Obscene Symphony

Fire Emblem: The Slumbering Goddess

_{@Hero @Achronum}

Lienna didn’t pay much attention to where she went after she stormed out. She didn’t want to hole up in her dorm, where she felt less and less truly alone by the day, and neither did she have the patience for the cathedral, even though it might have been the only place on campus she had any hope of being left alone. She just wanted away, turning this way and that, through courtyards and alleys, until she was in a part of the monastery she no longer recognized, and thoroughly turned around. No matter; let whatever snake her fiancé hired weave his way through the buildings too. He probably needed some exercise anyway.

Any hope that the walk might calm her down was dashed as every step remained just as hateful as the last, Derec’s stupid words echoing in her head over and over again. Our problem is that we’ve only ever had to think of ourselves. Where on earth did he get the idea that they were even remotely the same? And where did he get off calling her selfish?! Selfish! Years of freezing, working her fingers to the bone, sleeping in shifts to keep the ghost of her grandmother from haunting the rest of Hima, years of villagers conveniently looking the other way, years of missing meals so Oma could eat, only to have her throw the food on the fire to kill an imaginary demon or some other of a million stupid imaginary Saints-damned things—but oh, she was selfish. She had to think of herself, obviously – no one else did – but to dare say that was her only concern until the highborn saviours of the Rose Unit came down with flights of angels to lift her out of her torment, to give her someone to rely on – give her a break! If anything, hadn’t she earned a little selfishness by now? Hadn’t she paid her dues? She did her duty, and then some; she owed absolutely nothing to anybody. She, Lienna Orhneaht, she alone dragged herself out of Hima, she crafted a new life for herself, no one else. No one ever bothered to help her before, and she didn’t need some naive idealistic “fellow peasant” to tell her she needed anybody now.

But no matter how many times she repeated it, no matter how many times she reminded herself that she’d earned this long-awaited chance to put herself first, Lienna didn’t feel any better. In the moments when the anger ebbed away, and all those quiet moments when she was left alone to her thoughts, all she could think of was the painful set of her Oma’s dying expression; her hands, thin and delicate as icicles, clutching the blanket with all her frail might; how her grandmother’s final, ragged breath was the sound of her own salvation. It was twisted and wrong, she knew it; deep down she knew it. But she still pushed it away, saying there was no crime in moving on, even if she never really believed it.

But there was no going back.

~ /// ~

The grounds were virtually empty at this time, as most people had either gathered in the cafeteria for food or were visiting Lady Arianthe at the Cathedral. There were a few people simply hanging around and the occasional guard on their patrol, but almost everyone couldn’t help but notice the fuming Lienna. None dared approach her, simply casting curious glances before returning to their business.

The only exception to this was one pegasus trotting his way through the grounds with his rider holding his reins. The blue haired woman openly stared at Lienna, albeit she wasn’t nearly as cowardly as the rest. Smiling to herself, she jumped onto the pegasus, kicking its sides with her heels and leaning back as said winged beast took to the sky. She flew in a few circles, observing her, though eventually she would land right behind her, letting out a whistle to catch her attention.

“The Rose Unit is supposed to have class at the training grounds,” Chionne stated, her statement contrasting her expression of amusement. “Is there any particular reason you aren’t there, young lady?”

Lienna jumped at the whistle, realizing too late that her cheeks were damp with tears. She didn’t turn toward the voice behind her, instead hastily wiping her face before straightening up. She didn’t recognize the voice; whoever was talking to her wasn’t one of her professors, which made her care a lot less about a bit of chastisement. How did she even know who she was or where she was supposed to be, anyway?

Whatever; it didn’t matter. Lienna didn’t give the stranger the time of day, simply folding her hands and resuming her walk as if she didn’t hear her.

Clucking her tongue in mock disappointment, Chionne brought the pegasus forward to properly block Lienna’s path. Looking the girl up and down, her gaze lingered on her head for a moment before she met her eyes. “You’ll end up receiving disciplinary action if you choose to avoid your classes,” She informed her, though her voice was more informative than anything else. “Why aren’t you at the arena?”

Lienna jumped when a white beast materialized in front of her, stopping in her tracks and stumbling back a few steps from the flurry of fur and feathers. The thing was a horse with wings, and it seemed just as startled as she was, making noises and pulling at its reins at the sight of the white-haired girl before it.

It took a second of her heart thundering in her ears for Lienna to remember that this was probably a pegasus; she vaguely remembered folk tales about the pegasus knights of the Holy Army, but of course she’d never seen one of the beasts in person. Apparently they were just as big and flighty as normal horses, if not more so; she took a few extra steps away from the monstrous thing as it grew ever more uneasy, wary that it might trample her if it decided to bolt.

Whatever thin thread of patience she had for being badgered (and not to mention, startled) quickly snapped, and she glared sharply at the woman. “Do you even know my name?” she spat, turning on her heel to walk in the other direction. The nerve of this woman; Lienna didn’t care if she was a teacher or a guard or what, how did she even know she was ordering around the right person? She’d never seen this flying menace in her life.

Chionne had to prioritize calming down the poor pegasus first and foremost—for whatever reason, it didn’t like this girl at all. She ended up having to get off, stroking its mane and shushing it. While it wasn’t nearly as fidgety as before, it was still highly wary of Lienna, going so far as to take several steps away. Letting out a sigh, she figured she could leave it be for the moment, deciding one problem was a little more important than the other.

It took a few long strides, but once again, she placed herself in front of the girl. “I don’t think you carry enough clout to pull that line,” Chionne couldn’t help but point out. “Even if you’re the Queen herself, when you’re here at Garreg Mach, everyone’s treated the same. It’s the entire point of the Church—’we’re all equal under Her love’ or whatever they spew at the Cathedral every Sunday.”

Deciding to try another approach, Chionne placed her hands on her hips. “You don’t look too happy, so I’m going to assume something happened. Was it Michail?” She asked. “He’s an idiot, but he usually means well. Though I can’t say I agree with his teaching methods. The whole ‘throw them into the lake to teach them how to swim’ thing sometimes backfires.”

Lienna rolled her eyes. Was everyone around here so far up the nobles’ asses that they couldn’t imagine anything outside of a highborn pissing contest? “If you know my name, then use it; I’m not your servant,” she spat condescendingly, resenting having to explain such a simple childhood concept to someone who dripped in smug self-assuredness, “and if you don’t know my name, then this is definitely none of your Saints-damned business. Goodbye.”

She turned once again and tried to leave, much less than disinterested in the woman’s attempt at “relating” to her.

“Well, that’s what I get for trying to be amicable,” Chionne quietly chastised herself. Letting out a sigh, she returned to her steed, giving it a soothing pat. “What has you so bothered all of a sudden?” She asked him, narrowing her eyes.

The pegasus remained steady. She was a little surprised, though she supposed he wouldn’t be easy until he was far away from the student. Before she would leave, however, she figured she may as well offer a token warning. “I don’t recommend walking around alone, there's been something strange happening. People feel like they’re being watched and then suddenly go missing. We’re looking into it, but if you care about your own well being, you should head back to class or at least stay in your room.”

While resolute to end their conversation there, that last remark stopped Lienna in her tracks. “What?” she gasped, not much louder than a whisper. Fear, stronger than it had any right to be, seized her heart; every moment she felt eyes on her since arriving smashed back to the forefront of her mind, and although she insisted to herself that it was only paranoia from the knowledge of her fiancé’s chaperone, the icy hand around her heart never loosened its grip.

She slowly turned back to the pegasus woman, although she kept her distance, wary of the pegasus and the ominous warning both. “That’s impossible,” she insisted, more to herself than anyone. Her brow furrowed with unease, and her fingers wound themselves tightly in the hem of her sash, unnoticed by Lienna. “How could that happen?”

Chionne stopped stroking the pegasus’ mane and turned to her, frowning at the sudden change. “Has word not gotten out yet?” She wondered out loud, though she figured it was too late to take back. “Granted, no one from the academy has gone missing yet, but it’s been happening in town, so it’s not a stretch to think that people here could be in danger.”

Lienna searched a pillar nearby for answers, and coming up with none, she crossed her arms resolutely, shaking her head. “No, Garreg Mach must be better protected than that,” she insisted, although she didn't feel too sure in her words. That one lunatic had made it all the way into the middle of the monastery before being caught, hadn't he? But surely they'd increased security since then – the entire Knights of Seiros couldn't all be morons. Monastery or not, with all the valuables doubtlessly hidden in the cathedral and elsewhere, Garreg Mach must have been a fortress. Unless…

“When did that start? Maybe we brought back someone bad from Luin,” she reasoned. If they deserved the credit they got, then anyone wanting to do harm to the monastery or anyone in it surely couldn't get past the Knights; they would have to be welcomed inside. Right?

“That would’ve been convenient,” Chionne couldn’t help but lament. “Then the targets and motive would be clear. I believe the first person went missing on the first day—she was a milk maid that had come to work at the cafeteria. When she didn’t show up, we discovered that she had last been seen confiding in a bishop that she felt she had been watched. Four more have disappeared since then, from different professions, but all from town.”

Shaking her head, she let out a sigh. “The Officers Academy is likely the safest place considering the importance of their attendees and how close it is to the church. But again, it’s better to err on the side of caution,” She reiterated her warning.

Lienna felt the blood drain from her face as her flimsy, desperate theory was disproved, and she couldn't help but look around, searching the shadows for any sign of life. That horrible feeling of eyes on her clawed at the back of her psyche, but she forced herself not to panic; it was nerves, nothing more. Still, she felt distinctly uneasy, especially as she noticed how exposed the courtyard was – and how many alleys, doorways, and corridors lined its edges.

Suddenly much keener on following the pegasus woman’s advice, Lienna scoured the courtyard again, then the tips of the buildings beyond it, trying to find her bearings. Fortunately, the cathedral rose high above everything else, and its spires were always visible to the north. If she got there, she could find her way back to the Officers’ Academy again.

“Thanks,” she muttered absently, though her focus never left her destination; forgetting the woman, she only made a wide berth around the pegasus as she set a course for the cathedral.

“Do you want an escort?” Chionne asked.

Lienna slowed, considering the woman’s offer, but that foreboding sense of unease wasn’t quick to leave her at the idea. On a flying beast that was eerily quiet, a bird’s eye view of the monastery… it would be pretty easy to snatch people and fly off into the darkness, wouldn’t it?

“I’m fine,” she murmured, not quite turning around. She left it at that, taking up a quick pace toward the cathedral – wherever possible, with her back to the walls.

---

That was the first time this year that Lienna felt relieved at the sight of the cathedral, though she used it only as her landmark to get back to the arena; if she got too close, the dizzying heights would give her something entirely new to worry about. Her anger was long gone, but she would have preferred it over its replacement: A nagging uneasiness that picked at the edges of her mind like fingers at a scab. She felt like a teenager in Hima again, jumping at birds, seeing shapes in shadows and figures in the trees; Oma’s turn for the worse had brought with it a whole host of new fears and anxieties of its own, and Lienna was disturbed that the feelings she thought she’d discarded so long ago were crashing back into her life.

