But Aria refused.
A Ballad for Icarus - A Historical Pokemon Quest
- Thread starter Elpis
- Start date
The Flamberg Heir and the Marchioness of the Border
Update 5 - Aria's Trial
Elpis
Ostensibly Hope
- Location
- Berlin
I got something of an infection on my eye and a messed up wrist so I can't draw atm ;-;
[X] Ruby and Redwood. You try not to think about how ironic the combination is, but the Mountain Villager and the Red Bear make for quite a pair. Ruby's trial is set before yours, so this might be the last chance to see them for a while.
[X] …your love.
###
Deep winter is fast approaching at the Caer, the fifth season in between 'early' and 'late' winter finds itself knocking with the fury of your order's namesake.
You stand on the tower again, staring down at the point in front of the gates where you saw the young knight aspirant and her new partner take on their trial just a few weeks ago. Just last week you saw her again, standing proud with one stripe less, and one radiant smile.
She is a junior now. And soon, you will be too. While Drake's summary of how 'easy' your trial should be does sound strange, it does not dissuade you from the knowledge that there is going to be an opportunity soon that will take you even further among the Order.
Skiddle is at your side like usual. She hasn't been staying in her Pokeball very often in the last few days, instead keeping to your side and helping you walk. Whenever you thank her, she smiles at you. Whenever you rely on her, she glows so radiant.
In hindsight, it all changed with her. You know that some scholars have observed the empathy of Gogoats, their ability to read minds with their horns despite their lack of other psychic abilities. Perhaps that kind of power, no matter how dormant, bleeds over into you. Pokemon are, as one of the ancient texts once said, the best of us. Though humans have the intelligence and ability to build civilizations like no other, invent tools to conquer nature, and wage war that can change the face of continents, there is nothing that can truly surpass the ability to empathize and cooperate with nature that claims so much more space in the world than you.
Not two months ago you might have found fault in that kind of affection and empathy. You miss her, that Growlithe you used to call your own, and yet somehow you can't recall her name. You interacted so little with her in the end, you tried your best to raise her in between your mother's attempts to stop frivolities. It was your mother that taught you to fear affection.
It is such a difficult concept to put into words to the point where you don't even attempt to do it. To feel affection for someone who has done you nothing but harm, to want their lack of affection to mean something.
To think that it is your mistake, even though years later, you realize that perhaps it is the way they were raised and they don't truly know how to express themselves—
You shake your head. No. The Flambergs were a different kind of beast. Even among nobility, as much as you dislike the concept, they are so much worse.
One day, you know you will come to face them again. But now, you have the cold wind at your back—you who is without a doubt the strongest version of yourself. You are Aria, and behind you there is no symphony. All you truly need is your own voice, and the melody of the winter winds in between the Gilderan pines.
"Skiddle," you say, your voice as soft as it was when you spoke to the flowers in your grandmother's garden; full of color and affection that you dig out of your heart—the soil which has given birth to the worst and the best of you. Skiddle looks up, meh-ing. "Do you think I did the right thing?"
Skiddle tilts her head. You smile, your hand touching her head. She's grown so much already, reaching above your waist. With a proper saddle, you should be able to ride her soon. She leans into your hand, warmth spreading across your body as she nods.
Capella's anger is understandable, and so is your own dissatisfaction. You can't say she's like a sister to you, there is—or was—only one sibling in your life. Capella is so much more, and somehow less. You don't know what word you can use, because those were not words ever taught to you.
"I'm not so sure myself," you admit. Skiddle bah's. "No, I mean, I think it was something I had to say."
Skiddle bah's again, shaking her head.
"Let me rephrase," you say, bending down to meet Skiddle's gaze. "If you are injured, would you be happy if I was upset at you? Blamed myself for it?"
Skiddle thinks. You can see those beautiful, intelligent eyes—that reflect your own in such a way it makes you wonder just how people see you—and you can see the connections forming. You can see the internal dialogue that must be happening, and you can see her realize that just because she seems to be quite capable at reading people's emotions, there's no way to truly understand what is happening inside another person.
Skiddle bah's.
You bah back.
Skiddle baah's. You think before you respond, then shrug your shoulders.
"This is this," you say, "and that is that."
Skiddle gives you a look. You don't like it, but after a moment she just shrugs her own shoulders, as much as she can, considering most of those are hidden under thick brush of green and blue.
"I don't think it's wrong to be upset when people you like get hurt, Skiddle," you say, once again patting her head. "I think that in the circumstance I found myself in, as an aspirant and you, too, as a Pokemon partner of an aspirant—do you not think, for a moment, that it's just… normal? Are we supposed to never get hurt in the line of duty?"
'I think if we become powerful enough, nothing will hurt us,' Skiddle's eyes seem to say, 'and if nothing can hurt us, then we can be upset at each other for being hurt.'.
"Nobody is invincible," you murmur. Your hand reaches for her horn, your fingers tracing over the feather. "Not even us two. Maybe Lissy is. She's thick enough in the head that she probably can't get hurt."
'Maybe you should learn from her.'
"I am not going to trade what intelligence I have left for a constitution like hers," you say, crossing your arms. "After all, we're going to be fighting together next time."
Next time. It's such a strange emotion that wells up in you as you say it. There will be a next time, after all. You are going to be fighting again. You will be strong, and carry on even if you don't truly want to hurt anyone.
Skiddle dances around you, bah'ing happily. You smile, your worries almost forgotten.
###
It is once again the kitchen that becomes Ruby's place to meet up with you. This time, however, they're aided by Captain Redwood, who is wearing an apron and cloth over his hair. The kitchens are huge, ready to be filled with dozens of cooks at once to serve the nearly one thousand knights that call the Caer home.
This also makes it big enough for Redwood's own partner to make her appearance. The Ursaluna which shares its fur color with Redwood's own hair wears a small crown on her head that looks like it must have been made for a Tediursa.
How apt the name of Princess is for her. You've never been a fan of royalty, so the apprehension at the term is not something that you can blame the Captain for, so you swallow the discomfort when it rises up like bile in your throat.
"Ruby speaks highly of you, Aria," Redwood says, shoving what looks like an entire roast into the oven. You start at the sudden attention, your eyes moving from the three Pokemon to the captain's face. "Though it seems you have some issues with your performance."
You frown. You know Ruby wouldn't share your worries with him so easily. "Did Drake tell you?"
"The commander entrusted me with keeping an eye on you while he was gone," he says, laughing. "Though I admit you surprised me in the classes, your attitude always seems very blasé but you're quite an earnest student."
Your frown melts away. Sure, earnest. Maybe you have had some previous lessons on the politics of the kingdom, but he surely wouldn't think that considering your circumstances.
Ruby does give you a knowing look, though. You stick your tongue out at them.
"Do you truly think that war is inevitable?" you ask. Redwood pauses, the question itself is not so easily answered but the way his eyes widen makes you wonder if there's more to it. Skiddle bah's, riding on top of Princess while Opal rides on her. Opal is holding… a Carrier-Pidgey? It looks slightly irritated but also not annoyed enough to actively fight back. It is not holding a letter, at least, so it must be off duty.
"No," Redwood answers eventually, shaking his head. "I think that war is the most avoidable thing we humans have control over."
"But you still believe there will be one within our lifetime," you say, tensing up. Redwood nods, not taking as long to think. "For specific reasons, or because there has not been a period this long without one?"
"The second verse is the same as the first," Redwood summarizes. For a man who is usually so jolly, the grave expression on his face makes for a grim reminder that he, too, is a man who has fought in war. Captain Redwood is one of the people who was on the frontlines during the last Solian-Gilderan war before the princess' marriage united the continent. A war hero, for all that is worth. "It is human nature to want what one does not."
"But you said it is avoidable," Ruby says, joining the conversation after finishing their own task at the stove. "So why is it going to happen?"
"Because to defy that nature takes a strong character," Redwood says. You nod along. There's no such thing as a strong character among those craven nobles who have never seen the bloodshed with their own eyes. While men like Duke van Kesteren have fought and bled alongside their own knights, the capital nobles who most benefit from war do not even have to send their sons.
It is begrudging respect, but respect nonetheless, for those who have fought and bled for crown and country. While the world is a place you cannot change with your own two hands, those who are born to circumstances like these can only strive to make the best of it. You have not joined the Order out of a sense of naivete, after all, you knew that one day you would fight.
The throbbing in your leg and that crutch leaning against the table are not rewards for lying around and doing nothing.
"Ah," Redwood says, raising his finger to his cheek. "The lesson that was planned for the week of your trip with Silvia. It would have been next week instead, but your trials are at that time, right?"
"Yes," you say. He whistles low and Princess stands up, reaching into the giant bag that sits around her waist and pulls out a large piece of parchment. He takes it from her, laying it on the table and spreading it out. A map. "A map of the continent?"
Ancient Elysium it used to be called. Nowadays it is the Imperial Continent. Though beyond it exist many other nations and cultures, often with conflicts of their own, here only four nations truly find their home. Sol to the east, Gildera landlocked between it and two nations beyond the mountains. While they call themselves the 'Twin Kingdoms', their royal families hate each other more than any Solian noble could ever hate the Gilderans themselves.
Fortunately, due to the rather problematic wall between them and you, and some remnants of the ancestral people that live on those mountains, they are too busy with each other to make any real attempt to invade across the mountains.
They say the ancestors of the Gilderans hail from there, Girallia and Titania— where the Union once formed to take over the continent a thousand years ago.
You wonder what they're like, the people and the Pokemon there.
"Three duchies that defend the crown," Redwood says, lifting his finger. "The Kesteren Duchy I won't need to explain, it is the biggest of the three by territory, though the population is quite spread out. The other two…"
He looks at the map, then puts his finger on the capital in central Gildera.
"Duke Lambert rules no territory at all. Bound to the crown, his family occupies the seat of the prime minister, first advisor to the king. Though individuals of that family own land here and there, they delegate most of the tasks to lower ranking nobles and spend most of their time in high society."
You purse your lips. You know at least one of those families the prime minister has delegated tasks to, and you do not wish to see the capital anytime soon.
It is Ruby who speaks up next, their own finger touching the western part of the map. "Duke Tristan is responsible for the western border. The previous Duke was a dangerously unstable individual, prone to outbursts. His knights often came to harass us even though the king had been tightening the leash."
You nod. The three great families which protect the crown, spread across the map in such a way to avoid ever meeting if it isn't necessary. It is in the history of Gildera that unification may prove dangerous, and it is under the decree of the Skywrath Throne that these families may not marry among each other.
"The current Duke is kind," Ruby continues. You can see it in their eyes, how much it pains them to say something kind about the man. "Though he can't give back some things that have been taken, he has tried to uphold the king's edict. He does not travel to Regis' Pass, none of his knights are to come near it closer than half a day's travel on foot. The Calyrex Guard is still filled with loyalists of the late Duke Tristan, but none defy him right now."
The Calyrex Guard.
While the western border is protected by steep and dangerous mountains, and thus requires no real presence, the kingdom as a whole requires a policing force. The Royal Knights protect only the capital and the royal family, and so the rest of the country that is not under the protection of the Glastrier Order or the Spectrier Border Guard, has to deal with the joyful faces of those blackguards.
The kind of people who would look at a bloodied pair of children and try to take them back to their family when they beg for help.
Perhaps there's more to your kinship with Ruby than you initially thought.
"Why is it that things in Gildera always come in threes," you ask, leaning back into the chair and staring up at the ceiling. "The king had three children, three great duchies, three knight orders. Why not two? Why not four?"
"Well, if it were something like a meeting, where everyone held the same authority," Redwood says, mirroring you, though he smiles rather than staring into nothing. "Two or four could disagree and never come to a consensus, in a binary choice means two can outvote the third."
"And five would be too much authority going around," you surmise. He nods, though whether it is truly the only reason you can't say. Gildera and Sol are intrinsically tied together, their histories occupy the same span of time.
But that can't truly be it, can it? The king himself sits on the throne because he was the only heir of the previous queen. The previous queen had a sister, who became a holy woman. These are all history lessons you're intimately familiar with.
"So everything else," you say, tapping the table, "is mostly a coincidence?"
"Either that or fate," Redwood says, his smile betraying his joy at getting to teach one last time before your trials. "And to be honest with you, Aria, I don't believe in fate."
Yeah, you think to yourself, me neither.
"The king is too old, the crown prince too young," Ruby says, pressing their lips together in thought before shaking their head. They speak up again, their eyes reflecting the candle light. "If the king passes before the prince is old enough, the prime minister will become regent. The other dukes will not accept this so easily."
"Though there is little one can do to truly understand the mind of men, the young Duke Tristan and the Duke van Kesteren are both not people who would challenge the authority of the crown to strengthen their own." Redwood's voice betrays some doubt, though what exactly you can't tell. When his brow furrows and his shoulders tense, he does not just look like a physical wall; you cannot give him any kind of read either. "It is more likely that the Solian emperor will decide that we are weak enough to attack, but the presence of Marquess Reichert stays his hand. There are so many moving parts, Ruby, I could not name them all in one lifetime."
"Duke van Kesteren wanted the throne," you say. Redwood's fist slams on the table, and Ruby jumps out of their chair with such force that the chair flies over. The trio of partners look over, Skiddle so tense you can see her horns shake toward Redwood. You blink, then tilt your head. "I'm sorry, I just… remembered something from an earlier lesson. He was engaged to Crown Princess Isabella, I guessed that…"
"You should be very careful with guesses," Redwood says. Though his reaction was violent for a moment, his demeanor is not changing from the usual kind scholar, nor does his voice sound tense and annoyed at your disrespect toward his liege. "Listen up, lass, while I do not teach aspirants before they receive a partner, I do know that none of the knights in our Order would mention that engagement. Regardless of where you've heard it, do not repeat it outside of this room."
You nod, and watch as Ruby raises their chair up and tries to sit down again, though their hands are still shaking at the sudden scare. You wave at Skiddle, and she calms down, sitting next to Princess but continuing to observe Redwood.
"I know curiosity, and I know that it will not be the end of it," he continues, "so let me explain quickly. The Duke was not the heir at the time, he stepped down to marry the woman he loved."
"Did she love him?" you and Ruby ask at the same time. Redwood closes his eyes, breathing out of his nose.
"I don't know, but what I do know is that when she married the Crown Prince Aurelius, she did not respond to any of his letters. Though the Duke has moved on since then, one does not forget their first love."
And so there's another moving part in the whole equation. The political situation becomes much, much more complicated once human emotions outside of greed and hatred become part of it.
"So the Emperor's love for his late wife stays his hand at the border, because her sister reigns there—" you try to summarize everything, though it still eludes you just how ridiculous this situation must've become in a mere sixteen years since the assassination of the Empress. "While the Kingdom raises a young child born to replace two much more qualified candidates as heir and leaves the administration to three men who together wield as much power as the crown regardless?"
"Just so," Redwood says. You nod, your fist clenching over the map. "War is inevitable, I know this in my bones. Love, greed, revenge, vanity…"
"Politics," you spit. Ruby starts again, though not as badly. The poison in your voice even gives Redwood reason to pause. "Formality and etiquette."
"That is the burden we have chosen to bear," he says. "Just as ancient Atlas, who still today carries the sins of the stars on his shoulders to protect us, we are sworn to protect our country, and our master, whether the war is fought for good or bad reasons."
"And if those reasons are truly that bad?" Ruby asks. They realize, of course, that knighthood is not a walk in the park. And yet, doubts are normal. You cannot fault them. You have your own doubts to wrestle.
Redwood smiles, his hand reaching out to Ruby's hair and patting them. "Then you must sit on the Skywrath Throne or the Sunbound One to truly change the faces of these nations, child."
You grit your teeth. If human nature could change as easily as a royal decree, perhaps the life you've lived could have been different.
The dinner is set in silence. Ruby does not look very happy with the news, however certain you are that they know military success in a war is the fastest way to be granted a noble title.
The meal tastes like ashes and autumn rain.
###
The wind bites through cloth and fur, carving glaciers into your blood and bone. Snow sits on your eyelash, blurring your vision as you try to look at the too-clear sky. Once, that sky felt like the ceiling in a prison you were born into, now you can see the freedom that it promises.
Though the sun is already rising the distance, some stars are still visible, glaring down at you from far above.
You no longer need the crutch to walk. Unfortunately, Skiddle's saddle will not be ready for the trial, but you know you can walk any distance with her at your side. She remains at your side throughout the morning, watching as you prepare, as you grab your weapon from requisition—
You laugh when you remember her bah'ing at the woman who handed you the sword. 'Give me something too,' she demanded. She got a berry for her troubles, which satisfied her enough to continue the routine.
It is Ruby and Lissy who see you off.
"First light's not far," Ruby says, holding up a bag with supplies. You blink, unsure if you can take it. "It's fine, Redwood prepared one for each of us, it's not that I'm giving you anything I need."
You smile at them, your hand reaching out gently to take the bag, slinging it over your shoulder. It smells of home-cooked food, preserving spices, and something familiar you can't quite name.
"Thank you, Ruby," you say. Lissy scoffs, though she also holds something in her hands. You can't say a word before she shoves it into your chest, forcing you to raise your hands to catch it. It's… a book? "You can read?"
Lissy scowls, punching your arm. You laugh, though the punch definitely hurts. Her face tightens up, and it feels so strange to get such a goodbye from her. You won't be gone long, after all. Next month, you'll all be knights worthy of the name.
"It's my good luck charm," she says. You hold it up, reading the cover. Ancient Elysian Legends. A children's book that looks both used and taken care of with such a meticulous hand. "I don't need it where I'm going, so I thought you should have it."
"I…" you begin. You aren't sure what to say to that, it might be the most meaningful thing anyone has ever given you. Something so precious the weight feels like holding a Geodude all of the sudden. "I don't know if I can, Lissy. What if it gets wet? Or it is torn?"
"It's a book," she says, her hands pushing your own back as you try to give it back. "If it's torn, it's torn. If you need it for a fire, burn it. I got everything of value out of it. But… when you come back, and you still don't want it, you can give it back to me."
You swallow, your shaking hands holding the book up to your chin. Your tears sting in the cold air, and for once you make no effort to wipe them away.
"Thank you." You hunch over, half bowing and half trying to hide your face. Drops of water hit the ground and freeze to ice in the snow under your feet. "I'll be sure to bring it back, Lissy! We can read it together, then!"
"Yeah yeah," she says, her own cheeks turning red. "Just stop crying, will you? It's really not that big of a deal."
Ruby laughs, and laughs, and laughs. After a moment, they start to hold their belly, the laughter growing louder and louder. You can't help but smile at them, and Lissy herself finds it hard to stop herself from joining. You raise your head again, pocketing the book into the bag that Drake gave you last month.
"Ruby, Lissy!" you say, your voice cracking only slightly. "I'll be off! See you soon!"
Lissy raises her fist toward you. Ruby joins in, and you smile brightly as you follow suit. Your fists come together—to new friendships forged, to future comrades to stand by your side.
A is for Atlas—who protects us from the stars.
B is for Bellerophon—
###
It is time. You walk out of the gate, greeting the guards with a bright smile on your face. Your breath becomes visible in the morning light as the sun illuminates the Caer in beautiful blue rays. The stars are gone now, replaced by the endless blue.
Skiddle and you make your way toward the small shed. It is often used for naps by the guards, you know, but never this early in the morning. It sits in between a few trees, the roof is pure white with snow, the door slightly ajar.
You knock on the door, but there is no answer, so you walk in. It is dark, the windows barred shut with planks of wood. Something smells… wrong. Skiddle suddenly lets out a strange screech, a sound you've never heard from her before. You tense up, one hand on your sword, the other reaching into your bag. Small pieces of fire stones—a short crush and they make for an excellent light source in the dark. They light the shed up like the sun itself.
The sight in front of you is a nightmare, yet despite your best efforts to wake up there it does not work.
Drake is sitting there, his back against the wall, his sword sticking through his chest. The amount of blood is ridiculous, it pools under him and has already started to freeze at the edges from the cold winter air. You try to reach out, wave your arms in front of you to dispel the illusion, but Skiddle's deafening voice kicks you straight back to reality.
She baaah's and your feet catapult you forward, giving out as you're about to reach him and skidding across the floor, blood drenching your trousers and hands.
But life is not like those stories your grandmother used to tell you. There is no heroic last stand, no final words of wisdom or encouragement. No hope to heal a wound such as this and powering through to a happy ending.
Drake is dead.
And the blood on your hands feels both like fire and fresh snow. Your voiceless cries become heaves, your shoulders shaking as you try to find something wrong with the scene. Something that can prove you're just not seeing right.
You can see cages around the Pokeballs on his waist, a trusted and tried method to avoid accidentally releasing them in places that would rather not have an 8 foot tall dragon stomping around. Would his Pokemon have saved him if that weren't the case? Did he seal them for a purpose?
A prank, a strange trick, maybe this is a test—
Something sticks out of his pocket. A letter, almost untouched by the blood. Whoever killed the man was not after any correspondence, or they would have looked for this. You reach out, inching ever closer with your fingers until you find it within your grasp, pulling slowly because you can't trust your grip.
To Marchioness Reichert it is penned, sealed with wax and the emblem of the Arcanine. Though you know little of what that family looks like now, you would recognize your grandmother's handwriting anywhere.
The world under you collapses. Drake knew all along, didn't he? You sob, your bloodied hands drenching the letter and leaving streaks of red all over the damn seal as you contemplate ripping it open to read the stupid thing.
But you can't.
It was his request, it was his trial to you, it was—
Easy, he said. Whoever killed him must've been someone he trusted. The attack came fast, faster than even his own Pokemon would've reacted.
"Drake," you say, your voice does not travel far. Skiddle is behind you, her horns poking into your back, her teeth grabbing your coat and trying to pull you away from the shed. "Drake, what am I supposed to do?"
You should call for help. You should run into the Caer, and scream about this murder. You should find any captain and beg them to find the person responsible—
Skiddle bah's into your ear with such a force you lose your train of thought once more. There are too many moving parts, there are so many unknowns, and once again your hands are full of the blood of someone you loved.
So here are the details you do know. With all that wisdom you have honed to this point, the image in front of you becomes clear:
Someone knew Drake would be here to meet you today. They were not just willing, but capable of killing the man, which narrows the amount of people in the Caer to the Captains if someone from the Caer was responsible at all. The man was old, sure, but he was still one of the strongest knights of Gildera.
And now you're drenched in his blood. Now you are holding that letter he felt was too important to entrust to anyone but you.
Now you can hear the door behind you open up as Skiddle stands in defense of you, bah'ing at the person entering—
You turn your head, your eyes wide as you stare up at the face of a guardsman. He doesn't look surprised at all. His eyes do not deceive his intentions, entirely focused on your bloodied appearance rather than Drake's corpse.
So he does not shout anything, or accuse you of anything. He does not point or try to call for backup. Instead, the man lunges at you with all the confidence of a trained and experienced knight. If he kills you, he won't have to argue about your guilt. Dead women tell no tales, after all.
You roll out of the way only for him to grab his Pokeball.
The man summons his own Pokemon, the Dodrio immediately moving towards you before Skiddle blocks it.
"Skiddle, attack!"
Skiddle's horns grab one of Dodrio's heads in between them. She jumps, twisting her body in the air and slamming the taller Pokemon into the ground. It might have worked, were it weaker, but Dodrio recovers swiftly and slams Skiddle into the ground in return. The guardsman approaches with his own blade drawn, and you can't do nothing.
You draw your own sword.
"You'll be hanged for this, girl," he says. "The poor orphan, killing her own mentor!"
You don't even try to deny it, because you know it will not work. He already has a narrative ready, and if you lose this fight that will be your end. He swings his sword, you block with your own. Skiddle jumps at the wall and off it to slam Dodrio away.
Well, at the very least you know one thing as your grief is washed away by adrenaline and anger. A man who swings his sword so sloppily could never have hurt Drake. You clench your teeth, pushing him away, readying another swing right at his neck.
But a noise behind you stops you both. A click, a whirr. A metal cage opens up around Drake's Pokeballs, one of them loosening from his belt. It shakes violently, cracking slowly. The mechanism of the cage struggles to hold it inside as the lock breaks down.
The Pokeball opens up, and out of it comes Typhon, the Dragonite that fought with Drake for the entirety of his career. It looks old, for sure, almost human in the way the age shows as lines on its face, scars on its body, and pale antennae. His eyes are out of focus, and in his frenzy he does not even listen to Skiddle who is trying to communicate. The sight of Drake's corpse makes him roar with a ferocity that paralyzes you and the guardsman both. Dodrio runs out of the door and away from the shed. Skiddle does not. Skiddle takes slow steps toward Typhon and bah's, but Typhon is not listening.
He roars again, wind whipped up around his body. It becomes visible to the naked eye, streaks of white and blue forming a furious storm. You shield your eyes, but when your feet leave the ground you realize there is nothing you can do. The ceiling of the shed blows up and away, and suddenly that beautiful clear sky feels like a cage once again.
You try to hold onto Skiddle, but the hurricane separates you with such a force—
Typhon grabs hold of you and drags you into the sky. This is it, you think. This must be where it ends.
But it's not. Typhon spins around, more and more wind whipping up as you can feel your body lighten up and begin to float. It glares at you, roaring loudly, and yet you can hear it. The voice in its heart. That last bit of soul-wrenching sanity aware that decades spent with the man he called his best friend are now over. You can see Skiddle on the ground, calling out to you. You can see three more men who have secured the perimeter, likely there to back up the treacherous guardsman.
They all wear those blue and white uniforms, they are all knights who have passed their trials, who grew up with the Order.
Typhon's grip tightens around your arm, forcing you to look at him.
He says something. And then—
—you black out for a moment. A streak of green fills your vision—
You are Aria.
A traitor to your Order, in the eyes of those who used to call you comrade just a day ago.
Run.
###
You who is filled with wisdom, awareness and love—
The way ahead of you is full of treachery and peril.
So choose your path.
[ ] You are Aria, Unyielding.
You have lost too much. You will not lose anything again. If you want to protect what is precious to you, you must stand against the most powerful and hold your ground. No one is invincible, but you can become close to it.
[ ] You are Aria, Revolutionary.
The world will continue to take from you unless you change it. Ideas are powerful, but unless they become reality they remain only ideas. You must root out what is wrong, and you must fight to set it right.
[ ] You are Aria, Pathstriding.
The Order was never your home. Drake and Capella were, Lissy and Ruby were. The world is larger, more complicated than a single Duchy. To find the truth that hides in the winds of war, your feet must touch unknown ground.
[X] Ruby and Redwood. You try not to think about how ironic the combination is, but the Mountain Villager and the Red Bear make for quite a pair. Ruby's trial is set before yours, so this might be the last chance to see them for a while.
[X] …your love.
###
Deep winter is fast approaching at the Caer, the fifth season in between 'early' and 'late' winter finds itself knocking with the fury of your order's namesake.
You stand on the tower again, staring down at the point in front of the gates where you saw the young knight aspirant and her new partner take on their trial just a few weeks ago. Just last week you saw her again, standing proud with one stripe less, and one radiant smile.
She is a junior now. And soon, you will be too. While Drake's summary of how 'easy' your trial should be does sound strange, it does not dissuade you from the knowledge that there is going to be an opportunity soon that will take you even further among the Order.
Skiddle is at your side like usual. She hasn't been staying in her Pokeball very often in the last few days, instead keeping to your side and helping you walk. Whenever you thank her, she smiles at you. Whenever you rely on her, she glows so radiant.
In hindsight, it all changed with her. You know that some scholars have observed the empathy of Gogoats, their ability to read minds with their horns despite their lack of other psychic abilities. Perhaps that kind of power, no matter how dormant, bleeds over into you. Pokemon are, as one of the ancient texts once said, the best of us. Though humans have the intelligence and ability to build civilizations like no other, invent tools to conquer nature, and wage war that can change the face of continents, there is nothing that can truly surpass the ability to empathize and cooperate with nature that claims so much more space in the world than you.
Not two months ago you might have found fault in that kind of affection and empathy. You miss her, that Growlithe you used to call your own, and yet somehow you can't recall her name. You interacted so little with her in the end, you tried your best to raise her in between your mother's attempts to stop frivolities. It was your mother that taught you to fear affection.
It is such a difficult concept to put into words to the point where you don't even attempt to do it. To feel affection for someone who has done you nothing but harm, to want their lack of affection to mean something.
To think that it is your mistake, even though years later, you realize that perhaps it is the way they were raised and they don't truly know how to express themselves—
You shake your head. No. The Flambergs were a different kind of beast. Even among nobility, as much as you dislike the concept, they are so much worse.
One day, you know you will come to face them again. But now, you have the cold wind at your back—you who is without a doubt the strongest version of yourself. You are Aria, and behind you there is no symphony. All you truly need is your own voice, and the melody of the winter winds in between the Gilderan pines.
"Skiddle," you say, your voice as soft as it was when you spoke to the flowers in your grandmother's garden; full of color and affection that you dig out of your heart—the soil which has given birth to the worst and the best of you. Skiddle looks up, meh-ing. "Do you think I did the right thing?"
Skiddle tilts her head. You smile, your hand touching her head. She's grown so much already, reaching above your waist. With a proper saddle, you should be able to ride her soon. She leans into your hand, warmth spreading across your body as she nods.
Capella's anger is understandable, and so is your own dissatisfaction. You can't say she's like a sister to you, there is—or was—only one sibling in your life. Capella is so much more, and somehow less. You don't know what word you can use, because those were not words ever taught to you.
"I'm not so sure myself," you admit. Skiddle bah's. "No, I mean, I think it was something I had to say."
Skiddle bah's again, shaking her head.
"Let me rephrase," you say, bending down to meet Skiddle's gaze. "If you are injured, would you be happy if I was upset at you? Blamed myself for it?"
Skiddle thinks. You can see those beautiful, intelligent eyes—that reflect your own in such a way it makes you wonder just how people see you—and you can see the connections forming. You can see the internal dialogue that must be happening, and you can see her realize that just because she seems to be quite capable at reading people's emotions, there's no way to truly understand what is happening inside another person.
Skiddle bah's.
You bah back.
Skiddle baah's. You think before you respond, then shrug your shoulders.
"This is this," you say, "and that is that."
Skiddle gives you a look. You don't like it, but after a moment she just shrugs her own shoulders, as much as she can, considering most of those are hidden under thick brush of green and blue.
"I don't think it's wrong to be upset when people you like get hurt, Skiddle," you say, once again patting her head. "I think that in the circumstance I found myself in, as an aspirant and you, too, as a Pokemon partner of an aspirant—do you not think, for a moment, that it's just… normal? Are we supposed to never get hurt in the line of duty?"
'I think if we become powerful enough, nothing will hurt us,' Skiddle's eyes seem to say, 'and if nothing can hurt us, then we can be upset at each other for being hurt.'.
"Nobody is invincible," you murmur. Your hand reaches for her horn, your fingers tracing over the feather. "Not even us two. Maybe Lissy is. She's thick enough in the head that she probably can't get hurt."
'Maybe you should learn from her.'
"I am not going to trade what intelligence I have left for a constitution like hers," you say, crossing your arms. "After all, we're going to be fighting together next time."
Next time. It's such a strange emotion that wells up in you as you say it. There will be a next time, after all. You are going to be fighting again. You will be strong, and carry on even if you don't truly want to hurt anyone.
Skiddle dances around you, bah'ing happily. You smile, your worries almost forgotten.
###
It is once again the kitchen that becomes Ruby's place to meet up with you. This time, however, they're aided by Captain Redwood, who is wearing an apron and cloth over his hair. The kitchens are huge, ready to be filled with dozens of cooks at once to serve the nearly one thousand knights that call the Caer home.
This also makes it big enough for Redwood's own partner to make her appearance. The Ursaluna which shares its fur color with Redwood's own hair wears a small crown on her head that looks like it must have been made for a Tediursa.
