Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

How had he ended up like this?

Otto was minding his own business as usual, you know that basic things, making bad economical gambles, getting into shady dealings with shady people not that he means to almost getting robbed in broad daylight maybe father was right, i was not fit to be a merchant and yes, yes it might seem all too troublesome but it wasn't anything he wasn't used to.

Well, all that changed when he met that strange man.

Natsuki Subaru, an odd name for sure, and an even odder fellow odder? Is that even a word? a man in strange garments, with a strange haircut, and even stranger mutterings nice one otto, three for three that erratic and quizzical sort of confidence it was enough to enchant anyone, the epitome of charisma that man was.

Well at least that was the case when the guard was there, and when he was being saved from getting arrested for underpaying his carriage ride, not that he meant to, you see his wallet got snatched on the way to the capital and he didn't bother to check if he had enough coin for the ride, so really it wasn't his fault, no it definitely was not that he wasn't thankful when Natsuki-San procured a gold coin and heroically saved him from a debt that he didn't wish to have placed on him.

He was grateful, he really was, and he was even more moved when the man also offered to buy some of his merchandise, at a very generous sum even, and he also promised get him someone who'll buy the rest of his stock, now Otto was just ecstatic, so utterly grateful, he was moved to tears, how couldn't he, this saint of a man, a heaven sent for sure.

And if only it was just that, only if it just ended at that the man was...Otto didn't want to be rude to this saint but you see he was really weird, he spoke words that no one knew, and talked as if he had known him for a lifetime and some more, and Otto has met strange people before, of course he has, disregarding the fact that Otto is a magnet for trouble, and he'd like to make it apparent that he did not choose his bad luck at birth, so he'd rather hear none of it, Natsuki-San has already made fun of that enough.

Oh, what was he saying? Ah yes strange people, as a merchant you tend to encounter many of them, odd fellowship is a merchant's bane of existence, or Maybe that's just an Otto problem, it's definitely an Otto problem isn't it?

And Otto is nervous, unnaturally nervous, he just has a feeling that something bad will happen, there's an aching in his chest, his lungs struggling to keep air circulation, and he just wants to heave it all out, to just break down in tears, to just grab Natsuki-San, and pull him close, and hold him in a death grip of a hug, and how he would wail for hours on end, and maybe then Natsuki-San would push him away, and laugh, he'd say "oh cry me a river Otto." And he would, yes he would, he'd drown the whole country in his tears if asked to.

But Otto won't do that, no he wouldn't dare do that, he couldn’t show his disgusting self yet, he has to keep his good image now more than ever, Natsuki-San is watching, eyes darting back and forth, as if saying "You're going off script" and he is, he's not much of an actor, he'd never been in a play, and h-he doesn't know the scenario, he doesn't know how the play ends, but he can't imagine it'll end in a happy tune.

And he looks at Subaru's face and he can't believe himself, in one little dark corner of his heart, a voice screamed to him, "too good to be true" and he'd agree, who would save this failure of a merchant and ask for nothing in return, and he did ask him, but the man just laughed and said "You and I, we're going to have sooooo many adventures together!" That fake cheerfulness of his was intoxicating, and Otto knows a thing or two about being intoxicated, not that he learned when to stop, but he swears to change that today.

So he decides to look past that cheerful facade, and he sees that all encompassing melancholy behind his gaze, it hits him like a riptide, Otto couldn't help thinking that.

And it all seemed too suspicious, and his savior was so uncomfortably distrustful, so so much, almost as if it was by design, as if saying to the world "go on, look at me, I know you know I'm weird, I know you don't want to trust me, so don't, I couldn't be bothered to care anyways, hate me, fear me it means nothing to me."

An act so well crafted that Otto almost believed it, and he thought he was about to give his soul to the devil, yet he didn't stop, why didn't he no he didn't mind, if Natsuki-San wanted his soul he'd gladly give it all, but that wasn't it was it?

Natsuki-San was human, painfully human.

So who would save him and ask for nothing in return? He asked himself again, and the answer was very simple Natsuki Subaru, and then it hit him.

And it was all so simple, and the signs were all there, screaming for him to figure out this unspoken puzzle, break the strings holding him, no he wasn't an actor, he was a puppet, and he glances at Subaru, and there are no strings.

Oh Natsuki-San already escaped, he was a real boy now, but he didn't look one bit saved, Otto bets and he's not a betting man but he bets that, if he asked Natsuki-San, "Do you feel saved?" He would answer with a flat no, and why wouldn't he? Otto was much happier being a puppet, why did he have to open his eyes, why cut the strings, why listen to his idiot heart.

Subaru was no devil, he was too insufferablly selfless to be one, he wore his heart on his sleeve, and it was all so blood soaked, so filled with cuts and bruises, it was rotting, and Otto just couldn't hold it anymore, he just wanted to give up already, he couldn’t keep this up anymore, he's so tired, so so tired he wa-

Interrupted by the raven haired boy grabbing him by his shoulders gazing at him worriedly he asks,

"Are you alright Otto? Did something happen?"

And he just wanted to laugh now, no he's not alright, but he's on a stage now, no longer a puppet, an actor now.

Is that an improvement? he looks at Natsuki-San's face, and a voice answers back no.

"Yes Natsuki-San, everything is fine." The words taste like charcoal in his mouth, but that was his role and it was fine, but then he dares, he makes a gamble and continues, because even actors get some rest before going back to stage, right?

"Can you hold me." The words escaped him, but his hands already took hold of his new friend, wrapping him in his arms and laying his head on his shoulder.

"C-come on Otto you're embarrassing us out here man!" The words came out erratically, hitched breath, Otto could feel his nervousness seep out of him, and it was as if his friend was soaking it all up.

And that was so Subaru-like, Subaru is a sponge, 

Otto thinks, and he didn't mean for it to sound that mean, but he thinks just a little more and it's all so fitting.

He'd soak all his nervousness, all his pain, all his blood, Subaru was a sponge, and he was so used up, so battered and bloodstained, and no matter how much you squeeze, the blood would never come out, and now Otto feels awful and he wants his pain back, he wants his nervousness back, he wants his blood back.

But Subaru would never give it back, and now Otto is losing himself in thought and he'd been acting weird all day, feelings all jumbled up, he needs to focus.

Hands fall by his sides, his hug wasn't returned but Otto didn't mind, that means he just has to hold on even more tightly, and then he starts to feel shaking, tremors and gasps and his friend is struggling just as much as him, trying to push him away, but Otto would never let go. 

"Stop stop stop..." like a mantra whispered to his ear, and then it stopped, the shaking did too, and only then did Otto notice the tears soaking his shoulder and he too was crying but his friend was just a fountain leaking, eerily quiet.

"I'm here, we'll be fine, I don't know what's happening but I'm here for you Natsuki-San." And Otto felt like he should break the silence so he did so, and he waited and waited till-

"Why?" The question was no more than a whisper and Otto wasn't sure if it was meant for him to hear, but that was fine he'd wait for as long as he has to.

He felt the chest heaving against his, tremors assaulting his friend and seeping into his bones like ice-cold water and the man before him broke.

"WHY DID YOU FORGET ME?! WHY DO I HAVE TO DO THIS ALL ALONE WHAT DID I DO WRONG WHY DOES NO ONE EVER FUCKING REMEMBER!? TELL ME! TELL ME just tell me, please tell me, why, why why...."

The scream scared him for a second he hadn't expected to ever see this well crafted mask break, much less to bare witness to it, people looked at them both crying and holding each other, no he was the only holding his friend, but that was fine he gave none of that a second thought, for it didn't matter he just needed to be here for him, and he knew he'd never be enough, but he'll try, and his savior sounds insane but that wasn't the full story.

And maybe Otto would never know the whole story, but even so he'd never doubt him, but he won't forget again, he won't ignore the things that he can't understand anymore, he'll take them all in, even when his friend wants him to pay no mind to it, he will, and he won't ask too many questions, but he will ponder over it at a later time, and it was all fine even if it wasn't.

Subaru's muttering quieted down and now he was holding into him, now he could finally call this a hug, he can't help feeling a little smile covering his face, and he can't help thinking that he'd be content staying like this forever, and even if they were both drowning in their tears, Otto would never try to go up for air, because Subaru couldn't swim, and his pain is too heavy for Otto to pull him up, so he'll stay with him, at the bottom of the pond, and their lungs will fill up with water, and it'll sting and burn, but he'll be with his friend, and that meant something. 

Even if his friend pushed him away and told him to breath, Otto would refuse it, because Otto is very stubborn like that and - oh Subaru was talking he should quiet down his thoughts and listen.

"...if you could come with me to the slums, I-I'm...I don't know, Reinhardt will be there so it'll be okay, he'll save us, I gave him my phone it'll ring, he'll come at just the right time...right time...yes, and everything will be okay, yes there's nothing to be scared of, b-but I'm still so scared, I'm terrified, I don't want to meet her, I'm scared, she forgot me too, I don't know if I can take it, it'll break me, so can you just be there for me, maybe then I can just..I'm sorry I'm just rambling, you don't have to do anyth-

"I'll come." And Natsuki-San is so surprised and Otto thinks it's a better look than his blank face, he'd even laugh if not for the implications that Subaru was surprised that someone was willing to help, but he'll change that.

And subaru said so many odd things, and Otto has burned them to memory, even if he didn't understand what was happening, Otto has already went off script, he'll ask for the meaning of everything later, for now he'll just improvise, that was his strong point anyways.

Subaru composed himself dried his tears and told him that they need to get going, and Otto wants to moan and complain, just five more minutes he was starting to feel comfortable, but noticing his friend's gaze, he knows it's important so he just nods.

Otto was never much of an actor but neither was Natsuki-San, even so the show must go on.

He looks at his side, mean eyes look back at him, and he can't help let a giggle escape him, and his friend's bewildered expression is so amusing, then he hears a laugh that was not his, and his friend has joined him, so they walk and laugh, they make jokes and hide their pain, and they make promises that they won't keep, and Otto feels alive again, and it hurts so much, but it feels good all the same.

And he swears to himself that no matter what, he and his new brother, they'll drink themselves to sleep tonight.

Chapter Text

A metia in his hand, a knight among knights, left unceremoniously defeat.

Wind blew roughly against his face with every word spoken to him, lined with thinly veiled deceit, leaving him with nothing but an uneasy heart, and he listenes as words go on and on, a never ending cascade of counterfeit facetiousness.

And who was he to judge? A monster masquerading as a man.

Introductions came and went by, and he hadn't felt any less of a stranger, he gave his name, but he knew the stranger was already aware of it, but he left that unsaid, it would be quite rude to point it out, and for all his flaws he liked to think he was somewhat polite.

Natsuki Subaru, came his answer, and yes, it didn't bring this mystery any closer to his grasping.

A new canvas, he couldn’t wait to paint it all with his disgusting color.

Another name put to yet another face, and this one seemed so uncannily familiar, yet so far away. 

And he would splash over it, drape it all with that sickening crimson red.

It all made no sense, and he was aware of it all, painfully so, words were exchanged, pleasantries, quips and gibes on his conversant's part, yet he did attempt to join in, failing clumsily, but a laugh always followed his attempts, as if to assure him, to sooth him, it might have helped.

If not for the wind harshly reminding him of the reality of this situation, and that soothing chuckle turned into nothing more than a tiny dagger digging into his already beaten heart.

His blessing feeling like a curse more than ever, but this wasn't a first, was it?

Responsibilities placed on him at such a young age, he never asked for it, expectations, duties harshly pushed to him, so selfishly, he didn't asked for it, he never wanted it, he didn't know how to do it, he did all he could, yet it wasn't enough, it never is.

And how fitting for someone like him, he was not liked by this familiar stranger, nor disliked, just treated with indifference, and somehow that was ever so slightly crueler than what he was used to.

"A big sword and fancy clothes, you have to be a knight or something?" With a smirk on his face, Subaru inquired.     

"Yes." His tongue felt like ash, and he hadn't meant to sound so harsh. He wished to apologize, but he couldn't trust his voice.

Subaru looked a bit weirded out by the response but shook his head and seemed to give it no thought thankfully, but he looked at him a little more thoroughly than before. 

Harsh, cold, calculating eyes bore holes through him, and burned him, and it all felt wrong, it wasn't supposed to go like this, those eyes seemed so gentle in his mind, what changed.

And he wished to voice his complaint, but Reinhardt would never do that, he wished to ask why he was treated so unfairly, yet the answer was clear in his mind, what was the point of this slothful indulgence of his, he knew it even if he didn't know why he knew it was warranted, that he deserved it.

He wasn't thar much of a painter he dare not try, he would not defile such a beautiful art with his ugly arbitrary perfection, art was sacred, and he had a habit of depreciating sacredness, it was a domain of emotion, one he foresake dabbling in a long time ago.

But he often wondered what colors meant to him. He had already painted over so many white page, wasn't it time to start deriving meaning from it?

He looked at the ground beneath his feet, eyes glazed, his teeth biting at his lips bitterly, and then a voice shook him out of his trance.

"Hm... weird, anyways, Rein, you wouldn't happen to have some money on you? Would you?" A hand came up close to his face, asking him to put something in it.

And for being such an awful monster, he had friends, two companions who could tolerate him, two canvases he could dirty over and over with no complaint.

A pink hue came to mind, a diluted red that bled from the veins and seeped to the skin, sickly white smudges accompanied it, what was pink to him, white was apathy he already knew that, and red was love, and he knew how Ironic that was, he never received any love from his blood, his kin, yet the crimson red seemed to stick to his hands like a well knitted glove, perhaps that was love?

"I-i" and his voice failed him, he longed. He wanted, he needed to see this new painting. He wondered how colorful it might be. would it hurt his eyes? Would it make his heart ache? Would he be given the brush and the chance to paint new colors over it? Was there a new pallet? Or was it just red, his sickly red, one that was supposed to mean love but it lost all of it's meaning, he wanted to be given new colors already, he wished to have another pallet, he'd start a new page, orange being his new red.

