Edited by: bafflinghaze
Vespera knew something was wrong when Laurel came back from her visit to the Moores Manor with an ashen face.
“Did she hurt you?”
Laurel wore a vacant expression, though she attempted to smile in reassurance.
“No. Not physically, at least.”
Vespera stared at her, not knowing what to say.
Laurel closed her eyes. “I may need an hour to compose myself.”
Vespera nodded. “Go.”
She watched as Laurel made her way to the guest room they had prepared for her with a defeated air.
It seemed the conversation with Countess Moores did not go well.
Tch.
A murderous expression crossed her features as she stood in the middle of the hallway, contemplating.
Vespera had been ready to storm the Moores Manor when Laurel deduced that the poison was likely a creation of the Countess.
She did not question how Laurel was familiar with the poison in Nazareth’s body—for that would mean an hour-long lecture on the wonders of medicinal science—but she was furious with Lucian’s wife.
Not only had she turned the Moores’ name into a complete joke of a House, she dared to touch one of her children.
Rage. The muses would sing of Vespera’s rage, simmering beneath her skin and coursing through her veins in magma inferno, hot with burning fury that could swallow the sky.
She would bring countless ills against the one who had crossed her—
And yet, Laurel stopped her.
“Astella and I…” the other duchess had paused. “… We were apprentice sisters to the Wandering Traveler. I believe this could be all… a misunderstanding.”
Vespera had eyed her with a hint of contempt that evening, sneering inwardly as she became fully aware of how this sort of story would go.
She was familiar with this type of dynamic. The way old friendships proved themselves stumbling blocks toward justice.
“You seem used to apologizing for all her transgressions. Was that the excuse you used to justify what she did to your stepson?”
Laurel took a step back as if she’d been slapped, mouth parting open and eyes wide with guilt and sorrow.
“H-how do you—”
“I have my sources,” Vespera had replied. “Eubulous was distraught at the time and I led the investigation. You defended the Countess’ actions and promised she would never harm another innocent person again. And from what I recalled, Eubulous allowed it.”
Laurel stammered. “Astella was… I know what she did was wrong, I do. But you have to understand—”
“I cannot empathize with her lack of morals. If it was not for the fact that she could hold the cure to Nazareth’s ailings, I would have made Lucian a widow once more.”
So Laurel had begged and groveled for the life of a woman undeserving of that devotion and love, and Vespera gave in, not because Laurel fell to her knees weeping but rather—
“Please, Vespera, don’t kill her. I know she’s not innocent, and I know she has caused you offense, but please… spare her.”
“Are you stupid? I will not—”
“If not for me, then for Alouysia.”
And that gave Vespera pause.
Laurel’s face twisted bitterly.
“Of the three of us, I stayed with my mentor the longest. Auria was long gone by the time the war started and Astella had up and disappeared a year after that. Only I remained, returning to my mentor’s cottage every chance I could. If I hadn’t been at the Capitol when Julius was poisoned, I would have never known she was alive and… and I guess you know the rest from there…”
“You met Eubulous.”
“Astella was involved. I recognized her work despite it being years since I last saw her. I have only myself to blame for what she became.”
Vespera regretted giving in to Laurel’s pleas, especially after seeing the state she was in after visiting Moores Manor, but never did Vespera think Alouysia would be involved in all of this, as well.
Vespera sighed inwardly. This was why no one should ever put the dead on a pedestal.
At the very least, Laurel’s trip shouldn’t have been a waste, and hopefully, once Auria was brought back to the manor, Nazareth should awaken soon.
And if he didn’t, Astella shall never see the light of day again.
With this thought in mind, Vespera returned to the healing room once more to guard over her husband and eldest son.
There were only four healers in the room when she walked inside. The rest had left to take a short break.
Vespera approached the bed and saw that her husband was resting his head beside their son.
His breathing was relaxed, indicating he had fallen asleep.
She took off her jacket and placed it over him.
“Sleep well, beloved.”
—
“This should be the last one.”
Royce looked over and saw that Finneas held a stack of parchment in one hand and a small pouch in the other. The spatial bag had come in handy for looting the hideout.