How apt the name of Princess is for her. You've never been a fan of royalty, so the apprehension at the term is not something that you can blame the Captain for, so you swallow the discomfort when it rises up like bile in your throat.
"Ruby speaks highly of you, Aria," Redwood says, shoving what looks like an entire roast into the oven. You start at the sudden attention, your eyes moving from the three Pokemon to the captain's face. "Though it seems you have some issues with your performance."
You frown. You know Ruby wouldn't share your worries with him so easily. "Did Drake tell you?"
"The commander entrusted me with keeping an eye on you while he was gone," he says, laughing. "Though I admit you surprised me in the classes, your attitude always seems very blasé but you're quite an earnest student."
Your frown melts away. Sure, earnest. Maybe you have had some previous lessons on the politics of the kingdom, but he surely wouldn't think that considering your circumstances.
Ruby does give you a knowing look, though. You stick your tongue out at them.
"Do you truly think that war is inevitable?" you ask. Redwood pauses, the question itself is not so easily answered but the way his eyes widen makes you wonder if there's more to it. Skiddle bah's, riding on top of Princess while Opal rides on her. Opal is holding… a Carrier-Pidgey? It looks slightly irritated but also not annoyed enough to actively fight back. It is not holding a letter, at least, so it must be off duty.
"No," Redwood answers eventually, shaking his head. "I think that war is the most avoidable thing we humans have control over."
"But you still believe there will be one within our lifetime," you say, tensing up. Redwood nods, not taking as long to think. "For specific reasons, or because there has not been a period this long without one?"
"The second verse is the same as the first," Redwood summarizes. For a man who is usually so jolly, the grave expression on his face makes for a grim reminder that he, too, is a man who has fought in war. Captain Redwood is one of the people who was on the frontlines during the last Solian-Gilderan war before the princess' marriage united the continent. A war hero, for all that is worth. "It is human nature to want what one does not."
"But you said it is avoidable," Ruby says, joining the conversation after finishing their own task at the stove. "So why is it going to happen?"
"Because to defy that nature takes a strong character," Redwood says. You nod along. There's no such thing as a strong character among those craven nobles who have never seen the bloodshed with their own eyes. While men like Duke van Kesteren have fought and bled alongside their own knights, the capital nobles who most benefit from war do not even have to send their sons.
It is begrudging respect, but respect nonetheless, for those who have fought and bled for crown and country. While the world is a place you cannot change with your own two hands, those who are born to circumstances like these can only strive to make the best of it. You have not joined the Order out of a sense of naivete, after all, you knew that one day you would fight.
The throbbing in your leg and that crutch leaning against the table are not rewards for lying around and doing nothing.
"Ah," Redwood says, raising his finger to his cheek. "The lesson that was planned for the week of your trip with Silvia. It would have been next week instead, but your trials are at that time, right?"
"Yes," you say. He whistles low and Princess stands up, reaching into the giant bag that sits around her waist and pulls out a large piece of parchment. He takes it from her, laying it on the table and spreading it out. A map. "A map of the continent?"
Ancient Elysium it used to be called. Nowadays it is the Imperial Continent. Though beyond it exist many other nations and cultures, often with conflicts of their own, here only four nations truly find their home. Sol to the east, Gildera landlocked between it and two nations beyond the mountains. While they call themselves the 'Twin Kingdoms', their royal families hate each other more than any Solian noble could ever hate the Gilderans themselves.
Fortunately, due to the rather problematic wall between them and you, and some remnants of the ancestral people that live on those mountains, they are too busy with each other to make any real attempt to invade across the mountains.
They say the ancestors of the Gilderans hail from there, Girallia and Titania— where the Union once formed to take over the continent a thousand years ago.
You wonder what they're like, the people and the Pokemon there.
"Three duchies that defend the crown," Redwood says, lifting his finger. "The Kesteren Duchy I won't need to explain, it is the biggest of the three by territory, though the population is quite spread out. The other two…"
He looks at the map, then puts his finger on the capital in central Gildera.
"Duke Lambert rules no territory at all. Bound to the crown, his family occupies the seat of the prime minister, first advisor to the king. Though individuals of that family own land here and there, they delegate most of the tasks to lower ranking nobles and spend most of their time in high society."
You purse your lips. You know at least one of those families the prime minister has delegated tasks to, and you do not wish to see the capital anytime soon.
It is Ruby who speaks up next, their own finger touching the western part of the map. "Duke Tristan is responsible for the western border. The previous Duke was a dangerously unstable individual, prone to outbursts. His knights often came to harass us even though the king had been tightening the leash."
You nod. The three great families which protect the crown, spread across the map in such a way to avoid ever meeting if it isn't necessary. It is in the history of Gildera that unification may prove dangerous, and it is under the decree of the Skywrath Throne that these families may not marry among each other.
"The current Duke is kind," Ruby continues. You can see it in their eyes, how much it pains them to say something kind about the man. "Though he can't give back some things that have been taken, he has tried to uphold the king's edict. He does not travel to Regis' Pass, none of his knights are to come near it closer than half a day's travel on foot. The Calyrex Guard is still filled with loyalists of the late Duke Tristan, but none defy him right now."
The Calyrex Guard.
While the western border is protected by steep and dangerous mountains, and thus requires no real presence, the kingdom as a whole requires a policing force. The Royal Knights protect only the capital and the royal family, and so the rest of the country that is not under the protection of the Glastrier Order or the Spectrier Border Guard, has to deal with the joyful faces of those blackguards.
The kind of people who would look at a bloodied pair of children and try to take them back to their family when they beg for help.
Perhaps there's more to your kinship with Ruby than you initially thought.
"Why is it that things in Gildera always come in threes," you ask, leaning back into the chair and staring up at the ceiling. "The king had three children, three great duchies, three knight orders. Why not two? Why not four?"
"Well, if it were something like a meeting, where everyone held the same authority," Redwood says, mirroring you, though he smiles rather than staring into nothing. "Two or four could disagree and never come to a consensus, in a binary choice means two can outvote the third."
"And five would be too much authority going around," you surmise. He nods, though whether it is truly the only reason you can't say. Gildera and Sol are intrinsically tied together, their histories occupy the same span of time.
But that can't truly be it, can it? The king himself sits on the throne because he was the only heir of the previous queen. The previous queen had a sister, who became a holy woman. These are all history lessons you're intimately familiar with.
"So everything else," you say, tapping the table, "is mostly a coincidence?"
"Either that or fate," Redwood says, his smile betraying his joy at getting to teach one last time before your trials. "And to be honest with you, Aria, I don't believe in fate."
Yeah, you think to yourself, me neither.
"The king is too old, the crown prince too young," Ruby says, pressing their lips together in thought before shaking their head. They speak up again, their eyes reflecting the candle light. "If the king passes before the prince is old enough, the prime minister will become regent. The other dukes will not accept this so easily."
"Though there is little one can do to truly understand the mind of men, the young Duke Tristan and the Duke van Kesteren are both not people who would challenge the authority of the crown to strengthen their own." Redwood's voice betrays some doubt, though what exactly you can't tell. When his brow furrows and his shoulders tense, he does not just look like a physical wall; you cannot give him any kind of read either. "It is more likely that the Solian emperor will decide that we are weak enough to attack, but the presence of Marquess Reichert stays his hand. There are so many moving parts, Ruby, I could not name them all in one lifetime."
"Duke van Kesteren wanted the throne," you say. Redwood's fist slams on the table, and Ruby jumps out of their chair with such force that the chair flies over. The trio of partners look over, Skiddle so tense you can see her horns shake toward Redwood. You blink, then tilt your head. "I'm sorry, I just… remembered something from an earlier lesson. He was engaged to Crown Princess Isabella, I guessed that…"
"You should be very careful with guesses," Redwood says. Though his reaction was violent for a moment, his demeanor is not changing from the usual kind scholar, nor does his voice sound tense and annoyed at your disrespect toward his liege. "Listen up, lass, while I do not teach aspirants before they receive a partner, I do know that none of the knights in our Order would mention that engagement. Regardless of where you've heard it, do not repeat it outside of this room."
You nod, and watch as Ruby raises their chair up and tries to sit down again, though their hands are still shaking at the sudden scare. You wave at Skiddle, and she calms down, sitting next to Princess but continuing to observe Redwood.
"I know curiosity, and I know that it will not be the end of it," he continues, "so let me explain quickly. The Duke was not the heir at the time, he stepped down to marry the woman he loved."
"Did she love him?" you and Ruby ask at the same time. Redwood closes his eyes, breathing out of his nose.
"I don't know, but what I do know is that when she married the Crown Prince Aurelius, she did not respond to any of his letters. Though the Duke has moved on since then, one does not forget their first love."
And so there's another moving part in the whole equation. The political situation becomes much, much more complicated once human emotions outside of greed and hatred become part of it.
"So the Emperor's love for his late wife stays his hand at the border, because her sister reigns there—" you try to summarize everything, though it still eludes you just how ridiculous this situation must've become in a mere sixteen years since the assassination of the Empress. "While the Kingdom raises a young child born to replace two much more qualified candidates as heir and leaves the administration to three men who together wield as much power as the crown regardless?"
"Just so," Redwood says. You nod, your fist clenching over the map. "War is inevitable, I know this in my bones. Love, greed, revenge, vanity…"
"Politics," you spit. Ruby starts again, though not as badly. The poison in your voice even gives Redwood reason to pause. "Formality and etiquette."
"That is the burden we have chosen to bear," he says. "Just as ancient Atlas, who still today carries the sins of the stars on his shoulders to protect us, we are sworn to protect our country, and our master, whether the war is fought for good or bad reasons."
"And if those reasons are truly that bad?" Ruby asks. They realize, of course, that knighthood is not a walk in the park. And yet, doubts are normal. You cannot fault them. You have your own doubts to wrestle.
Redwood smiles, his hand reaching out to Ruby's hair and patting them. "Then you must sit on the Skywrath Throne or the Sunbound One to truly change the faces of these nations, child."
You grit your teeth. If human nature could change as easily as a royal decree, perhaps the life you've lived could have been different.
The dinner is set in silence. Ruby does not look very happy with the news, however certain you are that they know military success in a war is the fastest way to be granted a noble title.
The meal tastes like ashes and autumn rain.
###
The wind bites through cloth and fur, carving glaciers into your blood and bone. Snow sits on your eyelash, blurring your vision as you try to look at the too-clear sky. Once, that sky felt like the ceiling in a prison you were born into, now you can see the freedom that it promises.
Though the sun is already rising the distance, some stars are still visible, glaring down at you from far above.
You no longer need the crutch to walk. Unfortunately, Skiddle's saddle will not be ready for the trial, but you know you can walk any distance with her at your side. She remains at your side throughout the morning, watching as you prepare, as you grab your weapon from requisition—
You laugh when you remember her bah'ing at the woman who handed you the sword. 'Give me something too,' she demanded. She got a berry for her troubles, which satisfied her enough to continue the routine.
It is Ruby and Lissy who see you off.
"First light's not far," Ruby says, holding up a bag with supplies. You blink, unsure if you can take it. "It's fine, Redwood prepared one for each of us, it's not that I'm giving you anything I need."
You smile at them, your hand reaching out gently to take the bag, slinging it over your shoulder. It smells of home-cooked food, preserving spices, and something familiar you can't quite name.
"Thank you, Ruby," you say. Lissy scoffs, though she also holds something in her hands. You can't say a word before she shoves it into your chest, forcing you to raise your hands to catch it. It's… a book? "You can read?"
Lissy scowls, punching your arm. You laugh, though the punch definitely hurts. Her face tightens up, and it feels so strange to get such a goodbye from her. You won't be gone long, after all. Next month, you'll all be knights worthy of the name.
"It's my good luck charm," she says. You hold it up, reading the cover. Ancient Elysian Legends. A children's book that looks both used and taken care of with such a meticulous hand. "I don't need it where I'm going, so I thought you should have it."
"I…" you begin. You aren't sure what to say to that, it might be the most meaningful thing anyone has ever given you. Something so precious the weight feels like holding a Geodude all of the sudden. "I don't know if I can, Lissy. What if it gets wet? Or it is torn?"
"It's a book," she says, her hands pushing your own back as you try to give it back. "If it's torn, it's torn. If you need it for a fire, burn it. I got everything of value out of it. But… when you come back, and you still don't want it, you can give it back to me."
You swallow, your shaking hands holding the book up to your chin. Your tears sting in the cold air, and for once you make no effort to wipe them away.
"Thank you." You hunch over, half bowing and half trying to hide your face. Drops of water hit the ground and freeze to ice in the snow under your feet. "I'll be sure to bring it back, Lissy! We can read it together, then!"
"Yeah yeah," she says, her own cheeks turning red. "Just stop crying, will you? It's really not that big of a deal."
Ruby laughs, and laughs, and laughs. After a moment, they start to hold their belly, the laughter growing louder and louder. You can't help but smile at them, and Lissy herself finds it hard to stop herself from joining. You raise your head again, pocketing the book into the bag that Drake gave you last month.
"Ruby, Lissy!" you say, your voice cracking only slightly. "I'll be off! See you soon!"
Lissy raises her fist toward you. Ruby joins in, and you smile brightly as you follow suit. Your fists come together—to new friendships forged, to future comrades to stand by your side.
A is for Atlas—who protects us from the stars.
B is for Bellerophon—
###
It is time. You walk out of the gate, greeting the guards with a bright smile on your face. Your breath becomes visible in the morning light as the sun illuminates the Caer in beautiful blue rays. The stars are gone now, replaced by the endless blue.
Skiddle and you make your way toward the small shed. It is often used for naps by the guards, you know, but never this early in the morning. It sits in between a few trees, the roof is pure white with snow, the door slightly ajar.
You knock on the door, but there is no answer, so you walk in. It is dark, the windows barred shut with planks of wood. Something smells… wrong. Skiddle suddenly lets out a strange screech, a sound you've never heard from her before. You tense up, one hand on your sword, the other reaching into your bag. Small pieces of fire stones—a short crush and they make for an excellent light source in the dark. They light the shed up like the sun itself.
The sight in front of you is a nightmare, yet despite your best efforts to wake up there it does not work.
Drake is sitting there, his back against the wall, his sword sticking through his chest. The amount of blood is ridiculous, it pools under him and has already started to freeze at the edges from the cold winter air. You try to reach out, wave your arms in front of you to dispel the illusion, but Skiddle's deafening voice kicks you straight back to reality.
She baaah's and your feet catapult you forward, giving out as you're about to reach him and skidding across the floor, blood drenching your trousers and hands.
But life is not like those stories your grandmother used to tell you. There is no heroic last stand, no final words of wisdom or encouragement. No hope to heal a wound such as this and powering through to a happy ending.
Drake is dead.
And the blood on your hands feels both like fire and fresh snow. Your voiceless cries become heaves, your shoulders shaking as you try to find something wrong with the scene. Something that can prove you're just not seeing right.
You can see cages around the Pokeballs on his waist, a trusted and tried method to avoid accidentally releasing them in places that would rather not have an 8 foot tall dragon stomping around. Would his Pokemon have saved him if that weren't the case? Did he seal them for a purpose?
A prank, a strange trick, maybe this is a test—
Something sticks out of his pocket. A letter, almost untouched by the blood. Whoever killed the man was not after any correspondence, or they would have looked for this. You reach out, inching ever closer with your fingers until you find it within your grasp, pulling slowly because you can't trust your grip.
To Marchioness Reichert it is penned, sealed with wax and the emblem of the Arcanine. Though you know little of what that family looks like now, you would recognize your grandmother's handwriting anywhere.
The world under you collapses. Drake knew all along, didn't he? You sob, your bloodied hands drenching the letter and leaving streaks of red all over the damn seal as you contemplate ripping it open to read the stupid thing.
But you can't.
It was his request, it was his trial to you, it was—
Easy, he said. Whoever killed him must've been someone he trusted. The attack came fast, faster than even his own Pokemon would've reacted.
"Drake," you say, your voice does not travel far. Skiddle is behind you, her horns poking into your back, her teeth grabbing your coat and trying to pull you away from the shed. "Drake, what am I supposed to do?"
You should call for help. You should run into the Caer, and scream about this murder. You should find any captain and beg them to find the person responsible—
Skiddle bah's into your ear with such a force you lose your train of thought once more. There are too many moving parts, there are so many unknowns, and once again your hands are full of the blood of someone you loved.
So here are the details you do know. With all that wisdom you have honed to this point, the image in front of you becomes clear:
Someone knew Drake would be here to meet you today. They were not just willing, but capable of killing the man, which narrows the amount of people in the Caer to the Captains if someone from the Caer was responsible at all. The man was old, sure, but he was still one of the strongest knights of Gildera.
And now you're drenched in his blood. Now you are holding that letter he felt was too important to entrust to anyone but you.
Now you can hear the door behind you open up as Skiddle stands in defense of you, bah'ing at the person entering—
You turn your head, your eyes wide as you stare up at the face of a guardsman. He doesn't look surprised at all. His eyes do not deceive his intentions, entirely focused on your bloodied appearance rather than Drake's corpse.
So he does not shout anything, or accuse you of anything. He does not point or try to call for backup. Instead, the man lunges at you with all the confidence of a trained and experienced knight. If he kills you, he won't have to argue about your guilt. Dead women tell no tales, after all.
You roll out of the way only for him to grab his Pokeball.
The man summons his own Pokemon, the Dodrio immediately moving towards you before Skiddle blocks it.
"Skiddle, attack!"
Skiddle's horns grab one of Dodrio's heads in between them. She jumps, twisting her body in the air and slamming the taller Pokemon into the ground. It might have worked, were it weaker, but Dodrio recovers swiftly and slams Skiddle into the ground in return. The guardsman approaches with his own blade drawn, and you can't do nothing.
You draw your own sword.
"You'll be hanged for this, girl," he says. "The poor orphan, killing her own mentor!"
You don't even try to deny it, because you know it will not work. He already has a narrative ready, and if you lose this fight that will be your end. He swings his sword, you block with your own. Skiddle jumps at the wall and off it to slam Dodrio away.
Well, at the very least you know one thing as your grief is washed away by adrenaline and anger. A man who swings his sword so sloppily could never have hurt Drake. You clench your teeth, pushing him away, readying another swing right at his neck.
But a noise behind you stops you both. A click, a whirr. A metal cage opens up around Drake's Pokeballs, one of them loosening from his belt. It shakes violently, cracking slowly. The mechanism of the cage struggles to hold it inside as the lock breaks down.
The Pokeball opens up, and out of it comes Typhon, the Dragonite that fought with Drake for the entirety of his career. It looks old, for sure, almost human in the way the age shows as lines on its face, scars on its body, and pale antennae. His eyes are out of focus, and in his frenzy he does not even listen to Skiddle who is trying to communicate. The sight of Drake's corpse makes him roar with a ferocity that paralyzes you and the guardsman both. Dodrio runs out of the door and away from the shed. Skiddle does not. Skiddle takes slow steps toward Typhon and bah's, but Typhon is not listening.
He roars again, wind whipped up around his body. It becomes visible to the naked eye, streaks of white and blue forming a furious storm. You shield your eyes, but when your feet leave the ground you realize there is nothing you can do. The ceiling of the shed blows up and away, and suddenly that beautiful clear sky feels like a cage once again.
You try to hold onto Skiddle, but the hurricane separates you with such a force—
Typhon grabs hold of you and drags you into the sky. This is it, you think. This must be where it ends.
But it's not. Typhon spins around, more and more wind whipping up as you can feel your body lighten up and begin to float. It glares at you, roaring loudly, and yet you can hear it. The voice in its heart. That last bit of soul-wrenching sanity aware that decades spent with the man he called his best friend are now over. You can see Skiddle on the ground, calling out to you. You can see three more men who have secured the perimeter, likely there to back up the treacherous guardsman.
They all wear those blue and white uniforms, they are all knights who have passed their trials, who grew up with the Order.
Typhon's grip tightens around your arm, forcing you to look at him.
He says something. And then—
—you black out for a moment. A streak of green fills your vision—
You are Aria.
A traitor to your Order, in the eyes of those who used to call you comrade just a day ago.
Run.
###
You who is filled with wisdom, awareness and love—
The way ahead of you is full of treachery and peril.
So choose your path.
[ ] You are Aria, Unyielding.
You have lost too much. You will not lose anything again. If you want to protect what is precious to you, you must stand against the most powerful and hold your ground. No one is invincible, but you can become close to it.
[ ] You are Aria, Revolutionary.
The world will continue to take from you unless you change it. Ideas are powerful, but unless they become reality they remain only ideas. You must root out what is wrong, and you must fight to set it right.
[ ] You are Aria, Pathstriding.
The Order was never your home. Drake and Capella were, Lissy and Ruby were. The world is larger, more complicated than a single Duchy. To find the truth that hides in the winds of war, your feet must touch unknown ground.
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Azula, the Fire-Type Specialist
Elpis
Ostensibly Hope
- Location
- Berlin
Here's a drawing for my bestie's Azula Quest: Arsonist's Lullaby: An Azula Timeloop Quest - you should check it out, I do a buncha art for it too.
The final update of Arc 1 should be out by the end of this week (I have finished it, it just requires some editing by friends before I can post it)
Update 6: Rebellion - End of Arc 1
Elpis
Ostensibly Hope
- Location
- Berlin
Winning Vote:
[X] You are Aria, Revolutionary.
###
— you wake up with a start and pain all over your body. You grip your sword tightly, brandishing it in fright and fury.
"You're bleeding!" Your vision blurs with tears and frustration. Your hands are drenched in warm blood. The wound is too deep. Too wide. Too much for a child.
"Aria," he says, his shaking hands gripping your shoulders tightly. "Run, Aria!"
He shoves you. The cliff is steep, but your body endures.
The sword in your hand is pointed at the throat of—a Murkrow? You shake your head, trying to clear up the grogginess and failing miserably. The Murkrow raises its wings in surrender, and a trio of squawks behind it make you tense.
"Ah," you say, lowering the sword. You look around you. A clearing, from the sun's position and the density of trees a decent way away from the Caer. "It's you."
The wind has grown strong in the time you've been unconscious, though from the position of the sun between barren branches not that much time has passed. You know these woods, and somehow you don't think you've ever seen them as they are now.
The trees are cold with the weight of winter. Wildlife has retreated, only the strongest and most desperate Pokemon would still be out and about.
You stand up. Your body aches, but nothing is broken. Even your leg, which had just healed, is not disappointing you as you stab the sword into the ground and use it for leverage. The surrendering Murkrow caws, tilting its head. They don't seem like they're out for a fight today, so that's good.
You do a quick check up on yourself. All limbs are there and there's no obvious bleeding anywhere. Your shield is gone, likely blown off by Typhon's angry wind. At least you have a weapon.
The leader Murkrow salutes. It looks up at you, and there is… worry? Concern? Pity. Any of these three or maybe a combination of them. The pain distracts you from any attempt to really understand, and you find yourself clutching your head once. You can't say you know what it feels like to have a nail driven up your eyeball, but this must be pretty close.
"Fuck," you say. The Murkrow looks horrified for a moment, then the concern takes over its expression again. "Sorry, I need… I need to hide."
You cannot go back. You cannot show your face in the Caer again, not until you find enough evidence to prove your innocence, if that is even possible now that the scene of the crime itself has been blown apart. If not, then you have to find the responsible party. Rivenhold is the least of your worries, considering you're still in the Duke's territory, and even if you leave once your name and face are reported to other peacekeepers you might end up finding yourself a fugitive in all of Gildera.
The responsible party…
That might be hard considering the long list of enemies the Duke, the Order, and Drake himself had.
The connection you have with Skiddle will survive this, you are certain. Perhaps she will come look for you, though…
You grab the ball from your waist. It's cracked, open on one spot. The fall must've broken it. No matter how solid something is, enough pressure will cause strain, and enough strain will lead to the end of all things. Even if you can't right now, until you meet again you know that Ruby and the others will take care of her.
You shake your head. This isn't the time to think about could have been and would have been, there's only one way for you right now and that is forward. You can contact Capella, Lissy, and Ruby later.
You can hold a proper funeral for Drake later.
The letter burns a hole through your pocket. If it's not the target, then why was Drake killed? What purpose could his death serve, a commander who has not fought in a war in well over two decades? Demoralizing the Duke's forces? Ambitions of promotion among the captains? You know most of them, you know Silvia and Redwood would never do it, or at least… at least you think you know them.
Considering the guardsman who so callously attempted to kill you once he 'stumbled' on the assassination, perhaps the apparatus of the Order as a whole is rotten. Such is the way of nobility, and the way of groups that grow too large. In his attempt to create the largest army in Gildera, the Duke let malcontents fester.
But Duke van Kesteren is a fair and impartial man, according to Drake.
So maybe if you can meet him, you can make your case. Cast doubt on the stories that will be spreading among the knights now. You look down on the blood that has tainted most of what used to be blue and white into red and brown. The coat around your shoulders does little to truly keep the cold away, you will need shelter soon. The closest village is… too dangerous to approach. You have to go another way.
To Marchioness Reichert.
The border is not far, and compared to certain death the Spectrier Guard might at least arrest you and hear you out before execution or extradition.
[ ] It's an opportunity.
While dangerous, it's the best way to avoid freezing to death or starving while trying to hide out in the woods. They will no doubt tear apart in search of you.
[ ] It's too dangerous.
You don't know who you can trust. Though Redwood's words about the loyalty of the Dukes still echo in your mind, who's to say the Spectrier Guard wasn't responsible for the assassination?
Your fist clenches over the sword once more. Today isn't the day you can make a decision on this, for now you need a place to hide. A place for shelter. A place to dry that frozen blood off your clothes.
"Hey, err, Murkrow?" you say. The leader crosses its wings, the others follow suit. "This is gonna be hard, can I give you a name for the time being?"
Leader Murkrow salutes, and you think for a moment. It's not easy to come up with a name, but it's not like this one is your partner so you don't need to be creative or deep. Murkle? You shake your head. A female Murkrow, hmmm…
"Thalia," you say. Lissy's book comes to mind. One of the many names in it. Having one name to call is already better than having none. Thalia salutes once more, tilting her head.
"Thalia, Squadkrows," you say, your voice low. "I need help, I know we got off the wrong foot before but I really can't afford to be caught now."
They look at each other, then to Thalia. Thalia caws, then salutes once again, flying up to your shoulder. She points with her beak, and you try to contain the relief in your chest. You can't let your guard down. The woods are dangerous when the snow is so thick. If Typhon was truly trying to help you, you wish he had the decency to send you somewhere warmer.
Drake would laugh and say Typhon never misses.
The winds pick up, white and brown in front of your eyes as even the winterproof trees lose their crowns, leaving only the pines to wear green and blue. The Murkrows try to help, two of them creating gusts of wind with their wings to clear the snow in front of you. Another is flying ahead, checking around and turning your direction with Thalia whenever it spots something in the way.
"I am Aria," you introduce yourself, remembering that you've never done so properly before. "I used to live in the Caer nearby."
Thalia caws.
"Yeah, it's not that much of a home anymore."
What does that say about you? To be so quick to lose that attachment to the place. Well, it's not that the place was what was important to you. It was Drake, it was Capella.
It is Capella, and Lissy, and Ruby.
Thalia caws again, pecking your head. You wave towards her, stopping her vicious assault. "Ow, okay, no distractions! I get it!"
You grit your teeth as the way continues. The wind keeps picking up, it feels unnatural to have such a strong storm when the weather this morning was so clear. Typhon might have something to do with it. Whether that unmatched grief was responsible or he tried to cover your tracks, you can't say. Either way, the wind becomes too much for your eyes, and you end up closing them, trusting Thalia to lead the way by pulling into the right direction.
You can smell flowers in the distance, but as you turn around, there is no sight of Skiddle. Thalia's caws get louder, more encouraging. You take one step, and then another. You are the one who walks, and all that is left behind finds itself erased by the snow.
But finally, you reach your goal.
The cave can barely be called one. It's a hole in the ground that leads into what looks like a nest of a Pokemon that hasn't been here in a long time. For a moment you wonder if the Murkrows led you into a trap, but Thalia was the first to enter. It's not warm, but it's certainly warmer.
One of the Squadkrows leads you further in. There's no fire, no wood, nothing dry enough to use any of those stupid survival skills you've spent so many years learning about. You're too tired, and too hurt, and too distracted. You end up having to bend down, crouching half of the way to the deepest part of the cave.
"Thank you," you manage to say, your voice echoing. Thalia caws softly. You find yourself comforted, and while you can't tell what they're saying at all, you know they're good Pokemon, if a bit mischievous and prone to pranks.
While Thalia nuzzles up against you, the other Murkrow are blanketing you in leaves and twigs. It gets warmer, and though the pain remains you find yourself drifting off to sleep.
###
You are a rebellious young lady. You sometimes stay awake longer than you are allowed, reading a book, or run through the halls even when you should walk. There is little you cannot do, because even if you're caught, your grandmother simply smiles and says to do better next time.
Never let perfect get in the way of good enough.
Unfortunately perfect is exactly what your mother always wants from you. Hair has to be braided just right, the dress has to fit, your steps must be immaculate. You're no princess, you're no queen, you're no empress, so why is she expecting you to be better than everyone else?
Why do the other noble girls get to wear normal shoes and dresses without any tightness around their waists? Why do you have to learn how to dance to every song?
At least dancing is fun. Zack tries to make it fun, and you play along, even if your teacher starts getting frustrated.
Today is a waltz of some kind, with music that is kinda fast, from a composer that used to be unknown until he died. Zack follows your lead, as you're the one who has memorized the steps already.
On the second repeat of the same dumb twirl, Zack loses track of where his feet should be and ends up stepping on yours. You wince, and he quickly moves to apologize.
"Ah," he says, putting on a voice like your mother, "my dear lady, I am inconsolable, can you forgive me this one time?"
You snort, the most unladylike sounds leaving your throat as you find yourself keeling over in laughter. He starts laughing as well, and the music stops for a moment. You both look at your teacher, Lady Niobe, the daughter of a provincial count that has been trying to curry favor with your family.
She does not look happy. So you give it your all, and cough before reaching out to Zack again. He takes your hand, and the music continues.
Until, for the third time, he steps on your feet.
"You're a terrible dancer," you say. Zack laughs, then grabs you by the belly and lifts you up. You can't help but laugh as he spins you around. The music stops, but he doesn't, even as Lady Niobe coughs impolitely into her fan to stop the dance. He does get dizzy, and you find yourself sprawled on the ground on top of him, still laughing to the point you start having a hiccup.
"Young lord," Lady Niobe says, her lips still hidden by the fan. "It might be more appropriate to work within the confines of my lessons if we want to get you ready for the prime minister's ball."
He is still laughing as he gets up, taking your hand and helping you get back on your feet.
"I think if the prime minister expects a twelve year old to dance perfectly at a ball with no other children, his expectations are too high," Zack counters. "How much time do we have today?"
"There is still an hour left," Lady Niobe answers. "So unless you want to practice under the Marchioness' gaze, please let us—"
You hiccup. It comes out very loud for some reason, and Lady Niobe looks more annoyed than before. Her behavior towards you has always been different. The adopted child is clearly not a true noble, she must be thinking. With skin that cannot be from Gildera and eyes that don't belong to the Flambergs, why must I show her respect?
Well, two can play that game. Zack's hand is still in yours. You turn around, and run—
Zack follows, pearls of laughter echoing through the hallways of the estate.
Lady Niobe doesn't even try to run after you. She knows that once word of this reaches your mother, you will be punished. Lately, though, her punishments have decreased. Even when she feels forced to educate you properly, her whip has moved from your fingers to your back.
What scars you had on your hands were even taken care of with some fancy medicine she clearly always had available, slowly letting them fade.
At first, you hoped it was her having a change of heart, but something else must be going on.
People do not change that easily.