She didn’t go back to her dorm; the thought of being alone there was a little too daunting for the moment. Fortunately, it wasn’t far from the cathedral back to the arena, though when she arrived, she found only the nurse woman, Kaira, who pointed her toward the “sauna”. After Lienna’s brief look of confusion, Kaira explained that it was a public bath and steam house of sorts. The description reminded Lienna of a sheltered hot spring; there were none in Hima, but a day’s walk to the west had one frequented by the elderly for its rumoured healing properties. She had no idea if that was true, but the few times she’d gone, she remembered enjoying it; for a young girl raised in near-perpetual winter, the almost overwhelming heat of the hot spring had been a luxury she treasured for years after, revisiting the memory anytime she needed to banish the cold from her mind.

With how she was feeling, the comfort of a small, warm, sheltered place sounded like just the reprieve she needed. With some difficulty she found the place and slipped gratefully inside, more than happy for the close walls and the dense, wet heat that started working at her tension before she even saw the water. The place smelled nothing like a hot spring – no, this was pleasant – and the scent was somehow cool in her lungs, however that worked. She changed and showered quickly, noticing for the first time how dusty she was just from practicing magic in the sand, and wrapped a towel around herself to pass into the next area.

She heard snippets of conversation through the wood slat walls, and turned the corner to find the bathing room sparsely populated. However, it was lush with plants she’d never seen before, the air heady with steam and pleasant, unfamiliar scents. Lienna slipped into the bath as far from the other occupants as she could manage – noting with distaste that the Princess was there, although Clarissa seemed to have engaged her already. But they were far from her concern as the water slipped over her skin, wrapping her in sweet smells and almost unbearable warmth. It almost burned, but she soaked up the heat voraciously, as if she could store it away for the inevitable cold times ahead.

She sunk down to her chin and closed her eyes, senses momentarily overtaken by the bliss of it all. This was even nicer than the warm baths she could take at Count Francis’ castle, and at the time she thought that was the pinnacle of luxury. If not for the promise of home and fortune back in Gautier, she wasn’t sure she’d ever leave.

But her peace didn’t last too long, and irritatingly soon, those unwelcome fears crept back into Lienna’s mind. Uneasy once again, she pulled her knees up to her chest, just barely cresting the water, and opened her eyes to scan the room. The steam and scents almost stung this close to the water, but she was suddenly acutely aware that any frond of any of the room’s foreign plants could conceal something, that there was only one way in and out of the sauna and that there’d be no escaping if someone came and blocked the exit—

Dammit, Lienna caught herself, glaring daggers at her reflection in the water. Come on, you’re not a child anymore.

Shin Megami Tensei: Persona

_{April 11th—Afternoon}

---

Emi offered a reassuring smile in Maeda’s direction, but quickly returned her attention to Mizuame, nodding along as she listed off her new members and committing the names to memory as best she could. Hinari and Mori, both first-years most likely. She made a mental note to look up their class numbers and any other information that might be relevant should she need to track them down again, just in case she didn’t get all she wanted accomplished before she left.

Now just to figure out exactly what she wanted to accomplish.

Something bothered her first, though. She wasn’t sure why, but Emi felt a little insulted to hear Mizuame call Makoto by his first name. It shouldn’t have been unreasonable; it wasn’t like there was anything going on between them if Mizuame was so seemingly unaffected by his disappearance, and they probably worked on club matters together a lot last year. Emi supposed it might have been a little tasteless, but she could just as easily be accused of the same thing. But wouldn’t a little formality be polite considering everyone thought Makoto was dead? Did common courtesy just go out the window once someone was no longer around to hear it? Jeez, first with Ito jabbing at Nakano about the fires, then the student council carrying on as if they weren’t missing a vital member… that lump in her throat started to grow again, and she had to quickly blink away a few tears threatening to form. It never got any easier, did it?

No, no, she had to focus. The whole reason she was here was for her friends, after all. But what to do next? She couldn’t ask any of the questions she wanted to with Mizuame and Maeda around; besides, if she came right out with it and she was wrong, there’d be no closing that can of worms. Oh God, she’d probably be referred to the school therapist, marked as crazy and sent to some institution where she could never hope to find her friends! Could she hint at the issue? Would they even know what she was talking about? If they just Awakened, they probably had no idea what was going on; besides, until now Emi thought there weren’t any other Persona users in the world. The terms she and her friends used would probably be gibberish to anyone else. William seemed to use them, but did these boys even see them? She hadn’t even ever dreamed of the Velvet Room before now, and she’d been Awake for over a year!

Agh, this was so frustrating! She was the Navigator, of all people she was supposed to be the one who knew what she was walking into! She couldn’t even go into the mirror and hope to meet them on the other side; besides the fact she’d probably get herself killed all alone, the mirror still wouldn’t let her pass. Dammit, she was so useless alone!

A weird wave of tension, not unlike what had drawn her over in the first place, pulled Emi out of her frustrated reverie. Was Maeda trying to do something with his pastries again? No, that soft, boyish voice was absolutely dripping with awkwardness. That had to be it. One of the suspicious new students—she couldn’t tell which one—was growing more and more nervous by the second. It was downright odd; not only were there those distracting vibes that screamed “Persona”, but she also wasn’t used to sensing feelings as well. Did a Persona amplify them somehow? It was worth puzzling out in the future, but for the moment, bigger things took priority.

Clearing her throat, Emi finally offered a short bow in the general direction of the new students, forcing a smile. “Pleased to meet you, Mori-kun, Hinari-kun. My name is Ueno Emiha, Student Council Treasurer. Once more, I apologize for interrupting. I suppose I should explain what I’m talking about.”

Hugging her folder to her chest, she took a deep breath, letting her expression get a little more sincere. “I wasn’t personally a member of the Cooking Club—for obvious reasons—but I did have a pretty close connection with it last year. A close friend of mine, Chousuke Makoto, was an active member of this club. Cooking was his passion, and he worked very hard to keep the Cooking Club afloat with Mizuame-san here. Unfortunately, he was one of the students who went missing in those fires last year.”

Emi was silent for a moment, a wave of emotions washing over her, before she straightened from her rather somber posture, heaving a deep breath and forcing some energy back into her voice. “Anyway, for the sake of his memory, I won’t let the Cooking Club lose funding while I’m Treasurer, so there’s no need to panic. But regardless, I’d like to thank you both for joining; I’d be very sad to see this club die for lack of members as well.”

Getting an idea, she turned to Mizuame, her fake energy quickly becoming real as she finally got a glimpse of a way she might be able to make things work. “But, with that said, I have high expectations for the club, Mizuame-san! I hope you won’t mind if I check in on you guys from time to time to see how you’re doing?”

Ah, finally! If she had an excuse to drop in on the Cooking Club, she could keep an eye on the potential Persona-bearing students without drawing too much suspicion! Ah, it was as if Makoto pointed out the obvious solution for her at long last, just like he used to. Their Magician working his magic from the other side!

---

_{@Hero @Scribe of Thoth @Lord Orgasmo}

Fire Emblem: The Slumbering Goddess

_{@Scribe of Thoth @poohead189}

Saint’s taint, when did it get so hard to breathe?!

Seriously, the prospect of dodging attacks didn’t seem that daunting when he first heard it. Sure, Jorah wasn’t known for his monastic dedication to combat training or anything, but his number of physically demanding hobbies kept him in more than good enough shape for a few flips and dodges, and maybe even a bit of style along the way. Easy peasy—or so he thought.

But unlike his painfully boring morning of plinking at stationary targets and gossiping like a handmaiden with the lady to his left, Jorah knew something was off after the first few dodges. In what felt like no time at all, he was panting; by the time he’d usually expect to start getting tired of flipping and rolling, he was desperately gasping for air. What was that about? It would have been embarrassing were many of the other students not stuck in the same shitty boat, but it still didn’t make any sense to him. He’d been climbing trees and balconies since he was a kid, jumping piers and dancing with sailors almost as long, and hells, he’d even volunteered the occasional few hours of labour loading ships at the docks—albeit usually having to withdraw before he got the chance to stow away on one of them. Point being, he was a quick, endurant young man—so why did dodging a few hits feel like cartwheeling up a mountain? He heard one student grumble about “mountain air” in passing, but he didn’t know what that had to do with anything; if anything, he would have thought that an escape from the hot, humid air of Derdriu would have made breathing a little easier. But it must have had something to do with it, because there was no way in the seven hells he was that out of shape after only two weeks.

And if he was, he blamed that week-long carriage ride getting here.

Whatever the reason, by the end of the onslaught Jorah was sore, beat, and seriously wondering why on earth an archer needed to know how to avoid a hit from a lance. Seriously, if enemy soldiers ever got close enough to catch him with a jab, didn’t his army have bigger problems? Seemed like it might be a better use of time to rehearse his shameful begging for his life, but apparently there was no helping it.

Any other grumblings floating around in his head were put to rest as soon as Kaira recommended a visit to the sauna, which Jorah was both thrilled to learn existed and disappointed to find out they weren’t co-ed. He’d have to figure out a way to get around that sometime—a sneaky midnight visit with Kaira, perhaps, if she was feeling particularly rebellious and knew the schedule for the nighttime guards—but at the moment, even a perfectly innocent soak sounded like manna from heaven for his burning lungs and aching bones.

It wasn’t until he was peeling off his sweat-and-sand covered uniform in the changing room that Jorah realized just how much dust he’d picked up in the arena, and an exploratory finger-comb revealed a fair amount of sand stuck in his hair as well. Sighing, he took a moment to unwind his many braids, and let his long, straw-coloured hair fall down his back as he wiped his face clean of its usual paint, which was already starting to run.

Wrapping a towel around his waist was almost an afterthought, and it was quickly discarded when Jorah sank gratefully into the bath, dunking under the water to loosen some of the sand in his hair before settling comfortably on the bench. The steaming water was almost too hot for him, burning his face and pricking at his skin, but he savoured the feeling, letting the heat seep into his muscles and cook out the pain and stiffness in his joints. He didn’t bother noticing his company until he was well and truly settled, and only even opened his eyes when he was quite comfortable leaning his neck on the edge of the tub. Looked like he didn’t miss much; it was just Prince Suicide and some other student in the bath house so far. He briefly wondered whether Auberon make an appearance, or if a communal soak was too risqué for a proper young nobleman of Faerghus. Did Faerghus even have bath houses? Hot springs, maybe? Surely they had some way to escape the cold; otherwise they'd probably all just kill themselves.

In the meantime, Jorah wasn’t super enthusiastic about striking up a conversation with Kayden—especially since every damn time he looked at the Prince he could only see the moment he put Clarissa’s life in danger just to show off, something so stupid even he himself had never done it—but the other boy didn’t seem too keen on talking (unless his Crest allowed him to breathe underwater) and judging by the vague yet insistent vibe of nagging embarrassment in the room, letting silence hang was probably just going to make everything more awkward for everybody. It actually took a second for Jorah to realize that, unless Kayden was an exceptional actor (which he wasn’t), or the mostly-submerged boy was entirely emotionless (which Jorah doubted), that niggling insecurity was coming from the red-eyed boy himself. He supposed it matched the weird underwater seating, but it still earned the boy a strange look nonetheless; his tension almost felt like it was coming from another room, and it was weirdly difficult to pinpoint, as if he was throwing his voice.

Jorah would have to get a handle on this vibe weirdness soon enough. Something kind of similar happened with Kaira, too; maybe the whole monastery had some kind of weird emotion obfuscation spell on it or something.

Anyway, it ended up being Kayden who broke the silence, indirectly reminding Jorah that the nervous kid was the new Eagle student he kept forgetting and also bringing up a subject that was too juicy to ignore, whatever his distaste for the Prince.