"Caugh it up pretty boy, we don't have all day, like litterly, we really don't" Subaru's tone suggested it was nothing but a joke but his gaze faraway, directed at nowhere said otherwise.

He had that serious blank face, the one that made the sword saint feel uneasy.

The pink hue was Felix, and it disgusted him to have such thoughts on his friends, but Felix was pink, and Julius was violet, envious and prideful and Reinhardt hated this, he hated all of this, his thoughts swarmed his mind and he's losing himself, his blessings flaring on and off, and he wonders if he could learn to control it, maybe then he'd try to paint, maybe then it wouldn't look so disgustingly artificially and maybe he would feel human for once.

And so he pulled a few coins from his pockets, guiding his open palm to Subaru, the later taking two golden coins from the pile then- "wait."

"Here, take this." Subaru pulled from his pocket an odd looking artifact, white and rectangular with no imperfections to be seen, and Reinhardt could swear he'd never seen anything like it, to say he was intrigued would be an understatement.

"Put it in your pocket for now, I set it up to make a loud sound, and when you hear it, I need you in the slums." With arms in his pockets.

Mean eyes more focused on the ground than him "Something bad is gonna happen, people might die, and, oh. also, i have a present ready for you there, so please come," and his feet kicking at some rubble on the ground, "or not, your call."

There was a chilling coldness to his tone, making Reinhardt shudder. This was it, wasn't it? He'd never be given the chance to paint over him, how cruel, he wished nothing more than to be given a second chance, and now all was gone.

"Why do you treat me in such a cold manner?" He slapped his hands on his mouth. He hadn't meant for it to slip out, and looking at Subaru, he seemed to be just as bewildered.

And even with everything screaming at him to stop, Reinhardt continued and asked a question he didn't want the answer to.

"Do you hate me?" He awaited, eyes closed, his breath held, and silence ensued. He waited and waited, his fingers ached.

Not being able to handle the silence, Reinhardt prodded his eyes open and took notice of Subaru's new behavior.

His left arm grasping at his right, tightly, jaw clenched, and his face turned to the side, allowing him to see only half of his panicked expression.

Pangs of guilt stabbed through the saint's chest. He hasn't meant to cause such distress, "I apolog-

"Yes" his words were interrupted by this cold, stern exclamation.

Now, those mean eyes turned towards him, wide, nervous with a tinge of madness in them.

"I hate you all, I want nothing to do with you, don't get too close to me, I don't give a damm about you, just do your job." Words were spat at him harshly. 

A shoulder brushed against his, footsteps growing more feint as time went by, and he was left on his own.

And there were so many colors, and as colorful it was, it was just as melancholic, pretty and miserable, beautiful and tragic, and he'd never be given the brush to add his hue to it.

Harsh words replayed in his mind over and over. He was not saddened, concerned yes, but not disheartened, a small reserved smile graced his face, his red hair swaying lightly,

uncharacteristically unkempt.

Perhaps his blessing was something to be grateful for after all.

No paintbrush? finger painting would have to do then. 

         ______________________________________

She flexed her fingers, small fractures on her knuckles making her grip slacken on her weapons, she sprung forward again.

Clack, metal connected with metal, the strike hit, her hand was shattered from the impact, she pulled back, she's exhausted, she can't keep this up, her healing slowed down.

Her mind was clouded. Strike, slash, pull back with a kick to the temple, only for her leg to be brutalized by the rusty sword, now she's limping, and from how hard she's breathing her left lung probably collapsed.

She's coated with blood and sweat, her knees wobble back and forth, shattered bones, severed limbs lay on the ground beneath her, pain was the only thing keeping her sane.

And even that is giving away slowly, exhaustion threatened to lull her into a deep slumber, she should've ran when she had the chance too.

Her opponent was playing with her, giving her just enough leisure that she might consider she has a chance, and now she's losing, an all-encompassing coldness has covered her heart. 

She felt so weak, so tired, she wanted to rest, to feel warmth, she's cold, so cold, she tried to take comfort in the intestines of the other occupants of this room in her clouded state.

She leaped forth, her technique so sloppy and straightforward, like a hungry beast seeking her prey. She swiped her knife left aiming for the abdomen.

Shards of ice struck her exposed side, filling her with that empty apathy once again, stopped in her tracks as her ribs cracked and gave away for the snowy sensation to fill her being, she fell on her knees, and a kick to her jaw sent her flying to the other side of the room, back to the fight.

The pain didn't hurt as much as her pride did, but it helped wake her up, there was no running away from this, the saint sword was her opponent now, attacking the others would leave her open, the half elf wouldn't let her strike any others, and the raven haired man was out of reach again.

That was the wrong move. Get up, settling in her stance again. All of this was wrong. She's falling down now, and the snow is going to swallow her whole.

And her mind is failing her, her body is going on auto pilot, she'd fight till death, but death would never come, the only thing on her mind is the feeling of cold and how much she hates it.

And she's walking and walking for hours, days and weeks, her stomach is rumbling, she can't remember the last time she had a warm meal, her limbs are shaking, feet now unfeeling and numb in the snow, that was a bad sign she thought, but honestly she was beyond the point of caring, frostbite consuming her fingers and toes, voilete blue and irritated threatening to pop, but she's alive somehow, and in her childish mind she's not sure if it's a good thing or not.

The first bit of warmth she experienced was inside a small wooden cabin, a bottle of alcohol, she nearly downed the whole thing, it made her feel fuzzy, warmth seeped within her heart to her small body, small hiccups followed after, and the silly feeling came next, and now she's on the floor laughing to herself, then crying and throwing up, and when her exhausted body couldn't take more she fell asleep.

She awoke hours after to the sound of a rumbling in the cabin, bottle in her hands while she lay on the ground, she heard footsteps, in her panic and intoxicated mind she chose to hide beneath the bed.

She closed her eyes, hugged the bottle closer to her tiny body and listened, footsteps came closer, the man sat down on the bed, clothes ruffling, he was taking off his snow coat, now his legs were up and he layed down in bed

She felt a sigh of relief threaten to escape her mouth. Now, all she has to do is wait till he sleeps and snea-

A hand grabbed her, roughly grasping at her oversized coat, the face of a rough looking man with a deranged smile filled her vision.

She stepped too close, he lopped her arm clean off, she's aiming for his weapon, she thought it'd be easier to break it, that it would give her an advantage, but it seemed to be infused in his mana.

The sight of her dismembered limbs never lost it's novelty, he cut her right hand, then her left arm, lopped off her head, brutally crushed her left leg from the knee down, and all of her body parts are down on the ground beneath her, her blood and flesh, far more than one person should have.

And a stray thought entered her mind, if you were to change every broken part of a carriage each time it's damaged, till every part is new and pristine, is it really the same carriage?

A caugh interrupted her while she was gazing at her torn off limbs. It was the black haired boy looking back at her holding a glass of alcohol and leaning on the counter.

Right she's still in the fight, her arm has already healed, and these people were giving her time for some reason, no, the sword saint could've destroyed her, they're stalling, they were from the beginning, and she should've ran, she should've, now she's just resigned to her fate.

It's all so silly. Those people watching her get flailed around, not paying attention to any of it, and this raven haired boy, this fortune-teller, as he calls himself. 

She sat beside him drinking at the bar, a glass of milk in her hand, one of alcohol in his, she gave her name, he gave his, she heard him hum a hushed lullaby. 

It was oddly familiar. He slumped over the counter without a care in the world, humming to himself and drinking with his green clothed friend, then he called upon her with an amused look in his face.

"Do you guys know what a fortune-teller is?" He seemingly addressed the entirety of this crowded room, but his eyes focused on her, the grey haired man beside him listened attentively.

He put a finger on his glass, tracing the rim of it, and with a little chuckle and nod to himself, "It's someone who can tell the future."

And he got closer to her, his face merely inches away from her, with his toothy wolf smile he added 

"Wanna know your future, Elsa Greinheart?"

Her eyes widened, she's gripped her kekura so tight her knuckles turned white, she never mentioned her last name.

The others leaned in beside them, listening intensely to his every word, he was important to them in some way, she didn't understand much of it, not that it mattered, she needed him dead, she needed it done now.

"You'll die tonight." He ended his sentence, eyes boring holes into her, her grip let go in shock.

He stared her down, the others gasped around them, the grey haired boy had a look of horror in his face as if saying "what the hell are you doing" and it was all so ridiculous and it was so odd, so silly, a laugh escaped her lips.

No, seriously, this was just too funny to resist. The laugh bubbled out of her, and she couldn't stop it she held on her sides. My God, this was just too fun. He really went ahead and said that to her face.

The smirk on his face said it all. He laughed along with her, with his would-be murderer. Really, this man was insane, and as fun as this was, this dance had to end eventually, she pulled her knife, rushing his sides, he stepped back flipping the table with one smooth motion.

Her kekura stuck in that old but fairly stable wood, and the man was hidden away behind all those concerned people.

She gave up on pulling out her weapon when a shard of ice grazed her cheek, she payed the hooded elf no mind. She just wanted one person's guts, she went back to her dance.

Sprint, jump, dodge the wooden bat, pull out the kekura, and stop the ice shard from digging to her side, land with a kick throwing the giant to the wall, now there's one merchant standing between her and her new target, she's going in as fast as possible, not even interested in cutting this grey haired man down, with a pummel she went to cave the side of his skull in.

A wall of force seemingly stopped her, the familiar crunch of bones invaded her sense of hearing, and the man fell to the side.

A hand, or more like a jumbled mess of what used to be a hand, took most of the impact, the man on the ground was disoriented but seemingly fine, now orange and black faced her.

Before she could make her next move, a hand grabbed her by the nook of her dress, pulled her closer, only for another mess of flesh to collide against her face, once, twice, thrice, and now her nose is broken, another to her throat, and her hands are at her throat as she's struggling to swallow the blood and spit in her throat. 

Her face was wet, from the tears blood and even snot, and she wasn't sure how much of it was her own blood, and now there's a hand going in the inside of her dress, brushing against her skin, and then she felt the cold steel slice her chest open.

He pulled her weapon out of her dess, slashed her, then stabbed her neck, and even in her disoriented daze, even in her mess, even in her struggle to gurgle down her blood, she couldn't help the feeling of heat invading her soul.

Her kicked her midsection, making her back away from him, and creating some distance, her cheeks flushed, her wounds already healed, she licked the blood at her lips, she wanted this, she wanted him, she needed him.

Before even attempting to lounge at him again, a barrage of ice spears was launched at her, forcing her to back away to the other side of the room.

The half elf screamed at both men, the grey haired man was suffering a concession, but otherwise was fine, and the one standing was gazing at his mangled flesh, bones protruding from his right hand, a hue of green covering it as the elf began healing it while reprimanding his recklessness, bones popping to place, and flesh stretching and stitching itself together, all in all it was a gruesome process to watch, but not as painful as the sight of it suggests.

Elsa wasn't just standing there watching, though. She was busy battling it out with the giant, though slow and lacking in flexibility. He was strong enough that landing one hit in her would put her out of the fight for much longer than she wished, and each time, she found an opening to counter his slow but brutal strikes, she'd be stopped by the little girl faster than lightening. 

How amusing, this has turned out to be a bit more than she expected, all of those strangers coordinating, teaming up against her, it was impressive. 

And it wasn't as if she was trying her best, she will admit it, she was a bit insulted by the way the dark haired man laughed at her, driven by her pride and her lust for blood, she underestimated him, and she just stood there bewildered as he struck her down.

Honestly, she just stood too shocked from how he parried her deadly strike, giving up his hand on the process. She never even noticed when the first punch connected with her face, too deep inside her head to react, the way he mercilessly attacked her pretty Visage.

His face, his smile, the empty sea of his eyes, the way his fist collided against her broken nose, his exposed knuckle bones digging into her cheeks, the way his soft fingers brushed against her flesh only to grasp at her weapon, God, what was this feeling?

He split her chest open, but she never felt so full in her heart, she just wanted to pin him down and take him right now already, she wasn't sure if that even entailed gutting him anymore, she's going to save him for last she decides. 

The giant and his grand-daughter duet were relentless, they complimented each other's fighting style very well. Finding an opening was proving to be more of a struggle than she once thought, for now, at least. 

She could keep this going for days, and she doubted the rest of the room could keep up with her. All she needed was to tire one of them out and cut them down. Patience was the key to this game.

Well, that is before the door to the loothouse slammed open, red hair was all that she saw, before the wind was knocked out of her.

Now she's here, stuck, a new flame in her heart extinguished before it was even lit, and she thought to herself, was this love? Lust? Just warmth, she settled on.

But she's losing it, and he's so out of reach, and all of these cruel people were keeping him away from her, she never asked for much in her life, just a little bit of warmth, was it so wrong to wish for something more than the freezing crystals of ice digging inside her bones.

Was she really so wrong to wish for warmth in others, yes she killed, but so did others, yes she tortured, but she was too, she played both roles diligently, she never complained when her skull caved in.

And here she is now, all bloody and sweaty, a complete wreck, she's not completing her mission, and she's pleading with a deity she doesn't even know if she believes in, was she really the bowl hunter? How the mighty have fallen. 

A sword pierced her skin, lodged in her chest, her flesh giving away, red crimson dripping down from this new crevice, and her heart split in half, her legs buckled, and she fell limp on her knees.

A hand kept her grounded, the weight of suns and stars on her shoulders made sure she wouldn't get up again, not that it mattered much, when light blue ice spears nailed her legs to the ground. 

Her head hung low, too tired to move any muscle in her body, strange footwear was all the scenery she got.

She heard mumbled noises, unable or maybe not willing to try to decipher any of it in her despaired state. At least he was there next to her, she thought. 

A cascade of cold liquid was poured in her being, and that was just unnecessarily cruel, her heart was already invaded with an unending storm of snow, droplets of ink black oil dripped from her hair, she gazed at her coated hands.