So when you come across your father's office, and the door is not properly closed after a servant must have brought him tea, you go to close it lest that servant faces punishment. Zack follows you, sneaking slowly toward the door like you're on a secret mission.
You hiccup again, and Zack slaps his hand over your mouth all of the sudden. Your mother's voice comes out of the room, high-pitched and joyful.
"This is perfect, don't you see?" she says. You turn your head slightly, looking into the room. The office is well-kept and has little actual interior. A couch, a chair, a table. At the wall are hundreds of books, and in a corner a small potted plant with some flowers. "Your mother gave us the greatest gift."
You flinch at the thought of your grandmother ever giving your mother anything to be happy about. These two were diametrically opposed on practically every single issue.
"The people would speak," he said, though the objection in his voice is meek and lacks any conviction. "Such a thing is outdated, Marchioness."
"It is outdated, not outlawed, my dear," she says, speaking the affectionate nickname with poison on her tongue. It's so strange. You don't remember her being this bad when you were much younger. So why… "Your mother demanded we adopt her, some unknown child of unknown heritage!"
"Except she's neither, is she?" He waves a letter in his hands. It's too far to make out any text. "If anyone finds out that we knew, death will be the least of our worries!"
"And nobody has to know," the Marchioness waves her hand, dismissing his concerns. "She is still young, she listens to her parents. They don't have to marry right away, but if we have them engaged with the blessing of the king, even he won't be able to lift a hand."
"Engaged?" Zack whispers, his eyes moving toward you. Your hand grips his, your nails digging into his skin. You try to loosen up when you notice, but he pulls on your hand to stop you from moving. "Who'd they even—"
"Zack won't play along." Your father's words are more quiet now. As if he knows that your mother can convince him of anything. "They're not that young, and they're not that uneducated."
"They're not that old either," she says. "We are their parents, the only people they can rely on. When we tell them to do something, they will have to do it. That is what family means."
You shake your head. You're not surprised. Why would you be? This is exactly the kind of person she has always been, your grandmother simply stopped her from escalating to this point. Marriage? You've just celebrated your 11th birthday. She must be out of her mind.
"The House of Flamberg will be greater than ever before," she says, her voice rising. "All you have to do is to stamp this letter, and by this time next week we will have the prime minister calling on us for the king's blessing."
"At the cost of our children's happiness?"
"With enough power, happiness will follow."
The man shakes his head, but despite that, his hand still grabs that wax. His fingers still trace that seal on the table.
Zack grabs you by the arm and pulls you away from the door. You run. Because that is what he tells you to do.
You notice a single thing— a single moment that will sit in your heart forever— not once in that conversation did they say your name.
###
Your eyes open to the sight of stone. The cave you've crawled into made for a miserable place to lie in, but the storm outside must have subsided. Thalia stirs next to you, cawing softly as you shake her awake. "I have to leave."
Your words are accompanied by a growling in your stomach. The hunger comes, the rations you have will likely keep you going, though your appetite leaves you as you think about Ruby and Lissy. About Redwood and Silvia hearing about your alleged crime.
You look down and in between the twigs and leaves that they put on you to keep you warm, there are large berries. You grab those you know humans can't digest and put them aside, slowly shuffling out of the crevice and finding yourself sitting next to the entrance, biting down on a bitter fruit that takes all the grogginess away from you.
It's night. Your clothes are dry, and the wind no longer promises pain. The clothes on your back should be enough to carry you to your goal, if you can even make it there. The Murkrows have helped you so much, but you can't keep relying on them and take them into danger with you.
Thalia wakes up and approaches the entrance as well, looking at you. You hand over one of the berries and watch as she devours it whole. "Thank you, Thalia."
Thalia shrugs her wings, scoffing softly. Somehow, you feel without the exhaustion there's a better understanding between the two of you. 'There's no need to thank me,' she seems to say.
"You didn't have to help me, if anything we were enemies, right?"
Thalia shrugs again. 'Why would we be enemies?'
"I guess you're right," you whisper. "Just because one has a fight doesn't mean there can't be any friendship born from that."
You remember reading about it once before. The Professor of the Tower wrote a thesis on Pokemon and their desire to show off their prowess, with those that lose a fight growing to respect the winner. It's one of his three great theses that open up on the Imperial Pokemon Index your father used to have in his library.
"I guess you don't want to come with me, do you?" you ask. Thalia shakes her head. She points at the rest of the squad that's still lying asleep in the cave. Then she points at herself. "Yeah, that's what I thought. Still, if I'm ever around again, we can share some berries."
Thalia caws, then salutes you one last time as you stand up. You hope you can return. To get Skiddle back, to give your friends hugs and apologize. To stand in front of that guardsman and cut his head off.
Regardless of your destination, you have to regain your bearings and navigate through the snow. So you move, every step taking you further away from the Caer.
"A is for Atlas," you whisper to yourself, taking a step forward. And so it continues. B is for Bellerophon, who dethroned a god. C is for the Cyclops, who defied his father.
Every step is another letter, and every letter is another goodbye.
The attack comes when you least expect it. Just as you pass between two trees and the sight of a large road becomes real. The wind whipping up behind you makes you duck, your own hand moving to your sword. You lack the shield, the half that makes defense so much easier, but you are by no means someone who would be stopped by this.
You roll into the snow, your cloak keeping most of it away from your still cold body. You shake any of it from your head as you stand up quickly, turning around to find—Capella.
She looks like a ghost. Her skin, always pale, has taken on the color of the snow. Her lips are pink and blue, her hair frazzled and pointing into every direction instead of braided like usual.
In your eyes, she looks like a fairy. Ethereal, unreal, ready to vanish at a glance, as if a soft wind could shatter her skin like ice and carry what is left of her into the sky. Your grip loosens, but the sword in the tree tells you she is not here to talk.
"Capella," you say, raising your free hand. "Whatever they told you, it's not true."
"They told me Drake is dead," she says. Her voice sounds off. Like the cadence has been lost to anger to the point that all that remains is nihility. "They told me you're running, his blood on your hands."
All that is true, and yet could not be further from it. You look down on yourself, the dried blood makes you nauseous.
"You have to listen," you say. She can't be calmed down, because there is no emotion in her that could be placated by words. You try to speak again, but she does not let you. She's so fast, so much faster than you can react. Even if you weren't half-frozen, there is no doubt in your mind that you can't even come close to it. The shield in her hand is thrown at you, and you block it with your sword before she slides over the snow and kicks your leg out from under you.
You raise your blade to block hers as it comes down on you. The sky is so bright, and Capella shines even brighter.
"You always run when there's trouble," Capella says. You can see the tears in her eyes freezing as they travel down her cheeks. "But you never come to me for help."
You don't know what to say to that, so you say nothing—no, screw that.
"It's because I run from everything," you say, pushing against her. She has the high ground, but you have the fury that she lacks. "Because I never face anything head on, because I always relied on you and Drake that I don't know what to do!"
You push her off, rolling through the snow to regain your footing and taking your sword into both hands. You think of your brother, of the way he swung his sword to defend those who could not defend themselves.
You think about running.
But today you will not.
"I can't keep relying on you to make things right, Capella," you say, squaring your shoulders. "Because this isn't something you can make right. The Order is rotten! The guards knew about his death!"
"But why did you run from me?" her voice breaks at the end, and you can't help but wipe at your eyes as you notice them wet with tears. What she lacks in anger, she makes up in sadness. "Drake is gone, everyone thinks you did it—"
"But I didn't!" you insist again, and again she chokes out a sob.
"I know!" Her shout startles the wildlife around you. "But if you're gone, they'll assume you're guilty anyway. Aria, you have to come back with me!"
She raises her hand toward you. You find your feet take you forward, your hand reaching back.
You know that nobody will believe you. You know that before you find yourself facing a court, you will face a blade. You know that Capella will do anything to keep you safe, and in the end she will be at your side, even in—even in death.
You close your eyes, taking a deep breath. The letter in your pocket feels so, so heavy.
You are Aria.
Once, that name had more than four letters.
So—
[ ] … you take Capella's hand.
You cannot let Capella die. She is all you have left. You are all she has left.
[X] … you have to leave.
You pull your hand back, and Capella recoils from you. It would have been less surprising if you had just struck her. That outstretched hand becomes a fist in front of her chest, and you know that today is not the day your broken bond will be mended.
Some other day, perhaps, in the future.
If you live that long.
"I'm sorry," you say, "but I cannot face them when I don't know who killed Drake. Not when the trial he gave me is still left unfulfilled."
"I'm sorry too," she says. She lunges, and you dodge, like usual. Unlike all the other times, however, she does not stumble over your outstretched foot. She… always knew how to dodge it, didn't she?
You can't help but smile as she jumps over your leg, rolling to pick up her shield on the ground. She raises it as you slam your own sword down, aiming at her arm. Neither of you want to kill each other, neither of you want to die. Neither of you can give an inch.
Unlike the fight with the poacher, you're at a clear disadvantage. Capella is not just better rested than you, despite looking like death frozen over, but also plain better. She was not Lissy's rival in academics, for sure. She moves with a grace and precision that makes you wonder what kind of life she lived with Drake before you came along.
The side of her sword bashes against your chest, causing you to cry out in pain. Her knee comes up to kick you in the stomach.
In exchange, you grab that leg and bite into it on the way down. She falls with you, and after a moment of thought you find your own fists raining down on her. She raises her arms, defending her head. When you slow down, too exhausted to keep the barrage going, she kicks you off.
You don't know what you're fighting about anymore. Her bringing you back? Your fight about your injuries? About new friendships? About Drake's favoritism?
It's clear when her fist hits you square in the jaw, the emotion behind it is one of melancholic grief. It's clear when your fist slams into the side of her chest, the emotion behind it mirrors the same. It's not the first time you have felt like this, and now you fear you're cursed to repeat this over and over again.
That every time you open yourself up, the gods punish the mere thought that you can be happy.
But you know for this part of your life, no matter how deep this friendship is, you will not see each other again for a good while.
"Capella," you say, your hand clutching your shoulder as you take a deep breath. "I will… never regret meeting you. Never."
"What the hell are you talking about?" she asks, her sword still in hand. She looks exhausted too, though it bleeds in the way her fingers twitch at every rustling tree. Emotionally, Capella is at the end of the line. Physically, she can probably keep going.
"If the Skywrath Sovereign came down to ask me," you say, ignoring the taste of iron in your mouth. "If I would change anything about my life, I would say no."
She does not know what to say, so she says nothing. Your words are a long knife. You impale yourself on it to hit her.
There's nothing that could change the past, and even if you could, what use is there to think about could have been and would have been? What use is the idea that if you had done a thing different, if you had taken a different turn at that burning village, if you had stretched out your hand instead of pulling it away?
Though you know your heart would break, over and over and over again.
You would still do it all over again. Because that's the kind of person Drake raised you to be.
"I don't understand you!"
You don't have any energy to answer, so you ball your fist, raising it up. You will make her understand you.
Two steps forward and a leap. Your fist crashes down on her defense, the shield in her arms sending pain into your knuckles. Despite it, you persevere. She counters with a swing of her sword, once again aiming with the side of the blade to knock the wind out of you. You don't let her, blocking with your arm and ignoring the pain as your elbow snaps toward your ribs.
Your other hand comes up, ready to knock her off her feet.
It fails, of course. She is faster, raising her face to the sky and dodging the uppercut with grace, before copying the move you used against the poacher, slamming her forehead into your face.
You are sent reeling. Step after step backwards, before you finally reach a tree. Your back touches the wood and your legs immediately give out under you. Your nose is bleeding again. Capella was never gentle, but you did expect a bit more decency.
The next noise out of your mouth is laughter. Not mocking laughter, not joyful one, just laughter. In lieu of any other possible words and noises, exchanging exhaustion for mirth, you find yourself laughing. When Capella stabs the sword next to your neck and deep into the tree, the noise grows louder.
"Why are you laughing?" she asks, leaning forward. "I won the fight, you have to come back with me. You should be… angry, upset."
"Because you'll let me go," you say, your hand reaching out to her cheek. "Because you know, Capella, that if you drag me back, I will die."
The truth is a sunrise every time her shoulders quiver at the idea that her hands can no longer reach yours. She puts her forehead against yours, you can feel it throbbing after that headbutt. You can smell the garden you always imagined in her breath. You can feel her heartbeat on your fingertips.
She shouts every curse word in her repertoire as she pulls back the sword from your neck, stabbing it next to you instead. A snap follows the belt with Skiddle's Pokeball falling off. She picks it up, turning around. The way she holds her sword, the cape on her back, the bruises on her ungloved hands. She reminds you of Drake, as everything does in these rotten woods.
"Promise me," she says. Her voice is small against the biting wind. "Promise me you'll hide until I solve this. Then, when everything is clear, you can come back. We can become the knights Drake wanted us to be."
"I promise," you say, lying to her. Lying to yourself. Nothing will be how it was, even if your name is cleared. Even if the Order is willing to accept you back in. You continue, speaking the one truth you will manifest even if the gods stand in your way. "We'll be together again, Capella."
She does not look at your face to check the truth in your words. Her feet take her forward and away. Towards the Caer, holding the belt with your broken Pokeball as proof of your fight. You reach out, but by the time you find the strength in your feet to chase her, she is long gone.
Today, she is the one who runs.
###
You know these woods, and you know your way out. Capella can't go with you, because if you're both fugitives there'll be no peace for the rest of your lives.
So let's start over from the beginning, one last time.
You are Aria. Once that name had more than four letters. Once you held the hands of those who are now lost to you, now you hold a sword like a child brandishing a stick.
On the way out of the woods you hear a cry. A terrible, pain-filled expression of grief. And though you, too, want to do nothing but collapse and cry until all those emotions are finally gone, you know one thing that even your distance from Skiddle cannot take away: You cannot ignore someone's plight.
You clench your fist and move forward…
[ ] … with a Knight's Grit.
You smell that garden in the distance as you approach this Pokemon. It looks desperate to be free, willing to make any sacrifice. Its stature is so small, yet you can see the ferocity in each attempt to unchain itself.
[ ] … with a Knight's Cunning.
A shiver runs over your spine as you approach this Pokemon. It vanishes and reappears repeatedly, but unable to phase through the strange net that has caught it. Beads of red glow with power around its neck.
[ ] … with a Knight's Authority.
A sharp sound fills the air as you approach this Pokemon. The air around it freezes, its claws scratching the air around it as it tries to free itself from the trap. It glares at you with sharp red eyes.
[X] You are Aria, Revolutionary.
###
— you wake up with a start and pain all over your body. You grip your sword tightly, brandishing it in fright and fury.
"You're bleeding!" Your vision blurs with tears and frustration. Your hands are drenched in warm blood. The wound is too deep. Too wide. Too much for a child.
"Aria," he says, his shaking hands gripping your shoulders tightly. "Run, Aria!"
He shoves you. The cliff is steep, but your body endures.
The sword in your hand is pointed at the throat of—a Murkrow? You shake your head, trying to clear up the grogginess and failing miserably. The Murkrow raises its wings in surrender, and a trio of squawks behind it make you tense.
"Ah," you say, lowering the sword. You look around you. A clearing, from the sun's position and the density of trees a decent way away from the Caer. "It's you."
The wind has grown strong in the time you've been unconscious, though from the position of the sun between barren branches not that much time has passed. You know these woods, and somehow you don't think you've ever seen them as they are now.
The trees are cold with the weight of winter. Wildlife has retreated, only the strongest and most desperate Pokemon would still be out and about.
You stand up. Your body aches, but nothing is broken. Even your leg, which had just healed, is not disappointing you as you stab the sword into the ground and use it for leverage. The surrendering Murkrow caws, tilting its head. They don't seem like they're out for a fight today, so that's good.
You do a quick check up on yourself. All limbs are there and there's no obvious bleeding anywhere. Your shield is gone, likely blown off by Typhon's angry wind. At least you have a weapon.
The leader Murkrow salutes. It looks up at you, and there is… worry? Concern? Pity. Any of these three or maybe a combination of them. The pain distracts you from any attempt to really understand, and you find yourself clutching your head once. You can't say you know what it feels like to have a nail driven up your eyeball, but this must be pretty close.
"Fuck," you say. The Murkrow looks horrified for a moment, then the concern takes over its expression again. "Sorry, I need… I need to hide."
You cannot go back. You cannot show your face in the Caer again, not until you find enough evidence to prove your innocence, if that is even possible now that the scene of the crime itself has been blown apart. If not, then you have to find the responsible party. Rivenhold is the least of your worries, considering you're still in the Duke's territory, and even if you leave once your name and face are reported to other peacekeepers you might end up finding yourself a fugitive in all of Gildera.
The responsible party…
That might be hard considering the long list of enemies the Duke, the Order, and Drake himself had.
The connection you have with Skiddle will survive this, you are certain. Perhaps she will come look for you, though…
You grab the ball from your waist. It's cracked, open on one spot. The fall must've broken it. No matter how solid something is, enough pressure will cause strain, and enough strain will lead to the end of all things. Even if you can't right now, until you meet again you know that Ruby and the others will take care of her.
You shake your head. This isn't the time to think about could have been and would have been, there's only one way for you right now and that is forward. You can contact Capella, Lissy, and Ruby later.
You can hold a proper funeral for Drake later.
The letter burns a hole through your pocket. If it's not the target, then why was Drake killed? What purpose could his death serve, a commander who has not fought in a war in well over two decades? Demoralizing the Duke's forces? Ambitions of promotion among the captains? You know most of them, you know Silvia and Redwood would never do it, or at least… at least you think you know them.
Considering the guardsman who so callously attempted to kill you once he 'stumbled' on the assassination, perhaps the apparatus of the Order as a whole is rotten. Such is the way of nobility, and the way of groups that grow too large. In his attempt to create the largest army in Gildera, the Duke let malcontents fester.
But Duke van Kesteren is a fair and impartial man, according to Drake.
So maybe if you can meet him, you can make your case. Cast doubt on the stories that will be spreading among the knights now. You look down on the blood that has tainted most of what used to be blue and white into red and brown. The coat around your shoulders does little to truly keep the cold away, you will need shelter soon. The closest village is… too dangerous to approach. You have to go another way.
To Marchioness Reichert.
The border is not far, and compared to certain death the Spectrier Guard might at least arrest you and hear you out before execution or extradition.
[ ] It's an opportunity.
While dangerous, it's the best way to avoid freezing to death or starving while trying to hide out in the woods. They will no doubt tear apart in search of you.
[ ] It's too dangerous.
You don't know who you can trust. Though Redwood's words about the loyalty of the Dukes still echo in your mind, who's to say the Spectrier Guard wasn't responsible for the assassination?
Your fist clenches over the sword once more. Today isn't the day you can make a decision on this, for now you need a place to hide. A place for shelter. A place to dry that frozen blood off your clothes.
"Hey, err, Murkrow?" you say. The leader crosses its wings, the others follow suit. "This is gonna be hard, can I give you a name for the time being?"
Leader Murkrow salutes, and you think for a moment. It's not easy to come up with a name, but it's not like this one is your partner so you don't need to be creative or deep. Murkle? You shake your head. A female Murkrow, hmmm…
"Thalia," you say. Lissy's book comes to mind. One of the many names in it. Having one name to call is already better than having none. Thalia salutes once more, tilting her head.
"Thalia, Squadkrows," you say, your voice low. "I need help, I know we got off the wrong foot before but I really can't afford to be caught now."
They look at each other, then to Thalia. Thalia caws, then salutes once again, flying up to your shoulder. She points with her beak, and you try to contain the relief in your chest. You can't let your guard down. The woods are dangerous when the snow is so thick. If Typhon was truly trying to help you, you wish he had the decency to send you somewhere warmer.
Drake would laugh and say Typhon never misses.
The winds pick up, white and brown in front of your eyes as even the winterproof trees lose their crowns, leaving only the pines to wear green and blue. The Murkrows try to help, two of them creating gusts of wind with their wings to clear the snow in front of you. Another is flying ahead, checking around and turning your direction with Thalia whenever it spots something in the way.
"I am Aria," you introduce yourself, remembering that you've never done so properly before. "I used to live in the Caer nearby."
Thalia caws.
"Yeah, it's not that much of a home anymore."
What does that say about you? To be so quick to lose that attachment to the place. Well, it's not that the place was what was important to you. It was Drake, it was Capella.
It is Capella, and Lissy, and Ruby.
Thalia caws again, pecking your head. You wave towards her, stopping her vicious assault. "Ow, okay, no distractions! I get it!"
You grit your teeth as the way continues. The wind keeps picking up, it feels unnatural to have such a strong storm when the weather this morning was so clear. Typhon might have something to do with it. Whether that unmatched grief was responsible or he tried to cover your tracks, you can't say. Either way, the wind becomes too much for your eyes, and you end up closing them, trusting Thalia to lead the way by pulling into the right direction.
You can smell flowers in the distance, but as you turn around, there is no sight of Skiddle. Thalia's caws get louder, more encouraging. You take one step, and then another. You are the one who walks, and all that is left behind finds itself erased by the snow.
But finally, you reach your goal.
The cave can barely be called one. It's a hole in the ground that leads into what looks like a nest of a Pokemon that hasn't been here in a long time. For a moment you wonder if the Murkrows led you into a trap, but Thalia was the first to enter. It's not warm, but it's certainly warmer.
One of the Squadkrows leads you further in. There's no fire, no wood, nothing dry enough to use any of those stupid survival skills you've spent so many years learning about. You're too tired, and too hurt, and too distracted. You end up having to bend down, crouching half of the way to the deepest part of the cave.
"Thank you," you manage to say, your voice echoing. Thalia caws softly. You find yourself comforted, and while you can't tell what they're saying at all, you know they're good Pokemon, if a bit mischievous and prone to pranks.
While Thalia nuzzles up against you, the other Murkrow are blanketing you in leaves and twigs. It gets warmer, and though the pain remains you find yourself drifting off to sleep.
###
You are a rebellious young lady. You sometimes stay awake longer than you are allowed, reading a book, or run through the halls even when you should walk. There is little you cannot do, because even if you're caught, your grandmother simply smiles and says to do better next time.
Never let perfect get in the way of good enough.
Unfortunately perfect is exactly what your mother always wants from you. Hair has to be braided just right, the dress has to fit, your steps must be immaculate. You're no princess, you're no queen, you're no empress, so why is she expecting you to be better than everyone else?
Why do the other noble girls get to wear normal shoes and dresses without any tightness around their waists? Why do you have to learn how to dance to every song?
At least dancing is fun. Zack tries to make it fun, and you play along, even if your teacher starts getting frustrated.
Today is a waltz of some kind, with music that is kinda fast, from a composer that used to be unknown until he died. Zack follows your lead, as you're the one who has memorized the steps already.
On the second repeat of the same dumb twirl, Zack loses track of where his feet should be and ends up stepping on yours. You wince, and he quickly moves to apologize.
"Ah," he says, putting on a voice like your mother, "my dear lady, I am inconsolable, can you forgive me this one time?"
You snort, the most unladylike sounds leaving your throat as you find yourself keeling over in laughter. He starts laughing as well, and the music stops for a moment. You both look at your teacher, Lady Niobe, the daughter of a provincial count that has been trying to curry favor with your family.
She does not look happy. So you give it your all, and cough before reaching out to Zack again. He takes your hand, and the music continues.
Until, for the third time, he steps on your feet.
"You're a terrible dancer," you say. Zack laughs, then grabs you by the belly and lifts you up. You can't help but laugh as he spins you around. The music stops, but he doesn't, even as Lady Niobe coughs impolitely into her fan to stop the dance. He does get dizzy, and you find yourself sprawled on the ground on top of him, still laughing to the point you start having a hiccup.
"Young lord," Lady Niobe says, her lips still hidden by the fan. "It might be more appropriate to work within the confines of my lessons if we want to get you ready for the prime minister's ball."
He is still laughing as he gets up, taking your hand and helping you get back on your feet.
"I think if the prime minister expects a twelve year old to dance perfectly at a ball with no other children, his expectations are too high," Zack counters. "How much time do we have today?"
"There is still an hour left," Lady Niobe answers. "So unless you want to practice under the Marchioness' gaze, please let us—"
You hiccup. It comes out very loud for some reason, and Lady Niobe looks more annoyed than before. Her behavior towards you has always been different. The adopted child is clearly not a true noble, she must be thinking. With skin that cannot be from Gildera and eyes that don't belong to the Flambergs, why must I show her respect?
Well, two can play that game. Zack's hand is still in yours. You turn around, and run—
Zack follows, pearls of laughter echoing through the hallways of the estate.
Lady Niobe doesn't even try to run after you. She knows that once word of this reaches your mother, you will be punished. Lately, though, her punishments have decreased. Even when she feels forced to educate you properly, her whip has moved from your fingers to your back.
What scars you had on your hands were even taken care of with some fancy medicine she clearly always had available, slowly letting them fade.
At first, you hoped it was her having a change of heart, but something else must be going on.
People do not change that easily.
So when you come across your father's office, and the door is not properly closed after a servant must have brought him tea, you go to close it lest that servant faces punishment. Zack follows you, sneaking slowly toward the door like you're on a secret mission.
You hiccup again, and Zack slaps his hand over your mouth all of the sudden. Your mother's voice comes out of the room, high-pitched and joyful.
"This is perfect, don't you see?" she says. You turn your head slightly, looking into the room. The office is well-kept and has little actual interior. A couch, a chair, a table. At the wall are hundreds of books, and in a corner a small potted plant with some flowers. "Your mother gave us the greatest gift."
You flinch at the thought of your grandmother ever giving your mother anything to be happy about. These two were diametrically opposed on practically every single issue.
"The people would speak," he said, though the objection in his voice is meek and lacks any conviction. "Such a thing is outdated, Marchioness."
"It is outdated, not outlawed, my dear," she says, speaking the affectionate nickname with poison on her tongue. It's so strange. You don't remember her being this bad when you were much younger. So why… "Your mother demanded we adopt her, some unknown child of unknown heritage!"
"Except she's neither, is she?" He waves a letter in his hands. It's too far to make out any text. "If anyone finds out that we knew, death will be the least of our worries!"
"And nobody has to know," the Marchioness waves her hand, dismissing his concerns. "She is still young, she listens to her parents. They don't have to marry right away, but if we have them engaged with the blessing of the king, even he won't be able to lift a hand."
"Engaged?" Zack whispers, his eyes moving toward you. Your hand grips his, your nails digging into his skin. You try to loosen up when you notice, but he pulls on your hand to stop you from moving. "Who'd they even—"
"Zack won't play along." Your father's words are more quiet now. As if he knows that your mother can convince him of anything. "They're not that young, and they're not that uneducated."
"They're not that old either," she says. "We are their parents, the only people they can rely on. When we tell them to do something, they will have to do it. That is what family means."
You shake your head. You're not surprised. Why would you be? This is exactly the kind of person she has always been, your grandmother simply stopped her from escalating to this point. Marriage? You've just celebrated your 11th birthday. She must be out of her mind.
"The House of Flamberg will be greater than ever before," she says, her voice rising. "All you have to do is to stamp this letter, and by this time next week we will have the prime minister calling on us for the king's blessing."
"At the cost of our children's happiness?"
"With enough power, happiness will follow."
The man shakes his head, but despite that, his hand still grabs that wax. His fingers still trace that seal on the table.
Zack grabs you by the arm and pulls you away from the door. You run. Because that is what he tells you to do.
You notice a single thing— a single moment that will sit in your heart forever— not once in that conversation did they say your name.
###
Your eyes open to the sight of stone. The cave you've crawled into made for a miserable place to lie in, but the storm outside must have subsided. Thalia stirs next to you, cawing softly as you shake her awake. "I have to leave."
Your words are accompanied by a growling in your stomach. The hunger comes, the rations you have will likely keep you going, though your appetite leaves you as you think about Ruby and Lissy. About Redwood and Silvia hearing about your alleged crime.
You look down and in between the twigs and leaves that they put on you to keep you warm, there are large berries. You grab those you know humans can't digest and put them aside, slowly shuffling out of the crevice and finding yourself sitting next to the entrance, biting down on a bitter fruit that takes all the grogginess away from you.
It's night. Your clothes are dry, and the wind no longer promises pain. The clothes on your back should be enough to carry you to your goal, if you can even make it there. The Murkrows have helped you so much, but you can't keep relying on them and take them into danger with you.
Thalia wakes up and approaches the entrance as well, looking at you. You hand over one of the berries and watch as she devours it whole. "Thank you, Thalia."
Thalia shrugs her wings, scoffing softly. Somehow, you feel without the exhaustion there's a better understanding between the two of you. 'There's no need to thank me,' she seems to say.
"You didn't have to help me, if anything we were enemies, right?"
Thalia shrugs again. 'Why would we be enemies?'
"I guess you're right," you whisper. "Just because one has a fight doesn't mean there can't be any friendship born from that."
You remember reading about it once before. The Professor of the Tower wrote a thesis on Pokemon and their desire to show off their prowess, with those that lose a fight growing to respect the winner. It's one of his three great theses that open up on the Imperial Pokemon Index your father used to have in his library.
"I guess you don't want to come with me, do you?" you ask. Thalia shakes her head. She points at the rest of the squad that's still lying asleep in the cave. Then she points at herself. "Yeah, that's what I thought. Still, if I'm ever around again, we can share some berries."
Thalia caws, then salutes you one last time as you stand up. You hope you can return. To get Skiddle back, to give your friends hugs and apologize. To stand in front of that guardsman and cut his head off.
Regardless of your destination, you have to regain your bearings and navigate through the snow. So you move, every step taking you further away from the Caer.
"A is for Atlas," you whisper to yourself, taking a step forward. And so it continues. B is for Bellerophon, who dethroned a god. C is for the Cyclops, who defied his father.
Every step is another letter, and every letter is another goodbye.
The attack comes when you least expect it. Just as you pass between two trees and the sight of a large road becomes real. The wind whipping up behind you makes you duck, your own hand moving to your sword. You lack the shield, the half that makes defense so much easier, but you are by no means someone who would be stopped by this.
You roll into the snow, your cloak keeping most of it away from your still cold body. You shake any of it from your head as you stand up quickly, turning around to find—Capella.
She looks like a ghost. Her skin, always pale, has taken on the color of the snow. Her lips are pink and blue, her hair frazzled and pointing into every direction instead of braided like usual.
In your eyes, she looks like a fairy. Ethereal, unreal, ready to vanish at a glance, as if a soft wind could shatter her skin like ice and carry what is left of her into the sky. Your grip loosens, but the sword in the tree tells you she is not here to talk.
"Capella," you say, raising your free hand. "Whatever they told you, it's not true."
"They told me Drake is dead," she says. Her voice sounds off. Like the cadence has been lost to anger to the point that all that remains is nihility. "They told me you're running, his blood on your hands."
All that is true, and yet could not be further from it. You look down on yourself, the dried blood makes you nauseous.
"You have to listen," you say. She can't be calmed down, because there is no emotion in her that could be placated by words. You try to speak again, but she does not let you. She's so fast, so much faster than you can react. Even if you weren't half-frozen, there is no doubt in your mind that you can't even come close to it. The shield in her hand is thrown at you, and you block it with your sword before she slides over the snow and kicks your leg out from under you.
You raise your blade to block hers as it comes down on you. The sky is so bright, and Capella shines even brighter.
"You always run when there's trouble," Capella says. You can see the tears in her eyes freezing as they travel down her cheeks. "But you never come to me for help."
You don't know what to say to that, so you say nothing—no, screw that.
"It's because I run from everything," you say, pushing against her. She has the high ground, but you have the fury that she lacks. "Because I never face anything head on, because I always relied on you and Drake that I don't know what to do!"
You push her off, rolling through the snow to regain your footing and taking your sword into both hands. You think of your brother, of the way he swung his sword to defend those who could not defend themselves.
You think about running.
But today you will not.
"I can't keep relying on you to make things right, Capella," you say, squaring your shoulders. "Because this isn't something you can make right. The Order is rotten! The guards knew about his death!"