“This one here has the location of the trafficking sites.” Royce showed Finneas a document. “Did Neo ever say anything about the Slave Emblem?”
“You mean that shitty mind control talisman that’s giving Pherb’s friend an aneurysm?”
“… Yes.”
Finneas sneered. “Odum has done some shitty things.”
“So they know?”
Royce made a face. Even to his own ears, it felt as if they were covering up a crime.
Which they technically were, but who in their right mind would believe regression was the reason for Neo’s character development?
“Know what? That he invented it?” Finneas’ tone was sharp.
Royce stared at him in silence, but the implication was there.
After a moment, Finneas said, “No. But they suspect he is related to it. As usual, there is no proof unless he fully admits to it.”
That was good enough, considering how many people’s lives were ruined by the Slave Emblem.
Royce rummaged through a few more drawers, double-checking for anything they missed, and found a journal.
He flipped it open and saw…
Names.
Hundreds of names meticulously written down with birthdays and serial numbers, and brief descriptions of height, weight, and age.
There were children among the names.
It was a list of people about to be sold once the Slave Emblem hit the market.
According to Tybalt’s contact, they had estimated there would be an auction at the end of summer, and during that time, the Syndicate and… the Iron Lotus would reveal the existence of the Slave Emblem to the criminal underworld.
Royce’s breath hitched at the familiar name. He had tried not to acknowledge the Iron Lotus in this lifetime, if only because thinking about them sent him into horrible panic attacks.
The Iron Lotus was a branch of the Syndicate, which made it easier to refer to the two synonymously, and while the leadership and goals of these two organizations were vastly different, they—
Royce remembered the chaos and uproar in the underworld when the Slave Emblem was revealed in the black market. It was even worse when the Imperial Family and both aristocratic factions caught onto its existence a year later.
Then, after that, once things started to calm down and Royce was just so exhausted and desperate, their inevitable downfall began.
The dark cell, the pigpen, and the water slowly rising over his head—
Royce closed the journal.
Luckily, they had come back in time to stop everything from going to hell.
The sound of several footsteps suddenly appeared outside the room.
“You saw him?” A gruff voice asked.
Royce exchanged glances with Finneas. The two of them slowly started to make their way toward the window—
“You saw the Benedick Pilgrimage coming in the other day?”
Royce froze.
“Yeah. It’s been a while since I saw that ass-licking dog. Awfully pretty, believe it or not, flaunting his wealth like that. And the red hair. Gods, what I wouldn’t give to grab him by that braid and yank.”
“You think he’s ever been—”
“Absolutely. Look at the way he’s dressed. Makes you want to tear it off and see what’s underneath…”
There was ringing in his ears. Time slowed to a turtle’s pace and the room spun.
No, no, no…
They shouldn’t be here.
They found him.
They found him.
Royce felt as if he was about to topple over from the weight of… everything. His knees felt weak, and Jesus Christ, why couldn’t he move his goddamned legs?!
He pressed his hand against his face. It felt numb. He was numb.
Breathe. He needed to breathe, but each breath he took was coming out short. His lungs weren’t expanding, and his throat was dry.
It felt like drowning all over again.
He remembered the way the water entered his mouth and nose and filled his lungs. The darkness all around him and the sound of water slowly trickling into the box—
Two hands pressed against his shoulders.
Royce flinched.
“Royce, I need you to breathe.”
“I—” He gasped for breath, trying to breathe.
We’re sorry for MTLers or people who like using reading mode, but our translations keep getting stolen by aggregators so we’re going to bring back the copy protection. If you need to MTL please retype the gibberish parts.
“Hey, hey, Benedick? Bene—Royce. Royce, calm down. I’m right here, Royce. Can you hear me? Okay, breathe with me, Royce. Can you do that?”
Royce swallowed but shakily inclined his head in acquiescence.
“That’s good. Take a deep breath.”
Royce did so.
“Yes, just like that. Now hold it. Good. And exhale. Alright, take another…”
The breathing exercise put his nerves somewhat at ease, but he could still dimly hear the conversation happening outside the door.