Doused in oil?, Ah this was it, her end, how pitiful, she thought, didn't people usually get more sentimental at the end, was she supposed to beg or pray? she even heard that people experience their lifetime of memories like a stage play, and they bore witness to it, judge it, regret, or long for something in the past.

Something that once was, but now will never be, and how lovely would be to drown in a warm embrace of memories that she loved, she had few, just her and her little sister, sitting on the roof of a random house, dangling their feet in unison, humming and laying with each other, savoring that fantastical heat.

Or maybe she'd slip into that sleep that seduced her for so long, and she'd dream, dreams of a future where she could smile, where her heart will be filled, where her hand will be held, where she can pretend to be like all those normal people with those normal families, she'd go out with her loved ones, do all those boring chores she detested, live that simple boring life she hated, and how unsightly, now she'd trade it all for that mediocrity.

Oh how pitiful she was, down, down she fell, and how sad, how terrible, she opened her chest, and couldn't close the hole, and her tears fell, so did the rain, and it'll wash her all away, her blood, her flesh, her bones, her sins, all down the drain, no one to save her now, her life amounted to nothing. 

Live a life of misery, and you get the right to blame the world, and she's taken just as much as was robbed of, a zero-sum game it was, that was her life, you tip the scale on both side, so diligent, so spiteful, take what was yours but never more, but she's had everything taken from her, so she keeps taking and taking, and it'll never be enough, and she's left empty.

The scales lay balanced the weight of her sins equal to the world's blight, and it all pointed to zero, and that's what she wanted all this time. It was uncaringly fair. She had her payback, her revenge, she enacted her lopsided justice, and it left her just as empty.

What went wrong? How had it all led to this? Why is she cold again? She got what she wanted. She was ruthless, unfeeling, just as the world was to her. This was fairness incarnate, and she's miserable. 

She wishes to live a little longer, to know a little more to life, should she have gone about it another way? What other way? What other choice? To forgive?

To forgive, to let go, to find warmth within her, not in another's guts, in their smiles, in their love, she could've done that, she should've done that, and now she's drowning in regrets, and she remembers how this all began. 

She lay on her back, the weight of a grown man on top of her, she was dead, cold, a corpse in his hands, she never felt so empty, he took off her coat, exposing her to this cruel world.

His hands traced on her flesh, on her hollowed out stomach, and her heart felt even more empty, she hated and hated, she was afraid, disgusted, she was colder than ever, she knew not what he wanted, but she knew she'd never be the same when he was done with her.

If he was done with her, would he even let go of her? Would he do it again? Should she surrender herself to a life of unknown misery, but she was too empty, too shell-shocked to move, too afraid, her fingers twitched.

Bottle near her, lightning quick, a thought entered her mind. She grasped the bottle, tightening and quivering little fingers. She held it up and smashed it on the ground.

Too startled from the noise next to him, he pulled himself up from her, looking around for this strange noise, giving her just the chance she was looking for.

She stabbed the bleeding bottle to his midsection, a screech came out of him, deafening her, he struggled, his hands going to her small neck choking her out, her eyes bulged from the pressure, panic invaded her small frame, she twisted the bottle and drove it even deeper, his hands clasped tighter around her, she twisted and moved, widening the open wound, his hands going numb, she didn't relent, stabbing him again and again and again and again and again...

Her breathing harsh, her mind too messy to think, a warmth seeped to her, his insides poured out on top of her, she should've felt disgusted, but in this cold cold weather, with this bone chilling experience, she couldn't help but relish in this cruel warmth. 

And that was it, she was just a child, she knew not any better, she gave in to the dark whispers in her heart, too battered to care, too lonely to be guided to anything better, guts were warmth, eat or be eaten, she learned harsh lessons that day, that molded her into this disgusting mess.

Tears fell from her face, a miserable smile in her deranged facade, it was the end, it wasn't as glory filled as she wanted, but that was fine, she'd make her peace with it, unfair or not, this was brought on her by her hands, all that was left was to accept it.

She looked in front of her, hazel brown invaded her, locking eyes with her, at her level, on his knees.

With a hand, he brushed his hair back and looked anywhere but in her direction, "told you, your future is to die today."

A choked voice escaped her lips, and she wasn't sure if it was a laugh or a strangled wail.

He went on "but...the future can change, and people can too, you know?"

Her eyes widened, her jaw hung low, she did not understand, too miserable to think, to clouded to consider.

"I'm not doing this for you, I hate your guts, I'm doing this for my daughter, so give your life up, be reborn, Elsa Greinheart dies today, but you can live, you will have to pay for your crimes, but there's a chance of redemption in that." His face held a little smile, one filled with regrets, a cruel little imitation of a smile. 

His hands held on steel molded cuffs, imbued with magical qualities capable of locking one's gate away, he offered them to her, extended an olive branch, a chance of redemption, salvation, to forgive the world.

"What do you say? Why not try to be better, for Mili, at least." His tone sounding like an old friend beckoning her to pick the right choice, the mention of her sister filled her with warmth, and brought her tears, leaving her wailing like a newborn infant.

Yes, she could try, she could try to forgive, it wasn't too late, she could change, even if she's never forgiven for her sins, she'd have to at least try, she owed it to her little sister, to the world, to herself, to the memory of little Elsa, she'd give it another try.

She promises herself to discover a warmth from within her, and she would give it to those who craved it the most.

Chapter Text

"Sister sister, have you noticed how strangely Emilia-sama has been acting lately?"

Yes. She has certainly, anyone could, the half elf was not known for her subtly, the girl could not act for the life of her, the sudden change in her demeanor was on everyone's mind in the mansion.

For an entire week, the half-elf seemed restless, gazing out of windows, walking back and forth in hallways, pacing on her own in that empty corridor, almost expectant, awaiting for something or someone, and Ram knew exactly why that was.

She put the mop against the wall and turned to face her dear sister, internally thankful for this moment of respite. Even such a mundane chore was proving to be too much for her.

"Emilia-sama seems to be impatiently waiting for her new friend to arrive." They both knew who that must be.

After all, the princess never missed a chance to sing praises for this mysterious man, even for a sheepish and shy girl like her. She seemed to have gained some quizzical vigor when talking about her beloved savior, whoever he might be.

Ram already inquired about it all at the carriage ride after the incident, after a well-deserved lesson, on not letting your valuables be stolen by gutter rats, especially if such a thing was what gave you the claim to the throne, and who knew that even elf ears could drop down like a misbehaving puppy.

Ram almost found herself pitying the candidate, and with a sigh, she let the pitiful girl explain exactly what happened earlier that day.

After hearing all of it, Ram knew one thing, this man was too suspicious, she needed to keep an eye on him.

"But nee-sama, wasn't the guest supposed to be here today? It's getting late." Her little sister asked while gazing at the setting sun.

"I do wonder about that..." their worries on how the matter must've caused immense stress to the half-elf went unsaid.

Though she was not close to the princess in any way, her sister has taken a liking to the half-elf, her innocent and pure nature has charmed her Rem in a way no other has, though that was not always the case.

There was a time where Rem wanted nothing more than to tear the silver haired to shreds, and Ram remembers vividly how she managed to convince her that she was no witch, but merely a child involved in things beyond her understanding. 

From that day on, her sister has started to see the half-elf in a different manner, though not the same as her, where she saw her innocent as child-like and immature, Rem just saw it as more proof of her endlessly benevolent nature, she was putting her on a pedestal.

And how Ironic. 

Rem's love and care flowed as strongly as the Great Tigracy River, falling in love was as easily as breathing for her, for she saw everyone deserving of it more than her, and Ram knew why this was.

She knew why her sister had a habit of putting others on pedestals, high enough to watch and worship, but too far to ever touch, too far to understand, to get close to, to have genuine relationships. 

She knew why, her dear sister lapped at every compliment directed at her, only to then deny it with every bit of her soul, feeling undeserving of it, like a moth to a flame, the closer she got to what she desired the most, the more it burned.

And burn it did, painfully apparent to everyone who knew her enough, and she knew her the most, her beloved nee-sama, she wished to never hear that again, what she once was proud of, now tormented her soul to no end.

For she knew the root to every ailment her dear sister suffered from, but she had not the courage to help her.

She wonders, what would Rem think once she saw her cowardly side.

Her mood now soured, she excused herself to her sister, the latter probably thinking that it was her sickly nature that has taken over her, she didn't have the heart to correct her and say that she couldn't bare to look at her face now.

She was certain that Rem would take it the wrong way, all the more reason to not mention it, how funny excuses were so easy for her to come up with, talking it out with her will only hurt the both of them, it was pointless. 

She headed to the kitchen, intending to make herself some tea to ease her mind, she put the kettle on the fire and then sat down on a chair waiting for it to boil.

"He says he knows roswell, that the two of them were friends, reaaaally old friends."

She wonders about that, she had mentioned that to her master, he did not deny the claim, but that didn't mean it was true, the way he muttered the foreign name and clutched that wretched book to his chest, she knew something was off.

She asked more about this strange man, Emilia too innocent to know her intentions, happily obliged, through her flowery and exaggerated recall of those events, she has concluded that the man knew a little more than he was letting on, great planning, quick-wit and what-not, there was a prophet-like quality to his actions, this was proving to be too much of a headache she dropped the thought. 

She has noticed how the retelling of events always ended with the bowl hunter being incapacitated, no more of what transpired after was told to her, when she asked her further on it, the elf replied with bringing her hand to her mouth, and with both her thumb and index fingers she traced her lips from left to right. 

Ram blinked, a couple of times, unsure if she just imagined that or if it really happened. After a few minutes of awkward silence, she asked what that meant.

"Ah, he said it meant to keep something a secret in his hometown."

Her right eye twitched in annoyance, she knew she couldn't push the matter any further, the half-elf was of higher rank than her, she dare not overstep her boundaries, but nonetheless she had one final question. 

With a serious look on her face, she locked eyes with the dragon candidate, "what do you think of him?"

"Eh?" Came as a yelp from the half-elf, a deep blush, formed on her cheeks all the way to her elven ears, giving them a pink hue.

"Uhmm, he's reaaaaally pretty. He has mean eyes but I reaaaally really like them, I like his soft hands, his peculiar hair looks really funny but it's nice, he's a reaaaally naughty boy to tease me infront of people and call me pretty, that dunderhead."

Silence. 

Deafening, suffocating, silence.

"That was not what Ram mea- never mind, I'll be taking a nap. Wake me up when we arrive at the mansion." If Ram could face palm, she would, but she was too busy pretending to sleep.

She should've known that the question would go over the half-elf's head. What she couldn't possibly expect was how much mental anguish it would cause her, the second-hand embarrassment was too much for her, Ram pretended to sleep for the entire ride home.

A whisle interrupted her from her memories, though it was a thankful distraction for that mental torture, she got up from her chair and went to grab the kettle, using her precious leafs, and a cube of sugar, she made herself a cup of much needed tea.

Sitting back down on her chair and sipping her sweetened tea, she began thinking on how much her mistress has changed during such a short period of time.

Once again, she never had an issue with her mistress, never before, no matter how childish and immature, Ram never held any expectations for the half-elf, easy to please, never asking for too much, and most of all she was fairly predictable, no matter how cold she might have appeared on the outside, Ram did care for the elf, even if it was in the form of pity.

She walked through the dimly lit corridor maze, moonlight peaking through rosary colored windows, angelic in their design. She never went to a church before, though she wonders if they'd accept demons on such holy grounds.

Strolling along that endless passageway, graceful, feathery steps, not letting any sounds defile this heavenly still moment of life, oh how she wished to bask in that silvery moonlight.

To be nothing more than a line or a detail, a corner piece of glass blessed with eternal luminance, to be a circle, to take different shapes, all melted down from the same not so precious compound, fragile in it's nature, but beloved all the same, dull and uninteresting in its lonesome, yet forming such a breathtaking mosiac in its union, one that would enchant even a demon.

Carefully balancing a plate in her sweat stained hands, discomfort dripped down from her forehead in the from of a thin lined arroyo carving a frown on her face from the overwhelming exhaustion taking over her.

She arrived, her destination two feet away, the door closed, a little candle light coming through underneath it, the sound of feather scribbling and a hushed voice invaded her ears, curiously, she put the meal down and got closer to the door.

With her left ear pressed against that barrier, she listened, words poured out, her mistress was writing in her diary, recounting the happenings of the day before, though the focus on it all was on that man.

She heard words of fancy, of shame, of longing, an overbearing feeling latched into that soft voice, the secret that those walls were meant to keep was defiled by this little demon sitting outside. 

Ram slid down, her back against the door, a sigh escaped her mouth, whatever arcane magic was cast on her mistress, whatever wretched alchemy that reduced that innocent child, to a maiden in love, it mattered not, her mistress was undoubtedly smitten, that was the truth of the matter. 

Leaving the plate of food on the ground next to the room and just head back where she came.

Sipping on her cup of tea, now half empty, she'd already thought of the dangers, of the possibility that the man was involved in such vile ordeals, but surely such things would not fly by the sword saint's advertence.

No, it was no divine blessing, no magic, she relented, her mistress was just seduced by that womanizer of a man, and how could she not, for a pitiful girl like her, to hear of someone's favorable regard of her appearance, it had to be a shock for the witch look-alike.

She put her now empty cup down, this mystery half resolved, her mistress was easy to please simple as that, she got up from her chair, feeling drowsy, she decided on heading to her quarters to rest. 

It was unfortunate that her master was away for the day, though she could make do with one day without mana transfer, she need only sleep now.

Arriving to her room, she made quick work of her uniform, taking it off and changing to her nightgown, a sigh escaped her mouth, she forgot to tell her sister she'd be sleeping early, too late now she decided not to think about it, she layed down the bed, a soft lullaby beckoned her eyes to close, but not before a disturbing idea crossed her mind.

That womanizer of a man preyed on maidens with low regard to themselves. Her sister was in danger. 

Eyes popped open, as she now made a promise to keep her Rem as far away as possible from him, she would sooner die than hand over her sister without a fight.