"But why did you run from me?" her voice breaks at the end, and you can't help but wipe at your eyes as you notice them wet with tears. What she lacks in anger, she makes up in sadness. "Drake is gone, everyone thinks you did it—"
"But I didn't!" you insist again, and again she chokes out a sob.
"I know!" Her shout startles the wildlife around you. "But if you're gone, they'll assume you're guilty anyway. Aria, you have to come back with me!"
She raises her hand toward you. You find your feet take you forward, your hand reaching back.
You know that nobody will believe you. You know that before you find yourself facing a court, you will face a blade. You know that Capella will do anything to keep you safe, and in the end she will be at your side, even in—even in death.
You close your eyes, taking a deep breath. The letter in your pocket feels so, so heavy.
You are Aria.
Once, that name had more than four letters.
So—
You cannot let Capella die. She is all you have left. You are all she has left.
[X] … you have to leave.
You pull your hand back, and Capella recoils from you. It would have been less surprising if you had just struck her. That outstretched hand becomes a fist in front of her chest, and you know that today is not the day your broken bond will be mended.
Some other day, perhaps, in the future.
If you live that long.
"I'm sorry," you say, "but I cannot face them when I don't know who killed Drake. Not when the trial he gave me is still left unfulfilled."
"I'm sorry too," she says. She lunges, and you dodge, like usual. Unlike all the other times, however, she does not stumble over your outstretched foot. She… always knew how to dodge it, didn't she?
You can't help but smile as she jumps over your leg, rolling to pick up her shield on the ground. She raises it as you slam your own sword down, aiming at her arm. Neither of you want to kill each other, neither of you want to die. Neither of you can give an inch.
Unlike the fight with the poacher, you're at a clear disadvantage. Capella is not just better rested than you, despite looking like death frozen over, but also plain better. She was not Lissy's rival in academics, for sure. She moves with a grace and precision that makes you wonder what kind of life she lived with Drake before you came along.
The side of her sword bashes against your chest, causing you to cry out in pain. Her knee comes up to kick you in the stomach.
In exchange, you grab that leg and bite into it on the way down. She falls with you, and after a moment of thought you find your own fists raining down on her. She raises her arms, defending her head. When you slow down, too exhausted to keep the barrage going, she kicks you off.
You don't know what you're fighting about anymore. Her bringing you back? Your fight about your injuries? About new friendships? About Drake's favoritism?
It's clear when her fist hits you square in the jaw, the emotion behind it is one of melancholic grief. It's clear when your fist slams into the side of her chest, the emotion behind it mirrors the same. It's not the first time you have felt like this, and now you fear you're cursed to repeat this over and over again.
That every time you open yourself up, the gods punish the mere thought that you can be happy.
But you know for this part of your life, no matter how deep this friendship is, you will not see each other again for a good while.
"Capella," you say, your hand clutching your shoulder as you take a deep breath. "I will… never regret meeting you. Never."
"What the hell are you talking about?" she asks, her sword still in hand. She looks exhausted too, though it bleeds in the way her fingers twitch at every rustling tree. Emotionally, Capella is at the end of the line. Physically, she can probably keep going.
"If the Skywrath Sovereign came down to ask me," you say, ignoring the taste of iron in your mouth. "If I would change anything about my life, I would say no."
She does not know what to say, so she says nothing. Your words are a long knife. You impale yourself on it to hit her.
There's nothing that could change the past, and even if you could, what use is there to think about could have been and would have been? What use is the idea that if you had done a thing different, if you had taken a different turn at that burning village, if you had stretched out your hand instead of pulling it away?
Though you know your heart would break, over and over and over again.
You would still do it all over again. Because that's the kind of person Drake raised you to be.
"I don't understand you!"
You don't have any energy to answer, so you ball your fist, raising it up. You will make her understand you.
Two steps forward and a leap. Your fist crashes down on her defense, the shield in her arms sending pain into your knuckles. Despite it, you persevere. She counters with a swing of her sword, once again aiming with the side of the blade to knock the wind out of you. You don't let her, blocking with your arm and ignoring the pain as your elbow snaps toward your ribs.
Your other hand comes up, ready to knock her off her feet.
It fails, of course. She is faster, raising her face to the sky and dodging the uppercut with grace, before copying the move you used against the poacher, slamming her forehead into your face.
You are sent reeling. Step after step backwards, before you finally reach a tree. Your back touches the wood and your legs immediately give out under you. Your nose is bleeding again. Capella was never gentle, but you did expect a bit more decency.
The next noise out of your mouth is laughter. Not mocking laughter, not joyful one, just laughter. In lieu of any other possible words and noises, exchanging exhaustion for mirth, you find yourself laughing. When Capella stabs the sword next to your neck and deep into the tree, the noise grows louder.
"Why are you laughing?" she asks, leaning forward. "I won the fight, you have to come back with me. You should be… angry, upset."
"Because you'll let me go," you say, your hand reaching out to her cheek. "Because you know, Capella, that if you drag me back, I will die."
The truth is a sunrise every time her shoulders quiver at the idea that her hands can no longer reach yours. She puts her forehead against yours, you can feel it throbbing after that headbutt. You can smell the garden you always imagined in her breath. You can feel her heartbeat on your fingertips.
She shouts every curse word in her repertoire as she pulls back the sword from your neck, stabbing it next to you instead. A snap follows the belt with Skiddle's Pokeball falling off. She picks it up, turning around. The way she holds her sword, the cape on her back, the bruises on her ungloved hands. She reminds you of Drake, as everything does in these rotten woods.
"Promise me," she says. Her voice is small against the biting wind. "Promise me you'll hide until I solve this. Then, when everything is clear, you can come back. We can become the knights Drake wanted us to be."
"I promise," you say, lying to her. Lying to yourself. Nothing will be how it was, even if your name is cleared. Even if the Order is willing to accept you back in. You continue, speaking the one truth you will manifest even if the gods stand in your way. "We'll be together again, Capella."
She does not look at your face to check the truth in your words. Her feet take her forward and away. Towards the Caer, holding the belt with your broken Pokeball as proof of your fight. You reach out, but by the time you find the strength in your feet to chase her, she is long gone.
Today, she is the one who runs.
###
You know these woods, and you know your way out. Capella can't go with you, because if you're both fugitives there'll be no peace for the rest of your lives.
So let's start over from the beginning, one last time.
You are Aria. Once that name had more than four letters. Once you held the hands of those who are now lost to you, now you hold a sword like a child brandishing a stick.
On the way out of the woods you hear a cry. A terrible, pain-filled expression of grief. And though you, too, want to do nothing but collapse and cry until all those emotions are finally gone, you know one thing that even your distance from Skiddle cannot take away: You cannot ignore someone's plight.
You clench your fist and move forward…
[ ] … with a Knight's Grit.
You smell that garden in the distance as you approach this Pokemon. It looks desperate to be free, willing to make any sacrifice. Its stature is so small, yet you can see the ferocity in each attempt to unchain itself.
[ ] … with a Knight's Cunning.
A shiver runs over your spine as you approach this Pokemon. It vanishes and reappears repeatedly, but unable to phase through the strange net that has caught it. Beads of red glow with power around its neck.
[ ] … with a Knight's Authority.
A sharp sound fills the air as you approach this Pokemon. The air around it freezes, its claws scratching the air around it as it tries to free itself from the trap. It glares at you with sharp red eyes.
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Interlude 1: Stories of Elysium - Kael the Sunsinger
Elpis
Ostensibly Hope
- Location
- Berlin
"Let me tell you of the founding myths, of golden rays of sunlight."
The table is set for iced tea and snacks. Instead of cookies, Winterberries sit in bowls with small forks. They're as sweet as can be, despite the warmer weather of the last few months. Cubes of ice sit in the cups.
"Grandmother, is this story boring?" a young girl asks. Her grandmother gives a simple smile, and though there are so many other things to do, today the young girl decides to sit with her grandmother and listen to a story she wants to tell.
"Long ago—" she begins.
"When you were a child?"
"Longer, even," the grandmother says. She said it so casually. What could be longer than the life of her grandma? "A thousand years, perhaps longer. And even then, the exact time has been lost."
"How do you lose time?" the girl asks, crossing her arms. The grandmother laughs.
"Do you remember the day you took your first steps?" the grandmother asks in return. The girl thinks, and thinks, and thinks—but nothing comes to mind. She shakes her head, and the grandmother nods. "Sometimes, things are just forgotten. Time is lost."
The girl nods in return. Of course, that makes sense. "So back then, what happened?"
"Back then, there was no Kingdom of Gildera. And no Empire of Sol."
That rouses the interest of the girl quickly. The things she always knew? Not yet created?
"Back then, the first emperor did not set out to create an empire at all," the grandmother explained. "Kael the Sunsinger was a warrior in what we used to call Elysium. The continent held no borders, people were free to do as they pleased. Unfortunately, this also meant that those stronger than others could impose their wills on those weaker than them.."
The girl takes a sip from the tea, pretending to know what 'impose' means in the context of that explanation. She raises her head, with all the dignity she has as her grandmother reaches over and wipes the tea from her cheek. "Impose, of course."
"From the west of their lands, there was a great and terrible Union. A group of people who had pooled their resources and men together in an attempt to take over the continent."
"But grandmother," the girl says. "Are we not west of the empire?"
The grandmother said nothing, continuing as if the question had never been asked.
"Kael gathered his own group to fight back. Many heroes were born in those ages. Inana, who is said to have come from the moon. Aenya, who they say came from the future. Daron, who could cure any wound. Those four built an army that could rival the Union. One day, before a fateful battle, they gathered together on the hills that have become the mountains that surround us."
"Hills that become mountains," the girl says, failing to keep the awe out of her voice. "Like I will grow taller than my father, right?"
The grandmother raises her hand, giving the girl a pat on the head. "That will take a while, you have to eat more than fruit and iced tea if you want to achieve that."
The girl pouts, but continues to listen.
"Kael and his Charizard sat on that hill, finding the flags of the Union gathering in the distance. So far, despite their resolution, Kael's army failed to win any major battles. The Union was strong, and it was growing stronger still as it took what it conquered. The people suffered, but their leaders didn't care."
"That's not too different, is it?" the girl whispered. "Nobles who don't care about their people?"
"A people without a king remain a people still," the grandmother says. "But a king without people rules nothing but hills. Though that much is true now as it was all those centuries ago, bottomless greed is in the nature of man."
The girl didn't have the vocabulary to disagree. That it's quite clear to her that people can be better than that. That greed is not nature, but a flaw in those whose hearts are too small. That when she has a treat, she will always share it with her brother.
"What exactly happened in that battle, we don't know," the grandmother continues. "But we know how it ended. Kael was facing the commander of the Union, whose name is no longer known. The Dread King was supported by a powerful deity, whose darkness spread over the battlefield and helped his armies by blinding only those it was facing. So Kael cried out to the heavens."
The girl shuffles forward on her chair, sitting on the edge as she leans over. "And? What happened?"
"Heaven responded. In seconds, the darkness was gone. Though Kael has lost most of his comrades in arms, hope was beginning to spread. From the sky descended the guardian of Sol, whose head is now on every banner in the Empire."
"Solgaleo!" the girl shouts, her hands hitting the table. She spills some of the tea, but doesn't notice even as her grandmother tells the maids to leave it. "The guardian of Sol, that's it, right?!"
"Indeed," the grandmother says, handing the girl a handkerchief. The girl obliges, taking it and cleaning the spilled tea off the table. "Solgaleo appeared in a flash of light, and the battle stopped. The Dread King tried to fight, but his power left him, the sunlight burning away his darkness and Kael took the time to negotiate."
"I didn't think you could negotiate with gods."
"Well, most people can't. But sometimes, people have a certain disposition. The content of their character makes the gods more inclined to hear one out. So Solgaleo listened. 'If I die here today, I will do it unbowed', he declared. 'But if it is not yet my time to die, O Starlight Eating Sun God, then hear out my plea.'"
"And it listened?"
"It did," the grandmother says, nodding. "He raised his sword to the sun and continued. 'I will protect everything the sun touches. From here, to the furthest reaches of the continent. Be it human, Pokemon, or the trees and flowers that give these lands their life.'"
The girl goes still. Her breath hitching in her throat as she imagines the scene in her mind. Her grandmother continues without any break.
"'So let my blood be your blood,'" Kael shouted. "'And let your lands be my lands. So that the bloodshed may end. So that my people know peace.'"
Solgaleo roars, its forehead touching the man's hand. The sword in his hand glows as bright as the sun.
"So then the newborn king carved the sunlight into the ground, creating the first border of Sol," the grandmother says. "The hills became mountains, and the Union army was banished from Sol by the Sun."
The girl frowns, and her grandmother stops for a moment.
"Is something the matter?"
"He became king to protect them," the girl asks. "But didn't he do the same thing as the Union would have? Suddenly, he's a noble ruler, and they're his subjects?"
"That's one way to interpret it, certainly," the grandmother says. "Perhaps to some there was no difference, but stories never tell the whole truth."
"So maybe he wasn't made king by Solgaleo?"
"Maybe not. Maybe the people made him king because he protected them. Maybe there was no one who wanted to fight him for it."
The frown does not vanish, but it does soften slightly.
"So why are you telling me about Sol, and not Gildera?" the girl asks. "It's where we live."
"You cannot tell the story of Gildera without telling the story of Sol," her grandmother says. "Next time we meet in this garden, I have another story for you."
"It better not be boring," the girl says, standing up. She can barely look over the table when she's not sitting on the high chair. "Or else I'll fall asleep!"
Her grandmother laughs, one hand reaching out to pat the girl's hair down.
###
Stories of Elysium:
K is for Kael — who sundered the earth.
It was during that summer ten years after my dear friend, the young poet of Thebes, had passed. In searching for meaning, I found faith. Not my own, but that of others.
I asked how do you know that the Gods can hear you? That your prayers reach their ears? That your soul will find that kingdom and live in harmony with the spirits of your ancestors?
And they pointed at the sun.
"My friend, why do you weep?" The young poet once asked me. He looked pale and broken, from a life well lived. "I will be with Atlas, the shield in front of you. My teeth will cut the throat of the Starscourge, my eyes will shine like distant suns."
"None will mourn you," I said, "not the elders of your village, or the men of the mountains and hills. The land will not know your name, nor will any beast or flower shriek as if they were your mother."
"Must I be mourned?" he asked, his head tilting from one side to the other, his hands intertwining in mine. "Must we strive to be known, so that the riverbanks we used to stroll know our feet will never touch them again?"
I could not answer him. I always feared death myself, feared the unknown. I feared so much that the mere thought froze my limbs and heart, that one day people would no longer know my name. I decided to become someone who could not be forgotten.
I decided to sing of the sun.
The Sunsinger:
Art by me, as always
The table is set for iced tea and snacks. Instead of cookies, Winterberries sit in bowls with small forks. They're as sweet as can be, despite the warmer weather of the last few months. Cubes of ice sit in the cups.
"Grandmother, is this story boring?" a young girl asks. Her grandmother gives a simple smile, and though there are so many other things to do, today the young girl decides to sit with her grandmother and listen to a story she wants to tell.
"Long ago—" she begins.
"When you were a child?"
"Longer, even," the grandmother says. She said it so casually. What could be longer than the life of her grandma? "A thousand years, perhaps longer. And even then, the exact time has been lost."
"How do you lose time?" the girl asks, crossing her arms. The grandmother laughs.
"Do you remember the day you took your first steps?" the grandmother asks in return. The girl thinks, and thinks, and thinks—but nothing comes to mind. She shakes her head, and the grandmother nods. "Sometimes, things are just forgotten. Time is lost."
The girl nods in return. Of course, that makes sense. "So back then, what happened?"
"Back then, there was no Kingdom of Gildera. And no Empire of Sol."
That rouses the interest of the girl quickly. The things she always knew? Not yet created?
"Back then, the first emperor did not set out to create an empire at all," the grandmother explained. "Kael the Sunsinger was a warrior in what we used to call Elysium. The continent held no borders, people were free to do as they pleased. Unfortunately, this also meant that those stronger than others could impose their wills on those weaker than them.."
The girl takes a sip from the tea, pretending to know what 'impose' means in the context of that explanation. She raises her head, with all the dignity she has as her grandmother reaches over and wipes the tea from her cheek. "Impose, of course."
"From the west of their lands, there was a great and terrible Union. A group of people who had pooled their resources and men together in an attempt to take over the continent."
"But grandmother," the girl says. "Are we not west of the empire?"
The grandmother said nothing, continuing as if the question had never been asked.
"Kael gathered his own group to fight back. Many heroes were born in those ages. Inana, who is said to have come from the moon. Aenya, who they say came from the future. Daron, who could cure any wound. Those four built an army that could rival the Union. One day, before a fateful battle, they gathered together on the hills that have become the mountains that surround us."
"Hills that become mountains," the girl says, failing to keep the awe out of her voice. "Like I will grow taller than my father, right?"
The grandmother raises her hand, giving the girl a pat on the head. "That will take a while, you have to eat more than fruit and iced tea if you want to achieve that."
The girl pouts, but continues to listen.
"Kael and his Charizard sat on that hill, finding the flags of the Union gathering in the distance. So far, despite their resolution, Kael's army failed to win any major battles. The Union was strong, and it was growing stronger still as it took what it conquered. The people suffered, but their leaders didn't care."
"That's not too different, is it?" the girl whispered. "Nobles who don't care about their people?"
"A people without a king remain a people still," the grandmother says. "But a king without people rules nothing but hills. Though that much is true now as it was all those centuries ago, bottomless greed is in the nature of man."
The girl didn't have the vocabulary to disagree. That it's quite clear to her that people can be better than that. That greed is not nature, but a flaw in those whose hearts are too small. That when she has a treat, she will always share it with her brother.
"What exactly happened in that battle, we don't know," the grandmother continues. "But we know how it ended. Kael was facing the commander of the Union, whose name is no longer known. The Dread King was supported by a powerful deity, whose darkness spread over the battlefield and helped his armies by blinding only those it was facing. So Kael cried out to the heavens."
The girl shuffles forward on her chair, sitting on the edge as she leans over. "And? What happened?"
"Heaven responded. In seconds, the darkness was gone. Though Kael has lost most of his comrades in arms, hope was beginning to spread. From the sky descended the guardian of Sol, whose head is now on every banner in the Empire."
"Solgaleo!" the girl shouts, her hands hitting the table. She spills some of the tea, but doesn't notice even as her grandmother tells the maids to leave it. "The guardian of Sol, that's it, right?!"
"Indeed," the grandmother says, handing the girl a handkerchief. The girl obliges, taking it and cleaning the spilled tea off the table. "Solgaleo appeared in a flash of light, and the battle stopped. The Dread King tried to fight, but his power left him, the sunlight burning away his darkness and Kael took the time to negotiate."
"I didn't think you could negotiate with gods."
"Well, most people can't. But sometimes, people have a certain disposition. The content of their character makes the gods more inclined to hear one out. So Solgaleo listened. 'If I die here today, I will do it unbowed', he declared. 'But if it is not yet my time to die, O Starlight Eating Sun God, then hear out my plea.'"
"And it listened?"
"It did," the grandmother says, nodding. "He raised his sword to the sun and continued. 'I will protect everything the sun touches. From here, to the furthest reaches of the continent. Be it human, Pokemon, or the trees and flowers that give these lands their life.'"
The girl goes still. Her breath hitching in her throat as she imagines the scene in her mind. Her grandmother continues without any break.
"'So let my blood be your blood,'" Kael shouted. "'And let your lands be my lands. So that the bloodshed may end. So that my people know peace.'"
Solgaleo roars, its forehead touching the man's hand. The sword in his hand glows as bright as the sun.
"So then the newborn king carved the sunlight into the ground, creating the first border of Sol," the grandmother says. "The hills became mountains, and the Union army was banished from Sol by the Sun."
The girl frowns, and her grandmother stops for a moment.
"Is something the matter?"
"He became king to protect them," the girl asks. "But didn't he do the same thing as the Union would have? Suddenly, he's a noble ruler, and they're his subjects?"
"That's one way to interpret it, certainly," the grandmother says. "Perhaps to some there was no difference, but stories never tell the whole truth."
"So maybe he wasn't made king by Solgaleo?"
"Maybe not. Maybe the people made him king because he protected them. Maybe there was no one who wanted to fight him for it."
The frown does not vanish, but it does soften slightly.
"So why are you telling me about Sol, and not Gildera?" the girl asks. "It's where we live."
"You cannot tell the story of Gildera without telling the story of Sol," her grandmother says. "Next time we meet in this garden, I have another story for you."
"It better not be boring," the girl says, standing up. She can barely look over the table when she's not sitting on the high chair. "Or else I'll fall asleep!"
Her grandmother laughs, one hand reaching out to pat the girl's hair down.
###
Stories of Elysium:
K is for Kael — who sundered the earth.
It was during that summer ten years after my dear friend, the young poet of Thebes, had passed. In searching for meaning, I found faith. Not my own, but that of others.
I asked how do you know that the Gods can hear you? That your prayers reach their ears? That your soul will find that kingdom and live in harmony with the spirits of your ancestors?
And they pointed at the sun.
"My friend, why do you weep?" The young poet once asked me. He looked pale and broken, from a life well lived. "I will be with Atlas, the shield in front of you. My teeth will cut the throat of the Starscourge, my eyes will shine like distant suns."
"None will mourn you," I said, "not the elders of your village, or the men of the mountains and hills. The land will not know your name, nor will any beast or flower shriek as if they were your mother."
"Must I be mourned?" he asked, his head tilting from one side to the other, his hands intertwining in mine. "Must we strive to be known, so that the riverbanks we used to stroll know our feet will never touch them again?"
I could not answer him. I always feared death myself, feared the unknown. I feared so much that the mere thought froze my limbs and heart, that one day people would no longer know my name. I decided to become someone who could not be forgotten.
I decided to sing of the sun.
The Sunsinger:
Art by me, as always
Last edited:
Update 7: The Border - Start of Arc 2
Elpis
Ostensibly Hope
- Location
- Berlin
Arc 2: The Border and the Runaway Knight
Winning Vote:
[X] It's an opportunity.
[X] … with a Knight's Authority.
###
On the way out of the woods you hear a cry. A terrible, pain-filled expression of grief. And though you, too, want to do nothing but collapse and cry until all those emotions are finally gone, you know one thing that even your distance from Skiddle cannot take away: You cannot ignore someone's plight.
It has never been a question of whether you should help or not, has it?
You can help, so you will help, because that's the kind of person you are. You don't care to call it Noblesse Oblige. You don't care to think you're better off and thus should help those who have it worse.
Even those who are not fortunate will still reach out and give someone a hand if the content of their character matches that ideal you have been chasing for ten years.
So when you find a Sneasel tied to a tree, shaking against the electrified net of what looks like an automatic trap, you do not hesitate. She glares at you, her eyes red in anger and distrust. Her claws lash out as you approach, though she cannot properly reach you. When you grab the net, she does manage to scratch your hand, but you cannot stop now.
Even as it hurts. Even as your entire body vibrates with the energy of that net. It runs up your fingers and into your shoulders before you manage to pull the net off. It takes all the strength you have left, finding yourself ripping it apart on the way down.
You land in the cold snow. It feels like you'll never stand up again.
The sky above you is dark. Heavy moonlight still finds its way through the treetops and grants you some relief from the blindness that a winter night would usually impose. The world below you is cold and soft.
The aftershocks of the trap are still there, forcing your arms close to your body. You are tense, but you cannot keep lying here. You turn to look at the tree—the Sneasel is no longer there. You breathe out of your nose, glad for the one good deed today before turning your head back to the sky.
The Sneasel fills your vision, sneaking up on you. She looks… normal for a Sneasel. A short feather in its ear, bright blue in color, contrasting its thick, dark fur it must have grown for the cold weather. She pokes you, the sharp claw sending some pain up your side as it checks for signs of life.
You roll out of the way, forcing yourself to stand up. "Please don't do that."
She crosses her arms, grinning up at you. Sneasel are… not rare in the woods, but not very common either. They usually hang out on higher ground, grouping up with a Weavile, which means this one either strayed off too far or was separated by the sudden storm.
That makes two of you.
"Well, go on then," you say, looking up. The sky reveals your position. Atlas' Star is very bright today, pointing north. You point towards the direction of that star, knowing that's where the mountains are. "Your group should be somewhere in that direction."
Silence. You look down again, finding Sneasel looking confused. You feel jealous at how casual she seems in this weather, how little she cares for the frozen world around you. It makes you shiver.
"I don't have any food," you say. Well, you do. But not for freeloaders. Sneasel are perfectly capable of finding their own food, they have excellent noses and are adept hunters and gatherers. Sneasel looks insulted.
'You think I need your food?' its expression is so loud it might as well be shouting the words in a human tongue.
"Fine," you say. "Do what you want."
You turn around, trying to find your way again. The way east, toward the Spectrier Guard. Toward the Reichert family, where the letter in your pocket must reach. Where Drake would have sent you, in the end. You shake your head, taking a step forward.
Something pokes your side again. You jump, ready to draw your sword, only to notice the Sneasel still bothering you.
"A simple thank you would've been enough," you say, sighing. Sneasel shrugs. "Just leave me alone, girl."
Sneasel shrugs again, as if to say 'That's not going to happen'. Then it points at you, before pointing at herself. She holds up a scrap of the net she must've picked off the ground, waving it around.
"You don't owe me anything," you say. You pat down your shoulders, getting rid of ice and snow. "I'm perfectly capable of continuing by myself."
She does not look convinced in the slightest, and you don't have the energy or time to argue with a 3 foot bipedal mustelid.
"Fine," you settle. "I'm on my way to the Spectrier Guard territory, you know? Big and scary people in black armor?"
'Let them come,' Sneasel challenged. You sigh, rubbing the bridge of your nose. It's no use, rather than wasting more energy trying to talk you turn around and start walking. East is the way. East will continue to be the way.
Sneasel's smug face as she follows one step behind you makes you wonder if you're going to regret this.
The red in her eyes starts to change into a different hue as you glance back. Probably nothing, and with that journey ahead you cannot afford any distractions. If nothing else, not having to walk this path alone helps a lot.
You have formed a new bond. This Sneasel embodies the aspect of Authority. You already have a partner, though. You have one Skiddle. Forming this new bond makes you wonder, has Skiddle also found someone else to take care of her? Is she looking for you still?
Until that day you meet again and give that girl a hug, you must accept this distance. But you will never forget her, and you will not forget what she means to you:
Wisdom and Authority become one.
You are [Imp l]. This aspect of you is not yet fully formed. It seems to be missing a few letters.
For now you should choose a name for your new friend.
[ ] Capo
Again. Do it again. The melody keeps repeating from the start.
[ ] Inana
A hero, named after Kael's wife. A name Lissy would love for sure.
[ ] Obsidian
Minerals and gemstones are so, so beautiful. They remind you of someone.
[ ] Charon
A monster in Ancient Elysium, like those that Drake named his Pokemon after.
###
You and that Sneasel are not a perfect pair. It's so easy to point out the differences to Skiddle—in most part it's the way Sneasel decides on things. She does not listen, which is fine, you aren't prone to listen either after all. She will do what you ask if you say please and thank you. She will do as you ask if you ask, not order.
Because nobody should order someone so admirable. Skiddle was cute, and she knew she was cute, but knowing she was cute made it cute!
Sneasel is… well, cute. But she knows she's cute, and that makes her not cute.
Despite your apprehension, the routine between you develops quickly. She points out shelter, you point out directions, traveling so far off-road that you can avoid people but still close enough to it to feel safe.
At this point, you are not sure just what you can do once you reach the depths of the Reichert territory. There should be few blue knights behind you at this point, Carrier-Pidgeys are much better to send around even if the harsh winter slows them down to a crawl.
The storm has ended, at least. Instead, slow and steady snowfall that does not melt in this climate and makes the already perilous path into something uncomfortable.
"Hey," you call out, frowning. Sneasel stops in her tracks, turning around with narrowed eyes, still somehow suspicious of you. "Is it easy? To just leave your family behind to follow me?"
Pokemon have different ties to their families. Some species simply don't have them, some only move in packs until the end of their lives, and some are a bit more free spirited.
But humans are humans, and Pokemon are Pokemon.
"Snee," Sneasel says, actually verbalizing her answer for once. You still can't speak Pokemon, but you imagine it's something like 'Family stays family'.
"I get that," you say, pursing your lips. "But that doesn't mean it's easy, does it?"
'We are not separated,' Sneasel says. It points at her feathers. 'We share our feathers, our bond does not break so easily.'
"Feathers…" you say, thinking about Skiddle again. That dark feather in her hair. Thalia and the Squadkrows who saved your life in that cold storm.
'Do you not have their feathers?' Sneasel asks. You look at the pouch at your waist. At the small book inside. At the box of rations. At Drake's letter and Capella's thread that tied the pouch shut again.
"I do," you answer. You don't know what emotion you're feeling now, between the storm of strange ideas and weird thoughts. Even Zack is still with you, in a way, in your name, in your actions. "Thank you."
'You're welcome.'
Well, at least there's some common ground you can find.
###
The rations are still plentiful, but warmth is hard to come by. The hours you've walked, the nights you've slept in small crevices that Sneasel pointed out. You find yourself comforted by her presence, more than you care to admit out loud. The winter is too harsh, the snow too high, to really look for you. Or perhaps Capella pointed them into the wrong direction.
Bells ring in the distance. The vibrations echo in your bones and you clench your teeth through the clattering, facing the cold as you look up.
DING. DONG. DING—
You don't know how long you've been walking today. You do know, however, that you should have gotten caught by border guards by now. Sneasel stands at your side, but the journey to here was… too easy. The bells— you know the code, you try to remember but it eludes you until you see a large group of people sitting in carriages in the distance.
Evacuation.
DING. DONG. DING—
The village you find yourself in is being evacuated, the bell rings three times, then takes a break. Then three more. You have heard of this before, when the winters are very harsh, how the villagers are taken in by the city of Marquess Reichert to stay until the temperatures rise again.
Your dangerous choice has become a good opportunity, it seems.
Or it would have been, until you notice the gaze of the armored man sitting atop a strange looking Rapidash. It has no flames on its head, instead a mane of hair that looks like candy adorns it. It makes for a contrast you would have found funny on any other day, the black sheen of the heavy armor against the pale beauty of the Rapidash—the emblem on that armor, a mirror of the Glastrier Knight's, pointing in the wrong direction with a cross instead of an oval in the middle.
You tense up as he approaches. You haven't stopped your own feet. If you look casual, natural, maybe he will assume you're a—
That damn uniform, still. You tighten your cloak around you, hiding everything but your head. The approaching knight calls out.
"Halt," he calls. He doesn't look that old, perhaps in his early twenties, and his voice is also young to match. His blue hair is long and tied up, revealing a rather ridiculous scar that travels from the top of his ear down to the side of his neck. "Who goes there?"
A million possible answers, and very few convincing. You managed to scrub away most blood from your face, but the bruises are still healing and sore. You definitely do not look like a normal villager.. Sneasel is hiding behind you, ready to strike, waiting for that moment where the knight's eyes meet yours.
"Sofia!" a voice calls out, killing any thought of violence. You turn away from the knight, your gaze meeting that of an elderly woman. She's dressed much like you, coat and all. You can see a stick to help her walk under it, gripped by pale and thin fingers. She ignores the knight completely, walking toward you with a purpose and then grabbing your head, forcing it down, away from the man's gaze. "Oh dear, what a mess you made of yourself. Come, we must get you warmed up."
You don't get to protest as the woman drags you away, just past the knight, who looks too stunned and confused to really doubt the woman's words. For a moment, you're just as confused. Did she mistake you for someone? No, though the woman is quite old and her eyes are half-lidded and unfocused, the sharpness of her movement makes you realize she's helping you escape notice.
