[Exalted] The Last Daughter -- Dragon-Blooded Sorcery School Quest

Descending Water, Realm Year 765,
One year, six months after the disappearance of the Scarlet Empress

You are greatly familiar with the library tower, almost more than any other place on the Isle of Voices. Identical to the Heptagram's other towers from the outside, on the inside it features floor upon floor of increasingly complex and dangerous knowledge.

A new student is given access to the collections and reading rooms near the bottom of the tower. It seems like an overwhelming store of information then, when they're called on to make use of it for the labours of their first year. If they make it past the early hurdles to continue their education, as with elsewhere in the school, they learn the rituals necessary to unseal chambers higher and higher in the tower. In this sense, you have spent your entire academic career doing a glacial climb up the tower's central spiral staircase.

You sit in a cramped desk in a cluttered reading room on the top floor, your workspace illuminated more by the sorcerous lights overhead than they are by the slit of a window to your right. You still appreciate the commanding view it provides of the Isle around you, for all that the usual mysterious fog banks obscure large swathes of it.

The book you're reading is a half-crumbling Shogunate-era treatise, written on a series of experiments that an obscure hermit sage had conducted on a steel eater. He'd detailed the process in extreme, obsessive, and sometimes disasteful detail. You've been working from several sources that cite this one already, but lately you've felt the need to check them against it. With only two months remaining in your secondary school career and the unpleasant realities of the world waiting for you beyond that, you refuse to graduate on anything less than a perfect note.

You scan what you've copied down in your notebook, not wanting to risk having to come back here and take this book out again if you can help it. To your pleasure, you can find nothing out of place. You carefully shut the ponderous volume and pick it up in both hands, the chain connecting its binding to the place on the shelf it had come from reminding you of exactly where it belongs on the shelf adjoining your reading desk. Nearly all the books on the upper floors have this sort of measure in place — they aren't something that the school wants a careless older student to carry out with them where it might fall into the hands of a junior student. Your book in particular would be at greater danger of simply disintegrating with too much handling or exposure to the elements, but there are many worse things covered on this floor.

You haven't learned the ritual to access the dark little corner of the seventh floor where Amiti has spent most of her time this year, and you've decided you don't want to know it.

You gather your things, collect Verdigris from where she was napping on the puddle of thin sunlight coming through the window, and maneuver your way through the rows of desks and bookshelves to the door. You slide the door open, stepping out onto the top floor landing, and shut it firmly, making certain that it latches properly behind you. You say the simple words necessary to renew the binding, tracing the shape of the diagram carved into the door's surface with a careful finger. The diagram glows briefly, and the door seals shut.

The rest of the top floor consists of several seldom-used tables, and a row of foreboding doors encircling the central stairwell, each of them distinctly marked, but otherwise very similar to the one you have just come through. While you know that the dominie keeps the rarest and most hazardous books in his private collection, you have no doubt that there is a horrifying amount of highly destructive knowledge kept here, far away from the gaze of the uninitiated or the alarmed grasp of Immaculate censors. There are benefits to the lengths the Heptagram takes to ensure its isolation from mortal society.

You keep finding things about this place that you're going to miss — the library tower is certainly one of them. You can't afford to take too much time in the descent, since you've arranged to meet Sola soon, and you and Maia have been trying to avoid leaving her alone for too long. Particularly with the way that several students have taken to playing armchair general about the things that the Tepet Legions did wrong, based on the details of the battle that continue to trickle in through correspondences week to week. You don't know what she might do if one of them says the wrong thing in her hearing without someone there to run interference.

Still, you find yourself enjoying your quiet trip down the staircase, the roof of the tower growing smaller and smaller above you with every floor you descend. It's nice to have a quiet, transitional moment between one task or the other. At least, it's nice while it remains quiet.

As you reach the halfway point down the stairwell, you catch sight of someone seated on the floor, her back braced against a bookshelf, a small wall of books encircling her in haphazard stacks. As you descend, she looks up from the book she's reading to fix you with a frowning glare, the lights in her eyes flickering like candle flame.

"Idelle," you say.