She does realize how presumptuous she was being, so she tapers off, slowly allowing herself to be taken away by the sandman.

Her head hits the pillow, her eyes shut, and she dreams.

She sees white, an empty barren wasteland of pure blinding white.

She walks slowly, her head held up high, looking forward never turning to either side, then she notices

She sees red, beams of red, coming from the heavens to the earth, no, they were lines, threads, fine cords of unknown filaments, tainted red, and she notices.

A faceless, seamless crowd, dolls of white surround her, mannequins, stuck in time, some standing, some sitting, some laying down, some jumping, some struggling, some resigned to their fate.

She walked closer, gazing at that still image quizzically, she sees red, she holds her head up high, tippy toeing closer and closer. 

Bodies of white, with threads lined on their components, knots of red holding them up to the sky, or ribbons keeping them grounded, flush with the white beneath them, knots and ribbons, like nooses on necks, or bracelets on hands, shackle on legs, each and every puppet had a silky line of their own, holding them in space, in time, forming this still painting.

A bile threatened to spill out of her mouth, but she fights it.

She looked down, gazing at her hands, at her legs, no knots, no ribbons, no shackles or bracelets, no rings tying her pinkies to one another, she was free, prideful and vain, she felt feather light.

Dilly-dallying on, she left that miserable theatric play behind, pulling down the curtain on it, and beyond that sizzling white, she saw blue.

Another still image, her sister and her, a younger version of them, their first day on the mansion, a memory.

She sees herself, her face tight-lipped and strained, she looks at her sister, smiling and relieved, she looks down.

She looks at their hands, her younger self handing a broom to her sister, her dearest grasping at it desperately. 

She feels her own neck, a fine cord makes a cut on her finger, her eyes widen, she brings her hands to herself to feel more.

Her hands littered with cuts and burns, the wounds cauterized and burned, blood drips not, and she lingers on, tracing the noose wrapped around her neck like a ribbon. 

Now, finally, she can feel the hot scathing wires cutting the insides of her throat, her lips move, but no sound comes out.

She looks back at herself, her younger doll-like self, she looks above her head, and she remembers how light she felt.

Her hand go up on their own, tracing her face, her own, not the doll sitting besides her sister, her lips, her cheeks, her nose, her eyes, then finally her forehead. 

And her horn, it's there? Anchoring a line up to heaven, daringly she plucked it, playing her own one stringed harp, strangely enough, it burned not.

No, she felt nothing, it went through, she pulled her hand back, ah her hand fell off, burned and charred, she feels no pain.

Only then did she realize "this is a dream?."

She gazed around, looking, searching for a way out, pacing restlessly, avoiding with all her might any visions of herself or her sister, she saw something.

A line, a black inscription on that seamless grainless desert, walking up to it, she felt something different, that something lay underneath this ground her feet stepped on.

So she knelt down, or she tried, the tethered line on her horn pulled back violently, not allowing her to even drop her head down.

Not discouraged, she tugged on, turning her neck at odd angles, pushing herself, lowering herself down, hanging on a thread, it burned, scathing hot, then it snapped.

And she fell, down, down she went, the earth opened up, panic invaded her thoughts, but she reminded herself, "tis but a dream, a dream, nothing more, nothing less."

She fell and fell, an eternity has passed, all feelings of dread or fear have already dissipated, now she only awaits how this ends.

She gazes around her, her ears tickled by the sound, angels of pink playing on golden harps, they look at her, terrifying in their design, a mosiac of heaven, eyes and ears plenty, stitched and stuck at odd angles and spots, wings outstretched and reaching out, as if asking for a hug, colossal in their size, they were titans, with feathers of white covering their limbs.

They sing to her, they sing for her, they watch her fall, melodies of pity, of sympathy, hands dare not to reach for her, but above her they string on a chord, a familiar beam of red, eyes wide open gazing at her, prodding at her soul, judging her.

Then she's still, she's caught in a swarm of limbs, hanging on her for dear life, holding her up high, breaking her fall to that endless abyss.

Ball-jointed hands held her, touched her, felt her skin, picked her up high, faceless dolls looking up to her, and she felt chills run down her spine.

She struggles, she fights, wishing to be left alone, the dolls moan in displeasure, in pain, their fingers pop with her every movement, splashes of red paints the ground beneath them, their limbs break as she struggles, some fall, they let go of her not willing to bring her down with them.

Their hold is gentle, cradling touch as if holding a precious gem, they'd sooner break than harm her, she notices, through guilt, and discomfort at hearing their pained yelps, she relents.

She let's herself be taken, paraded around she closes her eyes and feels strange.

The crowd beneath her stop in their tracks, their limb giving her a ramp for her to descend on, she accepts it gratefully.

Gently stepping over their ivory flesh to the ground beneath her, her breath hitched, she looks infront of her, she sees her twin.

Sitting down graceful with a blue kimono, long blue hair left untied, reaching down to her lap, a beauty beyond this world.

"It seems you've made it down here, nee-sama." Her voice a tad bit deeper, yet oh so gentle, intoxicating her soul.

"Rem?" She could not be too sure, the blue haired demon looked older, more refined, like a flower, she bloomed.

"Yes, sister, this is your Rem." With eyes closed, the voilete responded. 

"What are you doing here, Rem?"

A chuckle escaped the lips of the blue demon, heartedly and joyous, Ram couldn't help but feel restless at such a sound.

"Sister, sister, I believe you must ask yourself that."

Ram felt a lump form in her throat, she knew not what to say, this was her own dream, but she was too cowardly to face the monsters that hid under her bed, she wished not to know what this all meant, but just for it end.

"I see that you've cut one of the ties, Rem is proud of her sister." With a clap of her hands, she commented on the thread that once was on Ram's horn.

Ram remained silent, unwilling to respond to that mirage, unable to accept this as anything worthwhile. She turned on her feet, with a whisper. "You're not real."

"But nee-sama, what of that, that necklace?" The imitation stopped her in her tracks, a finger pointing at her.

The figure of blue stood up, high towering over her, walking to her, facing her, a gentle smile gracing it's otherworldly visage, pretty little fingers touched her cheeks, she couldn't help but lean to the touch.

"Let me sister, let me take that noose off. Let me take that shame away." With two fingers under her chin, propping her head up to gaze at her sister's eyes.

Ram felt fear, "it'll burn." She uttered.

Rem responded, "then let us burn together."

Vehemently turning her head side to side, Ram could not agree to bring harm to her sister. 

Soft hands grabbed on her cheeks more tightly than before, another forehead pressed to hers, "You cruel, cruel sister, can't you see that your Rem has already grown up? Must you selfishly keep your burdens for yourself to bare?"

Ram grumbled in annoyance, she just wished to drown in the warmth of her sister, why must she be made to think of those awful things, "Ram does share her burden, she let's Rem handle every chore around the mansion, is that not enough?"

"Silly sister of mine, can't you be more honest? Tell Rem the truth." With a pout, Rem poked at her sides.

Squirmed at the attack on her weak spot, "Dearest of mine, Ram is as honest as one can be."

"Then why has this helpless sister of mine tied a knot around her neck." Responded Rem with a scolding tone, pushing Ram away to more clearly watch her sister's face.

Ram felt so small against this Rem, cowering like a child would when their mother hears of their misdeeds, her heart lodged in her throat.

A finger pushed on her chest, where heart would be, "Can you stop hiding that from me, you're not protecting me, you're hurting me, Ram, stop being so stubborn, sister."

Firey hot indignation, a red flame licked her skin burning, swallowing her whole, burning that cursed thread. It sizzled, bubbled, and fell lazily, her voice now free.

"You...how dare you? After all the pain I went through, you think you have the right to judge me? You have not lost your horn Rem, I did, look at me now, i am useless, helpless and hopeless, don't you dare blame me for how I am, you smiled that day, you think I never saw that Rem? You smiled, you relished in my helplessness, and what am I to do? How could I ever blame you for it?" Her voice raised not, even through her wrath, she had to be as calm as she'd always been, lest she loses herself.

Wrath gave away, an empty feeling filled her chest, her previously balled hands now hung aimlessly at her sides.

"How could I? When you've been in my situation for years, what gives me the right to complain of something you've felt your whole life, and how am I to condemn you, when guilt drowns you each and every day, what more could I add? How much lower can I fall as a sister? How have I never seen your pain before?"

Tears fell like streams from her eyes, too ashamed to show it, she hid her face, with hands she covered herself from her dearest.

"What more could I give you other than pain?" Her voice croaked.

"Then give it to me, your pain, your shame, your anger, your guilt, let Rem have a piece of it all." Her sister answered.

Pulling her to a hug, she added, "Rem will assure you that it would not be easy, but she knows it's worth it, lay your heart for Rem to see."

Tear stricken and too emotionally exhausted, Ram couldn't help but let a chuckle escape against her sister's chest, embracing her more tightly than before. "Greedy sister of mine, haven't I just done that now?"

Her dearest Rem responded with a laugh of her own, "Silly sister of mine, this Rem has already attained her peace, what of the one outside?"

Ram once again grumbled against her sister's hold, "Will you truly grow up to be this cruel to your dear sister?"

With a sly smile, the blue haired devil responded, "Only if nee-sama is still hellbent on being stubborn."

"Why-you little..."

"I fear it must be time to wake up sister."

Ram pushed her head deeper to her sister's bosom, unwilling to let go.

"There, there, sister, you'll be fine." Her hands ruffling through her pink hair, she places a kiss on Ram's forehead, where her horn used to be.

"Open your eyes, sister."

"And be sure to welcome Rem's hero."

She wakes up, startled by a loud bang reverberating through the hallways. She jumps out of her bed.

Grabbing a candlelight and her staff from a drawer, she first checks on her sister, making sure she's still asleep and tucked in.

Then she heads towards the sound, cursing whatever creature that has dared to wake her up in the middle of the night. 

Ready to face whatever intruder that has invaded their home and kept her from her beauty sleep, she would not be so forgiving, tonight especially. 

Strumming through the soulless corridor of the mansion, she sees the half-elf in her own nightgown, straddling an unconscious man on the ground.

"Ah, Ram-san, just in time, this is Subaru." The half-elf calls out to he as she gets up from the man and tries to sling him on her shoulder.

Ram just massaged her temples at the sight, feeling a headache coming if she were to ask any questions. She decided to handle this now.

"Emilia-sama should head to bed, Ram will handle our guest for tonight." She took hold of the man's arm, the smell of alcohol on him making her nose wrinkle.

"But Ram-san, Subaru jus-"

"Emilia-sama." Ram cut her off coldly, gripping the corpse more tightly.

"...okay." the half-elf responded, pouting as she let's Ram take care of transporting the man.

She ushered her mistress to go back to her quarters and rest, and she waited till the half-elf was far enough to let out a long-winded sigh escape her lips.

Picking up the drunkard on her right shoulder, the smell of cheap liquor invaded her nostrils. She wished nothing more than to leave the man to rot on the mansion ground.

But that would just leave more work for her sister. 

She walked through the familiar corridor, now silent, and a physical weight pushed her down.

She cursed this pitiful excuse of a man for making her do this, she felt him struggle against her hold, she ignored him.

"Let me down." He requested with a raspy voice.

She did not grace him with an answer of her own, so she kept stumbling on to the way to his chambers only to be interrupted by one of his grunts.

"If you don't, I might thro-"

With a loud bang, he fell on the ground beneath her. She had not let him finish his sentence, not willing to let him dirty her nightgown with his disgusting bile.

"Ughhh...you didn't have to do that, Ram." With his face pressed to the floor, he uttered through a muffled voice. 

"Guest-sama, do you wish for Ram to try and put you down again." She replied indignantly, letting her distaste for him known.

"No thanks, also please call me Subaru." He said as he slowly got up from his pitiful position on the ground and dusted off his strange garments. He extended a hand to her own.

She stood with her arms crossed, unwilling to acknowledge him. She turned around from him and started walking, with a sigh on his part, he followed soon after.

Finally reaching his room, she guided him inside. He childishly flopped on the bed without a warning.

In his room, she stood, watching him wearily, his eyes locked with hers, a smile creaped to his face, a frown on hers, she half-heartedly wished to send a scythe of wind to his neck.

"Disgusting pervert." She teased while hiding her chest from his view.

He looked back at her with a deadpan face, crossing his arms, forming an x. "There's not much to look at. Also, I'm a married man."

She sat down on the side of his bed, ignoring his obvious jab at her bosom, definitely not hurt from it. Why did her hold on her staff tighten, you might ask? Why not? she just wished to get rid of this man sized pest in the room, a most diligent maid she was.

"Lecherous and adulterous, aiming for Lady Emilia while married, give Ram one reason to not exterminate you." She pressed on aiming to scare him more than anything else.

A look of confusion graced his face, only for him to let out a small gasp and slam his hand on his mouth, with a grunt he laid back down on his bed and covered his face.

"She's gone." He said with a breathless whisper.

Her heart fell, she knew not of his perilous situation, pangs of guilt forced out apologies outside her mouth, "Ram is sorry."

He sat down once again, waving his arms around, "No, it's nothing, you couldn't possibly have known. It just happened recently, it's hard to process." He finished with a miserable smile on his face.

Melancholy has never looked so pretty on a person, Ram thought, the way he smiled, the way he frowned, the way his eyes betrayed his act, it was all so angelic to her.

It reminded her of that mosiac, so colorful, so beautiful, yet so fragile and vulnerable, walking with the weight of the world on his shoulder, she thinks that if she so much as blows in his direction, he would crumble.

He would break apart, fall down, turn to dust, that she'd forget she ever saw him, ever knew him, and she thinks he would be content with that because of course he would be.

Her heart throbbed, she was being cowardly again, the moment she laid her eyes on him, she felt something strange, a sense of familiarity, she wished not to mull over it, so she buried the feeling deep in her heart.

But she could not, no, she would not be a coward any longer, she got closer to him, putting her hands on either sides of his face, bringing him closer to her.