“Tch.” Finneas had a scary scowl on his face as he glared at the door.
“Forget about them. I need you to list five things you see around you,” he instructed, turning back to him with an unreadable expression.
Royce looked around him. He could see everything, but his tongue felt like lead.
“What’s that?” Finneas pointed at something above him.
“Th-the ceiling,” Royce stuttered. The intensity in Finneas’ eyes had forced him to speak.
“Okay, and what else is in this room?”
“Your… scarf. The floor, the parchment… you.”
“Good, now tell me four things you are touching.”
Royce swallowed. “My hair, my cloak… my shoes… the—the journal.”
“Okay, list three things you hear.”
“Your breathing, your voice, and…”
Royce trailed off. He heard footsteps outside. Footsteps that belonged to the men who—
The sound of paper being ripped in two brought his attention back to Finneas, or rather, the torn piece of paper in his hands.
“The paper.”
“Yes. Two things you smell?”
Royce took a deep breath. “Ink. And… sandalwood?”
Without any hesitation, Finneas placed a small silk satchel into his hand.
Ah, Royce thought, it was his personal scent pouch.
“One thing you taste?”
The footsteps outside started to leave.
Royce tensed as they passed the door—
“Mmph!”
A piece of chocolate was shoved into his mouth.
“One thing you taste?” Finneas repeated, maroon-brown eyes boring down on him like a predator staring at prey.
“Dark chocolate bonbon.”
A second passed. Finneas’ gaze was assessing. Sharp.
Royce realized they were both on the ground. Finneas was propped on one knee and caging him against the wall with his back turned to the door.
It made him feel very dependable, which Royce thought was absolutely wild since he never thought of Finneas as someone he could wholeheartedly rely on.
“Have you calmed down?”
“I…” Royce began, faltering. He tried to stand up, only for his legs to lock up. Finneas’ reaction was quick and smooth, leaning over to catch his head before he could slam backward against the wall.
“Calm down,” Finneas said, voice low. “Don’t worry about them. Keep your eyes on me, okay? I’m right here and all I want is your eyes on me.”
Jesus Christ, at sixteen years old, Finneas had absolutely no business making him so flustered. And at thirty-seven, Royce should know better than to let it affect him.
Royce inhaled deeply, feeling himself settle back to his former composure before he nodded slowly. “Sorry.”
“It’s fine.” Finneas helped him off the floor.
A tremor made its way through Royce’s body as he stood. Finneas steadied him.
He coughed, feeling awkward. “Thank you.”
Finneas didn’t answer, turning his back to him.
They soon left the hideout, but not before leaving a special gift.
Finneas had drilled a hole into a night pearl and placed it directly in front of a window. Royce tossed a match into the puddle of light fluid beneath it. A small flame started to burn through wood.
The fire wouldn’t be noticeable until they were long gone.
—
Aurelion adjusted his cloak around his shoulders awkwardly as he watched his aunt pack away what little belongings she had.
After informing her and Casimir of the exit strategy, they decided to use the window of opportunity provided to them by the Saint.
Not that the man was aware of it, of course.
With everyone’s attention on the man’s state of health—as was confirmed by Aunt Auria who went to visit him in the prayer room in the early morning—no one would be on the lookout if a holy knight decided to show his visiting friends and family around the outskirts of the city where a gorgeous view of the oasis could be seen.
If the oasis just happened to be near the city’s merchant exit route, then that was just a coincidence.
They were currently in Aunt Auria’s bedroom, having snuck inside through a secret entrance only Casimir knew of.
The room was almost bare of any decor besides holy relics and paintings of previous Saintesses. The space was a white and vast emptiness that didn’t belong to a former heir of a Ducal.
For many, this was almost a heavenly sanctuary. There was food and faith, what more could a person desire?
It was too bad that this sanctuary served as a gilded prison for a woman who everybody believed was dead.
“Why that color?” Guinivere’s voice broke through Aurelion’s train of thought.
She was standing beside their aunt and assisting her in donning her disguise.