"Ambraea. Um...!" Ledaal Anay Idelle, now that she has obviously been caught staring, seems briefly uncertain what to do with herself. After a moment of indecision, she hunches her shoulders and puts her book up, hiding behind it as much as she's trying to read it.

You could just keep walking — should really keep walking. But something in you has had enough. "Are you going to keep glowering at me like this whenever you think I'm not watching, or do you finally just want to come out with whatever unpleasant thing you're thinking about me?" You gesture around to the tower level, indicating the apparent lack of any other students. "Go ahead, we're alone."

Idelle gives a start, peering at you from over the top of her book, half guilty, half annoyed. You think she might just ignore you. Instead, she snaps her book shut, winces as she realises she's lost her place, and then hastily drops it on top of the nearest stack anyway, shooting up to her feet.

"Fine, then, if that's what you want," she says, stalking over to stand in front of you on the landing. She crosses her arms over her chest, having to crane her neck to look up at you a little, with the way you're still standing on the last step before the landing. As is always the case whenever she gets close enough to Verdigris, one of the tiny, garish jade bells she wears hanging from one ear chimes — the black one seems to detect the presence of spirits. The others remain soundless.

"Well?" you ask.

She squares her shoulders, drawing herself up to her full height. Typical for Idelle, there's a long moment where she seems to struggle to put whatever strongly felt feeling she has into intelligent words. You don't anticipate the angle she actually takes, though. "All my life, people have told me I'm too principled to be a good Dynast. Too 'morally rigid' for a Ledaal, when the Shadow Crusade does not offer us that luxury. My father's barbarian blood showing true, apparently — I have his Aspect and his looks, so why not his failings?"

Not the kindest way to characterise a heroic outcaste whose skill as a warrior-exorcist earned him a marriage to one of House Ledaal's greatest living Anathema slayers, but Idelle's family has a well-earned reputation for being more than a little insufferable, collectively. "You're glaring at me because you take after your father?" you ask.

"No!" Idelle says, "that's not— well, alright, I suppose technically yes! But I was still getting to the actual point!" She takes a deliberate, meditative breath, trying to gather her thoughts. "The point is, now that I've met you, I can safely say, there are worse failings in a woman than trying to be too upright."

"Excuse me?" you ask.

Idelle deliberately ignores you, pressing ahead: "You're brave, and strong, and you've done heroic things. You killed that demon, you took up one of my aunt's swords without having to swear to use it against Anathema, but then you made good on that promise anyway! I can't fault you for any of that. But you're not a moral woman. You're a liar, even if usually by omission. You'll do awful things to people, or let awful things happen to people, if it means supporting one of the few people you've decided actually matter to you! I'm not an idiot, I asked around about the spells you were studying back in our fourth year — I know what you did to me, even if I can't remember it! You, you..." She seems to run out of steam there, faltering a little as she finally pauses to take a breath. She rallies a moment later. "You'll do something like that to protect Amiti — because she's sweet, and she's hapless, and she always looks surprised when she realises she actually has a friend, or whatever your reason is — even if what she's doing is dangerous and immoral and illegal! You're willing to let your Hearthmates get away with murder!"

You narrow your eyes, mind automatically forming a denial, a refutation. That what you've done over the years has been reasonable under the circumstances, that loyalty to your allies and to your Hearth matters more, sometimes, than the law. In the middle of it, though, you surprise yourself with a calming ray of clarity piercing through your reflexive indignation: Does it matter? Not just about what she thinks of you — does it even matter if she's right? If you have to choose between what's right and what's good for Maia or Sola, or even for Amiti or L'nessa or your father or someone else you have real love for, you can't lie to yourself about what you'd choose, because you have already made that choice, time and again.

So instead, you fix her with a hard stare and say: "You don't have any proof to back up these accusations. So what will you do about any of it?"

Idelle is genuinely taken aback, staring at you blankly for a moment, plainly a little flustered. "I— What?"

Gripped by a frustration with her, and with everyone else who's gotten so much bolder since your mother vanished, you take a step forward onto the landing, and then another, moving into her space, looking down at her from your greater height. "I'm a terrible person. I'm dangerous, I'm immoral. What will you do about it? Just watch as I graduate and go out into the Dynasty?"

