spirals)

Loops. The hooks can be ‘looped’ around themselves, the same effect each time stacking and stacking to… there’s a limit. Some delicate spells it’s one. Any more and there’s no spell at all.
---

Without Eve for reference, Firaga and all are gonna be hard.

I always used to think it was Fira, but more. But it can’t be. The shape doesn’t allow for it. You can’t build that big without it falling apart, and it’s too…

It needs to be less targeted.

I still hate spells. Why do they work? Is it part of the world or something people did? I could maybe do any of these effects now, but it would be completely exhausting if i just… handled it all. Too much power for a single attack.

I can’t compare to Eve, but I think I should be able to do more than one without collapsing, right?

---

Stupid grovemasters

One good look and it was at an overpowered dispel. If they had just been all alive and all not traitors, then…

(The remainder of the notes on this topic have no real breakthroughs)

---

Mages

Zeke says not everyone can be a mage. Why? You might be bad at it (i am) but it’s just something to reach out and twist.

Pretty lights.

---

Not everyone can sense the aether? That’s what he says. You need to know it’s there to manipulate it, and he isn’t sure there’s anyone who can control it without sensing it.

But then he brought back some shiny rocks from Skael, so someone made a machine that could.

---
Zeke gave me a funny look today when i described what i could see. It isn’t that obvious for him? Or anyone else he’s ever spoken to. He says that aether is just an extra sense to him. He can feel it, control it, but not… see it?

Although, he also says he can taste/smell it when it’s strong enough. Just not all the time like me. I wonder when that was?

---

I definitely shouldn’t talk about it. Normal people get confused.

---

Most mages only do some magic? I don’t get it (and Zeke can’t say why either). They just split it into two completely different types and can only use half. But generally very good.

But shouldn’t a bunch of things work with either? I can only do basic stuff, but if you learn what the aether does for one well enough you can make most things happen.

Like, you could stop a ball by just hardening yourself so the ball doesn’t hit, or you could destroy the force behind it…

It’s just like looking through the other eye.

(This page has a lot more recent scribbling, notes and diagrams surrounding it, evidence of Miina’s decision to use black magic to facillitate cosmetic healing and – more notably – working out a dispel from the same source.)

---

(At some point, Miina began listing every mage she’s met and what magic they used, as well as a rough sketch. Rudolf would probably be annoyed to realise she put him in even before his denials.)

---

Rudolf is weird. Well, weird to me, even. He’s done a bunch of magic things now, and they’re not blight-y, just really concentrated black magic. Including shields. Shields! I always said that you could stop something with black magic just as well as white magic, if you could only use one of them.

But now he’s in hospital and refusing healing.

I want to know what’s up with him anyway.

(The next diagrams appear to be of Rudolf’s body with all the places black magic was supporting him, and a lot of questions raised about how a destructive force could be wrangled into doing this. Miina’s conclusion is that it involves a lot of rejecting the laws of nature so he doesn’t collapse in on himself, and enough of it to become physical is in line with Eidolons... Just a bit imbalanced.)

---

Rudolf’s fused with a demon. That’s…

He should be able to use magic. It doesn’t matter that he can’t sense aether naturally, right? He can do it now. And the demon should be able to give some instruction.

I’m going to try and make him. Even a little fire is a start.

Then maybe I can talk to the demon. Or Rudolf can for me. It might have answers.

---

Water Magic

I never really thought about why Zeke taught me fire and frost and lightning. I just assumed those were all he knew at the time, and I had plenty of time to try and work out wind while travelling, it was always there.

Frost was close enough to water I just never thought about it.

But after Famfrit and the water crystal, i can see that it’s its own thing. Frost is more about cold, and protections against it cover a lot of water. But you also need physical.

Just, what do I do with water magic? Any water created is (probably) impermanent, unless i work out how to do elemental things with white magic.

---

I could probably work out the water equivalent of Fire and Fira (but not their names. Wet and Wetter?)

What’s the point, though? There’s better ways to hurt someone than to hit them with a wet ball. I don’t have a jar cannon.

---

I need to practice drowning things.

I should keep an eye out for lizards or things on the journey.

---

The sea destroys things pretty well, I’ve watched the waves break things up on the shoreline. I suppose that’s what offensive water should be most of the time? So I have a use for it, I suppose the most powerful spell should literally sweep the enemy away more than it damages them.

But what if I could concentrate all that into one point? I don’t know how to make it into a spell properly. I need to work that out too.

It’s another thing to do while travelling, though. We’re not in a desert now so there’s plenty of thing to pick up and use as targets.

---

Summons

I never thought about summons or eidolons as a thing until we met one in the desert. How do they work? Is it a spirit projected into the material world with a body made of aether? Or do they exist in the aether and are just given an impetus to materialise? Or do they just pull more in?