Her other hand just grabs Sneasel's claw and drags her with you as well.
The village looks absolutely drowned in snow. Knights are sitting on various mounts and keep watch over the evacuation efforts. Mudbray stand tall in front of the carriages, waiting for the order to move. Nobody gives you a second glance as the old woman moves you forward in line, skipping ahead of most villagers.
What you don't know is why. The villager woman gets you into one of the carriages with her. It smells of a campfire that must have burned last night, spartan but full of people who are huddled up together and giving each other warmth and comfort. None of the villagers inside, who would no doubt know that she is not your grandmother, make a single sound.
Two of them grab heavy blankets, throwing them over you, warming you up and hiding you between them. It is the first of real warmth you've felt in the past two days.
You don't know what to say, so you say nothing. The sting in your eyes that announces tears is simply because of the cold wind, nothing else.
"Why are you helping me?" you manage to ask. You notice Sneasel at your feet, hiding in between the blankets and enjoying the warmth all the same.
"Because you look like you need help," the old woman answered.
"Aria," your grandmother says, her voice weak, her fingers thin and pale as they hold onto your hand. "You are a good child."
You must help those who you can help, so why is accepting help in return so hard?
"A child like you should not look like she had a life well lived," the old woman says. You freeze.
A life well lived. A curse to any noble, and the common man's most polite way to say that one was run ragged by circumstance.
"I'm not a child," you say. She smiles at you, with all the softness and generosity that someone could muster for a stranger. It is much, much kinder than you're used to. Her hand reaches out, and though you want to do nothing more than grab and stop it, you don't want the attention.
Her fingers trace your shoulders. "A child does not stop being a child by being a warrior."
"I'm not a warrior either," you say. You don't know what you are. Some vagrant, a masterless knight.
"We may not all fight the same battles, Sofia," she says. You frown, that name again. "But we are all warriors, each and every one of us. We fight for our family, for our friends, for our homes."
Your frown deepens. You know those words, a prayer, though you cannot remember what church it belongs to. Regardless, the words of that old faith resonate with you. She isn't wrong, and even then, trying to hide your origin with that sword sticking out of the blankets is futile.
"Aria," you say, introducing yourself. You cannot give them a wrong name, you cannot hide who you are again. This is what you picked, and this is what you stand by. "I am Aria."
"Welcome to Traviolle, Aria," the old woman said. The others in the carriage echo her words. "I am Beatrice. The young ones call me Old Bea."
"Thank you," you say, nodding at her. You draw the blankets closer, your arms hugging around your legs, putting your chin on your knees. "I've been freezing for a while."
There's no reason to start doubting people's intentions today. There's no value in constant paranoia. That is not the person Drake wants you to be. Not the person your grandmother wants you to be.
Wanted.
You shake your head.
"I could be a criminal," you say. The blood on your hands is still fresh on your mind. For the first time in three days, you feel safe enough to think. To feel. Why is it always so easy to share with strangers? "I could be dangerous."
Old Bea simply laughs. It's such a mess. Sneasel seems to have found herself quite relaxed already, sleeping in between your feet without a care in the world. As if everything is fine now. As if—
A girl pokes your blanket. You look toward her, finding yourself in a staring contest with a six year old child. She is holding something, struggling slightly as she raises it to you. It's—it's clothes? A bundle of them. You take them with shaking hands, before two other women lift the blankets, blocking everyone's sight from you.
Ah.
They know, of course. About the blood, the smell clings on you even if you've already gotten used to it. You take the uniform off, laying it in a heap on the ground before untangling the clothes they offer. A loose shirt with long sleeves and thick trousers that'll stave off the cold. There's even a hat there, to hide your hair and ears. There's not much that can be done for your skin, but from the looks of it, this close to the border you're not the only person that has a darker complexion.
"It doesn't matter how many children van Kesteren raises to be his soldiers," Old Bea says as you settle back onto the seat. Changing is an awkward affair, though there is more space in these evacuation carriages than in the ones used to transport Glastrier knights to their duties. She holds the bloodied clothes and you can see something that looks like disdain on her face. "A child is a child, Aria. And no child deserves to freeze to death. If you have done something that brings you shame, it will not change my decision to help you now."
"The people I've met under his employ are not bad judges of character," you say, frowning. "The Duke is not… a perfect person, I know this. They took me in when I had nowhere else to go."
"It is not a time to argue politics, I suppose," Old Bea says, nodding. Someone hands her something, pieces of firestones. She crushes them, pouring the pieces into a cup and filling it with a liquid from a pouch. It quickly begins to steam before she hands it to you. Tea, you notice. The small pieces of firestone look like stars at the bottom of the cup. "But if you wish to ponder on something before you fall asleep, keep this in mind. Why did you wear a uniform, and all the knights in the east and west wear armor?"
You don't know.
Or rather, you do. You can extrapolate. You can guess. You can make educated assumptions. You have a billion different ways to take what you know and create an answer that makes sense. The tea warms you, tires you out, and makes you think—a Skarmory's shedded steel can make for a single armor, or five swords. A Corviknight is bigger, though the amount of steel is much the same.
One chose weapons, the other defense.
You try to stay awake, but the exhaustion catches up to you.
There is so much more you must think about…
###
You wake up with a start. You try to stand, but a hand on your shoulder stops you, saving you from an embarrassing and loud injury. Old Bea puts a finger to her mouth, motioning for you to stay quiet. Most of the villagers are still asleep, and the children who have been the loudest on the journey here are finally quiet, leaning against their parents.
Family, you think to yourself. What a beautiful picture of family.
Outside, you can hear the knights speaking. Two of them, the young man from before and an older woman. Sneasel has climbed from the floor of the carriage into your lap, clutching around your waist and just barely avoiding stabbing you with the sharp claws.
"Duke van Kesteren is furious," the woman says. You shake your head. You can't even get nervous at this, how can those two be called knights? They're practically shouting this for everyone to hear! "It sounds strange either way, doesn't it? Someone like Drake dying?"
"Age will be the end of us all," the young knight says. "But the report does sound off, I agree. An unknown assassin? Who escaped after killing four more knights?"
You draw a sharp breath. There's no way the information could've gotten twisted like this, not unless the guards decided to abandon you as a scapegoat. No, there is something terribly wrong in Caer Rivenhold. Capella knew the truth, after all, or at least the truth that the guards were spreading.
Which means—what exactly does it mean?
The only two people who could suppress this information once it's out would be Drake himself or the Duke, whose orders are absolute. If he tells the knights not to speak of her, then they would not, but—
Your head starts throbbing. You raise your hands, rubbing your temples, trying to make sense of it. The pain behind your eyes spreads until it touches your spine. Their reputation would be tarnished if they admit that some third-rate aspirant killed the commander. This does not mean you're off the hook, but it does mean that your face will not be on bounty posters across the entire country.
It does mean that you have to avoid anyone wearing blue and white though, and burn that uniform Old Bea is hiding for you the moment you have the chance.
"Still," the woman speaks up again. "If it's true, his death is just the beginning."
"Aye," the young man answers. You can't see him, but you can hear the way his voice shifts, nervousness spreading through his chest. "I imagine it is simply a prelude to greater conflict."
The conversation dies off, but your own thoughts are still racing. The carriage slows down. It's time to open a camp for the night. The further east you come, the thinner the snow gets, the less bad the cold. In between the border and behind the mountains, the warm winds of Sol come and give the Marquess' territory a less harsh winter.
Gildera's geography feels more and more like a prison. If it wasn't for the abundance of fire stones in the mountains, it's likely the capital would've frozen over hundreds of years ago.
You help with the camp, of course. You still try to hide your face from the knights, even as you realize that they will likely not be suspicious of you. It takes only a few minutes for tents to be set up with such a practiced perfection, you realize that your help is barely needed.
These are people who have survived these winters longer than you've been alive, and yet they do not mind that you take a little bit longer to set that fire compared to them.
In the end, Old Bea is not keeping you constant company. You find yourself at the large campfire set up in the middle, keeping watch over it as you warm yourself. It's so important to you, as if you have to charge at the flames, as if you'll freeze again soon. Something like this is hard to describe to others, you realize, the feeling of cold and loneliness.
Not that you're truly that lonely. Sneasel moved away from the camp to hide in the trees when children were trying to pull at her feathers, but you can still feel her presence in the dark, watching over you, meeting your gaze when you look into the treetops.
You can still feel those hands on your back, and you wonder when you'll be able to hold them again. The bag in your hands weighs heavy with those promises. In one moment, you draw out Lissy's book, staring at the cover, tracing the title with your fingers.
Someone pokes you again. You try not to sound irritated as you turn around and smile at the child that gave you those clothes earlier in the day. You don't know her name, but with how many people you've met today there's no way you can memorize them all anyway.
"What's that?" she asks, pointing at the book in your hands.
"It's a book," you say, "a friend gave it to me."
"What's it about?" she asks.
"Old stories about heroes," you say, "like Emperor Kael."
Her eyes light up. Even those who don't know folklore and fairy tales know Kael, such is the influence of that man.
"Can you read it?" the girl asks, smiling up at you. You are eternally tired, but you've rested enough. If you can distract the kids long enough for their parents to get some rest, the first step to repay these people's kindness is already done.
"Of course," you say, sitting down next to the fire, the book opening up to the first chapter. "A is for Atlas," you read, "who protects us from the stars."
"Are the stars dangerous?" one of the children asks. You notice that the girl who asked is not the only one who's decided to listen in on the reading. The girl that speaks up is looking at the sky. She is pale and scared, shivering against the cold even though the fire is so strong you can barely feel it yourself.
"No," you say, "because Atlas protects us."
You point at the stars and find the brightest one in the sky. It shimmers, various colors coming off it when one squints. The children follow your gaze, and their shivering stops. You continue reading.
"Once, there was a great evil in the night sky," you read, trying to put on a voice like your grandmother used to do when she told a story. "It came from far, far away. A distance so great, one could cross from here to the east of Sol and back a billion billion times and still not reach it."
"That's really far…" one of the boys says, his voice low and awed.
"An oracle walked to the greatest city in Elysium and called out for a hero," you continue, "she said 'Soon there will be a challenger, who will take from us our mother earth. The stars will devour Elysium!'"
The children huddle together, the story catching their interest. You can see some of the adults listen in too, some laughing at the way you tell it, some interested in ways that make you wonder just how many of them have ever learned how to read, or if the many years of war have never given them time to enjoy their childhoods.
"But whenever we are in trouble, there are heroes who we can look up to," you say, your voice rising slightly. "Heroes like Atlas, who lived in that city! Atlas was not a warrior at all, he was a craftsman, but he knew that he was destined for something greater than himself. He would become a hero."
"A hero!" the children echo. You smile at them, standing up as you hold the book open with one hand and remove the sword from your waist, keeping it inside the scabbard before pointing it over the flame.
"Atlas gathered help. Dozens of Pokemon who were friends with him: fearsome Ursaring, intelligent Kadabra, and fearless Psyducks!" You point the sword up at the sky again. "A gaggle of Clefairy were with him, sending him up and up and up into the sky. Until under him there was Elysium, and above him, there was the eternal night sky."
You put the sword aside, leaning it against a log and focus on the words. How did your grandma do this again? You cough slightly, changing approach again. Regardless of your inadequacy, the children are entertained, and that's what matters, right?
"As he stood on the edge of the world, it appeared. It was red and blue, its eyes an empty maw, its hands stained with the light of all those stars it devoured. The Starscourge!"
The children make a loud noise together, something between a scared scream and an excited shout. You nod, continuing without missing a beat.
"'You fool', the Starscourge said, 'do you not see that you will lose? Do you not see that this is your fate written in the stars?'"
"'No', said Atlas," you say, finding the right tone finally. You can see that scene in the fire, you can see Lissy in it, swinging a sword as a child so happy and carefree as she re-enacts the very fights that made her who she is. "'I make my own fate'."
Atlas swings the spear in his hands, and the weight of the world rests on his shoulders as he fights back against the Starscourge. It fights back, but the power of his friendships, the power of his Pokemon friends at his side, prove too much for it.
The Starscourge runs, but Atlas does not descend. He knows, after all, that one day it will return.
And until then, he keeps watch for us. He guides us at night, and protects us when the sun is up, locked in an eternal battle until the end of time.
You finish the story to the cheers of the children. You don't know if you've done the right thing, now, considering how excited they look. There's no way they'll just calm down and let their parents rest now, will they?
You see them run off to grab sticks, pointing them up at the sky like you did earlier. Some begin fighting, rolling in the snow and tackling each other. Within seconds, the children forget the situation and just enjoy themselves. The sound of snow crunching under feet behind you makes you tense up.
"Your storytelling might use some work," the young knight says, smiling at you. You swallow the lump in your throat. The lack of suspicion and the fact that the story surrounding Drake's death has not properly reached their ears made you careless. "Still, it's good to see that you take your education seriously. Not many children learn to read in the villages."
"I couldn't disappoint my grandmother," you say. Half-truths and terrible, shameless lies. "I'm sorry, I made them more excited than before."
"It's fine," he says, waving off your concern with a hand. The armor reflects the bonfire, the Corviknight steel looks very nice and polished. "By the time they stop playing 'Atlas and the Starscourge' they'll probably be tired enough so they're still asleep for the rest of the journey. Any distraction's good at times like these."
"Yes," you say, pursing your lips. Times like these. Times you've never really had to consider. When winter was heavy in the Flamberg house, they simply had Arcanines warm everything up. When the snow got thick in the Caer, classes became more frequent and outside training was used to toughen up. The fact that villagers at the edges of those territories could suffer like this was never something that crossed your mind. "How long until the city?"
"We have one more village to stop at on our path tomorrow, then we should be able to reach it by nightfall or early light if we can afford to. It depends on the weather."
At least there's no fear of starvation. Gildera remains abundant, and in the cold weather preservation is very easy, snow and ice allowing for storage boxes that have become a very important exported good to Sol, who replace the natural resources with ice stones.
"You're Sofia, right?" he asks. You almost speak the truth, suppressing the reflex at the last second as your lips part. Your teeth slam together with a loud click, and you nod instead of speaking. "I am Leif, Knight of the Spectrier Guard. I lead this evacuation effort."
"You do?"
That's not the right tone, is it? You open your mouth to apologize, but the man just shrugs.
"I know I'm too young for it, but age matters little here," he says, laughing it off. "I used to grow up in a village, so I know the people and the paths better than some knights who've been around longer."
"That's… fair," you say. Experience can be useful, but the different kinds of experience are often difficult to weigh against each other. "I suppose it's easy considering how practiced they are."
"Does it seem that way?" he asks, turning his own gaze toward the fire. "Winters have grown harsher over the past years, even as we evacuate them and offer to expand the city, they keep returning here in spring. Is it good to get used to these things?"
"Is it so hard to imagine people that wish to return home?"
"Home is where my people are," he says, and you realize it is not him you are arguing with, or you that he is complaining to. It's surely an argument he's had with someone else, whose answers mirrored your own. "But enough about me, where did you learn to swing a sword?"
You look at the sword still leaning against the log. Fortunately it lacks and emblem, and the only thing that could really implicate where it comes from is the kind of steel it's made of. You decide not to draw the blade until you're out of sight.
"I picked it up here and there," you say. "The woods are dangerous, after all."
"That's true," he says. Again, he laughs it off, again you wonder just why he's focused on you. The group of villagers has reached a hundred men, women, and children. "You've been injured recently, though that does not look like a wild Pokemon did that to you."
Ah.
Why do you keep assuming everyone around you is too stupid to put two and two together?
It must be the time spent with Lissy. You hear Sneasel laugh.
He probably knows that you're not a villager.
"Still, the efforts of Marquess Reichert are appreciated," you say. "Not many nobles would help smaller villages like he does, after all."
"It is the duty of nobility, is it not?" Leif asks, crossing his arms. "Noblesse Oblige, and all that."
"That's nonsense," you say, unable to stop yourself. You slap your hands over your mouth, but he simply laughs. This makes it harder to hold back. "Noblesse Oblige puts all the responsibility on the shoulders of nobles. You can't be absolved from being a good person like that, people should help each other regardless of status if they can afford to—"
The wave of words crashes against the man's even louder laughter. You shut your mouth and glare at him, unable to mask your emotions. You just know Sneasel is somewhere out there absolutely laughing her ass off at you. You can hear that cackle from miles away.
"Well, regardless, you and your Sneasel can help us once we get to the city," Leif says.
"She's not my—" you begin, but somehow you can't continue. You shake your head. "Sorry, help you?"
"There's some problems that usually crop up around the city during winter," he explains. "It's nothing major, but you'll be compensated. While there's obviously enough food for everyone, that's rationed and mostly bland. Money's the best way to get some proper food on the table."
"Ah," you say, nodding. Of course, no single territory can just live on the labor of knights alone. "Thanks for the information. I'll keep that in mind."
He smiles and nods again before leaving to join the other knights at the tent they share.
You will be there soon. Before that last stretch, you should get some rest.
The Border City, Wallburg, is visible.
There's no way you'll be able to get that letter to Marchioness Reichert right now. You also can't just hand it over to someone, that's not what Drake would've wanted. So for now, you have to settle in, make some money, survive the winter before you can work on a new plan.
[ ] Join the patrol.
There is money to be made helping the knights patrol outside the city. The knights are looking for volunteers that can help them secure the area around the city, as wild Pokemon become desperate for warmth and food in the harsh cold and might attack civilians that travel in and out for various reasons.
[ ] Work at the camp.
This will not really earn you any coin, but it'll keep you distracted. Just because you're evacuated to the city doesn't mean that the villagers can simply stay idle. They make clothes, take care of their young, and make sure that everyone gets by.
Inana the Sneasel
Update 8: The Patrol and the Knights in Black
Elpis
Ostensibly Hope
- Location
- Berlin
Thank you to Magery, Blue Nine, and Tempera for checking over this bigger-than-usual chapter!
Winning Vote:
[x] Join the patrol.
[X] Inana
###
The weather is fine, so the trip doesn't take as long as it could have. Once the final carriage is full of people, the way continues and in the distance between the light fog and slowly thinning treeline you see the border city, sitting between the mountains that mark the boundary between all you ever knew and all you've learned of the outside world.
"It's quite a sight, isn't it?" Old Bea asks. You nod, trying to pull away the blanket from one of the kids who decided to make you her bed for the rest of the journey. The girl is sleeping, and any attempt to wake her up is met with an even tighter grip on the blanket. Lisa, she is called. Though initially quite shy, she warmed up to you quite fast after distracting her long enough for her parents to get some shuteye.
Such is the way of the village people, you suppose. Where one has to get along with the unknown faster than most.
"The numbers of people in a place like this," you begin, unable to fathom the idea, "there's some farmland nearby, but what do the others do? It can't just be a city of artisans, can it?"
"Craftsmanship is valued greatly, but the market is quite full of those who have made a name for themselves among nobility," Old Bea explains. "Back when I was young, in between wars, the city was simply a place for Solians and Gilderans to trade, and it's still used in a similar way. Gold is a language that every nation speaks."
"So traders, artisans, laborers? Is that enough for a city such as this to stay standing for hundreds of years? Then once a war breaks out, the rest of the country supports it and we keep repeating?" You get slightly loud without noticing, but Old Bea doesn't seem to mind. "There has to be more than that, that's such a…"
What is it?
What word are you trying to use here that would truly grasp the vastness of your disappointment in it?
What tongue could you borrow, what poem could you quote, what song have you heard before that could come close to this feeling?
"That's sad." There's nothing else you can say about it. To live in abundance of gold and wares and then live with the austerity of an economy focusing on war, never knowing what tomorrow will bring.
The Empress did not bring peace at all.
"Isn't it?" Old Bea asks, smiling. "But we are not those who choose to go to war, and we are not those who choose to make peace. We can only decide how we live, and that is a strength and a freedom nobles will never truly have."
You don't know what to say, so you raise your hand and pat Lisa's head. She rolls up even more into your blanket as she reacts to your touch.
The carriage begins to slow down. You've finally arrived.
You have never been in something like a city before. Buildings with multiple floors and ceilings, like castles and mansions, but rooms so small they could just be huts, it's an interesting way to stack people on top of each other and use as much space as possible efficiently.
It is at the gates where your anxiety spikes once again and makes you wonder just how well Old Bea's plan is thought out. Leif approaches you before you enter the city, once again riding that tall and colorful Rapidash.
"Pokemon are not allowed to be out and about in the city without a permit," he says, nodding at you. You look at Sneasel, who looks awfully happy at receiving all that attention, and then back at him. "No Pokeball, hm? Well—"
He fumbles with the bag on the side of his Rapidash, nearly falling over instead of just dismounting. Rapidash bites into his ponytail and pulls him back up, revealing a Pokeball in his hands, empty from the looks of it. He throws it toward you, so casually, as if it didn't cost enough to afford three days of food.
It looks—well, much like the Glastrier Pokeball. This one is darker, with a black top and a purple bottom. The Spectrier seal is on it, though, an emblem that sits at the top of the city gates as well.
Not too long ago holding this in your hand was the cause of great joy, now it feels like the weight of the world sits in your hand.
Sneasel pokes you in the side, knocking you out of the thoughts just like—just like her. You shake your head, this isn't the time. You hold the Pokeball up and she jumps against it, not even shaking in defiance before the light click and soft hum announce the capture.
Sneasel has been caught. Do you want to give Sneasel a nickname?
"Inana," you whisper at her. You think of ancient heroes, of Lissy, and of promises to return. Inana dances in the ball, full of joy and vigor at having received a name. If you can capture just a fraction of that brilliance, of that smile on her face, maybe you can find the strength to keep going.
"It's a beautiful name," Leif says. You turn to him, and you can see the eyes of the other villagers move toward you. "Keep my offer in mind, Sofia of Traviole. If you wish to help and earn some coin, come to the recruitment center near the gates, it's the one with the snow-covered roof."
He laughs about his own joke; all rooftops were drowned in snow and ice at this time. You try not to laugh with him, but a small chuckle does escape your lips. He bids farewell before entering the city proper, all the knights leaving together now that the task has been completed.
"That boy's never going to grow up," Old Bea says. You turn toward her, putting Inana's Pokeball onto your belt.
"You know him?" you ask, frowning.
"In a way," she says, shrugging. She does not look too bothered by the temperatures. "His family used to live in a village near ours, so if there ever was trouble we would send our children to each other until it was over."
"Trouble?" you ask, your frown deepening. "Like bandits? Wild Pokemon?"
"All kinds," she says. She grabs a large bag from the carriage, handing it to you. You sling it over your back, tying it together before grabbing a box filled with bedding. "Knights cannot be everywhere, and the villages were so close."
Were, not are. Even in peaceful times, tragedy can strike. Even when the nobles try to be good and kind, they're not omnipotent.
Nobody checks on your identity as you walk into the city, falling into step with the other villagers. Some of the children are surrounding you, trying to help you keep the box steady while accomplishing the opposite.
The presence of knights is thin. There's two at the gates, two near the refugee quarter. For a city this size, which dwarves even the Caer Rivenhold by a magnitude of ten, there has to be more to it, right?
"Sofia, Sofia!" one of the children calls out. You don't like it, to be called something you are not. To shed one name for another again. You'd correct them, and ask them to keep it a secret, but you're afraid children are not that good at keeping those.
At least the other villagers are nice enough not to use the wrong name in private.
"Yes, yes," you say, adjusting the weight of the box. "What's up?"
"Can we hear another story?" a girl asks.
"Can we hear the one about Kael?" a boy asks.
"No, no! I want to hear the one about Inana!" another boy demands.
"If there's time this evening, sure," you say. You don't have anything to do, really. You'll join the patrols, you've already decided, but you don't know when those patrols will be. You have to go to the recruitment center before nightfall, at least, so once everyone's settled in it'll be fine to leave for an hour or two.
The children cheer, scattering around to find their parents again as you approach your goal.
The quarter of the city that is set up for the evacuated villagers is not too shabby, but comparatively sparse. It's at the edge of the city, near the gates, which gives it protection by the constant stream of knights that come in and out. It's also not quite as warm as the more central quarters, though that is remedied by the delivery of firewood and some higher-grade fire stones that have already been set aside for the buildings.
The sleeping places are set up more like camps, the buildings have a lot of area and inside there are no walls, forcing the villagers to make their own using blankets and other cloth. It doesn't take long, though, just as with the camp before they're so practiced that the quarter becomes a home within just a solid hour of setup.
"Will you join us?" Old Bea asks. "There are some people going out into the city tomorrow, to trade goods, it's a good chance for us to gather things our village needs before spring."
"I'd love to," you say, glancing at the crowd that's gathering outside again. The people are sorting out what they should do to avoid staying idle. "But I've decided to join the patrol, so I'll be on my way to the recruitment center."
"Ah, that's a shame," she says, nodding. Her hand reaches for your shoulder again. "Regardless, once you're done with that come back here for dinner, will you?"
"Of course," you say, raising your own hand and putting it over hers. "Thank you, Beatrice."
She doesn't say anything, but her smile is brilliant. You grab your things, making sure everything is fastened. Just to be sure that no accidents happen, though, you wrap a cloth around the sword's sheath, taking care to tie it so it can't be drawn.
Inana wiggles in the Pokeball, already bored.
The Recruitment Center has bounty posters set up. None of them are for you.
You still don't understand what the Glastrier Order really wants with you, but something strange is afoot and you refuse to be captured until you have all the pieces of the puzzle.
Though you're a stranger to the people in the refugee camp, the children look up to you and the adults appreciate your willingness to help. The family that takes care of you when Old Bea is too busy leading the lot is…
[ ] … the farmers.
You find yourself with a family that took care of the land. Right now they're the people who have the least to do in the quarter, which means most of the time is spent helping others or talking to each other. There's a lot of things you don't know yet about the wilds and food, you imagine they can be good teachers.
[ ] … the smiths.
You find yourself with a family that took care of tools. They still have some metals, perhaps they can make you something useful or teach you how to make it yourself for a price. There's a lot of things you don't know about minerals in the world, you imagine they can be good teachers.
[ ] … the weavers.
You find yourself with a family that took care of clothes. They still have some fabrics left, you imagine there's a chance you can simply ask them for some better threads if you have the money. There's a lot of things you don't know about pokemon materials, you imagine they can be good teachers.
###
The air is cold and your vision is filled with white.
The patrol is a simple affair. While it is mostly about keeping the peace and showing a presence, right now there is an actual task at hand. It is the next morning when a knight arrives at the camp and calls your fake name. You are out fast, and follow the man on foot until you reach the north-western gate to the city.
Three knights are there with you, led by Leif. You're not the only one who's decided to join the patrol, however. Two other villagers with their own Pokemon, as well as five unknowns make a total of eight with you included. All of them are quite young, with the oldest maybe in his mid twenties.
"A criminal has been sighted near the city," he says. You purse your lips. The situation has been making you too nervous so you've stopped reacting, at this point you can't change anything. If the Glastrier Knights decide to report your alleged misdeeds, they'll do it. Until then, you can relax. Kind of. Maybe. Possibly. "He's not too much of a threat, but the last group that went out to look for him hasn't returned so we're assembling this group to find them. Four knights are missing."
This does raise your nervousness somewhat. The Spectrier Border Guard are not pushovers, and none of their knights should be threatened by some petty criminal. This either means something else is out there, or that petty criminal has more tricks up his sleeves.
"This is important, so listen up," he says loudly. The others in the group turn to him, while you stand up straight, squaring your shoulders. He gives you an appreciative nod, and you wonder just how many faux passes you'll make before the day is over. "Wilhelm is a petty thief and possibly still out there, but he's not our priority. If you find him, do not engage unless you have no other choice. If you find any of the knights, you use these."
He hands everyone strange sticks. They brim with energy, warm to the touch and strangely enticing to look at.
"You point them at the sky and pull on that string," he says, pointing at the string at the top. "Once it's drawn all the way down it'll release a flare up into the sky, we'll be able to find you then. So do not move until we arrive, is that understood?"
"Yes, sir," you murmur, pocketing the rod. Inana looks excited, jumping back and forth. The snow is no longer a death trap, which makes the expedition possible, but it's still too cold and too windy to really enjoy the stroll through the woods.
Near the border, the geography is not quite the same, at least. The trees are more sparse, but here there are the mammoths out of which shields and the like are made: Mamoswine Trees they call them, for their size and durability. It pierces through the sky, its tip sometimes disappearing among clouds and fog until you can see nothing of them.
And in between those giant trees there are clearings and rocks. Landslides from ages ago formed the ground of the Reichert territory, dirt and sand in between everything so it's still somewhat possible to move on it. Mudsdale carriages can make any terrain, but on foot this is a deathtrap for anyone who tries to move further into the country.
"We have to cover a lot of ground," Leif speaks up again, holding up something that looks like a rough map of the area near the city. It's separated into squares. "Everyone takes one area, those two—" he points at the two other knights. "Will keep the perimeter secure and make sure nobody sneaks out. I'll join you in the search."
It does not take long after for the search to actually start. It's a simple affair, mostly involving walking forward while Inana is climbing the trees and taking a look from up there. Of course, he wouldn't leave you alone, meaning the search starts in groups of three.
"Sir Leif," the citizen with a Poochyena says, drawing the knight's attention. "Forgive me if this is not appropriate to ask, but aren't four missing knights a bigger concern? Should we really be so few?"
"There's a lot of trouble this winter," Leif says without missing a beat, his usual smile is a bit forced, not reaching his eyes. "This is a priority, of course, but so is the breakout of Tauros that haven't been caught yet, as well as the Mankey stampede that took out some of our grain storage."
"Would the Spectrier Knights be stretched so thin?" you ask, tilting your head. He raises an eyebrow. "Don't get me wrong, I know it's not nearly as large of a force as… other Orders. But it's not that small."
"You're right, yes," he says. "The largest part of our force is currently occupied elsewhere."
What does he mean elsewhere? The entire point of the Spectrier Border Guard is guarding the border. There's nowhere else than the Reichert territory they could be—fuck.
That last word might have crossed your lips. You slap your hand over your mouth when Leif starts laughing. You don't find it funny at all.
"By the Sovereign…" the man with the Poochyena mutters. "Regardless, thank you for indulging me."
"All good, Peter," Leif says. "It's a valid question, we would not hide information from those who help us, after all."
You feel a pang of guilt, and snuff it out immediately. There's no need to pretend anything, Leif obviously knows that you were a knight of some sort. You're too direct, your mannerisms are too distinct, and you definitely saluted at him using the Glastrier salute at one point during his speech.
"And you came here from the refugee quarter, did you not?" Peter asks you. "It's quite bothersome to move every winter, I imagine."
Something about his mannerism, his way of speaking, feels off to you. It's politer than you're used to, and much less direct than you like. Despite this, you don't feel like he deserves to become the target of your reflex to talk down on anything that bothers you and bite your tongue.
"A village is a village," you say, thinking about Old Bea and the other villagers. "But a home is its people. As long as they are safe, it doesn't matter where they grow roots."
"Well said," Peter says, smiling gently. "Though I admit I've seen few villagers who bother buying themselves a weapon, it's quite something to wield a sword at your age when you're not a knight."
Leif snorts. You breathe in through your nose and out of your mouth. It's nice Leif tries to let you keep some dignity, but his inability to control his own reactions just makes you feel more ridiculous.
"Even villages can't rely on the knights all the time," you say, pursing your lips and staring at Leif. He shrugs, giving you a smile in return. "And even then, defense is never wrong. One can't rely on the goodwill of others, as brigands are wont to do what they want. Laws only matter where people can be brought to justice."
"A bit cynical, don't you think?" Leif asks. You smile at him, returning his earlier shrug.
"I suppose it's hard for trust to be built in the Marquisate if the knights are busy at the border," Peter concedes. "Though please don't misunderstand, it is not criticism that you must carry a sword, young lady, it is the wonder that this duty falls to someone so young and not those in the village who should be taking care of you."