The colors Aunt Auria chose for her hair and eyes were the same ones she wore when they met her at the dining hall.
Her raven hair was now ash-grey and her sapphire eyes turned pitch black.
When Aurelion saw her in those colors again, he felt the strange feeling of déjà vu welling inside of him.
“It reminds me of an old friend,” Aunt Auria replied.
She adjusted the color-changing charm on her wrist, looking impressed at the charmwork. According to her, she often needed to drink a potion every hour if she wanted her disguises to stay on.
Aurelion’s brows furrowed.
Ash-grey was not necessarily a rare hair color, but it wasn’t a coloring that was commonly seen in the Rhine Empire.
Where had he—
Hold on.
Aurelion thought back to the heir meetings he often attended with those of the Imperial Faction.
With the Odum House leading it, the main supporters of this faction consisted of the two Marquess families, Benedick and Fleur de Lis, the Moores Earl Family, the Viscount families, Dagon, Meyers, and Rickman, and several Baron Families under the dual leadership of the Deerborns and Arcadias.
Among the heirs who attended the meetings of the Imperial Faction, there was one person Aurelion tended to observe more cautiously, mainly due to the fact that he and Nazareth had a connection with each other that was wholly different from the one he had with Benedick—
Aurelion paused.
Elliot Moores.
Gods.
Ash grey hair. They say he inherited it from his mother.
Aurelion glanced back at Aunt Auria. She was checking something in her travel bag—a roll of cloth that held metal tools made from titanium steel. The warm rays of sunlight from the window cast a glowing halo around her.
No, no. Perhaps it was merely a coincidence. There should be many worshippers and visitors native to the Desert. How could Aunt Auria know a noblewoman who hadn’t even stepped foot into the desert in more than a decade?
Preposterous.
Astella Moores was a woman from the Desert Lands. Her hair was unique, only seen in villages within the Desert Lands and among Sand Nomads.
Aurelion shook his head and put his own color-changing charm back on.
The bracelets were useful for missions requiring disguises. It was a wonder how Nazareth got his hands on these.
The thought of his brother made Aurelion’s chest feel tight all over again.
What was that dream about? The one on the cliff with Nazareth?
What were they doing there and why was he holding a sword?
And the anger, gods, the anger. He felt so much rage inside him, so much resentment for… for Nazareth. But how could he—
“Stop.”
Guinivere appeared in front of him, taking him off-guard. What in the—she was on the other side of the room—
“What are you…”
Two hands slapped his face and smushed his cheeks together.
“I can hear you thinking bad thoughts. It’s annoying. Stop it,” she demanded.
Aurelion blinked at her.
“We don’t have time for this. Go use the bathroom. We’re about to leave.”
Then she strutted off without a second glance and went to harass Casimir for his backstory.
Poor man.
It was his fault for calling Aunt Auria his wife when they were in the dining hall.
—
From his sickbed, he saw four figures casually exiting the Temple.
One of them, a woman, met his gaze from the Temple steps. A familiar face.
He looked away and brought his hand to his chest.
A string of coughs poured out of him, alerting the attention of his attendants.
“Your Eminence…!”
“His Eminence is feeling unwell. Someone get the healer!”
“Your Eminence, hold this holy relic.”
“Your Eminence, have some water.”
“We need hot towels for His Eminence!”
With the flock of pigeons around him fretting nonstop, no one noticed as the Saintess and her Holy Knight had left the Temple.
He hid his smile behind another cough, which drove his attendance into another frenzy.
After all this was done and over with, he desperately wanted to go back to the privacy of his bedroom.
He hadn’t watered his dandelions in days.
—
Their escape was stupidly easy. Casimir had been leading them down a hall when they were caught by a guard patrol and a pair of priests.
He got reprimanded by one of the priests for bringing “family” into the Temple for a sneak peek of “all the action,” and they were promptly booted out through the back door.
After that, they headed toward the oasis and stared at a large pool of water for five minutes like tourists, with Casimir acting as a tour guide and giving some kind of exposition of the history of the oasis.