It's a shame I can't talk to Cid more; they're really pretty and I want to know how they work. Even if I'm not a summoner…

---

Fuck Leviathan.

---

Esben is summoning fairies now? How did that happen? And does this mean he counts as a mage? He has to have some sensitivity to aether to be doing something like this, but it doesn't seem anything at all like white or black magic from the outside. I really need to get a better look…

But I don't think he knows much more than I do. That's annoying.

---

I wonder how demons compare? That F guy was solid, but he was entirely black magic (I think, I didn't exactly have time to do a detailed scan). For all they're elemental, the other ones aren't. I'm not sure if they even count as black and white magic either…

More reasons to talk to Rudolf. And involve Esben.

Later that night, Izayoi found herself sitting next to Miina by the fire. Her…cousin. And didn’t the thought of that concept still prove to rattle her equilibrium somewhat? She sighed as she finished setting aside the cookware used for the evening, murmuring aside to the other mystrel.

”Truthfully, I’m still not rather used to the concept of us being family. I’d never had any relation that wasn’t a direct parental one. ‘Cousin’ simply seems unwieldy, considering the age difference between us as well. If I’ve a handle on your age correctly, only a scant few years would qualify myself from being old enough to be your mother by any reasonable standard.” She remarked idly, having never been rather adept at small talk.

“N-Nineteen,” Miina replied, tail flicking but eyes remaining firmly on… whatever it was she was drawing or writing today. Probably drawing, going by the charcoal in her fingers. Nonetheless, as she thought more about Izayoi’s response, her hand stilled and head cocked. “Mmm…”

“N-Not the same for me, older c-cousins…” she gave a half-shrug, opened coat sliding down her shoulder, “Th-That it’s dad’s side is odd, b-but m-most people I grew up with were c-c-cousins.”

”Nearly a fifteen year difference, then. I would be thirty and four in a scant few moons.” Probably. Her younger years before she lost her parents were but a haze now, but eight years old when her master had found her was most likely right. If the estimate was off by a year or two, what did it truly matter without any sort of record?

”Isshin never mentioned whether he had extended relations of any sort: only that his parents had passed years ago. The idea of possessing such a large family…is somewhat disorienting. I had only ever thought of immediate, direct relations.” Izayoi paused, frowning. ”I should hope that your father hadn’t made much of my relation to your aunt after we left. T’would be an expectation I’ve no intention of fulfilling.”

“D-Dunno,” it was another shrug from the redhead, attention drifting back down to her drawing, “Probably just means you c-c-can stay without problems. N-Not sure why you would want to, it’s m-m-more my thing…”

Oh, good. Miina recognized that. It saved Izayoi the trouble of needing to broach the topic herself. And here she thought that was going to have to be more of an awkward conversation.

”Indeed, I’ve no desire to do such. As far as I’m concerned, you are the only member of this extended family of mine I’ve any interest in knowing better.” She peered over Miina’s shoulder, trying to see what the girl was sketching. As it turned out, it was the selfsame demon they’d fought in the ruins this afternoon.

”Impressive.” Izayoi nodded, her curiosity satisfied. ”Do you draw often?”

“Umm… y-y-yeah,” Miina nodded, cringing at her drawing. It wasn't that it was inaccurate… to her. But trying to add how aether behaved around something made entirely out of magic? It probably just seemed like nonsense artistic flourishes or inaccurate shading.

“Ah, j-j-just whatever gets my interest, really,” she added, “P-P-People, ‘specially mages, landscapes, uh…”

If it was pretty, or if it had a strong presence.

”Speaking of mages,” Izayoi began, folding her arms into her kimono sleeves. ”Have you progressed upon the technique we discussed previously? I should like my Time materia back sooner rather than later, if possible.”

“Ah… r-r-right!” the redhead scrambled to find the little orb and hand it over. She hadn't quite managed the exact technique, there was no good opportunity to use or practice it, but…

Presenting it proudly, Miina explained: “I th-th-think I've g-got it down, mixing black and white m-magic.”

The more she did it, the more she was getting the hang of balancing them to achieve… well, something otherwise impossible.

”Appreciated,” Izayoi quickly popped the green materia back into her gauntlet, taking a moment to ensure that it was snug and secure. ”You have, then? Good. Show me, if you’d care to. I am no true mage, so I can provide no input of any actual import, but the practice ought to be good for you, regardless.”

Okay, she could do this. It… would probably be easier to show with some water, right? At least on a cut-down scale; none of them wanted the entire camp blown away. But no sense in wasting anything they’d actually gathered for drinking or cooking when she could just condense it from nothing…

It was a shame that magically-created elements didn’t last. Maybe if she’d had longer with the crystal… or maybe that was something that only such fundamental lynchpins of the world could do, permanent creation. She’d have to take a look in Skael.