"I am not that young," you say. "And not that helpless."
"Far be it from me to criticize a warrior," he says, conceding without much of an argument. "I am glad to call you comrade today."
"We're almost there," Leif says. He stands still, looking around after checking his map again. The snow has made navigation hard, but not impossible. You're not too far from the city, perhaps two hours of walking away, shorter if Leif uses his Rapidash in case he has to call for backup. "Don't forget my words. This is not the time to be a hero, there's no need to risk your life over a thief's escape."
He points in one direction, toward two massive hills that leave just a single path between them.
"Sofia, you go down the valley, your area starts here and ends around the hill. Peter, follow me, we'll reach your area soon."
You give Leif a nod, Inana jumping on top of your shoulder as you make your way toward the glades with fewer and fewer trees. The valley leads way down, all the earth that has formed the mountains came from there and collapsed on itself.
###
It's half an hour of walking later when you finally reach something that looks interesting. Fresh footprints in the snow, heavy either from a weightier person or from someone in heavy armor. Regardless, the fact that you can still see them means that they must've been through here after the last snowfall.
A flare shoots up.
One of the knights must've been found. You are still in that valley, still scouting every corner, still uncertain if this is the most productive way to use your time and energy, but for now you can follow the prints. Inana is holding tight around your neck and letting you carry her everywhere after she noticed that there are no trees to climb for scouting.
Another flare shoots up.
Inana murmurs something under her breath. You stop, grabbing her and holding her up in front of you.
"Look, I don't like doing busywork like this either, but it's important," you say. "And it's also good pay, we'll be able to buy some tasty treats later."
Inana murmurs again.
"Yes, we will share with the kids," you say, narrowing your eyes at her. Inana snarls. "You're half their size, how do you expect me to give you more than them? Sharing a meal is much better!"
'I am growing, they are runts,' Inana's stare seems to say. You frown, patting down on her head.
"You're the runt, I don't understand how you eat so much when you weigh so little, where does it go?" You poke her belly. She lashes out at you, shoving your arm away before pointing the claw at her matchstick arms, flexing at you. "You're the least muscular thing I've ever seen. I saw a Bunneary with more meat on her ribs than you."
Inana jumps at your face and holds on tightly. You pull on her, trying to get her to let go, but she refuses to budge. She snarls, shouting in your ear. 'I am great and without equal!'
You finally manage to pry her off, throwing her two meters far and into the snow. She digs her way out and makes a gesture that probably would have been very rude if she had fingers instead of claws.
A loud crunch behind immediately ends the argument. You hear heavy steps, slowly turning your head as Inana growls a sound you've never heard before. Your own gaze follows hers until you find the target of that dangerous glare. You can smell it in the air. They are not here for a friendly meeting.
Tauros. Their winter coat is thick and heavy, reminding you of Bouffalants, but they're unmistakable.
The Tauros that Leif mentioned earlier, from the looks of it. A single Tauros isn't that bad, but a group of them could crash a castle gate. You're not equipped to handle them right now, your hand moving towards the flare—
"RUN!"
A voice shouts from the left. Your eyes move up the hill, and the Tauros start charging. You heed the advice, dashing towards your partner and grabbing Inana by the back of the neck and pulling her with you as you rush up the side of the hill and away from the stampeding Tauros. Inana struggles against your grip, trying to break loose to fight against the Tauros, flailing about and clawing at the air as you climb with one free hand.
You find yourself falling over as you reach the tip of the hill, but a hand grabs your shoulder and keeps you from eating snow. "T-thank you."
"You're welcome," she says. A young woman, maybe a year older than you, wrapped in the heavy armor of the Spectrier Knights. You found one of the missing knights, it seems, the flare—it's not at your hip anymore. It fell out of your pocket when you dashed out of the way, now sitting between all the Tauros which are glaring up at you.
You're fairly certain that they can come up if they want to. So what's stopping them?
You square your shoulders, turning to the young woman, saluting her out of reflex. "Thank you again."
She looks… haggard. You remember the knights have gone missing just yesterday, but she looks like it's been longer than that, her hair is the color of that fresh snow all around you, her eyes a dark contrast. Her one arm is still on your shoulder, keeping you steady, the other is limp at her side.
"I imagine you are looking for me," she says, letting go of you and saluting in return. "I am Sophia, Spectrier Knight. My unit has been following a thief before we were separated by the Tauros."
"Why didn't you return to town?"
"We cannot let the thief get away." She points toward another hill at the end of the valley, on the other side of the Tauros. "He stole something important, and he's also trapped here until the weather warms up and melts the snow. Trying to escape the Marquisate right now would be suicide."
"But you're injured, you could've regrouped at the city and gotten backup."
"No," she says, looking down at her leg. It's… well, not bleeding anymore, but it's clear she has been wounded badly. She hasn't moved from the spot since she caught you from tripping, but she must be in terrible pain. "I couldn't."
"Ah," you say, nodding. You look at Inana, who's still glaring down at the Tauros. The Tauros glare back. "Well, the stick to call for backup is down there, so I guess we're both stuck."
"I don't think that's the case," she says. She points at the hill again, and you can see someone approach. A man, tall and slim, wearing a ridiculously large hat and a wide, disgustingly bright smile. "The other flares got him moving."
"Ah, Miss Knight! Terribly sorry about your leg," the thief, Wilhelm, shouts loudly. It's barely necessary, the wind carries his voice easily. "It has been a fun chase, but I think it's time we should wrap it up, right?"
"You have nowhere to run, thief," Sophia says, drawing her sword. The black blade is shaking at the tip, too long and heavy to be held with one hand. Inana shouts something as well, though the 'snees' and growling are harder to decipher than human tongue.
Wilhelm's smile widens, the skin around his lips cracking slightly after exposure to the cold and dry air. You narrow your eyes when he draws a… flute? The instrument causes Sophia to tense up, her sword lowering until the tip touches the snow.
He blows into the flute, playing a strange tune that echoes over the hills. Inana slams her hands over her ears, while the Tauros become unnerved and irritated. They try to escape the sound and the direction that's most convenient leads right through you.
Inana does not hesitate in the slightest. She raises her claws, meeting the one charging Tauros that was coming directly at you and blocking its approach. Horns and claws clash with a loud noise, the aftershock of that impact shaking snow loose from the hills. The other Tauros are not actively attacking you, instead running past you and crossing the hill. As fortunate as that is, you find yourself on the backfoot, putting your body between Inana and Sophia and raising your still bound sword with the sheath.
By the time the stampede ends, Inana and the Tauros are still in a stalemate. She looks at you, grinning and saying something that must sound like 'see, I'm strong!'. You can't help but laugh, looking behind the Tauros to find Wilhelm—right there in front of you.
He jumps on top of the Tauros, having crossed the distance with two knives in hand and brings them down on you. You raise the sword up, holding one hand flat against the sheath and block the stabs by holding strong against his forearms.
It's a heavy attack, but you stand tall. So does he, of course, but you have ways around that.
"Inana!" you shout. "Flip!"
She understands without much effort, her claws changing angles on the horns and her entire body twisting around before she manages to use the Tauros' momentum to twist it around and slam it down. Wilhelm yelps as he falls off, rolling away from you as you swing your sword at him. The man is nimble, much more than you, and you don't like just how confident he looks as he shakes off the snow from his clothes.
You look back into the valley, but the flare is gone.
"Looking for this?" he asks, holding up the rod, waving it around. "It's a neat little trinket, but I really can't have anyone spoil our fun."
He pockets it, then draws his knives again. They're thin, mostly for stabbing rather than cutting. You've heard that knives like these can be used to pick locks as well, which sounds reasonable considering his reputation as a thief.
You're not sure you can agree on petty thief, though. This man is a professional. Dangerous and unpleasant, if a bit weaker with the blades than you'd have expected. You swing again, taking a step toward him, but he jumps back and raises his hands in… surrender?
Of course not. He tries to kick you in the stomach, but such a cheap attempt would never work on you. You twist your body out of the way, stabbing the sword into his stomach. He doesn't fall over, instead landing on his hands and flipping through the air before landing on his feet again.
"Is this guy a performer or something?" you mutter. Inana cries out, and you see that the Tauros recovered from its earlier dive to threaten her again. Wilhelm whistles with a finger in his cheek and the Tauros reacts with more anger. It kicks Inana out of the way and rushes at you instead.
That bastard grabs your legs after diving at you, fixing you in place. You can smash that sword into his head but that will not save you. So—
"Spring!" Sophia shouts out. You hear a loud, high-pitched roar and find yourself in the air all of the sudden, that asshole still holding onto your legs. Vines are wrapped around your waist, keeping you away from the Tauros' angry charge. "Now shake!"
The vines start to shake you, and Wilhelm's grip loosens enough for you to kick him off. Unfortunately he's not in the way of the Tauros, but he is right under you when the vines let you go and you slam feet first into his chest.
He grunts in pain, then rights himself up so fast you're forced to step back and find yourself side by side with Sophia again.
Next to her is a rather large Bulbasaur, glaring at Wilhelm. He looks injured as well, though not nearly as much as Sophia. Spring, he is called. A warm and welcome name. Despite that, though, he looks rather appropriate for Gildera, much like Skiddle before the plant on his back has blue tips and his bright green eyes shine even more radiant.
Inana glares at the Tauros. Spring looks irritated. Sophia… Sophia is on her knees. She's breathing heavily, and you can see some fresh blood from the leg wound seeping into the snow as she tries to stay standing.
"Sophia," you say, putting your hand to your sword's sheath. "Stay behind me, I can handle him."
She looks up at you, doubt on her face, worry and exhaustion in the way her eyes move from you to Wilhelm. She does not believe you, but she has no other options, and that is fine. That is understandable.
Well, there's nothing else to be done now. You unwrap the cloth around the sheath.
"You're just some stupid villager," Wilhelm says, grinning so wide you can see every single one of his teeth. "There's no need for you to go this far for a failure of a knight."
"No," you say, drawing your sword. The Skarmory Steel glows bright, reflecting sunlight everywhere. You swing it to the side, your face twisting in anger as you glare up at him. "There isn't."
"Well, in for one corpse, in for two," he says, the knives in his hands spinning for a moment as he changes his grip. "What name do you want on your gravestone, girl?"
"Aria," you say, pointing the sword at him. "Memorize it so you can share it with the rest of the scum in prison."
He aims at Sophia, forcing you to keep up the defense. Tauros charges at Inana, who's already become fast friends with Spring and is now riding on top of its bulb to meet the Tauros head on. While Inana blocks the horns, Spring's vines hold back the legs, making the fight much more even.
You swing the sword, getting caught between the blades. They slide down the edge of yours, until you're face to face with that grinning maniac. You kick up, hitting the man's leg. He kicks back, sending you reeling backward. Sophia catches you again, crying out in pain before pushing you back into the fight. You spin around, grabbing the man's collar and dragging him with you and away.
Spring and Inana find themselves with the upperhand in their fight, so you can focus entirely on yours. He stabs at your arm, and you pull it back before stabbing forward with your blade. It nicks his torso, drawing blood.
It's strange how much easier this seems compared to the poacher. Perhaps that is what Leif meant. He's a petty thief, he makes for good theater and little else, though his ambush against the knights using the flute and the Tauros does point to a slightly more intelligent criminal.
So when he whistles again, once more making the Tauros change directions all of the sudden, you do expect it. You stab the sword in the ground and slide down the hill, watching as the Tauros' charge goes right over you. You see—
Spring's vines on its horns, sending it flying down the hill with Tauros, and you see Inana on Spring's head, standing proudly with her arms crossed as they descend.
You ignore the audacity and turn to your adversary once more. He's stopped smiling.
"I really don't like you, girl."
"I don't care."
You rush at him, using the sword that's still buried in the snow as a shovel to throw some at his face. He blocks the snow with his arm, giving you an opportunity to drive your shoulder into his stomach and tackle him. Before he can recover, you stab the sword into his leg.
He screams, then chokes back that cry to pucker his lips and whistle. You don't let him, slamming your gloved hand onto his mouth with a force that cuts his lips against his teeth. You keep pressing against him, forcing his head into the snow.
Instead, he lets go of his swords and snaps his finger. That bastard wasn't controlling the Tauros independently at all, you realize.
That Tauros that's still fighting was his all along.
It reacts to the snap, shoving Inana out of the way and slamming its head against Spring, continuing its ascent back up the hill. You move out of the way, but the Tauros keeps up with the movement.
"Damn it." You hear Sophia's words before you find yourself rolling down the hill again.
She shoves you out of the way. You cry out, trying to grab her on your way down and save her as well, but the Tauros is too fast. Your hand reaches out too slow.
Sophia's body is thrown up, sent across the entire battlefield with such a loud noise you wonder if she died on impact. You can see the armor has broken apart. You can see the horn of the Tauros as it flees the scene without its trainer, full of blood—
You can see Sophia on the ground, bleeding, barely alive.
You ball a fist and slam it into the man's chin. It breaks with a loud crunch. For good measure, you turn his hands and stomp on them, leaving his fingers to point into ten different directions.
Then you stab your sword into his leg, making sure he won't be able to escape before you take care of Sophia. The flare in his pockets is quickly pointed up, drawing on the string until it explodes and releases a light in the sky.
You rush to her, your feet dragging across the snow as you reach out. She's still breathing, if barely. The snow under her turns into a mire of blood, the wound so deep you can see her organs writhing underneath.
Spring mews, looking up at you, tears in his eyes. He does not make a noise, yet his expression tells you everything you need to know. The fear in his heart, the worry in his quivering lips. Inana joins you, standing next to Spring and putting one clawed arm on him.
Sophia is whispering something. Something you can't quite place. You lean forward, your hand on her wound, trying to stem the bleeding. You try to listen. You must hear.
"A true knight," Sophia whispers a prayer. She breathes in deep, then continues. "will rush onto the battlefield."
A Knight's Prayer. The essence of those who have come before, summoned into the world like faith in a higher being. But today, you feel, is not the time for prayer.
"Their souls ablaze," she continues. You have to think .You can save her. You know you can. There is, there is— your bag. You have something in there, you know there is something in there. Bandages, berries, potions. Wounds like these— "with the flames of valor."
If there is a higher power that guides your fate, you will do as Atlas does and defy it. Today you will not let someone bleed in your arms, you will not be pushed away, and you will not be forced to run.
"No fear of death—" she coughs. You let go of the wound, reaching down to your waist. "Is to be seen in their eyes."
You grab your pouch, taking out the things that Ruby put in and unwrap that familiar thing.
You remember what it was for, you remember the most expensive gem that your mother always wore around her neck. The strange stone that is so rare and hard to find.
It's a golden clump with spikes shooting into every direction. Not a berry, but medicine. You crush it, barely any liquid coming out as you rub the spikes on Sophia's wound, hearing her cry out in pain.
It takes a solid minute of rubbing the clump into the wound before something happens. A light shines from your hands, making it hard to look straight at her. Flesh is mended, blood pulling itself back from the skin and leaving nothing but a scar.
Sophia's pale skin takes on some color again, her breathing slowing down. Despite the exhaustion she must be feeling, she is wide awake, the medicine forcing her consciousness awake. Her eyes are wide open, staring up at the sun behind you. You turn slightly, trying to shield her eyes from the light. She whispers another prayer, though you don't know what for.
You breathe out in relief and exhaustion. Now you just have to wait for Leif and the others.
You have saved a life. You have conquered the unreasonable with the radiance of your soul.
In the end, more than anything else that defines you, your empathy and kindness for others are something that makes you [You]. Your love and trust in other people, even in the face of adversity and betrayal, is unmatched. Your willingness to give everything, from expensive medicine to your very blood makes you more of a knight than most.
You are Aria and you are Loving, even if you don't think you are. Even if there is that gnawing feeling at the back of your mind that you're a bad person who drags those around you down.
Even if you think you deserve less, you're a good child.
Sophia is not the kind of person to forget such a debt. You are not the kind of person who demands repayment for doing the right thing. Regardless, you'll have to visit her soon, Leif says she wishes to meet you. 'Sofia of Traviole' is now known to all the Spectrier Knights still stationed in Wallburg.
There's something to be learned here. With enough of an impact, you will be able to request an audience with the Marchioness. You simply have to pick your approach:
[ ] Prowess.
You are a knight, and a knight's word is only as good as their skill with the sword. If you prove yourself with your martial ability, the Spectrier Knights will surely put in a good word for you.
[ ] Wit.
You are kind and helpful, and this will make you popular even if you don't want to be. If you prove yourself among the people of the city, the nobles will not deny your presence.
[ ] Duty.
You are adept in the ways of the land, and this will surely be a boon. Bounty hunting, mercenary work, if your name is in everyone's mouth then surely it will reach the ears of the Marchioness.
Winning Vote:
[x] Join the patrol.
[X] Inana
###
The weather is fine, so the trip doesn't take as long as it could have. Once the final carriage is full of people, the way continues and in the distance between the light fog and slowly thinning treeline you see the border city, sitting between the mountains that mark the boundary between all you ever knew and all you've learned of the outside world.
"It's quite a sight, isn't it?" Old Bea asks. You nod, trying to pull away the blanket from one of the kids who decided to make you her bed for the rest of the journey. The girl is sleeping, and any attempt to wake her up is met with an even tighter grip on the blanket. Lisa, she is called. Though initially quite shy, she warmed up to you quite fast after distracting her long enough for her parents to get some shuteye.
Such is the way of the village people, you suppose. Where one has to get along with the unknown faster than most.
"The numbers of people in a place like this," you begin, unable to fathom the idea, "there's some farmland nearby, but what do the others do? It can't just be a city of artisans, can it?"
"Craftsmanship is valued greatly, but the market is quite full of those who have made a name for themselves among nobility," Old Bea explains. "Back when I was young, in between wars, the city was simply a place for Solians and Gilderans to trade, and it's still used in a similar way. Gold is a language that every nation speaks."
"So traders, artisans, laborers? Is that enough for a city such as this to stay standing for hundreds of years? Then once a war breaks out, the rest of the country supports it and we keep repeating?" You get slightly loud without noticing, but Old Bea doesn't seem to mind. "There has to be more than that, that's such a…"
What is it?
What word are you trying to use here that would truly grasp the vastness of your disappointment in it?
What tongue could you borrow, what poem could you quote, what song have you heard before that could come close to this feeling?
"That's sad." There's nothing else you can say about it. To live in abundance of gold and wares and then live with the austerity of an economy focusing on war, never knowing what tomorrow will bring.
The Empress did not bring peace at all.
"Isn't it?" Old Bea asks, smiling. "But we are not those who choose to go to war, and we are not those who choose to make peace. We can only decide how we live, and that is a strength and a freedom nobles will never truly have."
You don't know what to say, so you raise your hand and pat Lisa's head. She rolls up even more into your blanket as she reacts to your touch.
The carriage begins to slow down. You've finally arrived.
You have never been in something like a city before. Buildings with multiple floors and ceilings, like castles and mansions, but rooms so small they could just be huts, it's an interesting way to stack people on top of each other and use as much space as possible efficiently.
It is at the gates where your anxiety spikes once again and makes you wonder just how well Old Bea's plan is thought out. Leif approaches you before you enter the city, once again riding that tall and colorful Rapidash.
"Pokemon are not allowed to be out and about in the city without a permit," he says, nodding at you. You look at Sneasel, who looks awfully happy at receiving all that attention, and then back at him. "No Pokeball, hm? Well—"
He fumbles with the bag on the side of his Rapidash, nearly falling over instead of just dismounting. Rapidash bites into his ponytail and pulls him back up, revealing a Pokeball in his hands, empty from the looks of it. He throws it toward you, so casually, as if it didn't cost enough to afford three days of food.
It looks—well, much like the Glastrier Pokeball. This one is darker, with a black top and a purple bottom. The Spectrier seal is on it, though, an emblem that sits at the top of the city gates as well.
Not too long ago holding this in your hand was the cause of great joy, now it feels like the weight of the world sits in your hand.
Sneasel pokes you in the side, knocking you out of the thoughts just like—just like her. You shake your head, this isn't the time. You hold the Pokeball up and she jumps against it, not even shaking in defiance before the light click and soft hum announce the capture.
Sneasel has been caught. Do you want to give Sneasel a nickname?
"Inana," you whisper at her. You think of ancient heroes, of Lissy, and of promises to return. Inana dances in the ball, full of joy and vigor at having received a name. If you can capture just a fraction of that brilliance, of that smile on her face, maybe you can find the strength to keep going.
"It's a beautiful name," Leif says. You turn to him, and you can see the eyes of the other villagers move toward you. "Keep my offer in mind, Sofia of Traviole. If you wish to help and earn some coin, come to the recruitment center near the gates, it's the one with the snow-covered roof."
He laughs about his own joke; all rooftops were drowned in snow and ice at this time. You try not to laugh with him, but a small chuckle does escape your lips. He bids farewell before entering the city proper, all the knights leaving together now that the task has been completed.
"That boy's never going to grow up," Old Bea says. You turn toward her, putting Inana's Pokeball onto your belt.
"You know him?" you ask, frowning.
"In a way," she says, shrugging. She does not look too bothered by the temperatures. "His family used to live in a village near ours, so if there ever was trouble we would send our children to each other until it was over."
"Trouble?" you ask, your frown deepening. "Like bandits? Wild Pokemon?"
"All kinds," she says. She grabs a large bag from the carriage, handing it to you. You sling it over your back, tying it together before grabbing a box filled with bedding. "Knights cannot be everywhere, and the villages were so close."
Were, not are. Even in peaceful times, tragedy can strike. Even when the nobles try to be good and kind, they're not omnipotent.
Nobody checks on your identity as you walk into the city, falling into step with the other villagers. Some of the children are surrounding you, trying to help you keep the box steady while accomplishing the opposite.
The presence of knights is thin. There's two at the gates, two near the refugee quarter. For a city this size, which dwarves even the Caer Rivenhold by a magnitude of ten, there has to be more to it, right?
"Sofia, Sofia!" one of the children calls out. You don't like it, to be called something you are not. To shed one name for another again. You'd correct them, and ask them to keep it a secret, but you're afraid children are not that good at keeping those.
At least the other villagers are nice enough not to use the wrong name in private.
"Yes, yes," you say, adjusting the weight of the box. "What's up?"
"Can we hear another story?" a girl asks.
"Can we hear the one about Kael?" a boy asks.
"No, no! I want to hear the one about Inana!" another boy demands.
"If there's time this evening, sure," you say. You don't have anything to do, really. You'll join the patrols, you've already decided, but you don't know when those patrols will be. You have to go to the recruitment center before nightfall, at least, so once everyone's settled in it'll be fine to leave for an hour or two.
The children cheer, scattering around to find their parents again as you approach your goal.
The quarter of the city that is set up for the evacuated villagers is not too shabby, but comparatively sparse. It's at the edge of the city, near the gates, which gives it protection by the constant stream of knights that come in and out. It's also not quite as warm as the more central quarters, though that is remedied by the delivery of firewood and some higher-grade fire stones that have already been set aside for the buildings.
The sleeping places are set up more like camps, the buildings have a lot of area and inside there are no walls, forcing the villagers to make their own using blankets and other cloth. It doesn't take long, though, just as with the camp before they're so practiced that the quarter becomes a home within just a solid hour of setup.
"Will you join us?" Old Bea asks. "There are some people going out into the city tomorrow, to trade goods, it's a good chance for us to gather things our village needs before spring."
"I'd love to," you say, glancing at the crowd that's gathering outside again. The people are sorting out what they should do to avoid staying idle. "But I've decided to join the patrol, so I'll be on my way to the recruitment center."
"Ah, that's a shame," she says, nodding. Her hand reaches for your shoulder again. "Regardless, once you're done with that come back here for dinner, will you?"
"Of course," you say, raising your own hand and putting it over hers. "Thank you, Beatrice."
She doesn't say anything, but her smile is brilliant. You grab your things, making sure everything is fastened. Just to be sure that no accidents happen, though, you wrap a cloth around the sword's sheath, taking care to tie it so it can't be drawn.
Inana wiggles in the Pokeball, already bored.
The Recruitment Center has bounty posters set up. None of them are for you.
You still don't understand what the Glastrier Order really wants with you, but something strange is afoot and you refuse to be captured until you have all the pieces of the puzzle.
Though you're a stranger to the people in the refugee camp, the children look up to you and the adults appreciate your willingness to help. The family that takes care of you when Old Bea is too busy leading the lot is…
[ ] … the farmers.
You find yourself with a family that took care of the land. Right now they're the people who have the least to do in the quarter, which means most of the time is spent helping others or talking to each other. There's a lot of things you don't know yet about the wilds and food, you imagine they can be good teachers.
[ ] … the smiths.
You find yourself with a family that took care of tools. They still have some metals, perhaps they can make you something useful or teach you how to make it yourself for a price. There's a lot of things you don't know about minerals in the world, you imagine they can be good teachers.
[ ] … the weavers.
You find yourself with a family that took care of clothes. They still have some fabrics left, you imagine there's a chance you can simply ask them for some better threads if you have the money. There's a lot of things you don't know about pokemon materials, you imagine they can be good teachers.
###
The air is cold and your vision is filled with white.
The patrol is a simple affair. While it is mostly about keeping the peace and showing a presence, right now there is an actual task at hand. It is the next morning when a knight arrives at the camp and calls your fake name. You are out fast, and follow the man on foot until you reach the north-western gate to the city.
Three knights are there with you, led by Leif. You're not the only one who's decided to join the patrol, however. Two other villagers with their own Pokemon, as well as five unknowns make a total of eight with you included. All of them are quite young, with the oldest maybe in his mid twenties.
"A criminal has been sighted near the city," he says. You purse your lips. The situation has been making you too nervous so you've stopped reacting, at this point you can't change anything. If the Glastrier Knights decide to report your alleged misdeeds, they'll do it. Until then, you can relax. Kind of. Maybe. Possibly. "He's not too much of a threat, but the last group that went out to look for him hasn't returned so we're assembling this group to find them. Four knights are missing."
This does raise your nervousness somewhat. The Spectrier Border Guard are not pushovers, and none of their knights should be threatened by some petty criminal. This either means something else is out there, or that petty criminal has more tricks up his sleeves.
"This is important, so listen up," he says loudly. The others in the group turn to him, while you stand up straight, squaring your shoulders. He gives you an appreciative nod, and you wonder just how many faux passes you'll make before the day is over. "Wilhelm is a petty thief and possibly still out there, but he's not our priority. If you find him, do not engage unless you have no other choice. If you find any of the knights, you use these."
He hands everyone strange sticks. They brim with energy, warm to the touch and strangely enticing to look at.
"You point them at the sky and pull on that string," he says, pointing at the string at the top. "Once it's drawn all the way down it'll release a flare up into the sky, we'll be able to find you then. So do not move until we arrive, is that understood?"
"Yes, sir," you murmur, pocketing the rod. Inana looks excited, jumping back and forth. The snow is no longer a death trap, which makes the expedition possible, but it's still too cold and too windy to really enjoy the stroll through the woods.
Near the border, the geography is not quite the same, at least. The trees are more sparse, but here there are the mammoths out of which shields and the like are made: Mamoswine Trees they call them, for their size and durability. It pierces through the sky, its tip sometimes disappearing among clouds and fog until you can see nothing of them.
And in between those giant trees there are clearings and rocks. Landslides from ages ago formed the ground of the Reichert territory, dirt and sand in between everything so it's still somewhat possible to move on it. Mudsdale carriages can make any terrain, but on foot this is a deathtrap for anyone who tries to move further into the country.
"We have to cover a lot of ground," Leif speaks up again, holding up something that looks like a rough map of the area near the city. It's separated into squares. "Everyone takes one area, those two—" he points at the two other knights. "Will keep the perimeter secure and make sure nobody sneaks out. I'll join you in the search."
It does not take long after for the search to actually start. It's a simple affair, mostly involving walking forward while Inana is climbing the trees and taking a look from up there. Of course, he wouldn't leave you alone, meaning the search starts in groups of three.
"Sir Leif," the citizen with a Poochyena says, drawing the knight's attention. "Forgive me if this is not appropriate to ask, but aren't four missing knights a bigger concern? Should we really be so few?"
"There's a lot of trouble this winter," Leif says without missing a beat, his usual smile is a bit forced, not reaching his eyes. "This is a priority, of course, but so is the breakout of Tauros that haven't been caught yet, as well as the Mankey stampede that took out some of our grain storage."
"Would the Spectrier Knights be stretched so thin?" you ask, tilting your head. He raises an eyebrow. "Don't get me wrong, I know it's not nearly as large of a force as… other Orders. But it's not that small."
"You're right, yes," he says. "The largest part of our force is currently occupied elsewhere."
What does he mean elsewhere? The entire point of the Spectrier Border Guard is guarding the border. There's nowhere else than the Reichert territory they could be—fuck.
That last word might have crossed your lips. You slap your hand over your mouth when Leif starts laughing. You don't find it funny at all.
"By the Sovereign…" the man with the Poochyena mutters. "Regardless, thank you for indulging me."
"All good, Peter," Leif says. "It's a valid question, we would not hide information from those who help us, after all."
You feel a pang of guilt, and snuff it out immediately. There's no need to pretend anything, Leif obviously knows that you were a knight of some sort. You're too direct, your mannerisms are too distinct, and you definitely saluted at him using the Glastrier salute at one point during his speech.
"And you came here from the refugee quarter, did you not?" Peter asks you. "It's quite bothersome to move every winter, I imagine."
Something about his mannerism, his way of speaking, feels off to you. It's politer than you're used to, and much less direct than you like. Despite this, you don't feel like he deserves to become the target of your reflex to talk down on anything that bothers you and bite your tongue.
"A village is a village," you say, thinking about Old Bea and the other villagers. "But a home is its people. As long as they are safe, it doesn't matter where they grow roots."
"Well said," Peter says, smiling gently. "Though I admit I've seen few villagers who bother buying themselves a weapon, it's quite something to wield a sword at your age when you're not a knight."
Leif snorts. You breathe in through your nose and out of your mouth. It's nice Leif tries to let you keep some dignity, but his inability to control his own reactions just makes you feel more ridiculous.
"Even villages can't rely on the knights all the time," you say, pursing your lips and staring at Leif. He shrugs, giving you a smile in return. "And even then, defense is never wrong. One can't rely on the goodwill of others, as brigands are wont to do what they want. Laws only matter where people can be brought to justice."
"A bit cynical, don't you think?" Leif asks. You smile at him, returning his earlier shrug.
"I suppose it's hard for trust to be built in the Marquisate if the knights are busy at the border," Peter concedes. "Though please don't misunderstand, it is not criticism that you must carry a sword, young lady, it is the wonder that this duty falls to someone so young and not those in the village who should be taking care of you."
"I am not that young," you say. "And not that helpless."
"Far be it from me to criticize a warrior," he says, conceding without much of an argument. "I am glad to call you comrade today."
"We're almost there," Leif says. He stands still, looking around after checking his map again. The snow has made navigation hard, but not impossible. You're not too far from the city, perhaps two hours of walking away, shorter if Leif uses his Rapidash in case he has to call for backup. "Don't forget my words. This is not the time to be a hero, there's no need to risk your life over a thief's escape."
He points in one direction, toward two massive hills that leave just a single path between them.
"Sofia, you go down the valley, your area starts here and ends around the hill. Peter, follow me, we'll reach your area soon."
You give Leif a nod, Inana jumping on top of your shoulder as you make your way toward the glades with fewer and fewer trees. The valley leads way down, all the earth that has formed the mountains came from there and collapsed on itself.
###
It's half an hour of walking later when you finally reach something that looks interesting. Fresh footprints in the snow, heavy either from a weightier person or from someone in heavy armor. Regardless, the fact that you can still see them means that they must've been through here after the last snowfall.
A flare shoots up.