“It was believed that the son of Lady Rosellatyne and Sir Gildalead created this oasis with the help of his guardian fairies. Cool, right?”
When that was done and their tracks were covered, they met up with Lethe, who had packed up their belongings and was ready to go.
They squeezed into the merchant caravan assigned to them by Benedick and Dagon and pulled their scarves over their heads.
It was an uncomfortably tight fit in the caravan, though that might be due to the addition of an unaccounted passenger.
“Why are we bringing him?” Guinivere had the mind to ask once it was too late for Casimir to go back.
“He’s my emotional support person,” Aunt Auria stated, her tone leaving no room for argument.
That was when the caravan started to move.
—
About an hour into the journey back to the Capitol, the curtains around their wagon parted.
“Hey, kiddos. How’s it going?”
Benedick and Dagon appeared like non-playable characters from a half-arsed role-playing board game.
Both were in one piece without a single hair out of place.
“You’re alright,” Aurelion said, a sensation of relief coursing through his body.
He’d been trying to keep everything together since the journey started, but leaving Benedick and Dagon behind to fight the Sand Nomads had been a stressful experience.
“You can’t get rid of us that easily. Should have seen the lightning storm Finneas was summoning.” Benedick grinned. “We brought your horses. Wanna come out and ride?”
They all hurriedly stepped outside, Aunt Auria and Casimir included.
No one was willing to stay in that cramped space for a moment longer.
“We picked up another horse for you, Lady Auria, but I’m afraid we don’t have another for your companion. We were not told about an additional person coming with us.” Royce discreetly looked at Casimir when he said that, mostly in confusion because of course, no one was aware that Casimir was coming with them until it was too late.
Aunt Auria and Casimir exchanged glances for a moment.
Casimir retreated with his hands raised in surrender. He was about to head back to the wagon until Lethe stopped him.
“Sir Casimir may take my horse. I will ride with the driver.” With that said, Lethe handed the reins of their desert stallion to Casimir before hopping onto the box seat beside the wagon driver.
With everyone settled onto their horses, they started to move once more.
The plan was to make it back to the Capitol within three days, and that meant riding until nightfall and camping outside.
Aurelion was not looking forward to it, but it was a hundred times better than the terrible night they spent running from the Sand Nomads.
From before dawn to the very next evening, they rode without stopping. Aurelion did not miss the drastic temperature shifts in the Desertland. The day was scorching and the night freezing, and when they finally found a place to rest, he felt awfully sore.
It was like his bruises had bruises.
They set up camp and built a fire. Benedick passed out ginger tea.
“Drink up.”
Aurelion eyed his cup suspiciously. He wasn’t sure why, but he was.
Paranoia, perhaps?
He took a small sip and set it aside.
When he raised his head, he met Dagon’s eyes. The other raised a brow at him, as if he was amused by something, and discreetly hid a grin by taking a sip from his own cup.
Okay, that was weird.
Aurelion frowned and pushed his drink further away from him.
“Lady Auria,” Benedick said, once everyone was seated around the fire. “This may be forward of me, but I am rather curious.”
“What is it?” Aunt Auria replied.
Aurelion eyed Benedick with a hint of doubt, wondering where the man was going with this.
“Why did you become a Saintess?”
There was a pause. Everyone stared at his aunt, their own curiosity clear on their faces as they subtly leaned over to listen.
Only Casimir remained unfazed, his expression and body posture indecipherable save for the slight twitch of his hand.
Aunt Auria’s expression turned placid. Calm. Eerily lacking. Imperturbable. It was not the cold, expressionless countenance of an Odum. This was a trained expression ingrained into her from inside a literal gilded cage that was the Holy City, a terribly gentle one she only showed in front of the thousands of worshippers that day at the Hall of Blessings.
“There was nowhere else to put me,” she confessed.
Benedick tilted his head. “I’m sorry, why—”
“I was the reason the Empire used to start the war,” she said, voice airy and light. “You can’t do that when the person who was supposedly assassinated by the enemy is still alive.”
No one spoke for the rest of the night.
—
The next morning, they left before dawn and picked up their paces.