Also, she was stalling. And looking at the new pool of water on the ground like it held some deeper meaning.

Izayoi nodded slowly as Miina conjured up a puddle, only to bite back a sigh as she saw Miina simply stare into it. For the love of…how to move this along? Unfortunately, her cousin didn’t seem the type to be motivated by the usual harsh language she would have preferred. How strange, when it had worked for Izayoi when she was Miina’s age. And younger. Would Suzume have…

She cut that train of thought off. There was company. It would be unseemly to lose herself to such things in the presence of others.

”One step. The next…?” She prompted, hopefully causing Miina to wake up from her stupor and get back to the matter at hand.

“O-Oh, r-r-right, sorry…” startled, Miina turned back to the actual problem. Well, it wasn’t really a problem, was it…? In her left hand, black magic, aether turned to destruction and violation of the natural order; in her right, white magic, that which should repair and restore, or could reinforce.

Opposed. Theoretically incompatible. But they were just manipulations of aether itself, and it wasn’t like she was trying to combine two true opposites. It wasn’t like there was a significance to the two hands, either; if she’d had some sort of better focus… but all she ever practised with or wanted was her body. Whatever was trickier in her left.

And wind, as ever, wanted to flow in all directions like the air itself. The air fought being controlled except in the broadest terms, and coercing even the meagre amount she was using for this demonstration to stay in a nice pattern… well, that was trickier.

But haste? The energy of time and speed and acceleration? Not only was it one of her most-used spells to begin with, in a way it was eager. She doubted it could stick to another magical effect like it would a person, but so long as she just gently guided it? Oh yes, it could amplify the wind far beyond what she could reasonably do with just wind.

… well, if she was using the full measure of her abilities. This was a demonstration, not an attempt to destroy everything. Miina was confident she could have created this vortex alone. Was it even possible for Izayoi to tell she wasn’t?

Nonetheless, it was a success: a hurricane in miniature, visible from how it gathered up the pool into a single whirling pillar, and the wind itself strong enough to be felt and make the fire nearby dance wildly.

Izayoi studied Miina’s process carefully, familiar enough with the spells being used despite her own need for a crutch to even cast them. At once, the primary advantage to Miina’s method of natural casting became apparent: she was far faster and more controlled than Izayoi’s destructive sword had been. It had taken far, far more time for her to even manage to even begin combining the two.

”Well done.” She nodded in approval. ”Your casting time is already faster than I could ever manage with materia. Now, all that remains is intensification and maintaining the spell’s structure as you do so. If you care to continue, do point away from the campsite, yes?”

“I c-c-could do that, b-but…” Miina shrugged. Their fight earlier hadn’t time to exhaust her reserves, and sleeping later would mean tomorrow was more or less fine even if she tried to distraction.

But she really didn’t want to do something massively loud and flashy when travelling, let alone trying to make an artificial hurricane.

“… I d-d-don’t think it’s safe to p-practise this. I c-c-can probably manage it in a f-fight anyway…”

Besides, they were getting closer to Skael, with their ultimate goal being the elemental orb. That was bound to have an effect on how easy this trick was to pull off – but in which direction, Miina couldn’t guess at; would it reinforce the natural order or allow for more manipulation of its chosen element? – and, ultimately, studying it would probably do more good anyway.

And Izayoi had her materia back, too. It wasn’t vital for her to pull this trick off.

”Very well.” Izayoi had only been curious, regardless. If Miina was claiming to already be capable of performing the arte within actual combat, it stood to reason that she had been practicing, anyhow. The girl wasn’t exactly the type to overestimate her capabilities, after all. The exact opposite was far more likely.

”If you can execute this in combat, you’ll have completed the technique years more quickly than I ever did. Perhaps enough to make it viable as an actual manuever rather than the half-realized patch job I’ve made of it.”

A slight smile crossed her face as she patted her cousin on the shoulder. It wasn’t as if Miina didn’t need the praise, anyhow.

Miina’s reaction… that was almost definitely purring, until the girl realised what was going on and her skin turned the same colour as her coat. “W-W-W-Well… y-you did w-work out what it w-was first, I’m j-just following…”

”Theory was hardly the difficult portion. I was younger and far more impulsive than you when I devised the idea.” Izayoi demurred, taking the used pot and pan and starting to rise. ”Regardless, try to sleep soon, yes? I’m still to clean these up before I turn in for the night.”

“R-Right, just as soon as I’m d-done,” Miina replied, shuffling around to her discarded notes. Yes, sleep was important, but… well, her picture wasn’t finished. As good as her memory generally was, she wanted to get all the extra details.

Just in case another demon showed up. For comparison.