She put his head on her lap, in his alcohol induced daze he did not realize what was happening till he felt the soft flesh rubbing against the back of his head, he shuddered and let out a gasp, "Sister."

She stopped, her entire being went still, it felt right, it felt fitting, she felt like home, that she was his sister, and that scared her, that terrified her, her heart accepted him already, it ached at his hurt, it leapt from joy at his longing for her touch.

Her hand traveled to his hair, she combed through it, playfully running her digits on him, "Be at ease." She whispered to him, letting him relax, and for his nervousness to fade out of him.

She couldn't help but ask even if she enjoyed this momentary respite, she felt something missing, she was scared, absolutely petrified of the thought, she did not wish to let the words out of her mouth, but she had to, a coward she would no longer be.

"Has Ram been a good sister to you?" The words pouring out of her shocked both her and him, that was not what she meant to ask, not one bit.

He seemed to take her words seriously, he moved his head tiny bits as he pondered her question, his soft hair tickling her thighs.

"You have your flaws, but you've done your best, and that's more than enough." Her replied in a nonchalant manner, more relaxed at her touch.

She hummed in response, her hands going back to stroke at his hair after her shock placated "Sister." She whispered, "Why did it feel oddly fitting, I wonder." Though the previous answer satisfied a deeper part in her soul, she's still yet to find an answer to this mystery.

"Who knows." Was the only acknowledgment she got, delivered careless and cold, biting and hurt.

Harshly, she pressed on, "You know me, no you knew me, and Emilia-sama too if Ram were to guess, and Roswell-sama, yet we don't know you."

"Am I suspicious? Do you think I'm a spy, Ram?" He pulled her hands away from him, sitting himself up to face her, a smile that never would dare to reach his eyes threatened to split his face in half.

So she did the only thing she could think of before he drowned in his own misery. She poked at his cheek, "No, Barusu has never been good at acting."

His eyes widened. She must've called him that before, she thought, "To think that I have such a mean brother." Her hand went up to his eyes, wiping the droplets of tears off his face, he accepted her touch.

He let out a hearty breath, both tempered and anxious, he got up leaving her side, she felt cold at her lonesome but he did not move too far, standing up from his bedside he went to his window, staring at the abyss outside.

She frolicked her way behind him, staring at the moon next to him, her hand went down to his, he gazed down at the sign of their bond with a bemused expression on his face.

He used his other hand to point to the void in the sky, where a bundle of light down on them, "Do you see that Ram? Those stars over there, so different from the ones in my home town." He said to her.

She hummed in response urging him to finish what he was saying, "What do you say I pluck one out for us huh? Alpha Aurigae, I'm aiming for you." He held up his fist, making a grandiose show.

She knew now that he was too drunk to stay up, she ignored his theatrics, throwing him back to his bed and tucking him in, she ignored the puffed up cheeks and his complaint of being bullied, she will have none of it.

Standing in the door way, she clutched on the wooden door, looking at him for one last time before his slumber, she stopped.

"Welcome back Barusu." And with that she turned on her heels closing the door between them, and she left.

Chapter Text

What does a man wish for in life? Is it money? Power? Women? The answer is very simple.

Getting up from his silk-lined bed, taking off the drapes of luxury from his body, he always made a point of waking up early. 

Diligence was key. Being too disillusioned with one's fortune could prove to be fatal, he need be at his best so that he might keep his place above those hills.

Shaking off the hold of the two flowers holding him down, two well-groomed kitsunen, and how soft and warm it felt to drown in their hold, to be burry oneself in the carnal sin, he's always been smitten by their beauty since a young age.

A rotten and perverse taste it might have been, to seek only fleshy desires, porcelain dolls wrapped in sheer velvet, golden tales bathed and sprayed with the finest of aromas, wrapped tightly around his limbs.

Gripping him against his bed.

Though man he might be, though tempted he might feel, such matters should be left for when the sun shines not.

He grunted against himself, being so strict can take a toll on one's mind, but it was necessary for someone of his caliber, he paid no heed to the soft moans that accompanied him leaving his nest of slumber.

With the fines of soaps he coated his grim face, and he washes, he repeats the process twice just to let the scent cement to his face some more, he would usually take a shower this early, but it seems his presence was needed quite urgently this morning.

Going through the corridors of his empty mansion in his naked glory, he feels no shame at it, for his servants grew used to him and his mannerisms, not that he paid it any attention, if he demanded respect, he would receive it.

He heads to the kitchen, a table full of the most exquisite and exotic flavors that could be smuggled through the boarders, paid a premium for, but worthwhile nonetheless.

His demi-human blood left him more desirous than the ordinary human, his insides grumbled and turned at such sights, his instincts urging him on to gobble it all up and squeeze it down his gullet.

But of course such a thing would be utterly inappropriate, he sat down with a graceful stature, his two maids helping him out and pushing his chair in place, and with a knife and fork of silver, he ate his usual breakfast, containing enough meat and fat to feed a family for a whole day.

Once his hunger was satisfied, his hand went to sip at a glass of fine Gusteko wine, it's steep price was surmounted by the otherworldly taste and smell it gave, though he had to stop himself from indulging in it, work came first after all.

On to his dressing room he went, two other servants stood there waiting for him, each one with a different suit presented for him to choose, though both almost identical, the one to the left had a more grayish hue than the ordinary dark tone of the one to the right.

With a nod to the left, the other servant hurriedly put down the other piece, he hurried up to his master's side, helping him through his under garments to his pitch black pants and the jacket an tie, as soon as the two finished dressing him they combed his hair.

When all was done, one servant to his left presented to him the finest kararagi tobacco cigars, served in a small thin black box, five for him to choose from.

He picked one at random, putting it up to his mouth, with a guillotine cutter, his leftmost butler cut of the cap, only for the other to ignite it for him.

The two lifted up a body sized mirror to their master. With a puff of his cigar and a chuckle, he ran his hand through his blond hair, his deep blue eyes piercing his reflection.

A large gurley figure looked back, with a conniving smile through the cigar puffing, a face with a mixture of pink and brown, a rough visage, with both pig ears and nose, such appearance was without a doubt belonging to Doltero Amule, the pigman, Head of the Black Silver Coin, he who runs Flanders through and through.

He smiled at the thought, though he might not be a looker, his two-piece suit sure has added to his charm, and lucky for him, men were more about guts than looks.

"Why stop at just one thing? When one can have it all."

He carefully watches as the half-elf walks out of the loothouse, even as his head screams at him in pain from the headache he suffered before.

He can't help but look back at his companion in confusion, with his eyes screwed shut as another surge of pain comes to him, and his hands holding his head in place, he asks.

"Why did you not go with her, Natsuki-San."

If his friend has heard him then he definitely made no show of it, frolicking slowly through the broken parts of the building to the counter, he poured a glass of some cheap alcohol then came back to his side and handed it to him.

Otto accepted it, though not sure if this poison would be of any help to him currently, he pinched his nose with one hand, and with the other he downed the whole thing in one go, the stinging burn in the back of his throat made him caugh and spatter a bit of his saliva.

Subaru chortled at the pitiful sight, Otto grumbled back at him in annoyance. This was not the time to make fun of him.

"I just needed some time, and I have something to do first anyway." Subaru finally decided to answer him, his face turning grim and serious.

Otto wonders if it's an excuse made out of cowardice, or something genuinely serious, through it matteres not, as long as he promised to visit her soon, Subaru did not seem like a man to go against his words.

Though another matter entirely worried him to no end, gazing at the unconscious woman drenched in his oil, he wonders.

"Are you sure about this?" Otto asked in a hushed manner.

"Yeah, don't worry, Rein knocked her out pretty well. She's not waking up any time soon." Subaru answered him in his usual nonchalant tone while pointing his hand behind his back where the sword saint stood.

Otto still can't get over the fact that he met both the sword saint and two dragon candidates on the same day, though he wonders if that's the fault in his bad luck or Subaru's.

It's probably Subaru-san's fault, he looks beyond him seeing the saint and the new candidate arguing with each other all the while the giant watches sighing at what he's gotten himself and his grand-daughter involved into.

Otto feels for him, too. He, too, got involved in things that were way above his skill set, but such is the life of a traveling merchant.

"You know that's not what I meant." He replied with a harsh tone, flipping his head back to face his friend.

Only to notice that he has left his side, he gazes around, only to find him in one corner of the loothouse, fiddling with something.

No, not something. It was a body part. He was collecting all the dismembered limbs and chunks of flesh and lining them up in a pile, Otto's stomach churned.

With a hum, Subaru-san replied, "I know, and I hope I'm right in trusting her because she's coming with me."

Otto decided on not commenting on the sight, understanding that someone has to clean up the place, no matter how morbid it might be, but it still made him feel sick to his stomach the way his friend seemed unaffected by it.

Swallowing the bile threatening to leave his mouth, "Where are you going?"

Kneeling down and grabbing a nearby stick, the man beside him started poking at a dismembered arm sticking out from the fold.

And Otto could handle it no more, with a hand grasping at his irritated stomach and another to his mouth, he muttered a weak, "Please stop."

Subaru-san gazed at him quizzically, his eyes widening when he looked at the pile beneath him. He mouthed a quiet apology, standing up to be beside him.

Otto understood that him and his friend have had different experiences, that they were different people with different likes and dislikes, he understood that what may have scared him, will not necessarily strike fear in his friend.

And he understood from this whole ordeal that Subaru-san was probably a veteran on the battlefield, that blood and gore were nothing new to him, but still that little surprising show of apathy and cruelty unnerved Otto to no end.

And not just this current one, even before when they first entered the building, when they introduced themselves and came up with a plan to handle the assassin.

The way Subaru laid it, the way he thought it all out meticulously, the way he mentioned burning another as if it were nothing more than a tactical decision, it was beyond cold or uncaring.

Everyone held their breath at his plan firsthand, but even more as the battle ended and the bowl hunter lay down defeated, the way Subaru-san showed concern for everyone and checked on their wounds, it made Otto want to forget, it made him wanna forget that apathetic side.

But he could not, not when he saw the woman doused in black ink, he couldn’t help but be frozen in place watching, waiting for his friend to commit an act of complete horror.

Only for him to suddenly change his mind, allowing Otto to release a breath he hadn't known he kept, it scared him.

How capable Subaru-san was of cruelty, but what scared him the most was how he'd stay by his side no matter what.

"Flanders, I'm heading there to find someone, an old friend." The usually scary eyes, softened down as his friend wrapped an arm around his back, answering his question all the while he seemed concerned at his blight.

Otto hadn't even noticed his touch, but he was grateful for it nonetheless, he should stop thinking about these silly things, it was do or die, whatever decision subaru made, it would've been reasonable, he should stop thinking of the past, and start focusing on the present.

"Flanders? I can arrange a carriage ride for us." Otto responded, now feeling more calm. Even as the usual pangs of pain strike his brain, he hopes it'll get better by the morning.

"Ah, thank yo- wait, us?" Subaru inquires, perhaps surprised that he'd choose to come when he was not feeling that well.

Oh well, no matter what, he's definitely going," Yes, me, you, and whoever you want to bring along."

His friend looks at him, surprise painted on his face, then he laughs, no he utterly breaks down laughing, "You never change do you Otto, always complaining but always coming without much convincing."

And here, there it is again, Otto wonders when he will get his answers, when his friend will tell him of all the secrets he's keeping locked behind that miserable smile of his, though for the time being, he can let himself relish in the little bits of joy offered to him.

After all, to see his brother laugh this genuinely, it's a sight to behold.

Walking through the red-light district always filled hs chest with pride, he built it all, with his hands he shaped it, not out of clay, but out of blood, tears and puss.

And though most of that blood was not of his, it didn't make his achievements any less grandiose. He held this city on his shoulders, and he clamped on it with an iron fist.

He got more than he gave, some might say, and od help and forgive him, he wanted to build something that would outlive him, in this wretched place, this hell-hole that he called home, he carved a place for himself, made a paradise out of their hell.

And oh Od he was not as selfish as they make him out to be, in a place where greed is limitless, opportunity isn't, thunder doesn't strike the same spot twice, and neither does lady luck.

So he made it fair, he gave his brothers and sisters a chance, lavish establishments to gamble, to strike gold and win big, come here fellow strangler let us riot against fate.

Even he knew the futility of it all, how horrid of him to take advantage of it? what a gag!

He gazed about, his arms outstretched embracing the swelling feeling of pride to his chest, fancy restaurants, gambling dens, brothels, loan lending businesses, all built upon his ground dragon business, all operating with his protection, just for a small sum, a tiny stake in it.

He preferred a more stable form of commerce, something less shady and more formal, more lucrative, and stables for breeding, housing, and trading ground dragons was just that, his modus operandi, the thing that made Flanders, though offering insurances remained a hobby of his.

With all that said it was not as if he didn't join in louche activities, gambling was a beloved past time of his, so was visiting the Flower Prison Garden, a luxurious brothel, many memories made there, perhaps he should pay Madam Toto a visit, that lady was something else.

But unfortunately, that has to wait for later. Work comes first, of course, and he had heard that his presence was needed. He wasted no time.

Manfred Madison, the head of the The Scales's branch in Flanders, a friendly rival of his, has asked, nay, has begged for him to come.

Doltero wasn't one to miss opportunities handed to him on silver platters, the desperation of the whole ordeal was made obvious by the letter sent to him, seeing a way to squeeze out a profit or more ground on the city, he made this his priority.

Heading to the grand casino with his entourage, it was not his first time visiting the luxurious place, he and Manfred were not on bad terms by any means, they both respected each other, they both saw this as business, they'd rather settles matters through other avenues than bloodshed.

His limbs felt heavy, his feet damp, he heard the whistling air of the mountain, it sang to him, a lullaby for him to drown in, he was so utterly cold.

A hand grabbed him by his collar, pushed him on the ground, softness invaded his senses, the snow felt so good, he could make a bed of it, and sleep an eternity or some more.