“You are an excellent rider, Lady Auria,” Benedick complimented her.
Aunt Auria’s lips formed into a small smirk, amused by the praise. It seemed last night’s dinner conversation had been forgotten.
“You speak too much.”
“It is only honesty I speak,” Benedick quipped back. He leaned over slightly and smiled at her knowingly.
Aunt Auria smiled back.
Behind her, Casimir looked none too pleased.
Aurelion wasn’t sure what was weirder.
The fact that Benedick had the audacity to speak nonsense this early in the morning, or the fact that he was speaking to Aunt Auria as if nothing happened.
Ever since they left the Holy City, it seemed as if Benedick was trying to interact more with his aunt, but for what reason could there be to get into her good graces?
“My Lady, has anyone ever told you how beautifully you would make a diamond shine?”
Aurelion’s ears perked up. Riding slightly ahead of him, he saw Guinivere do the same.
“Hm, no, I don’t believe anyone has ever told me that.”
“That is criminal, my Lady. Absolutely criminal. A diamond would look most beautiful upon your neck.”
“Are you offering?”
“Why, indeed, my Lady.”
Aunt Auria frowned at him. “I am too old for you to court.”
Benedick remained smiling. “I wouldn’t necessarily call it courting, my Lady. Though, perhaps I may move your heart eventually if you accept my offer?”
What the fuck, Benedick?
Casimir’s expression was… not good.
The holy knight’s hands were clenched around the reigns of his horse in what Aurelion assumed was a tight knuckle grip. It was obvious he was imagining Benedick’s demise with each word the other man spoke.
It was at that moment Dagon appeared next to him. His hair and face were almost completely covered by his scarf to keep sand out of his curls. He kept his gaze forward as he rode.
Aurelion frowned. “What is wrong with him?”
“Capitalism.”
—
In the Moores Manor, two figures sat across from each other in a rose garden.
“So… what do you like to do for fun?”
“I like smithing.”
“Oh…”
“… What about you?”
“Er… I enjoy reading.”
“What do you like to read?”
“Well, I’ve recently been into works written by Hash.”
“Um, that’s nice. I didn’t know he wrote fiction.”
“Oh, no. My mother introduced me to his guide on social diplomacy in summer courtly activities. I’ve been really into the materials he wrote about.”
“…”
This “date”? Was going nowhere.
Elliot was all too aware of the fact that a betrothal was a must for his future as the next Earl, but in the last hour, Lady Lettuse looked as if she wanted to be anywhere but here.
Perhaps his brother had been right about his lack of hobbies, but besides reading his assigned books, Elliot’s other extracurriculars were not exactly in the realm of “legal” activities.
There was no way he could say he liked negotiating with underground criminal organizations to get the best resources for—
For…
Dammit all to hell and back, he was over it!
Anyway, he couldn’t quite say those things, could he?
“So, um, smithing,” Elliot said after a long awkward silence. “Tell me more about that.”
The next two hours became a lecture on the properties of metalwork.
—
If Lettuse could describe Elliot Moores in a single sentence, she would describe him in the ways of her fictional books.
He was, in the way of most young men, possessed of a rudimentary intelligence, his countenance ordinary, his bearing mild, with some weakness about the shoulders, and his interests mediocre and stable.
In other words, he was fine, though she wished he had a little more personality and charm.
It could very well seem that marriage was not in the stars for them.
“—the weldability is nice, but they corrode easily within a few years.”
She took a sip of tea.
“That’s interesting,” Elliot stated with an unusual attentiveness in his gaze. “So why not apply tungsten to ceremonial decor? They are resistant to scratches and should be a great choice if we wish to preserve the jewelries for a longer time.”
Lettuce paused.
Huh.
Well, at least he was a good listener.
She will have to wait and see.
—
After nearly two weeks since they left, Aurelion and Guinivere were finally within the walls of the Capitol.
No more sand dunes they needed to cross, no more sand particles getting into their eyes, and no more erratic temperature changes.
They were finally home.
Aunt Auria stopped and stared at the bustling street of the Common District.
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“Ceca Ceglj?”