---

Later that night at camp, Rudolf thought to wash himself clean. The grime of the road was no stranger to him, nor was it to any of them by now— but after the expulsion of the truth from his tightly-guarded heart and the quiet dinner that had followed, the young swordsman was all but spent.

He had idly gnawed on his flatbread and stared long into the flame, letting the Kirins and camp mill about around his hollow, slumped frame. Errant wind had painted his brow, long sticky with drying sweat, a dingy gray— smoke from the fire, the same that stung the edges of his eyes.

But stare he did, mind empty, letting the dancing orange and cream and scarlet lick away his thoughts, chasing them cores of blue and streaks of rust. Like a mesmer. He seemed drawn to these moments, he realized— drawn to flame. Drawn to staring, when he had nothing else in him, to let it quell his mind from a tempestuous rapid to a placid lake.

But all the same, eventually he roused, jolting back to awareness as if he had fallen into a snooze. With a sigh, Rudolf shook off the torpor and rose, letting his feet carry him through the quieted camp and towards a stream a few dozen yards away, one of the many uncharted soft-watered brooks that weaved across Edren’s verdant lowlands, no different here than so many they’d crossed after making landfall.

Perhaps Danube in some way favored this stretch of land, long ago when she walked among mortals. Who could say? Perhaps an old king of the land had pledged good fealty.

But by rights, there was one gift she had bestowed on men, regardless of if she gave it in personal charity or simple boon of domain— the gift of washing oneself anew. To clear the old grime, to lay bare one’s true complexion, to remove that which had stained you impure.

Yes. He needed a damn wash, at least to take the ash off his face, to get the smoke clear from his eyes. The rest of him, he might deal with once they were closer to Skael, closer to a bath, closer to not needing travel at all speed. He would rather take true rest than go through with the trouble.

But his face, at least.

He knelt down at the bank, casting a hand into the cool mirror for a moment—

And pausing, as a splash sounded from downstream. Turning his head, there was no trouble spotting its source:

—Another splash, as Izayoi worked to clear dinner’s remains from her pot and pan.

His forehead throbbed, the ghost of the scabbard’s thumping upon it. Grimacing, he wiped at the spot, the water gracing his brow and ringing around a small bruise.

Ridiculous the way these things worked. It had hardly hurt the minute she’d done it, to the point where he’d believed it too light a touch for any punitive measure— but now, long after the fact, that simple bonk lingered as well as any cut, like the ringing of bells hours past, still trapped in cathedral stone.

Izayoi grumbled to herself as she worked to scrub a particularly stubborn scrap of burnt food out of the bottom of the cookpot, the effort not helping her usual mood. After several more moments of concerted effort, she managed to wipe it clean and rinsed the pot out in the stream. With that finally done, she hefted both pot and pan up to bring back towards camp to store.

Rudolf simply happened to be in the way of her return to camp. She approached, paused, and frowned as she saw him rub his forehead.

”Oh, stop being ridiculous. ‘Twas hardly a tap. You were being bludgeoned with Thunder spells not two weeks ago and moping less. But I could give you another bruise if you'd care to.” She huffed, raising the frying pan she was carrying in a threatening manner.

”I’m washing my face,” Rudolf countered, obstinately splashing more water across his brow and wiping through, scrubbing at the cheekbones and for a moment feeling the feather-light line across his cheek left by Valon’s spear. “I’ve spent mothercrystal knows how long staring at the fire, this is the first time I felt it there. That’s all. My eyes sting more than my forehead.”

He shook his wrist, slinging away excess water and sending a dozen rings to bloom across the surface. A glance up towards the moon gave him an idea of where its position had changed since he’d gone silent— and then he turned his gaze towards her, rather than study it. “A couple hours” was close enough, at the end of a hard day.

”Any other time before now, I may have taken you up on your offer. But for tonight, I think I’ll just be glad I got a lighter touch than I would have bargained for. I don’t care to push my luck with punitive measures.”

Much. he silently amended.Tonight.

He shuffled his frame to the side, to allow her passage if she deigned to take it with her point well made.

“I expect soon enough the Thunder will be hitting me again anyway, now that you know how I’ve been keeping up.”

Izayoi quirked an eyebrow at Rudolf’s retort, mentally noting that he wouldn’t have had that much cheek not even a month ago. He was improving, at least. So long as this latest bout of honesty didn’t send him into too much of a funk. Best to nip that in the bud.

”I should hope that spate of honesty would have helped your mood, rather than leave you more pensive. Outside of Chisato, everyone else recognizes that your situation is only a danger to yourself. And she will get over the matter sooner or later.”

She moved to stride past Rudolf, only stopping to poke him in the forehead at the exact spot she’d rapped him with her scabbard earlier.