One of the knights must've been found. You are still in that valley, still scouting every corner, still uncertain if this is the most productive way to use your time and energy, but for now you can follow the prints. Inana is holding tight around your neck and letting you carry her everywhere after she noticed that there are no trees to climb for scouting.
Another flare shoots up.
Inana murmurs something under her breath. You stop, grabbing her and holding her up in front of you.
"Look, I don't like doing busywork like this either, but it's important," you say. "And it's also good pay, we'll be able to buy some tasty treats later."
Inana murmurs again.
"Yes, we will share with the kids," you say, narrowing your eyes at her. Inana snarls. "You're half their size, how do you expect me to give you more than them? Sharing a meal is much better!"
'I am growing, they are runts,' Inana's stare seems to say. You frown, patting down on her head.
"You're the runt, I don't understand how you eat so much when you weigh so little, where does it go?" You poke her belly. She lashes out at you, shoving your arm away before pointing the claw at her matchstick arms, flexing at you. "You're the least muscular thing I've ever seen. I saw a Bunneary with more meat on her ribs than you."
Inana jumps at your face and holds on tightly. You pull on her, trying to get her to let go, but she refuses to budge. She snarls, shouting in your ear. 'I am great and without equal!'
You finally manage to pry her off, throwing her two meters far and into the snow. She digs her way out and makes a gesture that probably would have been very rude if she had fingers instead of claws.
A loud crunch behind immediately ends the argument. You hear heavy steps, slowly turning your head as Inana growls a sound you've never heard before. Your own gaze follows hers until you find the target of that dangerous glare. You can smell it in the air. They are not here for a friendly meeting.
Tauros. Their winter coat is thick and heavy, reminding you of Bouffalants, but they're unmistakable.
The Tauros that Leif mentioned earlier, from the looks of it. A single Tauros isn't that bad, but a group of them could crash a castle gate. You're not equipped to handle them right now, your hand moving towards the flare—
"RUN!"
A voice shouts from the left. Your eyes move up the hill, and the Tauros start charging. You heed the advice, dashing towards your partner and grabbing Inana by the back of the neck and pulling her with you as you rush up the side of the hill and away from the stampeding Tauros. Inana struggles against your grip, trying to break loose to fight against the Tauros, flailing about and clawing at the air as you climb with one free hand.
You find yourself falling over as you reach the tip of the hill, but a hand grabs your shoulder and keeps you from eating snow. "T-thank you."
"You're welcome," she says. A young woman, maybe a year older than you, wrapped in the heavy armor of the Spectrier Knights. You found one of the missing knights, it seems, the flare—it's not at your hip anymore. It fell out of your pocket when you dashed out of the way, now sitting between all the Tauros which are glaring up at you.
You're fairly certain that they can come up if they want to. So what's stopping them?
You square your shoulders, turning to the young woman, saluting her out of reflex. "Thank you again."
She looks… haggard. You remember the knights have gone missing just yesterday, but she looks like it's been longer than that, her hair is the color of that fresh snow all around you, her eyes a dark contrast. Her one arm is still on your shoulder, keeping you steady, the other is limp at her side.
"I imagine you are looking for me," she says, letting go of you and saluting in return. "I am Sophia, Spectrier Knight. My unit has been following a thief before we were separated by the Tauros."
"Why didn't you return to town?"
"We cannot let the thief get away." She points toward another hill at the end of the valley, on the other side of the Tauros. "He stole something important, and he's also trapped here until the weather warms up and melts the snow. Trying to escape the Marquisate right now would be suicide."
"But you're injured, you could've regrouped at the city and gotten backup."
"No," she says, looking down at her leg. It's… well, not bleeding anymore, but it's clear she has been wounded badly. She hasn't moved from the spot since she caught you from tripping, but she must be in terrible pain. "I couldn't."
"Ah," you say, nodding. You look at Inana, who's still glaring down at the Tauros. The Tauros glare back. "Well, the stick to call for backup is down there, so I guess we're both stuck."
"I don't think that's the case," she says. She points at the hill again, and you can see someone approach. A man, tall and slim, wearing a ridiculously large hat and a wide, disgustingly bright smile. "The other flares got him moving."
"Ah, Miss Knight! Terribly sorry about your leg," the thief, Wilhelm, shouts loudly. It's barely necessary, the wind carries his voice easily. "It has been a fun chase, but I think it's time we should wrap it up, right?"
"You have nowhere to run, thief," Sophia says, drawing her sword. The black blade is shaking at the tip, too long and heavy to be held with one hand. Inana shouts something as well, though the 'snees' and growling are harder to decipher than human tongue.
Wilhelm's smile widens, the skin around his lips cracking slightly after exposure to the cold and dry air. You narrow your eyes when he draws a… flute? The instrument causes Sophia to tense up, her sword lowering until the tip touches the snow.
He blows into the flute, playing a strange tune that echoes over the hills. Inana slams her hands over her ears, while the Tauros become unnerved and irritated. They try to escape the sound and the direction that's most convenient leads right through you.
Inana does not hesitate in the slightest. She raises her claws, meeting the one charging Tauros that was coming directly at you and blocking its approach. Horns and claws clash with a loud noise, the aftershock of that impact shaking snow loose from the hills. The other Tauros are not actively attacking you, instead running past you and crossing the hill. As fortunate as that is, you find yourself on the backfoot, putting your body between Inana and Sophia and raising your still bound sword with the sheath.
By the time the stampede ends, Inana and the Tauros are still in a stalemate. She looks at you, grinning and saying something that must sound like 'see, I'm strong!'. You can't help but laugh, looking behind the Tauros to find Wilhelm—right there in front of you.
He jumps on top of the Tauros, having crossed the distance with two knives in hand and brings them down on you. You raise the sword up, holding one hand flat against the sheath and block the stabs by holding strong against his forearms.
It's a heavy attack, but you stand tall. So does he, of course, but you have ways around that.
"Inana!" you shout. "Flip!"
She understands without much effort, her claws changing angles on the horns and her entire body twisting around before she manages to use the Tauros' momentum to twist it around and slam it down. Wilhelm yelps as he falls off, rolling away from you as you swing your sword at him. The man is nimble, much more than you, and you don't like just how confident he looks as he shakes off the snow from his clothes.
You look back into the valley, but the flare is gone.
"Looking for this?" he asks, holding up the rod, waving it around. "It's a neat little trinket, but I really can't have anyone spoil our fun."
He pockets it, then draws his knives again. They're thin, mostly for stabbing rather than cutting. You've heard that knives like these can be used to pick locks as well, which sounds reasonable considering his reputation as a thief.
You're not sure you can agree on petty thief, though. This man is a professional. Dangerous and unpleasant, if a bit weaker with the blades than you'd have expected. You swing again, taking a step toward him, but he jumps back and raises his hands in… surrender?
Of course not. He tries to kick you in the stomach, but such a cheap attempt would never work on you. You twist your body out of the way, stabbing the sword into his stomach. He doesn't fall over, instead landing on his hands and flipping through the air before landing on his feet again.
"Is this guy a performer or something?" you mutter. Inana cries out, and you see that the Tauros recovered from its earlier dive to threaten her again. Wilhelm whistles with a finger in his cheek and the Tauros reacts with more anger. It kicks Inana out of the way and rushes at you instead.
That bastard grabs your legs after diving at you, fixing you in place. You can smash that sword into his head but that will not save you. So—
"Spring!" Sophia shouts out. You hear a loud, high-pitched roar and find yourself in the air all of the sudden, that asshole still holding onto your legs. Vines are wrapped around your waist, keeping you away from the Tauros' angry charge. "Now shake!"
The vines start to shake you, and Wilhelm's grip loosens enough for you to kick him off. Unfortunately he's not in the way of the Tauros, but he is right under you when the vines let you go and you slam feet first into his chest.
He grunts in pain, then rights himself up so fast you're forced to step back and find yourself side by side with Sophia again.
Next to her is a rather large Bulbasaur, glaring at Wilhelm. He looks injured as well, though not nearly as much as Sophia. Spring, he is called. A warm and welcome name. Despite that, though, he looks rather appropriate for Gildera, much like Skiddle before the plant on his back has blue tips and his bright green eyes shine even more radiant.
Inana glares at the Tauros. Spring looks irritated. Sophia… Sophia is on her knees. She's breathing heavily, and you can see some fresh blood from the leg wound seeping into the snow as she tries to stay standing.
"Sophia," you say, putting your hand to your sword's sheath. "Stay behind me, I can handle him."
She looks up at you, doubt on her face, worry and exhaustion in the way her eyes move from you to Wilhelm. She does not believe you, but she has no other options, and that is fine. That is understandable.
Well, there's nothing else to be done now. You unwrap the cloth around the sheath.
"You're just some stupid villager," Wilhelm says, grinning so wide you can see every single one of his teeth. "There's no need for you to go this far for a failure of a knight."
"No," you say, drawing your sword. The Skarmory Steel glows bright, reflecting sunlight everywhere. You swing it to the side, your face twisting in anger as you glare up at him. "There isn't."
"Well, in for one corpse, in for two," he says, the knives in his hands spinning for a moment as he changes his grip. "What name do you want on your gravestone, girl?"
"Aria," you say, pointing the sword at him. "Memorize it so you can share it with the rest of the scum in prison."
He aims at Sophia, forcing you to keep up the defense. Tauros charges at Inana, who's already become fast friends with Spring and is now riding on top of its bulb to meet the Tauros head on. While Inana blocks the horns, Spring's vines hold back the legs, making the fight much more even.
You swing the sword, getting caught between the blades. They slide down the edge of yours, until you're face to face with that grinning maniac. You kick up, hitting the man's leg. He kicks back, sending you reeling backward. Sophia catches you again, crying out in pain before pushing you back into the fight. You spin around, grabbing the man's collar and dragging him with you and away.
Spring and Inana find themselves with the upperhand in their fight, so you can focus entirely on yours. He stabs at your arm, and you pull it back before stabbing forward with your blade. It nicks his torso, drawing blood.
It's strange how much easier this seems compared to the poacher. Perhaps that is what Leif meant. He's a petty thief, he makes for good theater and little else, though his ambush against the knights using the flute and the Tauros does point to a slightly more intelligent criminal.
So when he whistles again, once more making the Tauros change directions all of the sudden, you do expect it. You stab the sword in the ground and slide down the hill, watching as the Tauros' charge goes right over you. You see—
Spring's vines on its horns, sending it flying down the hill with Tauros, and you see Inana on Spring's head, standing proudly with her arms crossed as they descend.
You ignore the audacity and turn to your adversary once more. He's stopped smiling.
"I really don't like you, girl."
"I don't care."
You rush at him, using the sword that's still buried in the snow as a shovel to throw some at his face. He blocks the snow with his arm, giving you an opportunity to drive your shoulder into his stomach and tackle him. Before he can recover, you stab the sword into his leg.
He screams, then chokes back that cry to pucker his lips and whistle. You don't let him, slamming your gloved hand onto his mouth with a force that cuts his lips against his teeth. You keep pressing against him, forcing his head into the snow.
Instead, he lets go of his swords and snaps his finger. That bastard wasn't controlling the Tauros independently at all, you realize.
That Tauros that's still fighting was his all along.
It reacts to the snap, shoving Inana out of the way and slamming its head against Spring, continuing its ascent back up the hill. You move out of the way, but the Tauros keeps up with the movement.
"Damn it." You hear Sophia's words before you find yourself rolling down the hill again.
She shoves you out of the way. You cry out, trying to grab her on your way down and save her as well, but the Tauros is too fast. Your hand reaches out too slow.
Sophia's body is thrown up, sent across the entire battlefield with such a loud noise you wonder if she died on impact. You can see the armor has broken apart. You can see the horn of the Tauros as it flees the scene without its trainer, full of blood—
You can see Sophia on the ground, bleeding, barely alive.
You ball a fist and slam it into the man's chin. It breaks with a loud crunch. For good measure, you turn his hands and stomp on them, leaving his fingers to point into ten different directions.
Then you stab your sword into his leg, making sure he won't be able to escape before you take care of Sophia. The flare in his pockets is quickly pointed up, drawing on the string until it explodes and releases a light in the sky.
You rush to her, your feet dragging across the snow as you reach out. She's still breathing, if barely. The snow under her turns into a mire of blood, the wound so deep you can see her organs writhing underneath.
Spring mews, looking up at you, tears in his eyes. He does not make a noise, yet his expression tells you everything you need to know. The fear in his heart, the worry in his quivering lips. Inana joins you, standing next to Spring and putting one clawed arm on him.
Sophia is whispering something. Something you can't quite place. You lean forward, your hand on her wound, trying to stem the bleeding. You try to listen. You must hear.
"A true knight," Sophia whispers a prayer. She breathes in deep, then continues. "will rush onto the battlefield."
A Knight's Prayer. The essence of those who have come before, summoned into the world like faith in a higher being. But today, you feel, is not the time for prayer.
"Their souls ablaze," she continues. You have to think .You can save her. You know you can. There is, there is— your bag. You have something in there, you know there is something in there. Bandages, berries, potions. Wounds like these— "with the flames of valor."
If there is a higher power that guides your fate, you will do as Atlas does and defy it. Today you will not let someone bleed in your arms, you will not be pushed away, and you will not be forced to run.
"No fear of death—" she coughs. You let go of the wound, reaching down to your waist. "Is to be seen in their eyes."
You grab your pouch, taking out the things that Ruby put in and unwrap that familiar thing.
You remember what it was for, you remember the most expensive gem that your mother always wore around her neck. The strange stone that is so rare and hard to find.
It's a golden clump with spikes shooting into every direction. Not a berry, but medicine. You crush it, barely any liquid coming out as you rub the spikes on Sophia's wound, hearing her cry out in pain.
It takes a solid minute of rubbing the clump into the wound before something happens. A light shines from your hands, making it hard to look straight at her. Flesh is mended, blood pulling itself back from the skin and leaving nothing but a scar.
Sophia's pale skin takes on some color again, her breathing slowing down. Despite the exhaustion she must be feeling, she is wide awake, the medicine forcing her consciousness awake. Her eyes are wide open, staring up at the sun behind you. You turn slightly, trying to shield her eyes from the light. She whispers another prayer, though you don't know what for.
You breathe out in relief and exhaustion. Now you just have to wait for Leif and the others.
You have saved a life. You have conquered the unreasonable with the radiance of your soul.
In the end, more than anything else that defines you, your empathy and kindness for others are something that makes you [You]. Your love and trust in other people, even in the face of adversity and betrayal, is unmatched. Your willingness to give everything, from expensive medicine to your very blood makes you more of a knight than most.
You are Aria and you are Loving, even if you don't think you are. Even if there is that gnawing feeling at the back of your mind that you're a bad person who drags those around you down.
Even if you think you deserve less, you're a good child.
Sophia is not the kind of person to forget such a debt. You are not the kind of person who demands repayment for doing the right thing. Regardless, you'll have to visit her soon, Leif says she wishes to meet you. 'Sofia of Traviole' is now known to all the Spectrier Knights still stationed in Wallburg.
There's something to be learned here. With enough of an impact, you will be able to request an audience with the Marchioness. You simply have to pick your approach:
[ ] Prowess.
You are a knight, and a knight's word is only as good as their skill with the sword. If you prove yourself with your martial ability, the Spectrier Knights will surely put in a good word for you.
[ ] Wit.
You are kind and helpful, and this will make you popular even if you don't want to be. If you prove yourself among the people of the city, the nobles will not deny your presence.
[ ] Duty.
You are adept in the ways of the land, and this will surely be a boon. Bounty hunting, mercenary work, if your name is in everyone's mouth then surely it will reach the ears of the Marchioness.
Last edited:
Update 9: The Sun and Moon Cake
Elpis
Ostensibly Hope
- Location
- Berlin
Winning Vote:
[X] Wit.
[X] The farmers.
###
The medical wing of the Wallburg Knight's Quarter is not too dissimilar to the Glastrier one. Though the setup is much the same, rather than a Chansey running around and making sure that all the injured and sick are taken care of, there's a pair of Blissey with electric blue eyes.
Currently they're busy holding down a man who keeps shouting about an attack. His body seems fine, but there's a bandage wrapped around one eye and his forehead. That's too fresh to be from the group of knights that went missing, he arrived later.
You turn to the woman in charge, dressed in a long white coat and glaring at a piece of parchment through glasses, eyebags that tell you of many restless nights sitting framed in between dark red hair.
Everyone you have overheard just calls her the Nurse. Capital N.
"Your injuries are healin'," she says, chewing on something while giving you the diagnosis. You remember some older knights had something similar on them, wasn't it burning at the tip? It looks similar, at least. "Still, quite some scars for a village girl, swingin' a sword and allofthat."
You have to strain your ears to really hear what she's saying. "Does that mean I can go?"
"Sure, but you mighta wanna swing around the private rooms," she says, pointing at a door toward the end of the big room. "Someone wants to see you."
You blink, tilting your head. Who would ask for you, really? Leif isn't injured whatsoever, though from the look on his face when he found you with all of Sophia's blood on your hands and in the snow, he did look sick.
"It's the lass, girly," the Nurse says. "The lass you saved."
"Oh, right, Leif said something about that," you say, blinking again. Though Sophia's injuries were severe, the Revival Stone, as you were informed, had sent her expected recovery time from 'possibly months' to 'a good week of bedrest.'.
Apparently those were not just rare and expensive, they were practically impossible to get without connections to the Mountain Tribes that Ruby descends from. You know they'd never criticize a use like this, yet it pains you that one of those gifts you received is no longer in your hands.
You clench a fist at your side and nod to the Nurse, moving toward the door. Inside you can hear some laughter, the other injured knights are also inside from the sound of it. You open the door to find those four knights. Sophia is in the bed at the window, laughing so hard that her shoulders are shaking. She truly puts the motion into emotion, slamming her fist into the bed as the knight across the room continues his story. You don't know what the story is about, but 'and his mother was a Drifloon' sounds like a punchline you need a lot of context for.
The laughter starts to get more quiet as they notice you, and you have time to take in the rest of the group. Two men and another woman, no longer dressed in armor but in simple clothes that do nothing to hide the sheer amount of bandages underneath. Sophia is the last to notice you, her eyes widening when she spots you. She must be running a fever after those injuries, her face is all red.
"Aria," she says in greeting. You flinch, of course, you did shout your name at Wilhelm before you beat the shit out of him. "Come in, please."
You do, walking into the room and closing the door behind you. The other knights are following you with their eyes as you approach Sophia's bed. She pats her hair down as you sit down in the chair that's placed next to the bed.
"Hello, Sophia," you say. The discomfort at your fake name is already gone, and you suppose it'd be less confusing to just be Aria now, even if that name could draw attention of the Glastrier Order again. Right now you're in Wallburg, and you've done a great deed, which means even if they decide to accuse you of Drake's murder you know at least Leif will give you the benefit of the doubt. "Are you well?"
"Better than well," she says, her fist against her chest. "You saved my life."
You open your mouth to say you did no such thing, that she saved yours by protecting you from that Tauros, that all you did was return the favor.
But she does not let you. There's tears in the corners of her eyes as she bows her head. "Thank you, Aria."
You bite your tongue and put a hand on her shoulder, pushing her back onto the bed to lie down. "Thank you, too. For protecting me."
The smile she offers is worth it. It's so easy to dismiss people's gratitude, to say that it was nothing, or that it was simply the circumstances in which you find yourself in. You saved each other, and that is worth mutual appreciation.
The other knights are clearly listening, remaining quiet to not disturb your conversation. At one point you swear you could see the men grin at each other.
"Leif says you came here with the villagers from Traviolle," she says when she finds her voice again. "Though you're from further away, right? That sword of yours couldn't have been forged in the Marquisate."
"No," you say, avoiding her gaze. "It's from… from the Duchy. I—"
"You don't need to explain yourself," Sophia says quickly. You blink. "You've got your reasons, so just talk about it when you feel like it. I owe you that much. If Leif lets you enter the city, you belong here either way. No way he'd have given you one of the Spectrier Pokeballs if that wasn't the case."
What a simple way to make decisions. No doubts that even Leif could make the wrong choice, or that you're a deserter of some sort.
You think back to Old Bea's words about van Kesteren and the Marquess Reichert. About the different kinds of governing, and reasons for knighthood. Are these people really that much more trusting? Or are they so much better at telling when someone is lying?
If nothing else, the suspicion inside of you that you're not being hunted by the knights makes you think of different questions, some you really wish you never find the answer for.
Would the captains have protected you? Should you have reached out to Capella after all?
No.
No you realize more than ever, your future has never been in the confines of some Duke's army. That you do not seek the glory of men like Achilles, who smile when they are faced with impossible odds.
Your fists clench at your sides, still unable to look at her face. Sophia is the one who reaches out this time, putting a hand on your shoulder as she no doubt notices the whirlwind of emotions inside of you.
Why are you trying to convince others that you're a bad person? That you have reason for shame?
"My time in the Duchy ended abruptly," you say, feeling another kind of relief at being able to be at least somewhat honest. "It's not something I like to talk about, please don't misunderstand."
"It's fine," she says. "I want you to feel comfortable here."
"No," you say, shaking your head. "It's fine, Leif has already made it clear he knows more about me than I dared admit. I am Aria, I used to be an Aspirant for the Glastrier Knights."
You salute again, the way you've learned it, with your fingers at your shoulder and bowing slightly. Your fingers brush against hers.
"Once again, I am Sophia. Those three people who cannot pretend to be deaf are Maurits, Lena, and Garry."
The three knights greet you with their own salutes, sitting in the beds and glancing at each other.
"I wanted to speak with you in private," Sophia says, glancing at the others. "But that won't be possible here, could we meet after the Nurse lets me out?"
"Of course," you say. There's little else you can do besides stay in Wallburg, of course, and you did promise the children another story from Lissy's book at bedtime so there's no way you're going to run away. That'd be rude. "Still, I'm glad you're doing well, though. It was quite a grim sight."
Sophia tries to laugh it off, but you can see the strain on her face, the weight of her experience. It feels so familiar to you, like looking into a mirror at that young girl who shed her blood and name to keep moving. Who gave up hope and faith until Drake dragged her back.
"Sorry," you find yourself saying. "It's not good bedside manners."
"You don't need to apologize," she says. "When I became a knight, I always knew a day like this could come. But knowing and experiencing it are too different. It's one of the reasons… Nevermind that, ignore me."
"Nothing prepares you for the possibility of death," you say, nodding. She nods back, and a comfortable silence blankets you. Her hand is still on your shoulder, you notice, even as she is lying in that bed and staring at the ceiling. Her fingers grip into your shirt, so softly you barely notice the touch, but still straining against the idea of letting go.
"I've gotten paid for the arrest," you say, pointing at the bag of coins at your hips. Gold is the universal language, it's true, and even after telling Leif to give some to the villager quarter you should be able to actually stock up on some necessities without having to worry. "So how about we meet up at a restaurant after you're released. I've heard there's some good ones in Wallburg."
She lights up like the Atlas star, her face once again turning slightly red as she lets go of you. "That'd be great!"
Her voice is loud enough to make you flinch back, and the other knights start laughing at the scene for some reason. You don't know what else there is to say, so you say goodbye.
Nobody can deny you.
To choose your own name is not a simple matter, it is a declaration to the world. It is a declaration to yourself. You will not hide away from those who would do you and yours harm by changing who you are. They are not worth half the blood that has been spilled to shape [Aria].
You are Aria, Revolutionary. Your name is the song that blows those cold winds of Gildera onto the rest of the continent. One of your skills improves from Competent to Adept. You have to choose which.
[ ] Authority.
Something about you draws people in. You find the words on your tongue as useful as the sword in your hand. While some fights are unavoidable, those you can't avoid are won not alone but with the help of others.
[ ] Wisdom.
You know how little you truly know. Surface knowledge in a hundred different categories makes you seem intelligent to the average person, but wisdom is not intelligence. Using what you know makes you a force to be reckoned with.
###
The villagers gather together in peaceful unity in the middle of the quarter, creating what Old Bea describes as 'a winter festival'. They build stalls, create beautiful lights using fire and thunder stones, as well as fabrics made from the wool of many different Pokemon.
"It's cultural exchange," Old Bea explains. "Though we are all of Gildera, and all of the Marquisate, all villages are quite different. This is the only time in the year where you can find most of us in one place."
"Still, a festival," you say, unsure about your place in all of this. "It feels so jovial compared to the usual mood in winter."
"One cannot let circumstance ruin the joy of living. Though days can be hard, and sometimes one's heart is not in it, we cannot let ourselves be crushed by dark emotions."
Old Bea reminds you of your grandmother in more ways than just her age, though their circumstances could not be more different. Is that the wisdom that comes with age? Or are their experiences more similar than you can imagine?
You wonder if one day you will be able to ease someone's heart with words alone. You smile at her, looking around toward the crowd and spotting the people who have been keeping you company whenever Old Bea is too busy.
The farmer family consists of Penelope and her six children. Her husband passed away years ago, and though you know that kind of tragedy can break many, this woman's strength fills you with awe.
Not just the mental one, of course, you've seen her carry five of her children, aged four to ten, all to drag them to a bathtub. The oldest son, Fabian, is fourteen and somewhat rebellious, though he still clearly loves his family and does not stray too far.
You approach after bidding goodbye to Old Bea, preparing to help Penelope with her own stand. Her table is full of… roots? Various roots, some dirty and brown, some look like they were polished and reflect the sunlight back into your eyes. Besides those there are a lot of vegetables, those you know can persevere even multiple months simply by being cold.
"Penelope," you say. She turns to you, grinning widely. "Can I help you?"
"No, we're almost done," she says, pointing at Fabian. The boy is slamming a hammer down on a wooden stake that will become the roof of the farmer's stand. "But this reminds me, you were asking me about edible things in the wild, right? Didn't they teach you that?"
"Survivalism was never really the focus there, no," you say, shaking your head. "We were always grouped up, there were well-prepared rations, and some expectation to help each other."
It's a different way of life, of course. While the villagers live exactly that kind of way as well, they also know how to take care of themselves. While knights have a certain degree of independence and knowledge of how to keep going even in the most dire of circumstances, there was a certain dependence beaten into them.
Look to your comrade, and if you cannot find him, look for your Duke.
You are never alone. In blue and white, all of them are your brothers and sisters.
Until they are not. Well at least now the Meowth is out of the bag and everyone knows, though some of the kids are still stuck with Sofia.
You sigh. "Well, can you teach me something now? Or are you too busy?"
"I've got something really nice for you," she says, moving around the table. "Look, what can you tell me about these two here?"
She points at two completely different roots that look like they've been grabbed out of the ground, some specks of dirt still on them. "I have no idea, that's just two different roots, isn't it?"
She laughs, putting her hands on her hips.
"These are the same root," Penelope says, clearly too proud that you fell for the most obvious trick question. You squint, trying to find any similarities. Not skin or color make it look anywhere close to each other. "The difference is the environment. Whereas this one was harvested in the woods of Gildera—" She points at the one that looks like it has a hard outer shell, largely devoid of color. "This one came from Sol."
The other one looks thin and brittle, the skin amber and glossy.
"Despite these differences, they're both 'dragon's root'. They're both edible, though the Gilderan one is obviously harder to prepare due to its thick skin. If you manage to get through the skin however…"
She takes a giant cleaver from somewhere and slams it over the root, startling you. As if nothing had happened, she puts the cleaver aside and takes the Solian root before snapping it with her bare hands. Nobody even watches the scene with you as this woman is clearly proving a point.
On the inside, both of them look identical. Slightly orange, very fibrous, and despite the fact that they came from such dry looking roots there is some juices flowing out.
"If you know where to find them, they're the easiest way to feed yourself while on the road."
You can't help but give some applause at the demonstration. You saw some of those in the kitchens and occasionally they were served, but you imagine the amount of mouths to feed made it hard to focus entirely on wild roots. Still, something that can be useful regardless of which continent you're on would've been nice to know. Perhaps if you ever do deign the thought of returning to the Caer you can ask for these things to be added to the lesson plan.
This is critical knowledge!
"They're quite readily available if you know what the plant looks like, it grows everywhere and in every season, though in winter you might not be able to tell without the leaves."
She grabs something from her pocket, a small book, then goes through it until she gets to a page in the middle, holding it up for you to see. "Here."
A drawing of a plant, with a person next to it for scale. It would reach about your hip and has thick, heavy leaves that shrivel at the tip, some up and some down. If you squint, it does look like the maw of a serpent, or a dragon, whenever two leaves curl towards each other.
"In Sol, the leaves are bright, in Gildera they're usually darker or have blue highlights, even in summer."
You nod, making a note to get a book like that soon.
She shoves the book into your hands.
Okay, well, no note then.
"Is it fine to just give this to me?" you ask. Books are a commodity, something expensive and useful. Though some are mass produced, often religious texts or fables, the truly useful books are those with knowledge of the world. "It must've been expensive."
"I've memorized it up and down, I could write my own," Penelope says, her smile still in place. "You look like you'll need it more than me, little one."
You want to say you're not that little, but that woman towers over you in a way that only Redwood could imitate. Even her son, two years your junior, is equal to your size.
The villagers are the best kind of people. And in their winter joy, they made you a gift: a shield, so the other half of your weapon is finally back where it belongs. Made from the Mamoswine Trees, it is something that will stand the test of time for sure.
As long as you don't lose it again.
The shield is engraved…
[ ] … with the seal of the Gilderan people. It depicts a tree with golden lines running up the crown.
[ ] … with a depiction of Kael, wielding his blade. It's symmetrical and stylized, quite beautiful.
[ ] … with Inana, glaring at you. She looks menacing on the wood, much more than in reality.
###
The meeting with Sophia does not take long to organize. Though she's still out of breath after only a few minutes of walking, the Nurse released her back into the city with a stern 'do not attempt anything dangerous', which means you're free to enjoy a good meal with her. She came personally to the villager's quarter to tell you where to meet in the evening. A few hours later, after reading to the children one more time, you make your way there.
In the inner city, where the ring-road formed around the first watchtower that ever stood here, the biggest and most popular shops have made their mark. They surround that tower with beautiful lights and smells that make your stomach growl. The snow is not high here, trampled down by the hundreds of people who walk up and down the street the entire day. It's slippery here and there, but you manage to regain your balance after only two near-death experiences.
Sophia is dressed casually, a purple scarf around her neck and a long brown coat that makes her look very mysterious. She stands at the watchtower gate, looking around until she sees you approach. The snow under your foot makes a crunch as you step up to her.
"Good evening," you greet. She takes a moment before responding.
"Good evening, Aria," she says. Somehow your actual name coming out grants you relief in a way you cannot put into words. A sort of pleasure that comes from being acknowledged as you are. You dare not ask for more. "Have you picked a place yet?"
"No," you say, shaking your head. "I don't really know the city, so I'd like it if you could pick one "
"There's a pastry restaurant," she says. A sweet-tooth, then. Sophia is quite easy to get along with, you think. She does not actually hide her emotions, at least, not in the way you're used to by others. She reaches out, grabbing your hand and pulling you along. "Come."
You can only see her back now. She's slightly taller than you, her grip tight but not painfully so, and though she is already running out of breath just walking those few meters to the shop she picked, you can tell that she's dependable and strong.
It's chance and circumstance that made you, well, acquaintances? It's hard to say friends, but who would you share a slice of cake with if not a friend?
The candles on the table make for a fun mood, enough to ignore the rather rude stares by some of the richer customers toward you.
"What's the matter?" she asks when she sees you look around like a child in a new place. "Never been in a restaurant before?"
"No," you say, unable to lie. "It really is something! The people, the view out of the window. It's so much more comfortable than a dining hall." Or a dining room in a mansion. It reminds you more of teatime outside in the summer, all warm and cozy.
It feels like sitting with the villagers, though somewhat less personal.