“Oh, yeah, quite a prize you got there,” Jorah commented tastelessly, unable to resist a jab. “Pretty to look at, for sure, but she’d do a lot better with her mouth shut, don’t you think?” He chuckled quietly, trying to wind his wet hair into some semblance of a bun. “Are Adrestian women all that bitchy, or is it just the highborn ones?”

Shin Megami Tensei: Persona

_{April 11th—Afternoon}

---

Emi didn’t really hear much of the responses she got until a few seconds after they were said, her mind still reeling from the shock to her senses. But the feeling didn’t fade, like she hoped it would; instead, it grew sharper, pinpointing the locations of each potential Persona user—if that was indeed what she was feeling—and differentiating them from the other two people in the room. There could be no doubt: something was special about those two. Whether or not it was Personae was something she supposed she’d have to figure out herself.

She blinked a few times when the occupants’ words finally reached her, realizing only then how much silence had stretched between the five of them while she was trying to work out up from down. Behind the doorway, she fumbled for the sign on the wall: Cooking Club. Right, right, that explained the smell of pastries, and she did recall Mizuame’s voice.

Clearing her throat, she moved to stand properly in the doorway, shaking her head. “Oh, no, pardon the intrusion Mizuame-san,” she managed awkwardly, clutching her folder to her chest. Goodness, no wonder it looked like she was here to collect on Student Council matters. “Club forms aren’t due till the end of the week—although if you need an extension, please see Kinoshita-kun, the new secretary—I just wanted to make sure no one was hurt in here.”

She offered what she hoped was a reassuring smile in Mizuame’s general direction, but stayed in place in the doorway. Dammit, she couldn’t just leave with those other two oozing Persona vibes! But what was she going to do, join the club to figure them out? No… wait, she didn’t have to!

“But before I go,” she added quickly, “Mizuame-san, would you be so kind as to introduce me to your new members? I’d hate to take up too much of your time, but I’m sure I don’t have to tell you that I have a bit of a… soft spot for this club.” She gave Mizuame another smile, turning to face the direction of the two mystery students. That much was true, at least; poor Mizuame sounded a little freaked out about the club’s prospects, but after all the love Makoto put into the Cooking Club, Emi had no plans to let them lose funding anytime soon. Of course, her intentions weren’t quite pure, but she knew that Makoto wouldn’t mind her using his connections to aid in her search for him and the rest of their friends.

---

_{@Hero @Scribe of Thoth @Lord Orgasmo}

Fire Emblem: The Slumbering Goddess

_{@Achronum @Eleven @Hero}

The bell signaling the end of training took its sweet time, but Jorah was grateful to finally hear it; dogged professors and poor company aside, there were only so many ways to shoot a stationary target before the exercise got pointless. By the end of it, he was looking up wistfully at birds flying overhead, wondering how much trouble he’d get into if he shot one of them down instead of the targets.

The news that their next task was debriefing and not breaking for lunch was disheartening, but the blow was softened by the spread of food laid out before them as they found their seats. After having to skip breakfast just to drag himself out of bed in time for training, Jorah was sure his classmates could hear his stomach growl. He wasted no time digging in, assembling a small pile of danishes as well as a few things he didn’t recognize, including what looked like a knot of bread dough with salt and cheese on top that he made a mental note to ask about later. He’d have thrown his feet up on the table if they weren’t seated on benches - hm, maybe that was on purpose.

There were a few blissful minutes of silence at the Golden Deer table before the conversation began, punctuated by the soft crunching of crispy pastries and the rapidly escalating drama at the Blue Lion table. Jorah would have been happy to listen and enjoy - man, sounded like Auberon was a little less proper than he let on when one of his housemates disappointed him - but Clarissa soon put an end to that. She introduced their meeting like a member of the Roundtable listing the issues on the docket for the day, and Jorah had to smirk; her father would have been proud to hear her talk like that, even if it made her sound about twenty years older than she was.

His smirk didn’t stay long, though. It did morph into a warm smile as Clarissa regaled the adventures of their youth, then a confident grin as she - perhaps unwisely - stroked his ego further by lauding his combat prowess. But it faded into a contemplative frown as she got to what must have been the point of her bit: his shortcomings. Jorah wasn’t a man who couldn’t take criticism, not by a long shot - hells, he was usually the one doling it out to himself, often to the laughter of tavern folk and wenches. But that was precisely the problem. He didn’t disagree with a single point Clarissa made; in fact, he’d suggest she skipped over a few important shortcomings that would similarly affect his ability to lead and command to any effect in the real world. He knew his flaws better than anyone, he’d be the first to admit it.

The problem was that his father didn’t seem to know them. Sure, the man could never be faulted for being too kind, that was certain; after all, Jorah could scarcely call his father’s smile to mind, but he could probably draw his scowl from memory. But no matter how the Duke lectured him on his wrongdoings, the man never seemed to see the point. Jorah wasn’t a leader. He never would be. Clarissa hit every nail on the head: the research, the meetings, negotiation, diplomacy, it was all as unnatural and foreign to him as flight to a fish. But Duke Riegan couldn’t accept that. That was the whole reason he was even here. His father had it in his mind that all of his son’s shortcomings, everything holding him back from being an excellent Duke and leader someday, were just the result of laziness and childishness. As if Jorah had a strong leader hidden away inside him that he hid from his father out of spite.

Jorah hid his scowl with another bite of his bread twist, seething as he chewed. The animus at the next table was probably no help, but it was hard not to feel resentful. Clarissa knew perfectly well why none of the things she mentioned meshed with him. She knew - or at least, she should have known - that leadership wasn’t something he was capable of. His father should have known too, but Jorah had long given up on getting through to him. Sure, adventure called and the responsibility sounded much too heavy for his preference, but it wasn’t just his flights of fancy that drew him away. Goddess above, he almost died in Luin because he froze when he should have been aware. He was lucky he didn’t get anyone else killed. He had no mind or patience for strategy, no cunning for negotiation, no brain for matters of economy or finance, nothing. Not to mention that no matter what his father fantasized, his Crest was more curse than blessing - the very same gift that could have made him a skilled negotiator was probably going to get him killed the next time he wasn’t so lucky. But Duke Riegan would push him into those situations again and again, vainly hoping they’d make a responsible nobleman out of him, heedless of the potential cost. He had a perfectly good, smart daughter to train up instead, but no, he couldn’t just accept that Delia was better suited for the Duke’s chair than Jorah was. She had all the qualities he lacked, more like Clarissa than him, but their father’s damned pride wouldn’t let him see that.

Jorah was largely deaf to most of what was said after that, staring daggers at his danishes until Imogen mentioned his name. Her antics lightened the mood, at least, and her energy pulled at him like a puppy eager to play, and very difficult to ignore. He had to chuckle - if a little coldly - at her mention of the Prince. So the others noticed that, eh? Good, he hoped the Prince noticed it too. Jorah offered Imogen an innocent shrug; he’d accept her advice, but go against it anyway. If the Prince had the nerve to put Clarissa or any of his housemates in danger again, he planned to finish what he wanted to start in Luin and take Princey out of the fight himself.

Imogen finished up, and it took a second for Jorah to realize that the expectant gazes around the table probably meant that he was up next. Hm. He suddenly realized that he had no idea what any of them did all day. Welp…

“Ah, right,” he said quickly, buying a little time by clearing his throat and sitting up in his seat. “Uh… I’ll… second what Imogen said,'' he suggested, finding a thread at last. He looked at Clarissa. “She had a point; your healing is valuable, but - yes I know it’s me saying this and that’s funny but - don’t go off being reckless. See, if you’re reckless, then I can’t be reckless, and that just isn’t going to fly.” He gave Clarissa a wink, although he did decide to be serious for one second. “I’d also say make sure to worry about your housemates first. If someone from another house wants to go and get themselves killed, don’t put yourself in danger to stop them.”

Glancing around the table, his eyes landed back on Imogen. “Imogen, uh… your… enthusiasm is great, but you don’t need to decapitate everyone to take them out. You can hurt more people with one punch each than fourteen on the same dead guy, right?” Goddess in heaven this was weird. See? This was why he didn’t want to do this. Jorah vainly hoped someone would see this disaster and transfer leadership of the Golden Deer over to Clarissa, but something told him the donation his father made to make this happen wouldn’t go down that easily.

Finally, he tried his hand at Isolde. “Isolde, I’d go with the other two here. You’re brave enough to volunteer to rush into battle, and even fight while you’re there, but a stiff wind won’t take down everything. Your technique is good but if you’re not fighting with some gumption, you’re gonna die.”

He gave a less-than-proud smile to the group and quickly returned to his food, hoping they could all put that embarrassing display behind them. Maybe word of it would reach his father and he’d realize this was a lost cause, who knew - Jorah was just eager to get out of this awful “leader” skin suit and get back to doing something he was actually good at.

Fire Emblem: The Slumbering Goddess

During training…

Poking Hornets’ Nests

Jorah’s face was twisted into a sympathetic grimace at the sight of Kellens inaccurate-enough-to-be-dangerous shots, though he yanked it into a smile just in time for the boy to turn back to him. “Maybe not yet.”

Yeah, maybe not. For everyone’s safety.

A few thumps coming from his target diverted Jorah’s attention from the pitiful display, revealing a much more interesting result as three arrows sank into the same holes as his own.

"That would certainly provide more of a challenge," said the culprit, tossing her hair and giving him the side eye. Jorah raised an eyebrow in response, an inquisitive grin tugging up the edge of his lip. Oh, so that was how it was going to be? Count him in; Clarissa could attest, he had a lot of fun with ladies on high horses.

“Very nice!” he congratulated her, rising from his squat. He sauntered over at a leisurely pace, buying a bit of time to remember her name. She was the… Adrestian…? Right? Yeah, yeah, that had to be it; hair that black and looks that bitchy only came from one country. And only the highborn could afford that “lazy” mindset, as Michail so boldly pointed out. Oh, duh; she was the prince’s intended, wasn’t she?

“And here I thought the royal ladies preferred promenades over hunts,” he teased, brandishing his bow. “I’m impressed! Although, it seems your target is still unaccounted for.” He tapped the arm of his bow on his chin in mock contemplation, but drew it after a moment, tossing Ver… Vera… Veronica! Tossing Veronica a smile. “But please, allow me.”

Jorah nocked an arrow and took aim, but paused. Winking at Veronica, he suddenly pulled his bow high upward, aiming into the sky, and loosed; the arrow flew up and out of sight, and lingered in the sky long enough for Professor Lysander to notice, make a face, and duck under the roof rimming the arena for cover. After a few seconds, the arrow finally whistled back down, sticking vertically into the top of Veronica’s target with a satisfying thump.

Veronica rolled her eyes at Jorah’s words, though she decided to watch before speaking. She openly scoffed, whisking up another arrow as she looked at her target. An idea came to mind, and she let out a long breath, looking at the man wearily.

“The worthy ones can do it all,” She stated simply, pulling back the string. “Anyone that claims otherwise is useless.”

She narrowed her eyes slightly, though she adjusted herself, clearly intent on putting power into her next arrow. Once she released it, it zipped through the air, striking Jorah’s arrow and cleanly snapping it. What remained of his arrow fell to the ground, and the girl flipped her hair over her shoulder.

“You didn’t ask permission,” She told him cooly.