”Am I understood? No more getting inside your own head. What’s done is done, and you’ll have to live with the consequences afterward.”

”Ow.”

His syllable of furthered complaint came in a dull monotone, comically crossing his eyes to see her fingertip off as it returned to more pressing matters. With a blink, and his little bit over, he turned away, seeming to study his reflection as the ripples in the water stretched and shaped it.

“Truthfully, that may take a while. I’ll work on it. Consequences my own, but…”

A glance back over his shoulder cast searching eyes over the mystrel’s frame, freed of a vengeful shadow so recently as it was. He continued on, almost conversational. Almost, but for the contemplation inherent to his words.

“What do you make of ‘afterward’, Izayoi? Now that Reisa is dead?”

It had been an all-consuming purpose, to the point of outranking her own life. Time and again, the Kirins had watched Izayoi stop at nothing to take the Valheimr lieutenant’s scalp, whether it meant storming straight into conflagration or diving into the void sword first.

Theirs were different situations, of course. To compare her pursuit of retribution with his furtive obscuration of truth was, in many respects, to cast apples against oranges.

But at the core of both of them was, as far as he knew, was that they were an unassailable priority.

”Where do you stand now, without that weighing on you? Pushing you?”

And neither of them were there any longer. They were drifting without those key lodestones. In Rudolf’s case, he had never really dared plan for that ‘afterward’. There was the quest, sure, but beyond that…

Izayoi had been meaning to stash the cookware back into Goug’s wagon, but stopped as Rudolf questioned her. A sigh came from her lips, unbidden. This was to be one of those conversations with the boy again. Gods damn that ingrate Istvan Shilage for not bothering to parent his son properly.

”A foolish question, considering the situation we stand in now, no? The land still stands at risk, and Valheim continues to infest my home. Slaying Reisa has only served to correct my most personal failure. Ask me once more when we’ve averted the blackhelms’ threat to the continent.”

“Oh, so it’s no different.” he noted breezily. “Heartening.”

At this point, it was on him for trying with her.

”Fine. You needn’t worry. My existential concerns haven’t stopped me from carving through their ranks when they’re in front of me yet. I lost my last chance at letting them when Wulfric rode north at first light, even if I cared to. I haven’t lost sight of the big picture just for not having things sorted out.”

He slashed through the surface of the water, scattering the image as he smeared away the last bit of grit he felt near the eyes.

”I will continue to further the cause, as I always have. Now that there’s nothing I’m trying to hide behind, I’ve all the more reason to see this through.”

He rose, as a cool breeze from the south blew across the lingering moisture on his skin, the chill sinking into his head even as it dried. A shiver passed across his person at the feeling, but he didn’t begrudge the clearing of his thoughts that came with it.

Picking up the pieces of whatever was beneath your protective shell was always your job and yours alone. No matter what Izayoi had given him as answer, it was always going to be his own legwork that made sense of what was man and what was mask. Only time would tell if he even could, and if it was even the source of the void that had come into him in the wake of his confession.

Taking a breath, the young swordsman started forward, following in Izayoi’s wake as her quick return to camp resumed.

He wouldn’t get any blood from that stone today. It was too late, they were both too set in their ways of navigating the world. This was what felt like the third or fourth time he had tried to scratch at her hard surface to no real avail, given the topic wasn’t her loved ones, but there was a small victory in there.

”My disorganized internal world aside, if your perspective ever does change and we’re both still alive to chat, I’d be curious to hear of it. I think I’ll keep you on the hook for that, since you’re offering. In the meantime…”

Drawing up alongside the samurai, he glanced to the cookware in her hands. None if it looked terribly heavy, not to trained warriors such as them, but it wouldn’t hurt…

”While you’ve got me, I may as well offer some help with whatever you’ve left to do in cleaning up. It hardly looks like much, but I could be wrong.”

”Mouthy brat. I almost prefer when you were terrified of my shadow.” Izayoi said, rolling her eyes with no real heat in her tone. She handed over a pan nonetheless.

”Take a rag and dry it out. I would prefer for the iron to not rust.” As they returned to camp, she looked back to Rudolf following after her.

”You could have washed your hands of this and conscripted that annoying buffoon of a boy in your place, indeed. And yet I remain thankful that you did not. If not for my own sanity in dealing with such, then for the sake of your own progress. As ever, you think too little of yourself.” She very carefully refrained from blaming Istvan once more, though she certainly thought the invectives within the confines of her head.

Her summation of Wulfric drew out a smirk, then a small chuckle as he swiped a spare piece of cloth and began to wipe away, checking the finish of the iron against the firelight to monitor his work.

“He’s a loud ingrate, for sure— though I daresay Galahad would have gotten fed up even sooner than you,” he quipped, tilting the pan to eye the surface as the calming rhythm of the work washed over him. Be it blades or cookware, it seemed keeping metal maintained agreed with his body and mind. ”And then you’d have a real problem on your hands.”