A cloud of heat erupted atop of him, a spear of pure blinding plasma, almost tore through his head, his digits grew numb.

He was forcefully flipped on his back, not having enough strength to move. He watched as his feet made a path on the snow, someone dragged him through the mountain.

Through the white desert, beyond the towering trees, luscious and green, covered in falling snow, he sees a hint of pink, small fingers grasping at the titan pillars of wood.

Though miles back, he can't miss the frowning cyan eyes gazing at him, her hand stretched outward at him, and a whisper carried by the wind reached his ears.

"Ul Goa!" And with it came a cacophony of sound, it invaded his ears, leaving his thoughts more muddled than ever before.

Light and colors akin to mahogany lightened up the the path between them, moving closer and closer to him, a shooting star of concentrated heat chased him, flames licked at his ashen grey locks.

Only for a wall of purple to block the sun from his face, shielding his wounded eyes from its intensity, he gazed back, turning his head to the one pulling at him through this mindless trek.

A broad back was all that he saw, with an orange scarf wrapped around that slender neck, an appendage of purple wrapped around from the fornt of that stranger's chest, over his shoulder, making a hand that now shields Otto.

He opened his mouth, his teeth cluttering. He asked, "Subaru?" It came no louder than a whisper.

The only acknowledgment he got was the slight nod that he noticed as the man struggled through the feet swallowing snow to pull them both.

"Finally up, Otto? Let's get going before Fredricka snaps my neck bringing ya with me for this tea party."

Fredricka? Right, his wife, how could he forget? The cold must be getting to his head. He can't wait till they arrive at home.

He's getting too old for playing adventure time with Subaru, he swears this time is the last.

Ah well, who's he kidding? If not him, then who will keep watch on his stupid brother.

His eyes flutter open, startled awake, he looked around him in surprise, still not sure of the reason for his fright, noticing the dim light, and cold morning breeze, a chill ran down his spine.

He hurdled his knees together, using the oversized blanket given to him. He formed a cocoon and wrapped himself in it, leaving only his face peaking out.

He wondered to himself, what has awaken him so early on this trek, gazing on the front of the carriage he could see both the saint and the giant taking the reins of the ground dragons.

Getting such a spacious and luxurious ride would have normally cost him an arm and leg, though thankfully, the saint offered to bear the weight of such a transaction.

A dept to be paid, at least that's what the red-haired man alluded to, Otto thinks it might have something to do with the little theif's new rank.

A contender for the throne, a dragon candidate, the mention of it left Otto's mouth hang open, falling to the dirty grounds of the lowly tavern, only for Subaru to close it for him.

And add to his shock, lady Emilia is one too, and what the hell was happening to Otto's life, to be in the same room as two kingdom icons, two individuals who could cause ripples through the kingdom.

Nay, kingdoms, and not just two, but three, the sword saint's influence was nothing to scoff at, and with the way his black haired friend handled the earlier matter, and the way the saint follows his every step, listens to every word leaving him, almost desperately wishing to please him, the number was closer to four.

And here he is, Otto Suwen, a humble merchant, at least he hopes to still have rights to claim such a lowly title, and he has involved himself with so many extravagant and extraordinary individuals, he just hopes that this would end in a good manner.

Leaving the thoughts drifting through his exhausted mind, he let his eyes wander to the rest of his companions.

On the leftmost corner of the carriage, the front side of it, there lay the potential future queen, drowning in a sea of cloth similar to his, own, asleep still it seems, the saint sword turned to check on her, noticing Otto's gaze, they locked eyes, and agreed that a nod as a greeting would be more than enough, in fear of awaking the little lady.

Otto sighed at the sight of it, the way she traveled to the world of dreams without a worry in her heart, it filled Otto with envy, but perhaps such is the difference between a common man, and one chosen by the dragon.

And speaking of nerves of steal, he flipped his gaze, peaking his head over his right shoulder, he sees the familiar woman, with the unusual black hair, a foreign quality for sure, her eyes closed, there she lay, her back turned to the side of the carriage walls, her knees bundled up in a manner similar to what Subaru has shown the other day, a 'criss-kross appa-sauce' he says it's called.

Seemingly content in mimicking the raven's sitting position, she wraps her arms around her midsection, even with such a display of openness, Otto can't help feeling unease.

Should they really trust her, is she truly worthy of forgiveness, what stops her from slicing their bellies open at a moment of weakness, he knows not the answers to such questions, he only focuses his gaze on her face, wishing for the answers to come from it.

Her eyes open suddenly, no different than a cat's would, a kekura seemingly summoned from thin air found its way on her hands, she swiped it at a speed his eyes struggled to follow, battling phantoms that had made their presence only known to her.

Her sudden frightful act stopped, and as she composed herself, she gazed at his terrified form, with a toothy grin, she greeted him and turned her head to sleep some more.

Goosebumps covered the entirety of Otto, now he knew for sure that the shivers and slight shaking came not from the cold, but a most terrifying display, he wrapped himself further onto the cocoon.

A hand grasped at his shoulder, his nerves being strained as much as they were, he almost let out a not so manly scream, only to realize that it was Subaru who has taken hold of him.

"Morning otto." The greet came followed by a 

Otto looked back at him strangely, and with a sigh.

"To be able to sleep so soundly in the situation we're in, Subaru-san is truly something else as I thought."

Subaru waved his hand in denial, "I was just so tired from the stress that I dropped like a log, also have some faith Otto, we'll be fine."

A vein on Otto's forehead almost popped, "I'm trying my best here Subaru-san, but I can't help but feel like I'm about to drop dead from the stress, we'll have to topple over the biggest crime syndicate in Flanders, do you know how insane that sounds? Not so long ago, my worries were how to pay for an inn to stay in. Now I worry for whether a knife or sword would be lodged into my chest or neck." He ended his nervous word vomit with a sharp inhale.

"Or one to my back for that matter." The words left his mouth no louder than a whisper, quietly pointing his gaze to the obvious culprit.

The raven stared back at him, his face blank, all notions of sleepiness leaving his being, Otto felt weirded out at being looked at so intensely, "What?"

"Heh, what a scaredy cat." 

"Natsuki-San! I'm serious!"

"I know, I know, I'm asking a lot out of you, but please, have some faith in us, you and me, otto, and all of us, we'll be fine." He reassured him in the most matter of fact voice he could conjure up.

Otto appreciated the seriousness of his tone, and somehow, he felt a little less uneasy about all of it because, of course, if Subaru says so, then it must be so.

He realizes how weird and bothersome that blind trust is, and he will agonize on that matter at a later date.

But what worries him the most now is the subject that he has not brought up, at least not directly to any other except his current closest friend.

"And what of her? Should we really be so lenient with her around?" He asked in a hushed tone.

"Otto, if you keep looking over your shoulder in fear of being stabbed in the back, you'll miss the knife aimed at your chest, it's hard to change, to be better, the least we could do is give her a chance."

Otto understood that, he could sympathize with that, if not for the fact that the person in question has done unspeakable things, could there truly be redemption for monsters of this caliber?

"And it's not like we can't kill her if she tries anything fishy, we got Rein with us for a reason." Subaru added with a tinge of humor in his deadpanned face.

Otto just face palmed at the utter ridiculousness of this matter, "And pray tell, remind me again why must we not use the sword saint to blitz to the head of the city."

Subaru made a show of clicking his tongue and waving his finger around, "First of all, my dear Otto, that'd be boring as hell."

And right before Otto could interject once again, Subaru put a hand on his mouth and continued, "And that'd get Rein in some big big trouble, we barely convinced him to come here using Felt, I'm not about to ruin all that."

"So he's assurance." Otto concluded.

A toothy smile an a nod came as his response, and it felt a little better that Subaru had formulated a plan of sorts.

"We'll arrive at night, is that when we shall strike?" Asked Otto.

Subaru gazed out at the road, humming, and letting the strangely shaped gears inside of his mind rotate, unevenly oriented mechanical bearings roughly clunked into place, in that flesh cage, lubricated with gooey, viscous, melted fat, they clutched betwixt teeth, they clicked in place, moved, rotated on axles, like a clock, it was a clock wasn't it? Clock shaped human? or a human shaped clock? Otto isn't sure.

"No, we should just sleep for the night. There's no need to go looking for trouble. Tomorrow early in the morning, we'll make it come looking for us." With another smug smile of this.

Subaru leaves Otto bewildered, and Otto just hopes that things would go well.

The Grand Casino, a large, three-story gambling den with spaces for various types of games.

Doltero entered with no issues, him and his entourage given access without even a routine frisking, that most of the attendees had gotten used to already.

But of course, someone of his level couldn't be even compared to the peasants beneath him.

He stepped through the hallways, ignoring the patronage at the bar, going to the stairs leading up to the other floors, the second being an ordinary gambling den.

Only to reach the third and final floor, not much different from its predecessor, the air was thick with the smell of cheap liquor and tobacco, demi-humans and humans of all faction gathered to do one thing and one thing only.

Gamble, rolling dice, flipping cards, all sorts of different trials of luck, one where the judge, jury and executioner, all had a hand in your crime against yourself, to hope is to sink, to dream is to drown.

But beyond all treachery committed against the wretched and miserable souls haunting that room.

There lay a door, a familiar one to Doltero, through it he passed a thousand times and some more.

MANFRED'S OFFICE.

It read, his destination, he reached.

Ushering one of his guards, said mercenary stepped forth, the little reptile grasped at the doorknob, slender, slim, scaley fingers, twisted and turned at the wooden ball, with a click, the lock unfastened, he pushed forth, opening the door.

The creaky, squeaky sound of the worn out hinges quickly gave away to an air of silence, he looked back at his master meaningfully, then at his command, two others followed behind him.

Through a long and narrow passageway that barely gave any view to the inside of the room, he walked.

He stepped forth, looking into the room, basking in its strange symmetry, of repeating colors and paintings, of furniture assorted in pairs, a chair, and one next to it, a couch to the center of the leftmost wall, and another to the rightmost, three identical paintings covering each wall of this small room, except it's entrance, a small table at the middle, where the two chairs lay faced, empty, empty, all of it.

He walked up to one of the paintings, lazily pulling it out of the wall in its hanging place, he wondered what beauty or meaning these people found in random splashes of colors and lines, with a fist up, he called the search off.

He turns on his feet, heading to his boss, gazing at the group of people looking back to him, seemingly unbotherd, six of them without counting his employer, and the other two mercenaries behind him, he walks back through the corridor, a loud bang stops him in his tracks.

Worry invaded his soul and took a hold of his being, it made a room for itself, and was hellbent on staying, shaky hands, and restless legs accompanied him, was he making a mistake? Was this blowing it out of proportion? Stepping out of line?

His blessings blinked on and off repeatedly, it was nauseating, and its source was now more evident than ever, should he feel threatened by it?

More questions, and less time to have any of them answered, no, he should trust, he should believe in this feeling in his heart, let go the nervousness, drown in a sea of counterfeit tranquility.

Small, daintily fingers grasped at his, soft yet covered with old cuts and bruises, blemishes carrying stories of the life she once led.

Nay, blemishes not, but engravings on her tiny hands, telling tales of bravery and courage, and he would listen to it all, he would treasure every small crevice, fissure or gash, he would be sure that no more hurt would reach her.

And the way she grasped at his fingers, his heart twisted and twirled, and he wonders if there ever was life before her, his every worry, his every sorrow, will forever be drowned by her ocean.

And this was love, wasn't it? He felt it, he lived it, breathed it, bathed in it, he was it, and it was him, and it's intensity brought him to tears, she looks at him worriedly, overtaken by his own heart, he brings their hands closer to him.

And he kisses hers, and by Od, it was uknightly, and unbecoming, and all of them were looking at him in shock, and she an appa in complexion, he brings their bond down under the table, keeping their hands intertwined, he regrets not.

Subaru continues talking after letting out a short chortle, briefing them on the plans that would take place early in the morning, and he's in no state of mind to listen to any of it, his head in the heavens above, and his heart out of his chest.

So like an utter fool he is, he stares at his companions discussing things, words going in and out of his ears, he gazes at the giant staring dagger at him, then at the shaking merchant that was once as nervous as him, and onto the ex assassin listening intently at whatever was said, not sharing a word of her own.

Getting a room this big to house all of them was hard within itself, but he had enough coin on him to afford that, not that it came with all of the chairs and the big round table, no, he paid even extra, him and the giant having to haul it all up from the inn.

He looks at Subaru, words come out, lips moving, but no sound reaches him, and yes, the feeling was still there. His heart aches still, but never the same.

Never would it beat for another. Never would it ache further. Never would his brush touch another page, never would his colors spill on another canvas.

For his flimsy fingers grasped a piece of heaven, and monster he might be, he would foresake it for no one.

And finally he gazed at her, crimson red stared back, and all his hurt, all his pain, all that makes him and breaks him, all of his grim and his woe, it was understood, It was felt by her, it was griefed for, it was forgiven, it was repaid tenfold.

And he was complete, she made him whole, and he would repay her till the last of his days, be it hell or high-water, nothing would ever stop him no more.

"...and remember, Reinhardt makes the first bang, and that's all, we handle the rest, okay?"

Two crater sized holes bore through the wall of the establishment, a bloodied mess of two alive, but brutalized mercenaries stuffed into the structure, groaning in pain.

"Wha-" barely letting out a gasp before another bang followed through.

This time, four men were left on the floor moaning in agony as they nursed their broken and fractured legs, Doltero stood shocked.

A woman scantily dressed approached him. With frightening speed, she had two curved knives resting on the sides of his neck, he put his hands up, and let himself be pushed into the room.

The fate of the last three of his men was much better than the rest, the cloaked man simply walked and put them to slumber with a single touch, sweat poured down his face watching him. 

After a short while, he was made to sit on a small chair in the middle of the room, two knives trapping his neck and face in a very narrow angle, even a slight adjustment made small tiny cuts against the unbelievably sharp blades.