Jorah raised an eyebrow once more at the display, as well as the spot where Veronica’s arrow struck a stone pillar at the edge of the arena and fell to the ground, a few feet from where the professors stood. Ah, there was that highborn Adrestian charm. He could have sworn they all carried on like vipers assessing a threat - except Kayden, who apparently chose to rebel by being a danger to everyone around him.

He couldn’t help but chuckle, though. He’d recognize that tone of voice and the hair flipping a mile away: this was a woman who was accustomed to having the last word. They were a dangerous game, but a fun one; some hated to be challenged, but some secretly craved it. He’d never know until he poked a little at the hornet’s nest.

“I prefer to beg forgiveness,” Jorah excused with an exaggerated bow, before shrugging as he looked over to his own arrow-ridden target and back to Veronica. “But you didn’t ask either, so I’m happy to call us even.”

Smiling, he did point to the spot where Veronica’s arrow lay, a dirty look from both Lysander and Euphemia just beyond it. “Maaaaybe don’t shoot at the teachers, though. They don’t seem too pleased,” he teased, holding up a finger. “First rule of shooting: know your target and what’s beyond it.”

The brunette paid little attention to his advice, though she slung the bow over her shoulder so she could cross her arms. “I’m shocked you care about where the arrow lands,” She mused out loud. “So long as no one was hurt, there’s nothing to fear. Or do you truly doubt me so?”

Jorah almost cringed as the voice of his childhood archery tutor rang in his ears, repeating the gospel of shooting safety that had almost literally been beaten into his head. But he refrained, more interested in what that exceedingly ignorant comment said about the speaker. Veronica had either been so spoiled growing up that she’d never been scolded for this sort of thing, or she was the latter type of queen bee: the type who definitely didn’t like to be challenged. In fact, it very likely could have been both.

Fun!

“Ah, but how brutally true is your aim at the hearts of men!” Jorah loudly lamented, stumbling back and clutching at an imaginary arrow stuck in his chest. Yanking it out, he approached the girl quite closely, leaning toward her and directing her gaze at the teachers on the edge of the sands.

“But of course, it isn’t you I doubt,” he explained less-than-sincerely, running his finger along the path surrounding the arena. “It’s the people beyond who might stumble in behind your target and get themselves stuck.” He backed up a step, putting his hands on his hips. “Now, me? When I shoot, I just want the arrow to stick into something impressive, and the last time I bagged a servant on a hunt it wasn’t well received.”

Raising an eyebrow, for a moment, Veronica didn’t seem to follow. “It sounds to me like your aim isn’t as good as you think it is,” She stated. “If your arrow doesn’t land where it is intended, then the blame lies on the archer.” In the distance, Euphemia let out a very heavy sigh. The brunette ignored it and continued with, “If your servant was hit, then you either did it on purpose or he got in the way. So which was it?”

Jorah was tempted to sigh too, but he settled for a playful shake of the head. The way this was going, Veronica was turning out to be one of the queen bee types who simply wasn’t any fun. “We call it a joke, my dear. Perhaps my friend Clarissa can arrange to have some shipped to Enbarr.”

Veronica’s eyebrows flattened over her eyes. “Do make sure to send the humorous ones, because your material isn’t working out for me,” She replied dryly.

Taking a step back, she supposed she may as well get an arrow on her target. She took a look at Euphemia, who was watching the pair, though she wasn’t interested. Instead, she simply drew the arrow back, eyeing the target, and let it fly. As expected, it hit its target, and as Veronica gave Euphemia an expectant look, the blonde seemed exasperated.

Veronica scoffed. “We could have at least rode on horseback if they wanted to see what we were capable of,” She muttered.

Ugh, okay, fine. Jorah knew when to admit defeat, and Veronica simply refused to be any fun. In hindsight, he’d have been better off soliciting the Lion boy for conversation, although the scatter of his shots still made Jorah feel much safer standing a little farther away.

Returning focus to his own target, he set about leisurely shooting his way around one of the target’s painted circles, but paused when he heard Veronica’s comment about horseback. He had to agree; he’d have loved a good morning ride and some shooting to boot. Stationary targets, especially at this paltry distance, were way too much of a bore. But he couldn’t hold himself to ending his conversation with Veronica when something came to mind that was too good to let pass.

“I didn’t know Adrestian women rode horses,” he commented absently, loosing an arrow and nocking the next. “They never want to open their legs wide enough.”

The string that Veronica had been pulling back nearly snapped at her gasp, the arrow clumsily spinning off and landing with an abysmal thud. She was in complete shock for all of two seconds, though it was quickly replaced by irritation. She threw down the bow in frustration, turning on her heel and grabbing Jorah by the collar, pulling him down to her level.

“In what Leicester sinkhole do you come from to make you think it’s appropriate to joke about such matters?!” She practically yelled in his ear, clearly furious.

Though he flinched at the screeching in his ear, Jorah burst into laughter, stumbling over Veronica’s dropped bow as the iron maiden dragged him down. Wait, did that response mean that what he said had some truth to it? Maybe Veronica could be fun after all!

“Hey now, did Clarissa teach you that?” he asked between breaths, prying Veronica’s fingers from his collar. “And that would be Derdriu; I can give you the address if you’d like to visit,” he added with a wink.

Veronica scoffed once again, crossing her arms tightly as she glared at him. “Clarissa this, Clarissa that, have this Clarissa teach you manners!” She snapped. “Goddess help that girl, she clearly has her hands full with you!”

“But she handles it with such grace,” Jorah mused. He could feel Clarissa yanking his ear off now. Spreading his arms, he gave Veronica a performatory smile, adding, “But there’s no need to be jealous, gorgeous, there’s enough Jorah von Riegan for the both of you.”

She handled what with such grace? Veronica’s question ended up dying in his throat as Jorah approached her, and every hair on the back of her neck stood. Was he mocking her? No, it was worse, he thought he had free reign to just approach her! And he was getting closer! Veronica backed up every time he stepped closer, though eventually, she realized how cowardly she looked. In a fit of rage, she stood her ground, though she ended up outright pushing him back to reclaim her space.

“Jealous? Me? Do you have any idea who you’re talking to?!” What should have been an indignant snap was little more than a squeak.

Jorah gave Veronica an incredulous look as she shoved him with all the force of a brisk wind, taking a step back for the sake of it. What was that for? She came up to him and yanked him close! He was no stranger to a shove from a lady, but usually it was at least him who did something to deserve it!

This girl was growing too hard on the ears to even be fun to poke at anymore, so he was considering leaving it there and putting Kellen back between them. However, her last comment was just too enticing; one more, he promised. Just one more jab and he'd be done, cross his heart.

“...Vera..?” He replied cheekily, emphasizing his uncertainty with a stroke of his beard. “Ah, but what do names matter anyway.”

The final nail in the coffin had been struck, and as to add more to Jorah’s confusion, Veronica stomped up to him, jabbing an accusatory finger onto his chest. “It’s Veronica! Veronica von Gerth, future princess consort of the Adrestian Empire!” She likely thought herself calm, but her voice was basically little more than a screech at this point as she practically shook with fury. The nerve! The audacity!

After a few seconds, she scoffed and backed off, turning her back to him once and for all. With bow in hand, she made sure she had as many arrows as she possibly could before beginning an assault on her target, likely imagining it to be an idiotic Leicester noble.

Jorah’s veil of confusion cracked at the comical sight of a skinny little noblewoman stomping at him, and once she started yelling again, he outright dissolved into a fit of giggles, hunching over with laughter as she stormed away.

“I… I'll keep that in mind, Highness,” he stammered out between breaths, scooping up his bow from where he'd dropped it at his feet and snickering back over to his own target. Oh man, okay, he took it back; that was so worth the ringing in his ears. And probably the tongue-lashing he'd get from Clarissa when she heard, too.

Shin Megami Tensei: Persona

_{April 10th—Afternoon}

---

It took a concerted effort on Emi’s part not to bury her face in her hands at Naomi’s response. What did she just say?! She suggested that they avoid going all vigilante and cooperate with the administration to speak to offending students and find the source of their unrest—and somehow all Naomi got from that was for them to go ahead and revert to the plan the rest of them had just went to great lengths to oppose. Emi couldn’t help but feel like the administration was going to be disappointed in what little help the Student Council could offer if this was how they coordinated their plans.

Whatever; at least Naomi revealed some useful information with her weird proposal. It was further confirmation that Yamamoto’s behaviour was decidedly out of the ordinary—and further evidence for her own suspicion that Shadow activity might be the culprit. It was still too early to make conclusions, she reminded herself, but the pieces were there; that counted for something.

Nakano stepped in with some authority, to Emi’s relief. Hopefully Naomi would listen; if she was right, and Shadow activity was behind this unrest, Naomi overturning the wrong stone in her aggressive push for answers could end in disaster—disaster Emi wasn’t sure she could deal with on her own. But she tried to take a page from Kudan-kun’s book and cross that bridge when she came to it: mulling over that disheartening prospect would do her no good until she was forced to face it head on.

At Nakano’s dismissal, Emi said her goodbyes and started making her way out of the school, her pace slow as she thought over their conversation. However, all of a sudden, something in the air profoundly shifted, and she stopped in her tracks right there on the stairs. It was as if a weight had been lif— no, that wasn’t quite right. It felt as if a tangible tension had been suddenly released, like a quick breeze of fresh air had dispelled a bit of the dark cloud hanging over the school. It was a strikingly familiar feeling, one that formed a painful lump in Emi’s throat even as she breathed what she realized was her first easy breath of the day; this was what it felt like after a hard-fought battle was won, when she and her friends stood panting and exhausted over a newly-closed gate, and the Shadows were beaten back for one more day.

But could it possibly be? That would mean that she was right and wrong all at once: that there was Shadow activity riling up the school, but that she wouldn’t be facing it alone. Had her friends found their way back? Could it really be? No, surely what little bit of Euryphaessa’s power she had in the real world would have sensed that—but there was no other way! Emi caught herself on the railing as her knees threatened to buckle beneath her, but nonetheless, a surge of hope energized her more than ever. She must have been right! Her friends were trapped in the Reflected World, just like William hinted at—and they must have finally made some progress!

She let out a giddy laugh right there in the stairway, the hopeful sound bouncing endlessly off the concrete walls. Trapped in the mirror wasn’t ideal, but progress was! And being alive definitely was! Oh, how she wanted to sprint through the school and search for them right then. But if they were still trapped on the other side, it was pointless; still, she could at last rest easy in the knowledge that her friends must be alive somewhere, and fighting back at last.

Ha, if she could even rest at all!

---

The Velvet Room

"Welcome to the Velvet Room."

Once more, Emi’s heart swelled with hope as William stood in front of her in a dream. Despite his polite greeting, however, Emi could feel his mood was more dour than before. "Despite the Awakened's efforts, the corruption remains. It will likely find a new host before the day is done. While they rest, I suggest you find it before it is too late."

He tapped some paper on a table. "That said, time is on your side. You will have until the day after next," He assured her. "If you find yourself with no clues, I suggest you try finding my door in your world. It will not open until every Awakening has occurred, but you may find something useful until that moment happens. It is located in a place consumed by flames that should be no more."

"We will meet again, I am sure. Until then, take care of yourself."