A playful exaggeration of reality, of course, but he’d seen that dynamic play out all through the one afternoon he’d gotten to spend somewhere close to home. He could already imagine the vein in the dragoon’s forehead beginning to swell, even as he fought to maintain a genteel, knightly composure.

Wulfric, Galahad… Otto and Imre. If he wanted to deal in hypotheticals, while they were at it, who knew how either of his brothers might have panned out in his stead.

“That’s the rub. I’ve been chasing long shadows all my life— It’s only natural that I get a little too comfortable with them after a while.” He joked, holding the pan out for her inspection. “I’ve always been mouthy, you can ask Cadmon about it; I just wanted to be sure I never gave the ‘Limbtaker’ a reason to demonstrate herself. I’ve had the privilege of separating mystrel from myth since then.”

He shrugged, closing his burnt eye and cocking his head to the side. “Not to mention: from where I stand, you’ve gotten less austere these days, too. Not by much, even compared to when we first met, but you are warming up to us. It's a good change.”

Said mystrel took the pan back, giving it a once-over before a crooked smirk crossed her face.

”More of the cheek, and the pan goes upside your head.” She jibed, starting to make her way back to the wagon to stash it. ”A word of advice: worry less of what could be and concern yourself more with what lies in front of you. Mayhaps it ought to be easier now with your truths revealed.”

His hands rose in surrender, palms out and holding no weapon, a caught miscreant.

“Hai, hai,” he intoned, mirroring her expression. “I still know when to back down, thank the Goddess.”

What was in front of him, eh? Mayhaps it would, once he washed the rest away. With any luck… well. Maybe not luck, in such short supply as it was— instead, his only refuge, the same as he had since the day he was born.

“Maybe so. If I feel adrift, by that same measure it means I am bereft a certain ball and chain, after all.”

He glanced south, towards their next set of trials, past the slowly dying light of the fire. As his words left his mouth, they were of course cloaked in a musing tone— nothing of what they spoke changed overnight, after all.

“To unfamiliar waters it is, then.”

He rose, dusting himself off. That crooked smirk had faded, but not completely left his bearing.

“Been a long day. Good night… Thank you, Izayoi.”

---

For all that their designs might have been further along than Skael’s, Esben was increasingly convinced that working on Valheimer firearms was a miserable task. Not for any increased complexity—at least, not with the revolver he’d kept, he didn’t want to figure out the innards of the rotary cannon—but for the state of the ammunition. Perhaps the quality of the metal used. Perhaps both.

After dinner, as the rest of the Kirins went to their own separate edges of the camp to take advantage of the remaining daylight to do whatever work they could, seeing Éliane cleaning her gunblade reminded him of the extra cleaning he needed to do with the pistol he’d claimed aboard the Valheimer airship. The first project awaiting him after he’d healed enough to do much of anything was scouring away the bit of rust that had developed while he was convalescing. Something corrosive, either in the propellant or the primer.

That was one of the earliest things that Skaeller gunsmiths and chemists had decided to fix. Before rushing ahead to try and develop ways to deliver faster and more sustained fire, effort was put into making sure the ammunition used wouldn’t render the weapons unusable. For Valheim, it was almost unthinkable to him—he had to imagine the imperialistic invaders still relied on conscription. They had to be training their soldiers to clean their weapons more than on actually using them.

At least it wasn’t impossible to deal with if he kept on top of it; now dried and oiled, he could be reasonably sure the pistol wouldn’t try to rust again by the next time he went to use it. He moved to pack it away, only to freeze as a hand roughly grasped at his collar. ”Esben. Are you finished?”

Something about her tone made it sound like she didn’t really care what the answer was.

”Izayoi. Is something wrong?” Given what he’d already noticed in her tone, he shouldn’t have been confused at all with the derisive snort that followed. ”I didn’t try to keep you from leaping off after Reisa, I really have no idea what I’ve done this ti—”

”Rudolf isn’t the only foolish boy in our midst, and for a self-professed spy, you’ve become so comfortable with us that anyone with their eyes open could discern your ridiculous mood!” He blinked once, placing the pistol back within its holster slowly. ”Is that why you’ve been giving me these odd looks lately?”

”Get. Up.” She pulled at his collar, threatening to drag him along. He scrambled to his feet, though unsurprisingly, she didn’t release him. ”I’ll not have the man that preached at me about group morale acting so cowardly.”

”What is your game here?”

”I will ensure you won’t have a single uninterrupted night of sleep until you talk to her, buffoon.”