Idelle takes a step back. "That's not—"

It might be the tension of the school year getting to you, or the lack of sympathy most of your peers seem to have for your situation. But you don't let up. "Or does your conviction stop at hard stares? You're all so brave now, until it might actually mean facing me with more than words."

Idelle's eyes flash with something very much like outrage. She plants her feet, refusing to take another step back. She would have said something else at this point, you think, but you're both distracted in short order: From down below, drifting up the stairwell, you can hear angry voices. With a sense of foreboding and a sense of recognition, you check your Hearth sense — sure enough, one of them is Sola.

"Oh, Dragons," you say, forgetting your argument with Idelle almost entirely. You all but push past her, and begin to rush down the stairs, taking them two at a time.

From so high up, the argument is echoey and indistinct, difficult for more than a stray word or two to make sense. They get louder the farther down you run, however, and you find yourself grateful that you haven't neglected your stamina over the years. All the same, just this once it would be convenient to have the Air Aspect ability to simply hurl yourself down the middle of the stairwell and touch down gracefully at the bottom, instead of plummeting like a stone.

Still, you make impressive enough time, even if one or two people have to jerk out of your way in surprise on the lower levels. By the time you're most of the way there, the words are possible to actually make out:

"--going to say something, come out and say it to my face!" Sola demands.

"I was offering a tactical appraisal." The second voice is cool, masculine, and insufferably pleased with itself. Cathak Garel Hylo.

"I love tactical appraisals, let's hear it."

You finally reach the second floor landing, and see the scene playing out on the ground floor. Hylo sits at a table, reading a book of spells with ostentatious disregard for Sola. Two other fifth years stand nearby, looking distinctly uncomfortable with the unfolding events.

Sola stands with her hands braced against the far end of the table from Hylo, leaning over it to give him a long, hard stare. "I think I heard the words 'incompetence' out of your mouth, several times."

Eventually, Hylo sighs, makes careful note of his page, and closes his book, setting it to the side. He pushes up eyeglasses, the jade in their lenses tinting his eyes a cold blue. "Fine, if you insist on making such a vulgar show of things," he says, getting to his feet. The years have given Hylo more height and width than he once had, but not enough to combat his natural inclination toward scrawniness. "I had thought to spare your feelings—"

Sola gives a disbelieving scoff at the notion of his concern for her feelings. Hylo ignores it, and continues:

"—but I will speak plainly. The failure of House Tepet's Northern-campaign against the Anathema is the logical consequence of Tepet's flawed tactical doctrine and reckless hubris," Hylo says, voice cold. "Your generals allowed themselves to be lured out far beyond their supply lines, strung out to be bled dry by raiders and enslaved spirits to try and force a decisive, open battle that the Anathema obviously had no interest in giving. A slower, more methodical approach might have saved their legions. Instead, Tepet's generals went haring after glory and a swift victory and lost well over twenty-thousand veteran soldiers to a horde of Anathema-worshiping savages."

Hylo stops then, taking in Sola's reaction. She has gone very still, her expression neutral, the gentle wind that always seems to blow around her even having quieted. Hylo does not seem to understand how bad a sign this is: He plows onward. "There is no greater example of this, of course, then that of Matriarch Tepet Usala. A woman who forsook her myriad responsibilities in favour of being baited into single combat with a Forsaken warlord."

"She had her Hearthmates with her," Sola corrects, voice dangerously low.

"Ah, my mistake," Hylo says. "She led her closest companions to their deaths as well, rather than merely falling for a trap that a foolhardy novice might have detected herself."

There's a terrible, deadly silence as Sola looks at him, considering his words. Slowly, she takes her hands off the table, straightening up. "Well," she says, "you certainly have spoken plainly." Less than a beat later, moving too fast for most of the people watching to track, she's leapt onto the table, drawn her sword, and pressed its blade to Hylo's throat.

"Sola, wait!" you shout, finally catching up with them. She looks up at you, eyes stormy as they find yours. A half second later, she gives you a fractional nod. Which could mean several things, unfortunately, but you simply have to hope that it's a good thing.