---

_{April 11th—Afternoon}

---

Emi was abuzz from the very second she woke up, and hadn’t calmed down yet. She completely skipped class, her attendance record far from her mind; instead, she spent her day prowling around the school picking up the latest gossip. Of course, it was all about Yamamoto and nothing else apparently seemed to be new, but she chose to take that as encouragement: everyone thought he was acting weird. She was extremely tempted to test that theory for herself, but even if she did want to completely disobey her own advice from yesterday and confront the boy, she couldn’t find the bastard to do it.

Even so, that didn’t put a damper on her mood; if he was causing so much trouble, she was confident she’d find her way to him one way or another. Instead, once she realized gossip hunting wouldn’t teach her anything new, Emi took some time in the resource room with the braille typewriter, making a list of everything she knew so far. Ito’s message on the board, Yamamoto’s incident, the accident in the gym, of course every word William said, and the release of tension yesterday—it was all listed out, along with any and every other minute detail that might have even slightly coincided with anything suspicious. She had quite a few pages when she was done, and by the time she pulled it all out of the typewriter, the end-of-day bell was clanging in her ears. Wow, time flew faster than she thought.

After collecting all of her notes into a folder, she flicked out her cane and made her way out of the resource room, contemplating her next steps. William’s words still echoed in her mind: The corruption remains. Time is on your side. Try finding my door in your world. Ah, just thinking about it was enough to distract her with glee—there was no way the “Awakened” he was talking about weren’t her friends, fighting valiantly in the Reflected World to banish even more Shadows—but she had to focus. But what to do first? She wanted nothing more than to leap into the mirror and use Euryphaessa’s full strength to track her friends down, but another attempt this morning showed her she was still trapped on this side for the time being. Look for William’s door, then? He said it wouldn’t be revealed until every Awakening had occurred, but that condition was already satisfied, wasn’t it? She and her friends had all awakened their personae over the summer or before; but William’s messages definitely updated with time, so why would he say something that was out of date?

Unless… there were more Persona users?

Emi frowned at the concept, deep in thought. She supposed there was nothing she knew that eliminated the possibility of more Persona users, but the very concept sounded so bizarre and unlikely it beggared belief. How could another Persona user be present, and she and her friends not know about it? Emi assumed Euryphaessa’s power would pick up on that in a second, but was that a fact, or did she just assume that because she could pinpoint her friends so easily? Well, William did say that whoever it was had yet to Awaken—maybe that’s why she didn’t sense them. Or maybe she was totally off-base with all of it, who knew? This was normally the time she’d bounce those ideas off her friends, weigh Mineri and Hanami’s outlandish proposals with Reiji and Makoto’s more measured suggestions, but unfortunately for now, she’d have to figure things out on her own.

Who knew all those kid’s shows about the power of friendship had a point?

Her mind was running circles around the issue when a weird tension tugged at her third sense, asserting its presence strongly enough to interrupt her thoughts. Pausing for a moment, Emi turned a few times, trying to determine the direction it was coming from before taking off down a hallway toward the source. It seemed she was right, and the feeling got stronger and stronger until the tight thread of tension snapped, and a scream echoed down the hall.

Startled, Emi rushed toward the noise, her cane tapping a feverish rhythm until she found the source of the noise, coming to a sudden halt in an unfamiliar doorway. “What ha—ah!”

She interrupted herself with a sharp gasp, her breath catching in her throat as a new feeling altogether barged its way to the forefront of her senses. There were four people in the room in front of her, but two stood out starkly from the rest; she couldn’t quite describe it, but it was like their presences screamed to make themselves known to her, and something inside her rose its voice to meet them. What shocked her most, though, was that the feeling was frighteningly familiar—that was what it felt like when her friends were around.

“I—s—sorry,” Emi stammered after a long moment of silence, suddenly remembering there were actual people around. Her mind was on fire, racing to explain what she felt—that had to be the feeling of Persona users, right? Dammit, she couldn’t know for sure, but part of her was certain! But what was she supposed to do now? Start rambling about mirrors and Shadows and oh by the way, had any of them seen five other Persona users stuck on the other side?!

“Sorry,” she repeated, trying to recover even as her heartbeat in her ears threatened to deafen her. She cleared her throat, standing upright at last from where she’d caught herself on the door frame, cane in hand. “I, uh... I heard a scream. Is everything okay?”

---

_{@Hero @Scribe of Thoth @Lord Orgasmo}

Fire Emblem: The Slumbering Goddess

_{@Scribe of Thoth @Achronum}

Funny, Lienna could have sworn she’d told Auberon not to wake her up at the crack of dawn for some Saints-forsaken training exercise. In fact, she was quite certain she’d made herself clear. Which, of course, begged the question: Why was she up with the sun anyway?

If she wanted to be charitable, she supposed she could admit that it wasn’t really Auberon’s idea to tear the Rose Unit out of bed before the sun was even up. And sure, that knock on her door before the light was probably just Auberon trying to be courteous. But Lienna wasn’t feeling particularly charitable, so it didn’t much matter to her whether it was Auberon or Professor Michael behind subjecting the Lions to this. In this case (and most others), one cocky blond could be substituted for another.

She did try her best to shake the last vestiges of a drowsy scowl from her face as the professors droned on, but chilly in the damp morning air and tired to boot, it was proving hard to stick to her newly-committed-to resolution of trying her best to be pleasant. Hells, she could probably count the hours of sleep she’d managed on one hand, having spent the night tossing and turning, unable to banish the strangeness of her meeting with Tomai from her mind. Try as she might to remind herself that all this “Crest of Indech” nonsense was the result of a broken Hanneman machine and nothing more, dread and doubt still managed to creep into the back of her mind, like icy winter chill worming its way through the boards of an old door. It snuck back up on her even now. The professors wanted demonstrations of ability, but what if that Crest symbol popped up again? What if her classmates noticed—or, Goddess forbid, the faceless chaperone watching over her in her fiancé’s stead—and they dragged her as a liar? She’d be ruined, never to show her face in Gautier again, maybe even arrested the moment she set foot back in Faerghus for the crime of faking her way into a marriage contract with a Count! And “attractive Crest” or not, she somehow doubted her chances of finding an Adrestian nobleman to take her in after nearly impaling their future queen.

Stop it. Everything is fine, she scolded herself, hauling herself out of the spiral she swore she’d tumbled down a dozen times by now. Whatever was going on, it was obviously out of her control, and fretting over it would only make her look more suspicious.

To be strong is to be flexible, she reminded herself, her Oma’s old words echoing in her mind. Be like water. Water always finds a way.

Easier said than done sometimes.

Lienna drew a shaky breath, her throat tight with bittersweet memories as yet too painful to recall—but at least they’d gotten her mind on something else. Blinking away the pricks in her eyes, she turned to her classmates for a distraction, where a diminutive boy in heavy robes was just about to hit his target with something she could only paradoxically describe as “bright darkness”. She looked on in naked fascination as he created the… thing between his hands like it was nothing, and followed it as it shot forth into the target like an obedient beast. She couldn’t help but stare; she’d never seen anything like it! Was that magic? Well duh, of course it was, no earthly thing looked like that. What that was exactly, though, she could hardly even fathom.

The girl she’d traded rooms with—Cassandra? Clarissa!—was next, fabricating a matrix of runes in the air before her as easily as if she’d drawn them there in charcoal. A flick of her wrist was all it took to complete the spell, and her target was bathed in light, Clarissa herself showered in a shimmering glow when it was finished. Unlike the boy’s magic, which in retrospect had an air of malice to it, Clarissa’s felt strangely benevolent. A healing spell, then? White magic? Once more Lienna was taken aback by how foreign it all seemed; she obviously knew on some level that white magic was a thing, but she’d never seen it in person, and whatever the boy had done was beyond her words to describe. By contrast, she had always believed (apparently foolishly) that magic was a command of the elements—her own proclivity for ice, for example, or her Oma’s trick for lighting fires. Not… whatever she’d just watched, at least at any level below the most esoteric of masters. Were these two that much more advanced than her, then, or was this just another example of all she’d missed?

Suddenly self-conscious, it was her turn to demonstrate, and Lienna used Clarissa’s attempt to start a conversation with the boy as her chance to do her bit without the eyes of more refined mages on her. But when she closed her eyes to take a breath, as she’d seen others do, the magic within her barely bothered to stir, and her breath turned into an irritated sigh. It always did this! Fortunately, as she’d seen at Luin, her magic deigned to move when it really counted, but Oma had often teased that her spirit was like a bear—it only bothered waking up when it had a reason to be angry.

Remembering Oma was painful, but if calm focus wasn’t going to help her, then perhaps her thoughts could lead her to something that would. Given the least allowance, it was easy for her memories to turn from her Oma to Hima at large, the harsh, rugged landscape of Northern Gautier, and of course, to Sreng.

Soon enough, the daunting glare of fire raged in her mind, choking black smoke muffling villagers’ screams and shrouding the monstrous forms of Srengese barbarians as they cut and tore their way through the settlement. A familiar flash of anger roared up inside Lienna to meet them, and when she opened her eyes, she set a murderous look on her target as if it were one of those monsters in the darkness coming for her.

In sharp contrast to the careful movements of her peers, Lienna threw her arm unceremoniously out at her target; a thin column of icicles burst out of the ground in response, zig-zagging its way across the arena like a jagged bolt of lightning under the sand. At the other end, the icicles only clipped her target, stabbing up under one leg with such force that they launched the target into the air, spinning until it landed on its side a few feet away. Not content to rest, the column of ice took a hard left and ripped into the neighbouring target, stopping only once the wood was reduced to a grotesque sculpture of frozen splinters.

With eyes as big as apples, Lienna carefully resisted the urge to gasp at the display, straightening her posture as casually as she could as she did her best not to look as shocked as she felt. She didn’t need Tomai’s critique to see the problem: the spell was impressively large and powerful, sure, but it was wild—the only sign that she had any control over the spell was the fact that the ice went forward and not into the line of students beside her. She swallowed self-consciously, suddenly acutely aware how lucky it was that she’d been able to get away from the Luin bandits in one piece—and not accidentally dismember a princess in the process.

Clearing her throat, she looked over to the unfortunate bystander whose target she’d shredded, and it turned out to be the short boy who made the darkness. “...I’m sure they have more targets,” she offered weakly, hoping that the lack of a real apology would make it look like her spell was more intentional than it really was.

Fire Emblem: The Slumbering Goddess

_{@ThatCharacter}

Jorah had always been a fan of the sun, but he’d be the first to admit he far preferred the haze of afternoon and the gentle glow of evening to the stabbing glare of dawn. Unfortunately, he hadn’t yet learned how to sleep through the toll of the early church bells, and even when he pretended to be asleep, sick, or dead in his bed, Clarissa’s impatient door-banging always forced him to his feet far earlier than was decent or humane. Goddess’ mercy, it was like every Roundtable session they spent together in Derdriu; those dastard red curls got to bouncing through the halls of Riegan Manor before the birds were even awake, and she was always dragging him out of bed to join her, decency be damned. Jorah figured the only thing stopping her this time was the fact she was probably less willing to pick locks when they belonged to the Church.

So here he was, still squinting in the post-dawn light, albeit the walls of the arena mercifully kept the full force of the sun at bay. There was no roof, though, and it was early enough that the air in the uncovered arena was still cold from the morning chill, his breath fogging a bit in front of his face as he watched Euphemia try and fail not to fall asleep in front of the similarly drowsy Rose Unit. At least they had that much in common; were he not standing, Jorah would have been tempted to do the same. Not bothering to stifle his yawn, he stretched backwards, yawn turning into a groan as the muscles in his legs and lower back complained. Wow, somehow scarcely a week at Garreg Mach and he was already losing his riding muscles? He could have ridden twice the distance back home as he did last night and never felt a thing! No, no, it couldn’t be him. The Monastery apparently had shitty saddles. Where was all that donation money going, then?