They continued across the camp in stony silence, Izayoi releasing him and pushing him forward towards where Éliane sat, nursing a thermos full of coffee. He stared reproachfully at the retreating samurai, before turning back to the no-doubt curious guardswoman before him. Possibly confused...or just amused. ”...Éliane. Mind if I join you?”

“...?”

The pink-haired woman had been nursing a sip from said thermos, where it remained strategically applied to her face as she watched in confusion as Izayoi placed a random Esben in front of her before leaving without a word. It was obvious that she had much on her mind to think about lately, but something like this was easy enough to jar her attention.

Blinking several times at what she had just seen, she finally processed Esben’s words and slowly nodded, her face still half covered by the thermos. After another beat, she finally lowered it, canting her head to the side in confusion in the way that he was probably used to by now.

“What did you do this time?”

Esben lowered himself down next to Éliane, looking out and away from the rest of the camp. ”I was asking her that myself,” came his reply. ”At least every instance before now I knew the reason ahead of time. I guess she decided it was time to try and surprise me.”

And for all that, he hadn’t actually answered the question yet. Still, he knew that if he turned away he'd probably find the samurai in question glaring at him and ready to make good on her threat, which left him no choice in the matter about what to actually do.

”She seems displeased with the amount I've been talking to you lately.”

Adjusting her position so that she was facing Esben as he sat down, Éliane raised her eyebrows at the revelation. A moment later, she raised her thermos again, taking another sip.

“The amount? You’ve barely spoken to me recently,” she very astutely pointed out.

”Yes, I think that's exactly it.”

“...”

Éliane stared back at him. “Why not, then?”

”It's difficult to just have a conversation when I'm stuck worrying about everything we're walking into?” Esben cocked his head back at her, mirroring her posture. ”Especially with the combined problem of Alex probably being behind some of it and the fact that she knows us.”

Her frown was as obvious as the skepticism was in her reply. Éliane’s head canted even further. “That sounds like a textbook excuse. Especially when you’re making it a question.” Her eyes drilled into his, although the effect was ruined when she interrupted it to sip at her coffee again. “I’ve seen you talking to the others, now that I’m thinking of it,” she continued. “A lot more than me…?”

The statement would have been borderline yandere if it weren’t for her tone and the context of the situation.

“Hmm, ah… that explains Izayoi then,” she finally concluded, before fixing her eyes on Esben again.

Esben stared back, silent for the moment. ”Figured something of her mood that I haven't, have you?” he muttered. ”Would that I understood her so well.” Not that he didn't have his suspicions, but the team being what it was and what they were bound to be walking into...

”Been catching the strange looks from her too, I take it? Or just the here-and-now?” He straightened his neck, still pointedly avoiding looking in Izayoi's direction. ”I'll welcome any observations you have on the whole matter. Especially if anyone else has done similar at either of us. No doubt it'll find a way back to that why not, anyhow.”

She tilted her head again. “Strange looks? No, it’s probably just you,” she shrugged, but then began to narrow her eyes, cluing on (at least partially) to what was going on between Esben and herself. “Hmm… Oh, I see. This something about Solitude, isn’t it?”

Tapping her finger against her thermos, Éliane began to recall their interactions. “Ever since the dinner.”

”...”

Esben looked on in silence. Somehow, it seemed like he could never completely match his understanding with whatever Éliane was saying. Or vice-versa, he wasn't sure.

It only made sense, though; it wouldn't do to assume the flamboyant woman who had left the Garden over ideological and methodological differences to put much attention towards whatever others seemed to be thinking of her.

He sighed.

”Before, really, if you count how little I talked to anybody before we ran into Wulfric and Chèrle. Once I stopped having anything else to think about. Kayliss just made it worse, in a much more direct way.”

Éliane frowned, staring back at Esben. It was not like she didn’t have more than enough to think about ever since the revelations with Skael– both of them. It was understandable even, but Izayoi had placed him in front of her like a lost cat for a reason. “If it was just that, then why this?” she gestured in the direction that Izayoi had gone. “The setup makes it seems you have something unresolved with me.” Another head tilt.

Esben canted his head back. ”Rudolf didn’t ask you anything odd right around when we ran into Cid and Ramuh, did he?” he asked, after a moment more of thought. ”For that matter, you didn’t catch the look from Kayliss when she was telling us all of what’s been happening?”

If his head could tilt any further without sending him off balance, it likely would have, but he had to satisfy expressing his confusion with a couple slow blinks instead.

”I’d thought you had this figured out, what with the that explains Izayoi, then bit, no?”

Clearly somewhat confused, she made a face as if she had bit into a sour lemon, although it came off as more of a pout from the pink-haired officer. “We’re communicating even worse than usual,” Éliane replied, finally acknowledging, at least partially, how good their skills at engaging each other were. “Yes, I remember Rudolf had some odd questions… Kayliss…” she shrugged.