Vtf oilcmtfv jcv abbx j rafq yjmx.
“Tfr?”
Cegfilbc ogbkcfv. “Pr fnfgsatlcu jigluta?”
“… Tfr.”
Ktf gfrqbcrf kjr delfa. Ceca Ceglj rffwfv ab yf lc j vjhf.
Casimir approached her and brought her to the side to wait, but not without giving Aurelion a short nod in thanks.
Once everything was unloaded, everyone went their separate ways.
Benedick and Dagon waved them goodbye before disappearing into a crowd, leaving Aurelion and Guinivere to guide their aunt and Casimir to the Odum Manor.
Lethe pulled an inconspicuous-looking carriage over to them, jumped down from the box seat, and opened the door.
He bowed, hand to his heart.
Without pause, they all climbed inside, and without further ado, they were off, driving at an incredible speed that shouldn’t be legal.
—
Mother’s soldiers were waiting for them when they arrived.
Mother was waiting for them when they arrived.
Beside her was Duchess Elysium.
Aurelion and Guinivere jumped out of the moving carriage the moment it crossed the gates.
They ran.
They ran like debt collectors were hot on their heels, with the least amount of grace and poise, and a lot of desperation.
They ran with all the longing inside their chest for home and Mother and Father and Brother.
Then they stopped.
Right in front of Mother.
They bowed their heads. “We’re home.”
Her head tilted. She scrutinized them, from the sand in their hair to the dust on their faces, and the clothes they wore.
Finally, she nodded. “Welcome home. Come inside. Where is your Aunt?”
“I’m right here, Vespera. How do you do?”
They turned and saw Aunt Auria being carried in Casimir’s arms as he climbed up the multitudes of steps that led to the door.
Across the courtyard, Lethe was still driving the carriage.
“Auria!”
Before anyone could react, Duchess Elysium flew past them and snatched Auria right out of Casimir’s arms.
She twirled their aunt around and around in circles.
Aunt Auria blinked up at her when she stopped.
“I missed you,” she said, staring into Duchess Elysium’s eyes.
In response, Duchess Elysium buried her face into the crook of her neck.
She mumbled something too low for anyone else to hear and Aunt Auria returned her embrace, as if she was reuniting with an old friend.
—
Neo dreamt of a story. It was a story about a star in the Desert Land seeking a warrior.
It was an old story, a tale of love from long ago. It was a sad story, a tragedy.
But it was told, again and again, in hopes that something would change.
“Who knows, darling? Perhaps this time around, it will turn out well.”
The star and the warrior loved one another, but destiny tore them apart. The star journeyed for hundreds of miles over sand dunes and through desert storms, until, at long last, it met the warrior once more.
But the warrior was dying. The star was too late.
“That’s unfair, mummy. The star loved the warrior so much.”
“Oh, darling. That’s just how it was this time. Maybe in their next lifetime, they’ll finally meet again. Now it’s time for bed. Would you like a song?”
“Yes.”
“Alright. Listen close, my love.”
‘Yellow flower gold and bright…’
The familiar melody began once more, with the sound of bells and the low crooning of a cello.
‘All will soon be well tonight,
Soon the morning sun will rise,
Desert sand,
Hand in hand,
I am here beside you…’
That was new. The song had changed.
He wondered, as he fell asleep in his mother’s embrace, was this truly a dream?
—
Step 50. Have your siblings sneak your long lost relative out of jail and wait for them to come home. I guess… you can wake up now.
The author has something to say:
I take a lot of inspiration from historical events for my world-building, and I think some of you have started to notice it, too. In particular, the Lesser Krieg War is often mentioned (if I haven’t made it obvious enough, most of the parents in this story are war veterans, including the current Emperor and Empress). Auria acting as the spark that ignited the war between Polska and Rhine was inspired by one of the major events that led up to WWI, which was when the Archduke of Austria was assassinated in Bosnia-Herzegovina.
Really thankful that they made it back after all their efforts. Wishing Neo gets better soon!
Thank you for the update!
So surprised to see an update. Thanks.
Now there’s saving and killing to be done.