Sola turns her attention to Hylo, who has frozen in place, his glasses slipping slightly down his nose. He'd tried to jerk back, to raise his hands in a casting gesture, but he hadn't been fast enough. "Do you know what your problem is, Hylo?" Sola asks. "Well, your worst problem — I'm not talking about your whole personality. Your worst problem is that you never know when to stop pushing your luck. You never know when to back down, or when you've gotten away with running your mouth and should stop while you're ahead. Do you understand?" A little more forcefully, she adds: "Nod if you understand."

Gingerly, aware of the orichalcum blade against his neck, Hylo nods, staring daggers at Sola the entire time.

"Good," Sola says. "Hylo, what you know about actual, first hand combat could fit on a single page. Your ignorance is offensive, obviously, but I can tolerate it. If you say something like that about my mother again, though, I will kill you, and I doubt I'd be blamed all that much. Try to think about that, the next time you offer an insult that dire to someone it's dangerous to offend. Do you understand?"

Hylo nods again, equally shallow. "I understand," he grits out, voice a resentful whisper.

Sola takes Storm's Eye from his throat, leaping backward to land neatly on the floor. "Glad to hear you're learning something in your time here," Sola says, with joviality that doesn't fool you, but plainly infuriates Hylo.

"You can't just go around acting like this anymore!" Hylo hisses, snatching up his books and retreating backward across the room. One of the other fifth years hastily snatches a stool out of his path, saving him from falling over it. "Your house can't protect you anymore, once you're done at this school!"

"We'll see," Sola says. She glances to you — you've just come to stand at her side, and are trying your best not to look like you've been running to get here. "I appreciate you rushing to my aid, Ambraea, but it's not anything I couldn't handle." There's a genuine gratitude in her voice, though.

Just when things seem like they're about to quiet down, one of the fifth years gives a startled cry, and you all look up to see, of all things, a flock of yellow-orange songbirds swarm into the reading room, whirling around in a raucous mass, and coming together into a human shape, roughly equidistant between Hylo and Sola.

All you stare, until you manage: "Very dramatic, but not quite necessary, Idelle."

Idelle glares at you, a few sparks rising up from her to drift away. Nonetheless, you're sure that the only reason you can't see her face heating in embarrassment is her complexion. Behind her, Hylo gives a sigh. "Thank you for the assistance, Ledaal, late as it might be."

"I should hope," you venture, "that we can all relax, and simply go our separate ways."

"A good idea," says Instructor First Light, standing in the doorway behind you, and giving you all a very weary look. "Put—"

"— 'the sword away, Tepet', yes, I'm familiar by this point," Sola says, sliding Storm's Eye back into its sheath. "As you can see, there's no problem here, Instructor."

First Light looks skeptical, but Hylo is already furiously stalking toward the exit, throwing Sola a backwards glare, but not slowing in the least. You make yourself relax. You think that, if you hadn't gotten here when you did, or if your relationship with Sola weren't as strong as it is, that things might have gone very differently for him. You agree with Sola, he is going to run his mouth to the wrong person one day.

Of course, it does mean that the tension with Hylo, much like your disagreements with Idelle, are not actually resolved. That they show every sign of following you all out of school and out into the real world, where they might cement into real, long term enmity. Hylo, certainly, will not forget this humiliation, or those Sola has visited upon him in the past. As terrifying as the Wyld Hunt had been, you are frustratingly aware of how very few of your problems can be solved by stabbing them without creating worse problems in the process, at this point in your life.

You can only hope that you can all collectively hold together some semblance of civility for the next few months, at least.

Article:

In the twilight months of your secondary school career, you are exceptionally busy. But you still find time for goodbyes and periodic conversation with the small population of the Isle of Voices, beyond your Hearth and close friends.

You will have a serious conversation with Diamond-Cut Perfection before the year is out. Who else do you have memorable words with, before graduation?

You may vote for as many options as you like. The top two will be selected.

[ ] Dominie Ragara Bhagwei

[ ] Instructor First Light

[ ] Simendor Deizil and Mnemon Keric