Well, at least the ride had helped his spirits, if not his legs. It definitely helped that the prevailing attitude of the Rose Unit had turned from trauma to fatigue and general early-morning grumbliness, but airing his concerns to Clarissa had definitely helped him get a weight off his chest. As it always did, if he was honest. Couldn’t tell her that, of course; she’d be much too proud of her counseling skills and he couldn’t have that. And besides, it wasn’t like she did all the work; he could think of more than a few times he’d had to coax her out of her room or some forest glen somewhere with some gentle words and friendly reminders that the world has to keep on turning.

Oh, shoot. The professors were talking. Or, apparently, had just finished talking; Jorah missed just about all of it, but the skinny counselor was setting up targets and people were collecting weapons, so he figured he pretty much got the gist. Not having thought to bring his bow, he grabbed one of the steel training bows—the same ones they’d taken to Luin—and got a decent surprise when he crossed paths with the small Lion boy collecting a bow of his own. Hadn’t he been a swordsman at Luin? Kevin was gone before Jorah thought to ask, though he did level the boy with a not-at-all hidden look of confusion before shrugging his shoulders and sauntering back to claim a target.

The others began their little drills in short order—with what energy at this hour, Jorah had no idea—though before the mages did their thing, a glimmer down by the melee dummies caught Jorah’s attention. Not one to let a chance to procrastinate go by, he stepped back from the firing line, hands on his hips to observe what turned out to be the Eagle prince’s demonstration. By the end of it, though, Jorah simply rolled his eyes. He couldn’t fairly condemn the showmanship, but seriously, who had the energy for it this early? There was a time and a place for flourish, and a crack-of-dawn training exercise was more irritating than anything. Not to mention the clumsy execution. He supposed the benefit of an imaginary opponent was that they were both greatly skilled and easily defeated—and of course, Jorah hadn’t forgotten how Prince Hresvelg’s “confidence” had very nearly gotten two of his housemates killed just the other day.

Besides, that little salute was just corny.

Rolling his shoulders, Jorah stepped back into place, setting his sights back on his target. Like he’d noted, it was way too early for showboating; instead, he simply shot three arrows, forming a neat vertical line from the top of the target to the bullseye. Shots to the forehead, throat, and heart, he could say. Job done, he took it as permission to rest, crouching down on the balls of his feet so as not to get his pants full of damp arena sand.

“Maybe next we’ll shoot apples off heads, eh?” he said to no one in particular, though he did turn once again to watch the recently-converted-to-archer Lion. His stomach complained loudly; was everyone hungry, or did these madmen get up even earlier to eat beforehand? Jorah leaned his elbows on his knees, feeling fatigue wash over him once again. Lunatics, the lot of them. It was much more natural to stay up till dawn than to rise before it.

Fire Emblem: The Slumbering Goddess

_@Hero

With the class dissipating, Jorah decided he’d make himself scarce for a while until meeting up with Clarissa later, offering some nondescript farewell and slipping out of the classroom. The afternoon sun did uncharacteristically little to lighten his mood, and while he didn’t usually mind wandering aimlessly in search of entertainment, he wasn’t used to being so bothered by it. Leaning on a pillar, he glanced around the courtyard and adjoining corridors for anything to take his mind off the increasingly annoying mire raging in the back of his head. There was a bit of a commotion going on not too far off; maybe he could go find whatever that was? The excitement of some students that hadn’t just limped back from battle might lift his spirits again, and he figured it was probably better than waiting around near the Rose Unit classrooms - after all, he was pretty sure if he saw Kayden again before he managed to cool off, it wouldn’t end well for either of them, and he’d already marked his face up enough already.

“I hear Lady Arianthe’s at the cathedral! We should hurry!”

Kaira watched the pair of students hurriedly run by, her eyes following them until they landed on the church. Her hand reached up and touched her ribbon, holding it nervously. After a few seconds, she dropped her hand, intent on getting as far away from the church as possible. Maybe she could retreat to the marketplace or the greenhouse? Anywhere was fine, she just needed to go before any of the clergy came looking for her.

As the thought crossed her mind, Jorah entered her peripheral vision. Despite her initial hesitance, she ended up approaching him. “Hey—ah, hello, I…” She stumbled over her words, unable to form a sentence until she managed to get something cohesive out. “Are you headed somewhere?”

As he pondered over his plans, Jorah suddenly felt the storm inside him start to ebb away, an unnaturally still—yet not unwelcome—calm creeping in to take its place. No sooner did he notice the feeling than Kaira spoke up, the poorly-contained look of worry on her face clashing queerly with the almost oppressively neutral tone of her aura. Jorah couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow at the shocking contrast; Kaira’s calming aura had been a Saintsend in Luin, but it was beginning to occur to him that the extent to which it stretched was just downright odd.

He remembered himself soon after, calmed enough from his former tumult to offer a charming grin. Conflicted, confused, or otherwise, it would never do to show his bad side to a lady—and he did like a mysterious woman. “Aside from wherever you’re headed?” he replied smoothly, placing a hand on his hip. So much for finding the source of the commotion, but he was pretty sure a stroll with Kaira would be a much better use of his time.

Tending Roses

For just a split second, Kaira was caught off guard. She was so caught up in her own moment that she plain forgot the type of person Jorah was. Still, her mouth ended up curving into a smile as she let out a genuine laugh, her troubles pushed aside for the moment.

"And if I told you I was going somewhere you didn't like? Then what?" She asked him curiously.

Jorah’s smile got a bit more sincere as he watched Kaira sprout one of her own, though to her question he simply shrugged. “I haven’t been here long enough to find the places I don’t like,” he reasoned airily, “Though you’d have to forgive me for nodding off if you take me to the cathedral.”

Slowly shaking her head, Kaira let out a sigh. "And here I was, thinking you'd say, 'Anywhere with you is fine'! I'm impressed by your self-restraint."

Jorah chuckled, crossing his arms over his chest. “Come on, that’d just be re-hashing what I said first!” he laughed, “If I was that repetitive I wouldn’t be so popular.”

"I'll take your word for it; you're the expert, after all," Kaira seemed to agree. She had another comment on the tip of her tongue, but the words died in her throat as a few guards got together, speaking in low tones to one another. Her previous worry came back in full force, though she turned her back to them, looping her arm through Jorah's.

"I won't be taking you to the cathedral, I'm trying to avoid that place right now, anyway," she confessed, lightly pulling him along as she started to walk.

Jorah gave a satisfied nod, and was even more pleased with himself when Kaira looped her arm through his—though that cautious look at those guards was a bit odd. Avoiding the cathedral seemed odd too, not that he was keeping a list. Still, he was happy to let Kaira lead the way, enjoying the soothing balm of her aura as much as the usual cheer of a pretty girl on his arm.

“Avoiding the cathedral, eh? Seems we have even more in common,” he commented once they’d cleared out of the guards’ earshot, the pair of them passing under an archway into a more sparsely populated courtyard. “But I thought you people liked it there? Not that I’m complaining.”

Kaira tried to find the words to explain things better, albeit she did level a look at Jorah. "You people?" She asked, raising an eyebrow at him.

Jorah mirrored Kaira’s look with an innocent one of his own, shrugging. “You know, nurses, doctors, chirurgeons, all you medical healy people,” he explained, raising an eyebrow. “Aren’t you all trained by the Church?”

"Mmm...I'm...a little different than they are, but...I can see it does come off that way, so I can’t blame you entirely for thinking so," she said slowly. "Most white magic practitioners do tend to come to the Church to train, but I was taught by Lord Asclepius and Lady Arianthe personally since I was a small child." She frowned as she mentioned the lady, letting out another sigh. "But if it were up to her, I'd be put in a room all day with no one to talk to."

Wow, Lord Asclepius and Lady Arianthe personally trained Kaira? Saints above, did Jorah ever not know who those people were. But it sounded impressive! Although that last part did sink his spirits just a touch, his brow furrowing at Kaira.

“Well, we couldn’t have that,” he told her, “I can’t fathom why anyone would want to keep you cooped up all day, away from the world—well, except to keep you away from risky young gentlemen like myself.” He chuckled and gave her a gentle, reassuring nudge, opting to keep the second (less proper) half of that sentence to himself considering the melancholy look on Kaira’s face. Instead, he added, “So, where are we going?”

“Risky young gentlemen like yourself are so much more fun than the stuffy Church people, too!” Kaira joked as she eagerly pulled Jorah along. “But if she met you, she would definitely insist on keeping you away.”

Looking around, she hummed to herself as she tried to decide where to go. She supposed it didn’t actually matter, did it? They could go to the marketplace, but there were a lot of guards stationed there. Going somewhere private wouldn’t do, either—the guards would probably come knocking the second any of them spotted her going to the dorms. Maybe somewhere with less traffic?

“I don’t think you’d be very interested in a pond, so how about the Greenhouse?” She suggested.

Jorah stood a little straighter, grinning in self-satisfaction. Lady Arianthe would want to keep him away? Well, mission accomplished; Clarissa would be far too impressed if he suddenly became the type of man holy ladies wanted influencing their tender young apprentices. However, it seemed Kaira herself wasn’t even sure where to go—Goddess, how much did she dislike this woman to work so hard to avoid her? A slight bitterness toyed at the edge of his mood. He didn’t expect to relate to Kaira on that level, but he knew just how that felt.

“A pond?” he repeated, shaking his gloomier thoughts away with a grin. “Well, unless it’s of a size to hop over to another continent, then you’re probably right.” A greenhouse, then? “Derdriu has a large municipal greenhouse, you know,” he mused as they adjusted their course to the South, “It wasn’t too far from the Roundtable, nearer the docks. Something about the more humid air being good for the plants, I don’t know. But it was really something.”

Kaira’s eyes widened a touch, a small spark clearly having been lit. “Really?” She asked, walking just a touch closer. “That’s right, you’re from Derdiu, aren’t you? I’ve heard that a lot of the plants around there are some of the most beautiful in all of Fódlan.”

“Yep; we might not head off the Alliance anymore—much to the Duke’s chagrin—but we Riegans still have Derdriu,” Jorah joked half-heartedly, sounding more exhausted than anything. But he perked right back up as Kaira continued, eager for the chance to start telling stories—though his fair companion might come to regret it when she found him difficult to stop.

“But yeah, it’s pretty cool,” he began, “Derdriu might be a city, but it’s integrated with a ton of plants; there are trees on almost every street, and some grow right out of the middles of houses.” He smiled fondly, if a little bittersweet. “Gardens are everywhere, too. Some are just full of flowers, and some have fruits and vegetables that people grow for their restaurants or their families—and who get very annoyed when you nab them, by the way,” he gave Kaira a look, chuckling.

“But more than that, it’s known for the ocean,” Jorah continued, the pair of them approaching the end of the courtyards and a set of steps. “It’s called the City of Water, remember. That’s because half of Derdriu expands out into the harbour. The streets eventually become like long stone wharfs—still with markets and houses and stuff on them, like the other streets—and you can either walk along the roads or go between them and under them with these long, skinny boats. Very handy for slipping nannies,” he winked. “But it’s really something to see if you’ve never been; I think it’s supposed to be that way because there was no room to expand out the back or something, but I like to say that the city tripped and fell into the sea.”