Sophia is just looking at you, leaning back into her chair. A man approaches, and you tense for just a moment before Sophia turns to him in greeting. "Hello, my friend here hasn't eaten anything like this before, could you recommend something?"
He does not hesitate for a moment before listing off a ton of things of which you had no idea how to parse. You do know some of the terms, you know of course what a cake is, you've had quite a lot with your grandmother back in the day.
But some of the terms sound, well, foreign. Solian, in some ways. They mention the sun and the moon, and somehow you find yourself interested. "That one," you say. "The sun and moon cake."
The man raises a finger, then squints before looking between the two of you. He leaves after nodding, forgetting to take Sophia's order.
"That was abrupt," you say, tilting your head toward him. "Do they not have time to take everyone's orders?"
"No, it's just," she starts, her ears slightly red. "The sun and moon cake is, well, it's-"
You get the answer quite fast. It's not one cake, but two. Not slices, but whole ones, though obviously small enough for a single person to eat it. The waiter puts it on the table and lets you enjoy the sight of it before taking a large knife and cutting both cakes in half, giving each plate half of each—
Ah.
Ah.
You slam your fist into the palm of your hand. It makes sense, of course! It's a way for someone to enjoy two kinds of cakes! How ingenious!
Sophia is a much slower eater than you, it seems. Or perhaps her injury is still giving her some pain, as her hand keeps shaking and her face stays red when she lifts some of the cake to her mouth. You try to help her, but it seems that the color of her skin becomes even worse when you hold the spoon up. In the end, the cake is an experience you definitely want to repeat.
You don't know what that dark cream is, but it's very nice.
In the end you have some tea to finish the evening of. You talk, and talk, and talk. Some secrets spill from loose lips, but you feel much more free. If the Glastrier Knights want you back, they can come and try, but right now you will enjoy life as Old Bea told you to.
You don't notice how you feel until you notice that stinging in your eyes.
"It's been a while since I shared sweets," you admit. Almost eleven years now since your grandmother has passed away. "I'm just reminded of how much has happened since then."
"Well, if there's a time to be sad, it'd be this week," she says. You blink the tears out of your eyes, raising your head to meet her eyes. "Solians are mourning the Empress' death, she died today, all those years back."
Her words reach your ears but your mind is occupied. Something in it makes you wonder, makes you feel, think, respond differently. You see her, but your eyes are unfocused. Was there something in the tea? Sophia doesn't seem to notice, and you try, try not to let her. You want to enjoy this evening.
"How old are you anyway?" she asks. You smile like a puppet, ready to answer, but the number on the tip of your tongue sounds wrong. It leaves your entire mouth numb, and you flinch as you bite on your lip so hard it draws blood. "Aria?"
"I… I think I'm seventeen?" you say, your voice wavering. Why seventeen? What did you miss? You think, you count the days since you left the Caer Rivenhold, you count the time when you would have been back to celebrate with Drake and Capella, with Lissy and Ruby.
Remember, Aria. You celebrate before they mourn, never on the day after.
"I'm seventeen," you say, quieter and more certain than before. "My birthday was yesterday."
"Ah," Sophia says. And though you want her to see nothing of that sadness you know is reflected on your face, she does not need to read your face like Capella to understand how you're feeling. "I suppose a late celebration is better than none, is it?"
You missed your own birthday.
"I've spent so long trying to live my life according to other people's ideals," you say, finding your voice again. "I don't even know what I am doing anymore."
Is this really where you find your barriers falling? With a spoonful of sugar and a warm fruit tea? When you finally realize just how much of your childhood has been stolen from you by Marchioness Flamberg, by the heavy weight on your soul?
In front of a stranger?
You're stronger than that.
But what if you don't want to be strong today?
"The man who adopted me was killed," you say, your fingers clenching over the fork that you forgot you were holding. "I ran. Because people thought I did it."
"I'm sorry," Sophia says. You just nod. You're sorry too. "I can't imagine what that is like, that's not something you should have to bear by yourself."
"I kept running. And I forgot my birthday. And today I was enjoying myself so much, I almost forgot the people who are still waiting for me to come back. And for a moment—"
You swallow the words, but they have to come out, because you cannot imagine how painful they will be if you try to keep them down.
"—for a moment I wondered if I even want to go back to them. If they're not better off without me there."
Sophia does not know what to say, so she says nothing. Instead, she moves around the table and puts a hand on your shoulder. It's a gesture both of you seem to be fond of.
"I do not know your friends," she says, "but I know that no one who'd call you one would ever think their life better without you in it. Doubts like these should not be what stops you from thinking that those you love want you back."
"I know," you say, your voice breaking slightly.
"It's inappropriate to bring it up now, so please forgive me," Sophia says. "My time with the Spectrier Guard has ended just as abruptly. There is something I must do that is more important to me, and though I know that I will miss my comrades and they will miss me, please listen to what I'm saying."
Her words have the desired effect, your emotions muting themselves to hear what a woman, who had just days ago revealed herself to be the very model of a knight, has to say about her own abandonment of that path.
"I pledged my sword to protect my people," she says, her grip on your shoulder loosening. "But the more I stayed, the more that armor dug itself into my skin, the more I yearned for something else."
You clench your teeth. You understand it, of course. That desire for the sky, for the part of the horizon where the sun touches the mountaintop.
"I can see that freedom in you, Aria. My doubts were simply waiting for another push, and you gave it to me. Though it pains me to give up this path, I know whatever the future holds, I will never regret these days."
You nod, unable to say a word. The crowd around you has become quieter, somehow you feel like everyone's staring at you. It becomes uncomfortable, the sight and warmth suddenly too much, sweat gathering on the top of your brow. Her hand comes down from your shoulder and grabs your hand instead.
"And I know that no matter what, whenever I return to them, they will greet me with the same warm smiles, and embrace me with those same warm arms. I know they will do the same for you."
She's on her knees, her sword at her side. Her one hand cups yours, and though you wish to pull away you cannot deny a knight, someone who like you has fought and bled for their rank. Sophia kisses your hand, and you try to ignore the heat that crawls up your neck.
"I owe you a debt I cannot repay in one lifetime," she says, her forehead pressed against the back of your hand. "Let me stay at your side."
"You barely know me."
"And I barely know the Marquis. Is my heart wrong to tell me that now I must go a different path?"
"You are a knight of the Marquisate," you say, frowning at her words. "There are others worthy of such loyalty. I'm… I'm not a noble either.."
The problem with facts and arguments, no matter how logical and reasonable they are, they cannot win against the most powerful emotion. The way her face brightens when she looks into your eyes already tells you everything you need to know. That her words earlier were not something she said just to cheer you up.
"I have already resigned," she says, her hand tightening around your fingers. "If you reject me now, I'll have nowhere else to go."
You do not know what to say.
So you say nothing.
You've acquired a follower. Someone who will go with you through hell or high water, whose trust in you is so unshakeable, it makes you uncomfortable with how much power you have over them.
You cannot deny her purpose, and you cannot deny that you seek companionship. The coldness of the world is weathered much easier with a hand on your back. All you can do now is to become someone worthy of that loyalty.
She is Sophia, once Spectrier Knight. Though she resigned during a difficult time for the Order, nobody seemed to mind. Though she had to give up her armor, she was allowed to keep her sword. Leif is the one who came to collect these things, not dismissing her as a weakling, but smiling at her, and saying goodbye to an old friend.
Sophia's smile is radiant as she joins you in the villager's quarter. Her words grant you wings, and the sky suddenly no longer looks like a cage after all.
Inana looks like a bundle of joy. It seems she's become good friends with Spring.
You find a letter, somewhere in the snow. It melts the world around it and warms your heart. [A]. Imp al.
You still have money left over. After buying a Pokeball, you decide to buy a gift for Sophia. Now that she's part of whatever you have going on—
[ ] —a string for her sword.
For some reason you can only find purple ones.
[ ] —some armor.
You've never had any and don't feel comfortable in it, but she looks wrong without one.
[ ] —a necklace.
It reminds you of Sophia's eyes. Of Capella's hair. You should buy two, and save the other for your return.
[X] Wit.
[X] The farmers.
###
The medical wing of the Wallburg Knight's Quarter is not too dissimilar to the Glastrier one. Though the setup is much the same, rather than a Chansey running around and making sure that all the injured and sick are taken care of, there's a pair of Blissey with electric blue eyes.
Currently they're busy holding down a man who keeps shouting about an attack. His body seems fine, but there's a bandage wrapped around one eye and his forehead. That's too fresh to be from the group of knights that went missing, he arrived later.
You turn to the woman in charge, dressed in a long white coat and glaring at a piece of parchment through glasses, eyebags that tell you of many restless nights sitting framed in between dark red hair.
Everyone you have overheard just calls her the Nurse. Capital N.
"Your injuries are healin'," she says, chewing on something while giving you the diagnosis. You remember some older knights had something similar on them, wasn't it burning at the tip? It looks similar, at least. "Still, quite some scars for a village girl, swingin' a sword and allofthat."
You have to strain your ears to really hear what she's saying. "Does that mean I can go?"
"Sure, but you mighta wanna swing around the private rooms," she says, pointing at a door toward the end of the big room. "Someone wants to see you."
You blink, tilting your head. Who would ask for you, really? Leif isn't injured whatsoever, though from the look on his face when he found you with all of Sophia's blood on your hands and in the snow, he did look sick.
"It's the lass, girly," the Nurse says. "The lass you saved."
"Oh, right, Leif said something about that," you say, blinking again. Though Sophia's injuries were severe, the Revival Stone, as you were informed, had sent her expected recovery time from 'possibly months' to 'a good week of bedrest.'.
Apparently those were not just rare and expensive, they were practically impossible to get without connections to the Mountain Tribes that Ruby descends from. You know they'd never criticize a use like this, yet it pains you that one of those gifts you received is no longer in your hands.
You clench a fist at your side and nod to the Nurse, moving toward the door. Inside you can hear some laughter, the other injured knights are also inside from the sound of it. You open the door to find those four knights. Sophia is in the bed at the window, laughing so hard that her shoulders are shaking. She truly puts the motion into emotion, slamming her fist into the bed as the knight across the room continues his story. You don't know what the story is about, but 'and his mother was a Drifloon' sounds like a punchline you need a lot of context for.
The laughter starts to get more quiet as they notice you, and you have time to take in the rest of the group. Two men and another woman, no longer dressed in armor but in simple clothes that do nothing to hide the sheer amount of bandages underneath. Sophia is the last to notice you, her eyes widening when she spots you. She must be running a fever after those injuries, her face is all red.
"Aria," she says in greeting. You flinch, of course, you did shout your name at Wilhelm before you beat the shit out of him. "Come in, please."
You do, walking into the room and closing the door behind you. The other knights are following you with their eyes as you approach Sophia's bed. She pats her hair down as you sit down in the chair that's placed next to the bed.
"Hello, Sophia," you say. The discomfort at your fake name is already gone, and you suppose it'd be less confusing to just be Aria now, even if that name could draw attention of the Glastrier Order again. Right now you're in Wallburg, and you've done a great deed, which means even if they decide to accuse you of Drake's murder you know at least Leif will give you the benefit of the doubt. "Are you well?"
"Better than well," she says, her fist against her chest. "You saved my life."
You open your mouth to say you did no such thing, that she saved yours by protecting you from that Tauros, that all you did was return the favor.
But she does not let you. There's tears in the corners of her eyes as she bows her head. "Thank you, Aria."
You bite your tongue and put a hand on her shoulder, pushing her back onto the bed to lie down. "Thank you, too. For protecting me."
The smile she offers is worth it. It's so easy to dismiss people's gratitude, to say that it was nothing, or that it was simply the circumstances in which you find yourself in. You saved each other, and that is worth mutual appreciation.
The other knights are clearly listening, remaining quiet to not disturb your conversation. At one point you swear you could see the men grin at each other.
"Leif says you came here with the villagers from Traviolle," she says when she finds her voice again. "Though you're from further away, right? That sword of yours couldn't have been forged in the Marquisate."
"No," you say, avoiding her gaze. "It's from… from the Duchy. I—"
"You don't need to explain yourself," Sophia says quickly. You blink. "You've got your reasons, so just talk about it when you feel like it. I owe you that much. If Leif lets you enter the city, you belong here either way. No way he'd have given you one of the Spectrier Pokeballs if that wasn't the case."
What a simple way to make decisions. No doubts that even Leif could make the wrong choice, or that you're a deserter of some sort.
You think back to Old Bea's words about van Kesteren and the Marquess Reichert. About the different kinds of governing, and reasons for knighthood. Are these people really that much more trusting? Or are they so much better at telling when someone is lying?
If nothing else, the suspicion inside of you that you're not being hunted by the knights makes you think of different questions, some you really wish you never find the answer for.
Would the captains have protected you? Should you have reached out to Capella after all?
No.
No you realize more than ever, your future has never been in the confines of some Duke's army. That you do not seek the glory of men like Achilles, who smile when they are faced with impossible odds.
Your fists clench at your sides, still unable to look at her face. Sophia is the one who reaches out this time, putting a hand on your shoulder as she no doubt notices the whirlwind of emotions inside of you.
Why are you trying to convince others that you're a bad person? That you have reason for shame?
"My time in the Duchy ended abruptly," you say, feeling another kind of relief at being able to be at least somewhat honest. "It's not something I like to talk about, please don't misunderstand."
"It's fine," she says. "I want you to feel comfortable here."
"No," you say, shaking your head. "It's fine, Leif has already made it clear he knows more about me than I dared admit. I am Aria, I used to be an Aspirant for the Glastrier Knights."
You salute again, the way you've learned it, with your fingers at your shoulder and bowing slightly. Your fingers brush against hers.
"Once again, I am Sophia. Those three people who cannot pretend to be deaf are Maurits, Lena, and Garry."
The three knights greet you with their own salutes, sitting in the beds and glancing at each other.
"I wanted to speak with you in private," Sophia says, glancing at the others. "But that won't be possible here, could we meet after the Nurse lets me out?"
"Of course," you say. There's little else you can do besides stay in Wallburg, of course, and you did promise the children another story from Lissy's book at bedtime so there's no way you're going to run away. That'd be rude. "Still, I'm glad you're doing well, though. It was quite a grim sight."
Sophia tries to laugh it off, but you can see the strain on her face, the weight of her experience. It feels so familiar to you, like looking into a mirror at that young girl who shed her blood and name to keep moving. Who gave up hope and faith until Drake dragged her back.
"Sorry," you find yourself saying. "It's not good bedside manners."
"You don't need to apologize," she says. "When I became a knight, I always knew a day like this could come. But knowing and experiencing it are too different. It's one of the reasons… Nevermind that, ignore me."
"Nothing prepares you for the possibility of death," you say, nodding. She nods back, and a comfortable silence blankets you. Her hand is still on your shoulder, you notice, even as she is lying in that bed and staring at the ceiling. Her fingers grip into your shirt, so softly you barely notice the touch, but still straining against the idea of letting go.
"I've gotten paid for the arrest," you say, pointing at the bag of coins at your hips. Gold is the universal language, it's true, and even after telling Leif to give some to the villager quarter you should be able to actually stock up on some necessities without having to worry. "So how about we meet up at a restaurant after you're released. I've heard there's some good ones in Wallburg."
She lights up like the Atlas star, her face once again turning slightly red as she lets go of you. "That'd be great!"
Her voice is loud enough to make you flinch back, and the other knights start laughing at the scene for some reason. You don't know what else there is to say, so you say goodbye.
Nobody can deny you.
To choose your own name is not a simple matter, it is a declaration to the world. It is a declaration to yourself. You will not hide away from those who would do you and yours harm by changing who you are. They are not worth half the blood that has been spilled to shape [Aria].
You are Aria, Revolutionary. Your name is the song that blows those cold winds of Gildera onto the rest of the continent. One of your skills improves from Competent to Adept. You have to choose which.
[ ] Authority.
Something about you draws people in. You find the words on your tongue as useful as the sword in your hand. While some fights are unavoidable, those you can't avoid are won not alone but with the help of others.
[ ] Wisdom.
You know how little you truly know. Surface knowledge in a hundred different categories makes you seem intelligent to the average person, but wisdom is not intelligence. Using what you know makes you a force to be reckoned with.
###
The villagers gather together in peaceful unity in the middle of the quarter, creating what Old Bea describes as 'a winter festival'. They build stalls, create beautiful lights using fire and thunder stones, as well as fabrics made from the wool of many different Pokemon.
"It's cultural exchange," Old Bea explains. "Though we are all of Gildera, and all of the Marquisate, all villages are quite different. This is the only time in the year where you can find most of us in one place."
"Still, a festival," you say, unsure about your place in all of this. "It feels so jovial compared to the usual mood in winter."
"One cannot let circumstance ruin the joy of living. Though days can be hard, and sometimes one's heart is not in it, we cannot let ourselves be crushed by dark emotions."
Old Bea reminds you of your grandmother in more ways than just her age, though their circumstances could not be more different. Is that the wisdom that comes with age? Or are their experiences more similar than you can imagine?
You wonder if one day you will be able to ease someone's heart with words alone. You smile at her, looking around toward the crowd and spotting the people who have been keeping you company whenever Old Bea is too busy.
The farmer family consists of Penelope and her six children. Her husband passed away years ago, and though you know that kind of tragedy can break many, this woman's strength fills you with awe.
Not just the mental one, of course, you've seen her carry five of her children, aged four to ten, all to drag them to a bathtub. The oldest son, Fabian, is fourteen and somewhat rebellious, though he still clearly loves his family and does not stray too far.
You approach after bidding goodbye to Old Bea, preparing to help Penelope with her own stand. Her table is full of… roots? Various roots, some dirty and brown, some look like they were polished and reflect the sunlight back into your eyes. Besides those there are a lot of vegetables, those you know can persevere even multiple months simply by being cold.
"Penelope," you say. She turns to you, grinning widely. "Can I help you?"
"No, we're almost done," she says, pointing at Fabian. The boy is slamming a hammer down on a wooden stake that will become the roof of the farmer's stand. "But this reminds me, you were asking me about edible things in the wild, right? Didn't they teach you that?"
"Survivalism was never really the focus there, no," you say, shaking your head. "We were always grouped up, there were well-prepared rations, and some expectation to help each other."
It's a different way of life, of course. While the villagers live exactly that kind of way as well, they also know how to take care of themselves. While knights have a certain degree of independence and knowledge of how to keep going even in the most dire of circumstances, there was a certain dependence beaten into them.
Look to your comrade, and if you cannot find him, look for your Duke.
You are never alone. In blue and white, all of them are your brothers and sisters.
Until they are not. Well at least now the Meowth is out of the bag and everyone knows, though some of the kids are still stuck with Sofia.
You sigh. "Well, can you teach me something now? Or are you too busy?"
"I've got something really nice for you," she says, moving around the table. "Look, what can you tell me about these two here?"
She points at two completely different roots that look like they've been grabbed out of the ground, some specks of dirt still on them. "I have no idea, that's just two different roots, isn't it?"
She laughs, putting her hands on her hips.
"These are the same root," Penelope says, clearly too proud that you fell for the most obvious trick question. You squint, trying to find any similarities. Not skin or color make it look anywhere close to each other. "The difference is the environment. Whereas this one was harvested in the woods of Gildera—" She points at the one that looks like it has a hard outer shell, largely devoid of color. "This one came from Sol."
The other one looks thin and brittle, the skin amber and glossy.
"Despite these differences, they're both 'dragon's root'. They're both edible, though the Gilderan one is obviously harder to prepare due to its thick skin. If you manage to get through the skin however…"
She takes a giant cleaver from somewhere and slams it over the root, startling you. As if nothing had happened, she puts the cleaver aside and takes the Solian root before snapping it with her bare hands. Nobody even watches the scene with you as this woman is clearly proving a point.
On the inside, both of them look identical. Slightly orange, very fibrous, and despite the fact that they came from such dry looking roots there is some juices flowing out.
"If you know where to find them, they're the easiest way to feed yourself while on the road."
You can't help but give some applause at the demonstration. You saw some of those in the kitchens and occasionally they were served, but you imagine the amount of mouths to feed made it hard to focus entirely on wild roots. Still, something that can be useful regardless of which continent you're on would've been nice to know. Perhaps if you ever do deign the thought of returning to the Caer you can ask for these things to be added to the lesson plan.
This is critical knowledge!
"They're quite readily available if you know what the plant looks like, it grows everywhere and in every season, though in winter you might not be able to tell without the leaves."
She grabs something from her pocket, a small book, then goes through it until she gets to a page in the middle, holding it up for you to see. "Here."
A drawing of a plant, with a person next to it for scale. It would reach about your hip and has thick, heavy leaves that shrivel at the tip, some up and some down. If you squint, it does look like the maw of a serpent, or a dragon, whenever two leaves curl towards each other.
"In Sol, the leaves are bright, in Gildera they're usually darker or have blue highlights, even in summer."
You nod, making a note to get a book like that soon.
She shoves the book into your hands.
Okay, well, no note then.
"Is it fine to just give this to me?" you ask. Books are a commodity, something expensive and useful. Though some are mass produced, often religious texts or fables, the truly useful books are those with knowledge of the world. "It must've been expensive."
"I've memorized it up and down, I could write my own," Penelope says, her smile still in place. "You look like you'll need it more than me, little one."
You want to say you're not that little, but that woman towers over you in a way that only Redwood could imitate. Even her son, two years your junior, is equal to your size.
The villagers are the best kind of people. And in their winter joy, they made you a gift: a shield, so the other half of your weapon is finally back where it belongs. Made from the Mamoswine Trees, it is something that will stand the test of time for sure.
As long as you don't lose it again.
The shield is engraved…
[ ] … with the seal of the Gilderan people. It depicts a tree with golden lines running up the crown.
[ ] … with a depiction of Kael, wielding his blade. It's symmetrical and stylized, quite beautiful.
[ ] … with Inana, glaring at you. She looks menacing on the wood, much more than in reality.
###
The meeting with Sophia does not take long to organize. Though she's still out of breath after only a few minutes of walking, the Nurse released her back into the city with a stern 'do not attempt anything dangerous', which means you're free to enjoy a good meal with her. She came personally to the villager's quarter to tell you where to meet in the evening. A few hours later, after reading to the children one more time, you make your way there.
In the inner city, where the ring-road formed around the first watchtower that ever stood here, the biggest and most popular shops have made their mark. They surround that tower with beautiful lights and smells that make your stomach growl. The snow is not high here, trampled down by the hundreds of people who walk up and down the street the entire day. It's slippery here and there, but you manage to regain your balance after only two near-death experiences.
Sophia is dressed casually, a purple scarf around her neck and a long brown coat that makes her look very mysterious. She stands at the watchtower gate, looking around until she sees you approach. The snow under your foot makes a crunch as you step up to her.
"Good evening," you greet. She takes a moment before responding.
"Good evening, Aria," she says. Somehow your actual name coming out grants you relief in a way you cannot put into words. A sort of pleasure that comes from being acknowledged as you are. You dare not ask for more. "Have you picked a place yet?"
"No," you say, shaking your head. "I don't really know the city, so I'd like it if you could pick one "
"There's a pastry restaurant," she says. A sweet-tooth, then. Sophia is quite easy to get along with, you think. She does not actually hide her emotions, at least, not in the way you're used to by others. She reaches out, grabbing your hand and pulling you along. "Come."
You can only see her back now. She's slightly taller than you, her grip tight but not painfully so, and though she is already running out of breath just walking those few meters to the shop she picked, you can tell that she's dependable and strong.
It's chance and circumstance that made you, well, acquaintances? It's hard to say friends, but who would you share a slice of cake with if not a friend?
The candles on the table make for a fun mood, enough to ignore the rather rude stares by some of the richer customers toward you.
"What's the matter?" she asks when she sees you look around like a child in a new place. "Never been in a restaurant before?"
"No," you say, unable to lie. "It really is something! The people, the view out of the window. It's so much more comfortable than a dining hall." Or a dining room in a mansion. It reminds you more of teatime outside in the summer, all warm and cozy.
It feels like sitting with the villagers, though somewhat less personal.
Sophia is just looking at you, leaning back into her chair. A man approaches, and you tense for just a moment before Sophia turns to him in greeting. "Hello, my friend here hasn't eaten anything like this before, could you recommend something?"
He does not hesitate for a moment before listing off a ton of things of which you had no idea how to parse. You do know some of the terms, you know of course what a cake is, you've had quite a lot with your grandmother back in the day.
But some of the terms sound, well, foreign. Solian, in some ways. They mention the sun and the moon, and somehow you find yourself interested. "That one," you say. "The sun and moon cake."
The man raises a finger, then squints before looking between the two of you. He leaves after nodding, forgetting to take Sophia's order.
"That was abrupt," you say, tilting your head toward him. "Do they not have time to take everyone's orders?"
"No, it's just," she starts, her ears slightly red. "The sun and moon cake is, well, it's-"
You get the answer quite fast. It's not one cake, but two. Not slices, but whole ones, though obviously small enough for a single person to eat it. The waiter puts it on the table and lets you enjoy the sight of it before taking a large knife and cutting both cakes in half, giving each plate half of each—
Ah.
Ah.
You slam your fist into the palm of your hand. It makes sense, of course! It's a way for someone to enjoy two kinds of cakes! How ingenious!
Sophia is a much slower eater than you, it seems. Or perhaps her injury is still giving her some pain, as her hand keeps shaking and her face stays red when she lifts some of the cake to her mouth. You try to help her, but it seems that the color of her skin becomes even worse when you hold the spoon up. In the end, the cake is an experience you definitely want to repeat.
You don't know what that dark cream is, but it's very nice.
In the end you have some tea to finish the evening of. You talk, and talk, and talk. Some secrets spill from loose lips, but you feel much more free. If the Glastrier Knights want you back, they can come and try, but right now you will enjoy life as Old Bea told you to.
You don't notice how you feel until you notice that stinging in your eyes.
"It's been a while since I shared sweets," you admit. Almost eleven years now since your grandmother has passed away. "I'm just reminded of how much has happened since then."
"Well, if there's a time to be sad, it'd be this week," she says. You blink the tears out of your eyes, raising your head to meet her eyes. "Solians are mourning the Empress' death, she died today, all those years back."
Her words reach your ears but your mind is occupied. Something in it makes you wonder, makes you feel, think, respond differently. You see her, but your eyes are unfocused. Was there something in the tea? Sophia doesn't seem to notice, and you try, try not to let her. You want to enjoy this evening.
"How old are you anyway?" she asks. You smile like a puppet, ready to answer, but the number on the tip of your tongue sounds wrong. It leaves your entire mouth numb, and you flinch as you bite on your lip so hard it draws blood. "Aria?"
"I… I think I'm seventeen?" you say, your voice wavering. Why seventeen? What did you miss? You think, you count the days since you left the Caer Rivenhold, you count the time when you would have been back to celebrate with Drake and Capella, with Lissy and Ruby.
Remember, Aria. You celebrate before they mourn, never on the day after.
"I'm seventeen," you say, quieter and more certain than before. "My birthday was yesterday."
"Ah," Sophia says. And though you want her to see nothing of that sadness you know is reflected on your face, she does not need to read your face like Capella to understand how you're feeling. "I suppose a late celebration is better than none, is it?"
You missed your own birthday.
"I've spent so long trying to live my life according to other people's ideals," you say, finding your voice again. "I don't even know what I am doing anymore."
Is this really where you find your barriers falling? With a spoonful of sugar and a warm fruit tea? When you finally realize just how much of your childhood has been stolen from you by Marchioness Flamberg, by the heavy weight on your soul?
In front of a stranger?
You're stronger than that.
But what if you don't want to be strong today?
"The man who adopted me was killed," you say, your fingers clenching over the fork that you forgot you were holding. "I ran. Because people thought I did it."
"I'm sorry," Sophia says. You just nod. You're sorry too. "I can't imagine what that is like, that's not something you should have to bear by yourself."
"I kept running. And I forgot my birthday. And today I was enjoying myself so much, I almost forgot the people who are still waiting for me to come back. And for a moment—"
You swallow the words, but they have to come out, because you cannot imagine how painful they will be if you try to keep them down.
"—for a moment I wondered if I even want to go back to them. If they're not better off without me there."
Sophia does not know what to say, so she says nothing. Instead, she moves around the table and puts a hand on your shoulder. It's a gesture both of you seem to be fond of.
"I do not know your friends," she says, "but I know that no one who'd call you one would ever think their life better without you in it. Doubts like these should not be what stops you from thinking that those you love want you back."
"I know," you say, your voice breaking slightly.
"It's inappropriate to bring it up now, so please forgive me," Sophia says. "My time with the Spectrier Guard has ended just as abruptly. There is something I must do that is more important to me, and though I know that I will miss my comrades and they will miss me, please listen to what I'm saying."
Her words have the desired effect, your emotions muting themselves to hear what a woman, who had just days ago revealed herself to be the very model of a knight, has to say about her own abandonment of that path.
"I pledged my sword to protect my people," she says, her grip on your shoulder loosening. "But the more I stayed, the more that armor dug itself into my skin, the more I yearned for something else."
You clench your teeth. You understand it, of course. That desire for the sky, for the part of the horizon where the sun touches the mountaintop.
"I can see that freedom in you, Aria. My doubts were simply waiting for another push, and you gave it to me. Though it pains me to give up this path, I know whatever the future holds, I will never regret these days."
You nod, unable to say a word. The crowd around you has become quieter, somehow you feel like everyone's staring at you. It becomes uncomfortable, the sight and warmth suddenly too much, sweat gathering on the top of your brow. Her hand comes down from your shoulder and grabs your hand instead.
"And I know that no matter what, whenever I return to them, they will greet me with the same warm smiles, and embrace me with those same warm arms. I know they will do the same for you."
She's on her knees, her sword at her side. Her one hand cups yours, and though you wish to pull away you cannot deny a knight, someone who like you has fought and bled for their rank. Sophia kisses your hand, and you try to ignore the heat that crawls up your neck.
"I owe you a debt I cannot repay in one lifetime," she says, her forehead pressed against the back of your hand. "Let me stay at your side."
"You barely know me."
"And I barely know the Marquis. Is my heart wrong to tell me that now I must go a different path?"
"You are a knight of the Marquisate," you say, frowning at her words. "There are others worthy of such loyalty. I'm… I'm not a noble either.."
The problem with facts and arguments, no matter how logical and reasonable they are, they cannot win against the most powerful emotion. The way her face brightens when she looks into your eyes already tells you everything you need to know. That her words earlier were not something she said just to cheer you up.
"I have already resigned," she says, her hand tightening around your fingers. "If you reject me now, I'll have nowhere else to go."
You do not know what to say.
So you say nothing.
You've acquired a follower. Someone who will go with you through hell or high water, whose trust in you is so unshakeable, it makes you uncomfortable with how much power you have over them.
You cannot deny her purpose, and you cannot deny that you seek companionship. The coldness of the world is weathered much easier with a hand on your back. All you can do now is to become someone worthy of that loyalty.
She is Sophia, once Spectrier Knight. Though she resigned during a difficult time for the Order, nobody seemed to mind. Though she had to give up her armor, she was allowed to keep her sword. Leif is the one who came to collect these things, not dismissing her as a weakling, but smiling at her, and saying goodbye to an old friend.
Sophia's smile is radiant as she joins you in the villager's quarter. Her words grant you wings, and the sky suddenly no longer looks like a cage after all.
Inana looks like a bundle of joy. It seems she's become good friends with Spring.
You find a letter, somewhere in the snow. It melts the world around it and warms your heart. [A]. Imp al.
You still have money left over. After buying a Pokeball, you decide to buy a gift for Sophia. Now that she's part of whatever you have going on—
[ ] —a string for her sword.
For some reason you can only find purple ones.
[ ] —some armor.
You've never had any and don't feel comfortable in it, but she looks wrong without one.
[ ] —a necklace.
It reminds you of Sophia's eyes. Of Capella's hair. You should buy two, and save the other for your return.