So Rudolf hadn’t only come to him asking what he did, then. Or so it seemed. Still, he couldn’t help but smirk at Éliane’s pouting face. ”Do you think we’ll ever get better at it?” he wondered, before sliding right back to his first train of thought. ”What did he ask you?”

She gave him another unamused look in return. “Something about favors and you talking a lot.”

”Just me? Surprising.”

Éliane bobbed her head. “Rudolf talks too much too.”

Esben stared flatly at her.

The seconds passed.

”So, just to be clear, do you have any theories about what all this is for, or was that just a bluff earlier?”

She stared back.

More seconds passed.

“...No.”

He wasn’t entirely sure yet if he should groan or laugh. He buried his face in one palm, debating with himself how even to proceed. As things were, he could probably just laugh it off and go back to normal, but if Izayoi had been paying any attention at all to the conversation—and despite appearances otherwise, he had no reason to think she hadn’t been—that would, doubtless, put him under her ire again. If she didn’t have Rudolf, Chisato, or Miina to distract herself with, then his leaving a conversation halfway through would provide her with ample opportunity to fill her time at his expense.

”No way out but through, then,” he murmured, raising his head up to meet Éliane’s eyes again. ”You mean to tell me I’ve been feeling guilty this whole time and you haven’t even done me the courtesy of noticing? You’re so rude, Elly.”

Éliane, of course, looked on curiously as Esben had his (rather visible, she could say) internal reckoning before she finally could match his eyes again. The exact topic at hand continued to elude her, though, and she only stared back at him. “...Rude? What haven’t I noticed.”

”My feeling bad.”

“...Why are you feeling bad.”

”Guilt, like I said,” he continued to explain patiently, as though this were anything approaching a normal conversation. ”Every other time we talked in that jungle was an argument and that still didn't stop me from continuing to talk to you. Did you just figure I got bored with you?”

She raised an eyebrow. “Esben, you’re saying all these words but they’re not…” Éliane gave him another look. “What do you feel guilty about.”

This time, she looked satisfied that she had asked the right question, even if it was colored with some concern. Why, of all things, did Esben feel guilty?

”Alex was sloppy,” he replied with a shrug. ”And hindsight is always perfect. After Kayliss came to check on us, I should've thought a bit more about that conversation with the Grovemasters. Been more cautious about Isolde, as well—at least in the ‘standard Garden procedure’ sense.”

He gestured with a thumb back over his shoulder, where Rudolf, Miina, and the rest of the Kirins generally were. ”We're lucky that two of them actually had the whole subterfuge uncovered, even if it was by accident. But now we've got a worse mess to walk into after dealing with more of a mess than we should have, not to mention the people at risk. Why wouldn't I feel guilty about that, when I could've put us on a much better footing if I'd just been a little more conscientious rather than dwelling on my own bad mood?”

Éliane raised her thermos to her lips, taking another long sip of her coffee. “Esben. Yes, it’s a mess,” she freely agreed, the worry still evident in her tone, “But I can’t see how it is your fault. As aggravating as everything was, especially with those awful Dranans, we had an entire apparatus headed by someone that knew our MO wielded against us.”

”Logically, sure,” he agreed. ”I didn't spend so long reassuring Rudolf of much the same after Isolde showed her true colors just to go and forget it. I don't have any delusions that I won't make any mistakes in the future, either. But it's only natural to feel a little bad, no?”

She made a waffling gesture with her head at that. “Well… yes, but enough that Izayoi dropped you in front of me like a lost child?” Tapping her index finger twice against the surface of her thermos, Éliane shook her head. She changed tack, pushing out the bad thoughts of her own that had been percolating in the back of her head over the past weeks and shoving it in a tiny box.

“...Will bribing you with arlettes again help?”

”You really still don't...trying to buy my better mood with treats?”

Esben cocked his head again, peering at Éliane curiously, before turning to look at the setting sun off to the west. After another second of thought he turned entirely towards it, before patting the space next to him and glancing over with an expectant look. ”Come sit over here, would you? The sunset is nice today.”

Éliane offered him a helpless shrug at that reply, but her gaze followed his towards the dusky sky. A moment later, she shifted over next to him, facing the setting sun. “It is.”

Content for the moment as she settled in, he leaned back, propping himself up as they watched the sunset together. ”I’ll never turn down whatever more you want to bake for me, but this is good for now, I think,” he finally answered. ”Just so long as you don’t do something crazy like saying you like me and then ditching us at the next stop, ja?”

Taking her eyes off the sunset, she looked at Esben and once again found herself canting her head. “Esben, you’re being weird again. I’ll make the pastries, though.”

”You’re so rude, Elly!” he half-jokingly grumbled.

Esben received a pout back in response.