The green haired girl listened intently, hanging on his every word. On the outside, she probably looked like some silly floozie, but really, she was fascinated. He painted a good picture of his home, her head following along to the best of its ability. She couldn’t help a laugh at his comment about slipping away, but otherwise she greatly enjoyed his description.

“It sounds beautiful,” Kaira told him. “I wish we had the temperature for more plants like that here, too. Though I will say, our greenhouse is a little unique in that it has something from just about everywhere!”

The pair reached the entrance of the greenhouse with little issue. No one really gave them more than a passing glance, much to her relief; she wanted to delay going to the Cathedral as long as possible, and it was easier when people weren’t looking for her. Of course, she didn’t want to give them a chance, either, making sure to playfully pull him along. Said greenhouse was a nice size, filled to the brim with a variety of plants as Kaira had mentioned. It was pleasantly warm and surprisingly empty, albeit a small sign indicated that the groundskeeper was taking a small break and would be back.

Releasing Jorah at last, she knelt down as she examined a pair of tiny, barely noticeable bulbs hiding underneath a much grander flower. “I bet they’ll bloom before winter comes,” she said, poking one before standing again. “It’s probably not as impressive, but it does bring on the theme of a united Fódlan, just as Lord Asclepius and Ioannis would like. It’s nice and comfy, right?”

Jorah followed dutifully where Kaira guided him, picking up his step as she sped up toward a tall stone building near the aforementioned pond. The building was gilded with more windows than most, reaching up to the vaulted ceiling with a minimum of interference—aside from the towering silhouettes of strangely-shaped trees and flora. Jorah stayed put when Kaira released him, feasting his eyes: it wasn’t as large as Derdriu’s greenhouse, but no one could deny its beauty.

Looking toward Kaira, he approached behind where she knelt, leaning over with his hands on his knees to peek at what she was looking at. He couldn’t really tell the difference between bulb and soil, but the flower sheltering them drew his eye up along its curves and valleys, until he was able to feast his eyes on the main event of the blossom on top—shockingly like a pretty girl, come to think of it. No wonder they loved getting flowers as gifts!

“Are there any plants here from outside Fódlan?” he asked eventually, peering around at the foliage.

Kaira looked around, a finger to her chin. “Hmm...I think this one is an Almyran blossom here,” she pointed to an exotic looking flower that was roughly the side of a hand with five petals, its pink color bleeding into a white background. “And there’s a winter rose from Sreng, but I can’t tell them from regular white roses—wait, I think their thorns are different somehow…?”

She scrunched her face as she thought, albeit she gave up quickly. “Maybe I’ll study botany next, I’ve been looking for a new hobby,” she mused out loud. “Unless you can think of something more interesting?”

Jorah followed Kaira’s gestures, moving from plant to plant to soak them all in—until the next caught his eye, of course. Almyran blossoms… he almost laughed. So many of his noble compatriots—and many commoners besides—thought of Almyra as a desolate red desert where things only grew on battlefields watered in blood, but Jorah knew better. Enough Almyran travelers slipped into port to wring stories out of, and he’d heard of the flowers in the mountains and the gnarled and twisted trees that lived longer than whole civilizations. The same could be said about every other continent, really. His time on the docks, under the creative moniker of “Torah”, had planted visions in his head of the white sands and crystalline waters of Brigid, and even fantastical landscapes of a Dagda that stretched out three times the size of Fódlan, far larger than the tiny remote island so many thought it to be. Hmm… He had to wonder if anything from Dagda lived in this greenhouse. The one in Derdriu was sadly lacking in that department. Maybe he could ask the groundskeeper one day.

Of course, more pressing matters arose when Kaira’s voice reached his ears once again. Oh, she made it too easy! With mischief glinting in his eyes, he turned and sauntered slowly toward Kaira, meeting her eye. “Well, I know you must be an expert in anatomy by now...” he closed in, backing Kaira up against a low wall and leaning over her, a sultry tone on his lips. “...But I could use a lesson.”

Kaira’s eyebrows shot up—honestly, she didn’t know why she was surprised, she should have seen that coming. Leave it to him to spin an innocuous question like that! He was a little more forward than she anticipated, especially as he closed the distance. She could hear the bells in the distance ringing, the mischief in his eyes giving her an idea.

“A private lesson, perhaps?” She asked coyly, raising a hand to her chest before she gasped. “Oh, we mustn't! What if someone sees? Wouldn’t that be scandalous?”

Jorah chuckled at Kaira’s antics, admittedly a little excited she didn’t totally balk at his advances. Though, considering he managed to get her to that party last week—and everything that happened after—maybe he owed her some more credit. Whatever, it was a win-win for him!

“Then you may pick your locale, my dear,” he purred in response, inching ever closer over Kaira. Eventually he had her off balance enough that she had to sit down on the top of the wall, where he could anchor his hands on either side of her, putting their faces within inches of each other. Jorah smiled, drawing his gaze up to meet Kaira’s eyes. “I’m not a picky student.”

He wasn’t just forward, he was confident! Kaira might’ve been joking before, but she was definitely sure Lady Arianthe would do everything in her power to keep Jorah as far away from her as possible. Especially if anyone saw them like this! It really was too bad, up close like this, she could tell he really was handsome. Honestly, she should have put a stop to things before they got here. But she was having too much fun to stop just yet, having to do everything she could to keep her composure.

The bells finally stopped ringing as Jorah neared, and the sudden change had her accidentally hold onto him so she didn’t outright fall. Her other hand, however, rested on his chest, her eyes never leaving his. She dared herself to get as close as possible, practically feeling his lips brushing hers. Hm, maybe she was a little too close, her heart was starting to pound so loudly she could hear it clearly in her ears!

Unfortunately for him, the game was over.

Kaira placed both hands on his chest and promptly pushed him away in time for the greenhouse door to open. The smile on her face never wavered, especially as she wagged a finger at him. “Ah, ah, ah, that wouldn’t do, now would it?” She couldn’t help but tease him. “We may be around the same age, but you’re still technically my student, you know?”

Jorah drank in every moment, relishing the slightest brush of Kaira’s lips on his—ah, it just never got old! No number of paramours could dull him to the excitement, and Kaira was no exception. He could feel the heat of her skin on his, tantalizingly close, and leaned in until—

Until she pushed him away?!

Jorah was caught so off-guard that he stumbled back, taking a few steps to regain his footing. Aw, man! His disappointment was palpable, but that didn’t stop the laugh bubbling out of his throat. Damn, she got him! But he’d get her someday, too. And get her back extra for that!

“Aw, but I have so much to learn!” he theatrically lamented, throwing his arms out to his sides. “And I admire teachers so much; I admire their legs, their hair, their… well,” he laughed again, trotting back up to Kaira to scoop up her hand and kiss it. “Fine, leave me pining,” he pretended to pout, though his act was less convincing behind a sizable grin. “I’ll just have to seek comfort and guidance in the arms of Professor Euphemia instead—ooh, and maybe Priscilla as well,” he joked, winking.

“You have a better chance at getting acquainted with Priscilla, myself, and the stubborn mare in the stables. Mind you, your best chance is with me at one percent,” Kaira returned his joke with one of her own, cautiously hopping off the wall. Straightening up, she brushed off something from his shoulder. “Besides, I’d rather see you pine after me. I get jealous easy, you know.”

She giggled, ready to chide him once again before noticing that the footsteps that had entered were armored. Her eyes widened as they got closer, albeit she didn’t have to look to know who had entered. The joy in her face evaporated as she turned towards the culprit: a minor knight of the church.

“Miss Kaira, Lady Arianthe requests your presence,” The knight stated.

Her shoulders dropped considerably, and she looked down at the ground. “I see. I’ll be right there,” she replied.

“She asked that I accompany you to the Cathedral.”

“...very well, then,” Kaira said quietly. “I’ll meet you outside, I just need to finish this lesson with my student. Then I’ll go with you.”

The knight nodded, clunking away and standing at the now opened door of the greenhouse. Kaira found it incredibly difficult to look up even when she lifted her eyes, albeit after taking in a deep breath, she managed to muster a small smile for Jorah. “I’m sorry, it looks like I’ve taken enough of your time,” she apologized, though she did have yet another mischievous glint in her eye. “Unless you’d like to run away together?”

Mutely watching the exchange, Jorah was puzzled by the sudden shift in tone—not that he felt it, which was still really weird, but that he saw it unfold right in front of his face. How bad was this Arianthe woman that Kaira looked so downcast to see her—and that she had to be dragged to see her by knights, no less? Jorah’d been dragged before his father before, but that was usually after he dumped a crate of manure on Duke Goneril or had to be wrestled out of the galley of a trading vessel bound for Brigid. The thought crossed his mind that maybe Kaira was avoiding punishment too, but he simply couldn’t imagine her doing anything worth reprimanding—aside from cavorting around with him, anyway.

He humoured Kaira with a wry smirk, but trouble was quick to encroach on the back of his mind. So ended his brief reprieve, apparently. “I hear Brigid is lovely this time of year,” he replied, but stepped back, gesturing with great propriety toward the door. “But I wouldn’t subject you to another ride in those carriages, so I’ll have to postpone the trip until I can get my hands on some Pegasi. Good luck with your teacher,” he added, offering a more sincere smile.

Kaira shifted in place nervously, but nodded. “Thank you. I’ll see you bright and early!” She bade him farewell and joined the knight at the entrance, stopping only to greet the groundskeeper as he returned.

---

_@Hero

Tomai’s office looked more like a miniature library than anything. While one bookshelf matched the desk and was filled to the brim with a myriad of textbooks, the other two looked as if they had been brought in and crammed into the corner, made of a much sturdier wood to hold the impressive amount of bound papers. Said desk was also littered with an assortment of books and loose pages—if they were organized, Lienna wouldn’t be able to tell.

The man walked straight to the middle of the room and stopped in front of a circle on the floor. He looked back at Lienna for a second, gesturing to her to follow.

“This is called a Hanneman device—you hold your hand over it and then it shows you your Crest. Like so,” He explained as he held his hand over it. The shadow of said hand glowed for a moment, and with a flash, the Crest of Lamine appeared above.

Peer Review

Lienna shadowed Tomai through the halls of Monastery buildings she hadn’t yet seen, staying close on his heels and feeling distinctly out of place. Only when they finally reached his office did she give him some space, no longer worried about someone ejecting her from a staff building and very much entranced by the scene before her. By the Goddess, even the church in Hima didn’t have so many books! Tomai’s collection dwarfed those of the classrooms by half or more—although she hadn’t been to the library yet so she couldn’t say whether his was the most impressive collection at Garreg Mach, and she figured it probably wasn’t—and while it was all a storm of chaos to her eyes, it still awed her to see so many priceless-looking tomes in one place. And all those papers—had Tomai written them? What if there was a fire?

Ripping her eyes from the shelves, she approached Tomai’s circle on the floor with much less enthusiasm, holding her arms close to her body and squinting down suspiciously. “It’s inside the floor?” she asked, tilting her head at the markings. When a Crest—Tomai’s Crest—flashed to life mid-air, though, her attention was finally dragged from the floor, and she examined the unfamiliar symbol for a moment before it faded from view.