"What do you want." He asked without neither raising nor lowering his voice too much, concise enough to understand his words, but not enough to prod at his mental state.

Neither woman, nor man responded to him, that was until he heard footsteps entering the room.

The tippy toeing came closer and closer till it reached his side, and it stopped, his nerves rattled, his inability to look or check his surroundings made it even worse. 

"You can wait outside." The tone was jovial, it had a little chirp to it, this was a young man.

The air went still for a moment, only for him to listen to another set of footsteps get farther and farther away till they reached outside of the room, and possibly even continued some more.

All of this confused Doltero a bit, the person who walked out, the cloaked man, that was the biggest threat in the room, whoever this, leader might be, why did he think it was smart to do without him.

At his front, a chair was pulled out, the man sat down, giving him a big toothy smile, even through it didn't reach his sharp gaze.

"Manfred?" Asked Doltero meaningfully.

"Don't worry about him, he's gonna be alllll good." Came as a reply.

Not seeing a point in Dilly-dallying any further, Doltero sighed and asked further, "What do you want from me."

The man infront of him chuckled at him, made himself more comfortable, he leaned in forward.

"Come on now Doltero, it's all just business and business with ya, how about we start with an introduction." The boy sits his hands atop of his.

Doltero watches the boy with the scrutiny of an eagle, feeling his touch, he wastes no time leaping forth, surprising his captive behind him, but not without getting small cuts on the side his neck in the process.

His huge left hand grasps tightly around the human's, with a single fist he clutched both limbs in a tight cage, bringing back his right, he aims a punch to the face to knock out his victim, it loosely connects, blood is spilt.

A knife gets lodged below his right shoulder, he twirls around with his hostage now restrained. He looks at the bored expression of the woman who attacked him.

"This is your employer?" He tightens his hold against the boy, fist crushing the two little hands, and his arm pinning the boy to his chest.

With his legs not touching the floor, the man doesn't even make a show of struggle, just muffled sounds, and Doltero wonders if he should just snuff the life out of him, before moving to the girl, only for him to hear a small squeaky laugh.

"Oi, that was so uncalled for ya know." The boy says through a raspy voice as his ribcage gets crushed.

In that one second where Doltero looked down in wonder at the boy, the woman leapt forth delivering a frighteningly fast kick to his face.

Only for it to be blocked, despite his mass, Doltero was known mostly for his agility, he grabbed on that leg aimed at him with his free hand, a smile crept to his face.

Then, pure white blinding pain struck his mind, his legs gave out bringing him to a kneel, a kick from the boy between his legs made his limbs go numb, and as cold sweat poured like a cascade down his face, another kick finally connected to the side of his head, his brain rattled inside his skull, and all that's left is a single sentence reverberating through his empty head. 

"Made ya look."

His eyes flutter open, his neck feels wet, he moves his head an inch, and the cold edge of a blade carves another crevice on his flesh.

And now he's wide awake and remembers all, he's still in the room, still sitting on the same damn chair, and the only proof that this wasn't another dream was the dull aching between his legs, and the cut on the boy's lower lip.

"Rise and shine darling." Came in a singsongy manner.

Doltero couldn't help feel irritated, "Do you have a death wish, kid?"

"Nope, not at all, not even a bit, dying sucks." The usually jestful line was delivered with such a monotone voice, it was unnerving.

After leaving Doltero speechless, the boy clapped his hands together and continued.

"So now introductions, I'm Natsuki Subaru! Of the Emilia camp, you might not know what that means yet, but please remember it, okay?"

Doltero doesn't respond.

"I want you to cut ties with ■■■■■■■ ■■■■■■." Subaru said.

Doltero's eyes almost bulged out of his head, "How do you know of that!?"

"Doltero, I ask questions, I make requests, and when I say cut the ties, what do you say?" Subaru asks him in a very serious but soft tone.

Doltero can't help but laugh at his face, "You're insane kid, totally unhin-

"Wrong answer."

A knife is stabbed down his left shoulder, breaking his collarbone and digging deeper into him, he tries to stand up, only for the boy to punch him in the face, with a piece of metal wrapped around his hand it manages to break Doltero's nose and disorient him.

He stays still, fighting back is not an option, "If you think you can for-

"Wrong answer."

Another sharp pain cuts through his back, and he grits his teeth, his erratic moving gives way for another metal punch connecting to his already bleeding nose, his breathing grows heavy.

"WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU, YOU BAS-

"Don't." The voice was hollow and sharp.

A hand grasped at his tie, making his head kneel slightly and bringing it closer to the other side of the table, a fist drove itself into his visage, with its speed, leaving him shook, not even a moment of respite was given before another fist found his face, and another, and another, and another, his face almost caved in, his nose obliterated, his cheekbones fractured, he was bathed in his own blood, barely awake.

A hand grasped his ring finger, and pop, it broke, it took him a moment to notice the sharp influx of pain and panic invading his being, through his hyperventilation, he wasn't given enough time before another finger was broken.

"Doltero, my friend, answer my question, I don't have all day." The frigid tone did not fail in striking fear inside of Doltero's mind.

Through his clouded and almost delirious state, he nodded in agreement.

The man infront of him gave a big smile and started saying some other nonsense that he honestly didn't have the energy nor the patience to listen through, he absentmindedly brought a hand to his face, only to feel a bone sticking out of where his nose was.

It made him nauseous, but he was ripped out of his state of delirium with another request.

"I know about the ground dragon shipment to the Karsten mansion, I'm looking for one special girl in there, ya got that?"

He was old enough to know when something was fishy, his intuition rarely ever wrong, he knew the kid was weird, there wasn't a point in saying something that everyone knew.

And he knew that all of them felt that, he knew they were all cowards ignoring it, but what the hell, he didn't give a shit, he ain't gonna bring up something that personal, as long as his grand-daughter was safe and happy, he didn't have much needs to fulfill.

But still seeing good Ol' Doltero get knocked down a peg, Eh, he wouldn't complain about that.

So he'll just sit down on a bench and watch them kids run around the stable looking for the steed, Ah what a pain.

He sips slowly on his drink, letting a sigh at the whole situation, "All this for a damn ground dragon." He grumbles under his breath.

"Hey! Don't let Patrasche hear that, she's not just a ground dragon, she's the best girl!" Subaru calls out in condemnation.

“Kuwaakh!” the black earth dragon of the Diana species holloered out springing forth from her stable, to the familiar raven-haired boy, she pounces at him, knocking the wind out of him.

Finally reunited, the group let themselves relax at last.

Chapter Text

Adagissimo

Skies painted blue, clouds lay beneath her as she soared through, all that is grim, evil or cruel, slipped and bled from her claw riddled limbs.

Drip, drip, it oozes through, slinking past its scaley coop, down to a sin cascade, droplets turning into a viscous gooe, softly sipping on its contents, she drew.

A final breath, then a scream too, eyes closed and wings outstretched, her pointy horned snout, dipped, to the ground she went, leaving the stars and empty sky behind, in an ocean of tar, she drowned.

Her heart sunk, her mind lay afloat, gliding towards a heaven she could not bring herself to hope, crimson glowy globes, with salty tears they flowed.

Woe is me saintess, woe is me witch of old, all that I dreamt, and all that I hoped, crumbled into ashe, and soon i shall follow too, a final touch is all that I seek, to leave with our fingers adjoined is all that I ache for.

Oh, bird of yore, croaking and weeping, not so dissimilar to a babe latched onto its mother's bosom, weep no more, pity me no further, this heart of mine is set free, free at last.

In hell, we shall reunite once more, may you be rid of your wickedness, and me of my scorn.

And if only for a moment, if given a chance, to share a dance with you again, Ah, how delighted I would be to take your hands.

Perhaps our flame may be lit once more.

Neatly folded clothes, stashed in two woven baskets of jute, reinforced with magic, as is with most household articles of the mansion.

A soft fragrance of lilac invaded her tiny nose, wrinkled and wiggly. She fights a sneeze overtaking her, she fails.

Overcome by a sneezing fit she wonders why she brought up the idea of adding flowers to the washing water in the first place, knowing of how sensitive her nose was, but her sister did enjoy such smells, and perhaps she could live with a little runny nose from now and then.

In an uncouth and not so lady like action, she wipes off her nose with a piece of cloth given to her by her dearest, when done, she pockets her handkerchief, and hooks the two baskets on her wrists, she finally takes off.

The first room she visits, her master's chambers, absent he was, yesterday's morning he fled, again he fled, without so much as word, only a letter forwarded to her sister, Roswell was a strange man, she knew that, from his peculiar make up, his strange phonetic tick, to his odd garments, perhaps such was the price of uncontested magical prowess.

Morning came, his return did not, leaving her sister worried, and her even more, a twinge of wrath gripped her heart, to see her twin trip and stumble about, wobbly legs and shaky hands, it made her worry grow tenfold, and her wrath even more.

He knew of her condition, to leave her in such a state. It made no sense. No urgency could excuse it, and to do it once more truly he was testing her patience.

Her hand went to his closet doors, carefully she stopped herself from ripping the handles off, putting his garments in. She closed it and left his room.

Her left basket is now lighter than before. She headed to her sister's room, quietly she entered.

She gazes about, enamored by its simplistic decor, a small little room, no bigger than hers, occupied by an empty bed, and a tiny cabinet on its side, a closet on the other.

Ornate yet monolithic pieces of furniture, Gusteko styled, squiggly wiggly lines, symmetrically carved on pinewood, she carefully traces the curves on the closet door, delicately she pulls on its handles, putting a pile of clothes in it, she closes it.

Leaving her sister's room, she glances one last time before moseying on.

Giant window panels overlooking the flower garden outside, silhouettes looming under the sappy skies, leave her heart stuck in her throat, envy rests at the deepest pits of her stomach, through the corridors she skips along, daring not to look, even as playful tones and sounds attempt to seduce her ears, she ignores it, she has to, lest she be forced to confront it, lest her excuses run dry, lest the veil is pulled.

The guest's room she reached, a strong stench overpowering her senses came from it, steeling her resolve, she lets out a long winded sigh, then, she entered.

The door opened, and if the earlier smell was unruly, then this was a thousand times beyond it, like a wall of smokey clouds enclosing her in, she struggled to breath through it, a bile of her acidic stomach fluids threatened to burst out of her, sprinkles of tears trickled out of her eyes, she grits her teeth.

A hand brought out to her chest, roughly and violently clutching at her flesh, she needed to breath, she needed to calm down, to close her eyes, to relax her muscles, to keep her hand at her mouth so at to not make any more sounds of struggle, or perhaps so as to not sully this place any further.

With a few more moments of rhythmic and slow breathing, she guides herself further onto the room, not willing to trust her weakening knees, she leans on the wall using her hand, only to reach the bed and unceremoniously plop down on it.

Face down, she lays, feeling more pathetic than ever, bringing herself into a ball, her knees trapped by her hands.

Emotions flow within her uncontrollably, wrath, envy, love, hate, melancholy. They twirl and swirl inside her beaten mind.

Her teeth clatter, then roughly she bites down, locking her jaw as she lets out a soundless wail, envy fills her entire being, her soul, body, and mind.

That day so unbelievably hectic it was, she remembers vividly, how her dearest had woken up uncharacteristically energetic, maybe not in body, but in spirit, to see her so merry and happy, it filled her with joy.

To see that usually serious and strained face, such reserved beauty, only to now have an otherworldly smile be thrown back at you, it made her feel lighter than a feather.

But to know of the reason of it, to know that she, her kin, her flesh and blood, was not what had made her so delighted, that it was some mere stranger.

The man came at the dead of the night apparently, and morning came back her master too, during a lavish breakfast his stay and the conditions of it were discussed and a decision that he would be of help in the mansion but not required to, she couldn't help notice the slight smirk gracing her sister's face with such news.

It made her blood boil, struck so suddenly with an unbearable sorrow, a weight crushed her heart, a cruel mechanical contraption wrapped itself around her ribs, with every breath, every inhale or exhale, it tightened, her bones cracked, her organs bled out, she was being turned into an empty husk, more than she ever was.

She could not live through it, she could not accept it, unable to even face her sister, she ducked through the hallways, waiting, till the guest was left alone.

She saw him, she watched him through the rooms and the hallways, how he talked to all the residents of the mansion his fake cheery facade, how he made them all laugh, it was all so twisted and sick, he was tricking them all, she was sure of it.

So she stalked him, followed him, slowly and uncannily patient, beyond the mansion, and the village, to a spot deep in the forest, where he stopped.

Her hands clutched her mace so tightly, her knuckles turning white, she needed to be rid of him, she needed to, she had to follow him, his smell, his stench, it was all the evidence she needed.

Almost delighted at the revelation, she was given a chance, an excuse, no, a valid reason to kill him.

She need not excuse herself anymore. It was for her sister to keep her safe, not out of jealousy, not truly, but out of care and worry, he was a thr-

"Is this far enough Rem?" He said to her.

Slightly startled, she walked out from behind the bushes, standing a few feet next to him, weapon in hand, and patience running out. She should probably have guessed that he knew of her following, but she cared not anymore.

His lips thinned at her silence, then a small curve that could not quite be called a smile graced his face. He let out a whisper, "Some things never change."

She paid no attention to his mutterings, deciding on ending this as fast as possible, wrath making her horn unravel more easily. 

Throes of envy fueled her, leaping forth, she gave away any notion of reason, instincts took over, her mind blank, and light turned to darkness.

Suddenly, the scenery changed, disoriented, she knew not up from down, trees towering even higher than before, cold and wet dirt was made to be a bed for her, as she lay flush against it, a familiar wand brandished infront of her face.

Alarm bells ring loudly inside her mind, her very own sister, straddling her incapacitated body, aiming a staff towards her, struck with the unimaginable reality, she gazes around searching for an answer.

Not so far from her lay a man, seated on his knees, lacerations all around his body, but alive still, his head arched towards the sky, his face looking more dead than alive.