“Within each person’s blood exists an untapped magical source. The origin of this phenomenon is theorized to be the blessings of the Goddess, who bestowed humanity with her gifts. These gifts are known to us as Crests,” Tomai launched into an explanation almost immediately. “Crests flow within our blood and are omnipresent within our magic, and this device reads them. Nowadays, the devices can even tell you if it’s a minor or a major Crest. You can tell by the thickness of the lines of the Crest—if they’re thin, it’s a minor Crest, but if it’s thicker, then it’s a major Crest.”

He put his hand over it again to give Lienna a chance to see his Crest once again. Amid the wispy magical lines, the Lamine Crest was thick and bright before it faded away. “I have the Major Crest of Lamine, as you can see,” He clarified. “Any questions? Is this all clear to you?”

Tomai always seemed to have an explanation handy, though Lienna would keep it to herself that despite the professor’s great knowledge and expertise, her eyes started to glaze over a little every time he went into that dictionary tone of voice. Luckily, it seemed she got the short version: she already knew Crests were blessings from the Goddess laced in people’s blood, and the fact that the machine could determine the magnitude of a Crest was neat. She had to wonder how people could differentiate Major and Minor Crests before the machines were upgraded, but that would open a whole line of inquiry into pre-Hanneman Crest detection that she wasn’t really too concerned about at the moment.

She watched the second demonstration closer, noting the thickness of the lines in the symmetrical Crest before it faded away. Simple enough, she supposed.

“Clear enough,” she conceded, slowly extending her hand over the circle, “as long as it doesn’t want to test my blood by drawing any.”

“I do the bloodwork separately, my equipment hasn’t come in yet,” Tomai brushed off the comment, gesturing to her to continue. There was an additional comment he wanted to make, but it died in his throat as the Crest appeared. For a few seconds, he said nothing, simply staring at the spot where the Crest had come to life. Once he moved, though, he strode over to his desk, rummaging through the drawers to pull out an elaborate quill and ink. He snatched a torn page and placed it on the desk, quill skirting over it, and once he was finished, he held up the Crest that had appeared.

“The Crest of Indech. One of the Four Saints that fought alongside Seiros during the War of Heroes,” he stated, weary. “Not Gautier.”

Lienna winced at the bloodwork comment, but her attention was quickly monopolized when the Hanneman machine flashed to life. Her eyes widened as the symbol in the air before her became clear, and a stone dropped in her stomach: not the familiar, lance-bearing circle she knew to be the Crest of Gautier, the image floating before her was instead a thick-lined symbol resembling a staff with downward-falling antlers—one that, now that she saw it, was eerily reminiscent of the rune she’d seen flash before her in her battle at the caravan.

She snatched her hand back as if she’d been burned, confusion and dread written all over her face as the supposed Crest faded back to nothing. She shook her head mutely for a moment, trying a few times before she could speak. “No, no— that’s the rune I saw in battle, not my Crest. Your machine is broken,” she insisted feebly, looking at Tomai and hoping this was all some cruel trick he was playing.

“That’s your Crest,” He corrected her as he placed the scrap onto a candle, waiting until it caught on fire before disposing of it. “We could check with the cathedral’s device, but I can’t guarantee any privacy.”

He rubbed his chin as he thought to himself for a moment. “I don’t think you have too much to fear, Major Crests are highly desirable and rare to see,” Tomai threw that much out loud. “I’m sure your intended wouldn’t mind.”

Her shock starting to subside, Lienna turned on Tomai with a look that could have frozen water before ripping her gaze back to the Hanneman machine in the floor, staring it down as if to intimidate it into cooperation. Her intended wouldn’t mind, he said! Hadn’t she just finished explaining to him that she was about to marry into the single most Crest-selective family in Faerghus, who needed not just any Crest, but their family Crest to continue their tradition of squabbling with Sreng? The Crest of Gautier was the only Crest in the world that could guarantee her position! Without the Crest of Gautier, she might as well have none; she’d be passed over in a moment for the heiress of some real family who at least had money and soldiers to offer as a dowry, if not a Crest.

Lienna shook her head once more, stubbornly crossing her arms. “I have a document signed by a Deacon attesting to the Minor Crest of Gautier,” she reminded Tomai, “and a second test in Hima besides. And the only other Crests within a thousand miles are Fraldarius and Blaiddyd; ah, that’s it!” she exclaimed sarcastically, “Maybe I should just reveal myself as a distant relative of the King, if we’re content to go with any old Crest.” She scoffed, waving her hand over the machine again. The same Crest—the Crest of Indech, apparently—flashed before her again, earning itself a nasty look in the process.

Tomai listened, more amused than anything, albeit he matched her scowl at the end. “The Crests of the Saints haven’t really bled into the Faerghian Royal Family for some centuries, and even then, Queen Eloise had a Minor Crest of Cethleann. Though, despite a majority of the Saints’ Crests manifesting in those from Adrestia, it isn’t entirely uncommon to hear them all over Fódlan,” He explained, circling back over to his desk. “Also, you’ve forgotten about the Crest of Daphnel. If you’re marrying into the Gautier family, I kindly suggest studying some geography so you know of their allies. I think a Galatea is attending in your unit, too.”

The urge to throw something at Tomai was growing, but Lienna largely ignored his long-winded and point-missing retort in favour of glaring down the Hanneman machine. The professor might have been irritatingly confident in his machine, but Lienna was equally sure of her position: it was impossible. Machines could break, they could miscalculate surely, but she couldn’t think of any possible way for a Crest other than Gautier or maybe Fraldarius to make it all the way up to balls-frozen Hima. What little bits she could piece together about her mother didn’t paint a flattering picture, but what manner of far-flung vagabond would she have had to find for an Adrestian Crest to wind up in her family tree?

“So what explains my readings in Faerghus, then? Do you think I’m lying?” she asked accusingly, pacing around the circle on the floor in thought. She began repeatedly waving her hand over the circle, as if enough repetition would change the result. “Or do you think two different machines were wrong? I mean, they probably weren’t one of these new fancy major/minor-detecting ones, but they were still—”

Lienna cut herself off mid-sentence when the next result of the machine flashed to life before her, this time in a wholly different configuration than before: a circular marking with outcroppings on either side like lances held aloft, drawn in the air in thin, wispy lines. The Minor Crest of Gautier, just as it should have been all along. Her vision swam from the wave of relief that rushed over her, but she still managed the breath for an indignant, “Ha!”

Watching until the marking faded just to be sure, Lienna then turned back to Tomai, raising her chin triumphantly. “See? I told you. Your machine is broken.”

Tomai’s assurance practically evaporated as the second Crest came up—as the correct Crest appeared. His expression was blank, baffled at the revelation. After a few seconds, he slowly walked back around, trying to think.

“It isn’t broken. It’s...I made this prototype myself,” He uttered, finally breaking his silence. “I refined the process, corrected previous theories—it isn’t broken.” He repeated, more to himself than Lienna. “My theories are foolproof, there aren't any mistakes when it comes to the Hanneman devices. It’s been centuries—”

He caught himself, shaking his head. “There are explanations and science to explain this,” He stated, much more assured this time. “If the machine is wrong, then I’m going to find out why. And you’ll be my ever faithful guinea pig.”

More than a little satisfied that it was finally Tomai’s turn to be flustered, Lienna was about to retort that the “explanation and science behind this” might be that his machine was broken when his “guinea pig” comment caught her off guard. “Excuse me?” she blurted out, taking a step back as she bristled, “If you think you’re going to stick me full of needles and Goddess only knows what else—”

“You’re forgetting that this little hiccup has just as much to do with you as it does with me,” Tomai cut her off, gesturing to the ashes of his drawing. “What’s to say that it’s only this machine that’s wrong? What if Count WhatsHisFace wants to check one last time for your Crest, and Indech’s comes up instead of Gautier?”

Lienna’s response died in her throat at that, the girl reluctantly crossing her arms in thought. Could that be a possibility? Tomai said it himself, this particular machine was of his design—who was to say the problem wasn’t limited strictly to his specific model? Or could it have been an error any machine could make, however rare? Had that staff of Michail’s made some kind of imprint on her, branding her with traces of a foreign Crest that the machine was picking up, maybe? Was such a thing even possible?

Regrettably, Lienna didn’t have the knowledge or experience to even consider such questions: whatever the problem was, she’d have to depend on Tomai’s expertise. But the prospect of being experimented on felt like she had swallowed an eel, disturbing mental images of tarnished restraints and the gleaming edges of knives and needles rushing to confront her at the mere mention. But what choice did she have?

She looked Tomai up and down suspiciously, keeping quiet for a long moment as she weighed her options. Tomai was right in one thing, at least: if rumours started that she had a different Crest than she’d promised Count Francis, on purpose or by happenstance, she was as good as homeless.

“...What exactly do you need from me?” she asked at long last, still not entirely on board.

“Same thing you did now—put your hand over the machine after I disassemble and reassemble this machine and steal another from somewhere that it won’t be missed,” Tomai replied, quill in hand as he sat down at his desk. “If it truly comes down to it, a loose hair or two, but otherwise that’ll be the extent of it as I’ll have to revisit my work to see where things went wrong and why.”

Lienna remained not entirely convinced, but Tomai’s reassurance did help ease her concerns enough for her shoulders to finally relax. “Fair enough, I suppose I can manage that,” she conceded, subtly peeking at what he was writing—not that it did much good. “Is this going to affect my magical study?”

Tomai stopped writing to look up at Lienna, an idea coming to mind. “Crest Theory and magic studies don’t normally correlate, but listening to a few lectures may help in solving this mystery,” He was elated at the idea. “All we’ll need is the basics, I don’t think you’ll find the machinery side of it interesting considering it’s mostly an assortment of crystals and magic.”

Only after he finished speaking did he realize she was trying to see what he was writing. In a show of good faith, he revealed it to her. “I won’t be telling anyone about this, so you don’t have to worry about that,” He assured her.

Lienna wasn't thrilled about any of this—her future hanging over her head by a hair wasn't a fun prospect no matter the contention—but the mention of Crest Theory did prick up her ears, the girl admittedly intrigued by the prospect of learning more about the mysterious force that held such sway over her life. She had next to no real understanding of Crests—the preceding conversation ample evidence of that fact—and as stubborn and irritating as he could be, Professor Tomai seemed like an authoritative voice on the subject. Plus, she could probably keep Auberon off her back about missing the occasional morning spar for meetings with Tomai if she told him it was because she was taking an extra class.

“That sounds… interesting,” she quietly replied, nodding again when he explained that he wouldn't tell anyone about their situation. She couldn't make out his letter from her angle, but there wasn't much else to do than trust him. Besides, she could imagine he might not have been too keen on advertising a potential mistake on his part around the Monastery either.

Through the thick walls, the muffled toll of the cathedral bell rang softly, reminding Lienna of just how much time had passed. “Do you need anything else from me?” she asked the Professor, moving to leave.

“No. I’ll see what I can do tonight and let you know any theories I come up with by the end of the week,” Tomai settled the page down as he continued to write. “For now, this will stay between us. In the meantime, if you feel any symptoms that aren’t typical for you, do let me know.”

Though her eyebrows lifted at “symptoms”, Lienna decided to leave that be for now, offering an affirmative—if hesitant—nod in lieu of questions for the time being. “Uh… okay,” she replied simply, moving to slip out of the door. “Good… good afternoon, then.”