Droplets of liquid hit her cheek, it was blood, trickling down from the staff, her sister's blood, her eyes bulged at her disheveled state.

What happened? What caused this? Why couldn't she remember? All these thoughts and some more swarmed her head, tormenting her to no end.

Finally, noting her awakening sister, Ram spoke.

Harsh, raspy, and indignantly tongue-lashing came her voice.

"What have you done."

The moonlight came and went, birds whisled and sang nearby, she heard animals rustling close, the forest slept and came alive with her.

Eyes wide open, mouth slightly agape, she could not believe the memories playing inside her mind, even as she recalled hearing their grunts of pain as they left her on the ground, even as she heard words of worry, from her own sister, directed at another.

A laugh bubbled out of her throat, shaking and grasping at the luscious pasturage beneath her, coarse and gravelly, she cackled, she wailed, she screamed to the heavens above, arms and legs flailing about, then finally beating the earth with her bloodied fists, melancholy turning to wrath, untill all of it is muddied, and much like rainfall, it seeps to the soil, and apathy takes place in her heart.

Oh, how pitiful, losing one's sister to a devil in disguise.

At dawn she awoke once more, her anguish settled not, her limbs achy still and feet filled with blisters, she wobbled through the morning night, supporting herself on the forest trees.

The mansion she reached, her shell cracked, much like a boiled egg, the yoke was wrung out of her, now all that was left tasted bland and left her starved for more.

Molto Allegro

To be or not to be, she has just experienced both in such a minuscule span of time, and she's yet to decide on which was better, thrust into existence with with but a single push, a tiny flower blossomed from the labor of love, her tiny crimson eyes unfocused, lids blinking open and closed a dozen times a minute, living proved to be an utterly new sensation for the tiny creature.

She cried not. It was said that the only moisture staining her little childish body was of the blood and liquids left from her mother's labor. Thankfully, all wiped off and cleaned with slightly dampened cloths. 

But the healers around were not so surprised nor worried at her queer Behavior, her father not so dissimilar to her, and his father before him too, were known for their unusually sedate infantile nature.

A thought formed not in her mind, for she too youthful and wisdom starved, but a feeling struck her, an odd emotion that swarmed her developing mind.

Not just one, but plenty came and washed over her in quick succession, pride at how the maids took hold of her and wiped her clean of grim and vile residue, at their wonder and awestruck facial expressions.

An all-encompassing feeling of warmth and unconditional trust as she was laid atop of her mother, she who guided her small face towards her breasts to feast on, with a smile of joy as sweat poured from her slightly wrinkled forehead, even as exhaustion carved her insides out, she remained unequivocally gracious.

Then a slight tingle of fear and deep respect towards the man that towered over her, only for him to bend down and hold his index to her, perplexed, whilst still suckling on her mother's bosom she gazed up towards the giant finger, with a fist she instinctively gasped it, marveling at its giganteus size and its rough and hardened skin, a high pitched squick left her shook and still as a stick in fright.

Tears welled up inside her scarlet marbles, only to hear a quiet rhythmic huffing and puffing of air, she turns to the source, seeing the man she grasped at leaning over with a hand covering his face, and her mother's arm moving in a circular motion behind his back, comforting the tearful father.

A riptide akin to the floodgates of Pristilla bursting open filled the room, cries, shrieks and hiccups reverberating throughout, her father too ashamed to show his unmanly side, hid his face atop of her tiny tummy, softly his beard tickled her skin, as she too grasped roughly at his hair.

The family of three shared a moment of pure bless, though it ended with puffy eyes and sore cheeks it mattered not, and the newborn too cried, not out of fear, nor out of some instinctual need to, but out of the overwhelming feelings.

And she knew not what it was, she knew not what it was called, what that warm burning thing that had resided in her tiny heart, had been, nor what meaning it held, but she cared not, for this was love, and eternally grateful she would be, to be born, to exist, and be given the chance to experience this euphoric sentiment.

To be was the answer she settled on.

"Rejoice, people! A blue blood born! And a girl at that, too, may her beauty rival that of of the sage's lady, may her crimson eyes illuminate the streets of lugunica, and may the dragon be our guardian forever more, by the grace of our lilliputian princess, Emerada."

Parry, burst forth, keep your legs apart, step back, focus on footwork, never swing too wide, never block with your blade's edge.

A tiny crack signified the contact of their swords, a bit of ice chipped off hers, while his stood untouched and pristine, but it was expected, even as she almost perfectly deflected his attack with the broadside of her blade, at an incredibly sharp angle, as instructed, her weapon lacked in structural integrity, a weapon made of ice could not compare to that of metal, at least not at her amateur level.

Right as she stopped his attack, she doubled down with one of her own, a thrust of her own sword, aimed at his midsection and their closeness leaving little to no distance for him to move his own sword.

But surprisingly enough, he improvised, swiftly he side stepped her stab, and with two hands, he made use of the dullness of his training sword and grasped it tightly to forcefully parry and push her own in a rotational motion to her left and above her shoulder, leaving her head undefended.

Panicked and caught off guard, she fought off his shove, bringing her blade down, overpowering his, only for him to step back and her swing to develop fully into a downwards slash missing him, with her blade down, he didn't miss a second in delivering a lethal blow by swinging his sword above his shoulders then down to her pretty face.

Noting her terrible blunder, she struggled to lift her blade up to defend herself while she managed to bring her sword between herself and the arc of his blade, it was in such a crude angle that his blade had little to no resistance and hacking through it and breaking it in half and to keep moving to her visage.

Her eyes closed at that, but thankfully, the blade stopped right before touching her nose, though dull it might be, it does not change the fact that a slab of metal struck at one's face was not a pleasant thing to experience.

"Round four." He called out to her.

His blade back at his side, holding it with one hand and the sheath behind his back with another, slowly he pushed it in till the hilt clicked into its resting place.

She dropped the half blade in her hands, to the ground it went, and in a few seconds, the mana started to fade away, and the ice melted into a puddle.

With eyes closed and her right hand outstretched and opened, she worked on materializing another weapon. Though she has gotten better at it, it still has taken a while to carve her fancies into ice.

In her mind, a whip took shape, something a little less common in the battlefield but still could be lethal with enough force.

But she knew she could not quite make that yet, her ice could not form itself into a rope-like shape, it had to be soft to do that, and though possible it might be, if her hardened crystallized blades could not hold a candle to the most common of swords, then what of a soft snow shaped spine of a whip? No, it just could not work.

But then, a thought crossed her mind, chaines, surely that could work, small pieces of structurally sound ice crystals shaped into place, though it wouldn't compare to a real chain, it would suffice, why sacrifice rigidity for flexibility when one could have both.

In her hand, the weapon started coming into existence, a light blue handle just a little longer then what her hand held into, adorned with a simple circular hilt, though useless for a ranged weapon she thought why not, finally chains came together, woven from ice each one inside another till it was almost three times the lengths of her arm.

She was proud of how it came out, though crude in some parts, some of chains were bigger, and some smaller, but it wasn't too big of a problem, but now she felt like something was missing, didn't it feel a little too light?

She thought of a way to fix it, maybe attaching a tiny spike at the end or a blade, since it was already a little different then a whip, why not get more creative, but then again she was just a novice in using it, perhaps she might risk harm to herself a lot more with that added, so she just went with an infinitely condensed ball of crystal ice at the end of it, it was just a bit bigger than her fist so it caused no issues.

As she readied her weapon, even as her generous opponent kept his sheathed, she was taught to take any and every advantage given to her, so she waited patiently till the familiar clack of wood came, then she striked.

Almost on instinct she snapped her hand forward, the chain whipped and whisped in the air, reaching her opponent at a terrifying speed, with his right hand reaching behind his back to unsheath his sword, he had very little time to defend himself against the strike, forgoing his blade he brought his left hand forward and tilted his head to the side and away from the chain.

The chain wrapped itself tightly against the man's left hand, leaving his wrist feeling ice cold, though a little proud at her strike, she almost let a sigh that she missed his face, but she had not the time as he did not stop there.

Quickly he brought his right leg forth, and with his left slightly bent, his right hand let go of the hilt of his sword and brought forward to tightly clutch at the chain, leveraging his chained left and pulling with his right hand.

She clumsily stumbled on her steps towards him, only letting go of her whip when she regained her footing, but it was too late.

As he pulled her closer, he worked himself into her side then her back, making the chain wrap around her neck and taking hold of the other end with his right, swiftly he twisted himself, his back against hers, the chain crossed on the back of her neck and quickly tightening but with a little slack left, she fit her hand in, barely leaving her room to breath.

As her hand barely grasped at the chain, it tightened even further. Then, before she even knew it, her legs were off of the ground. He bent his body, making her go onto his back and then quickly flipped her over his shoulders and onto the ground with a prominent thud.

Being in the air left knots in her stomach, but thankfully, the ground came closer than she thought, though a little painful. It was a comfort to have their training mark its end.

She stayed put on the ground, staring into nothingness and lamenting on her progress only to hear a small sound of something dropping on the dirt next to her.

Subaru stood over her, taking off the belt tailored to house his sheath and leaving it tumble down lazily on the ground, then working on his left wrist to untangle the chains trapping it.

They've been going at it for days now, and although she has gotten better and better with each passing day, it still disheartened her to lose a fight so quickly so ruthlessly, so one-sidedly.

He stepped closer to her and knelt down, with a hand offered to her, and a gentle but awkward smile, it was evident that her feelings of inadequacy lay in plainview for him to see, slightly ashamed of it, she turned to her side ignoring his sympathies.

A sigh came, she quivered at it, feeling smaller than ever.

"Emilia, you're getting better at it, what did we say about moping about and feeling sorry for one's self."

She knew, she understood it, it couldn't possibly happen overnight, but still it didn't change how she felt.

"I know, it just feels like my piffling efforts have amounted to nothing, nothing at all." Quietly, she responded her face downcast.

His eyebrows arched at her sudden bout of melancholy.

"Piffling? Who even says that anymore, and it's not like it was a fair match at all, if it involved magic, I would've been done for in a few seconds, don't feel disheartened." His jovial response came with a comedic jab at her unusual verbiage, but otherwise just reassuring her worried self.

And all of it sounded so sweet, so nice, but she could not take it as anything but a veil pulled upon her, though not maliciously she understood, but still it annoyed her, that if she were to use magic she would be a match to his skills? As if, his first cloud of yin magic, or just shamac, has proved to be beyond debilitating in a fight.

She remembers so clearly how he was accidentally pushed to use it during one of their mock battles, profusely he apologized later on, and she honestly has not even felt the need for it, but she forgave nonetheless, lest he be drowned with guilt, but that was not the focus, it was how she felt during it, blind, deaf and numb, she was absolutely no match for him during such a state.

But, she's being a brat isn't she? What even was the focus of all of this, to improve? Or to feel sorry for oneself? And how ungrateful of her to take words of encouragement and twist them into something so shallow and hateful, shame on her, if puck ever heard of this he...

No, bad Emilia, she's doing it again, she's promised to be less harsh on herself, she's not one to break them is she? She sighed to herself, and with a smile, she took his offer and held onto his hand.

Thoroughly relieved, he replied to her with a smile of his own, pulling on her hand in hopes of bringing her up, he's once again reminded of the otherworldly elven strength, with a startled, "huh?" He falls down atop of her.

Was she being a little mischievous? Probably, did she care about it? No, not really, she pulled him to a tight hug, bringing his face to her chest and wrapping her legs around his, and her arms around his back.

Laying in their sides, entangled and entranced with one another, she gazed down at her bosom where his head rests, a small redness covered his cheeks, and his once fearsome eyes now opened in surprise, she found it utterly amusing.

"H-hey? Emilia-tan, isn't this a little too close?" Quietly and unusually mute he inquired.

Softly, she giggled to herself, "Each day, you shall grant me a wish for my perilous training regiment, you promised, didn't you?"

He quietly grumbled to himself, "Perilous, seriously who even says that anymore?"

With a pout, she responded at his teasing, "Subaru better keep his words, now I reeeeeealy want you to close your eyes."

And so he did, though obviously nervous and equally excited, but she knew not the extent of that, she just grasped at his slightly sweat stained body and relished in the stillness of this moment.

Her legs moved slightly, trapping one of his between them, she felt tremors pass through him, she ventured some more, her hands, her fingers grasping at his face, he shaked and writhed ever so slightly, desperately holding himself together in her hold.

Finally, her hand rested at his cheek, his face flushed red like a tomato and she couldn't get enough of it, she softly stroked his flesh, tracing his jaw and finally leaving her fingers atop of his lips, they twitched, his eyes almost opening, to stop her probably, she guessed so, with a low whisper she hushed him.

She loved those little moments, this meekness of his that was only meant for her, her power over him, intoxicating it felt, what did it all mean, she's yet to figure that out, perhaps that was the feeling of making a new friend? Or perhaps there was something else? Something more?

But never has she felt so safe, so content, to think that life could be so simple, that she could just lay there like a child on the dirt and ground besides him, holding him.

It wasn't long before sleep took her away.

Beatrice wasn't one for taking interest in watching choreography of any kind, more so of the violent kind, though much could be said of the master's leniency on his student, not that she didn't understand why, that wretched man had a tendency of being terribly obvious on the most asinine of things, like his apparent distaste for the clown, and his carefree attitude on how he knew both the mage and puck.

And it's not as if his leniency amounted to anything anyway, the battle was nothing short of a one-sided slaughter, that even the blank faced oni besides her had to wince at time from the harsh hits delivered to the little elf.

And as it all came down to an end with a reverberating clack of the two wooden clappers held by the Pinkett, the tired pair settled down on the ground pathetically, and both Beatrice and her new maid companion saw no need to stay and watch any further, they both sought a cup of much needed tea back in the mansion.

Forgetting the two beasts in heat embracing each other shamelessly would take something stronger than just tea.

As shameful as it might be, Beatrice can't help but treasure moments like this sitting down sipping on tea alongside the snake tongued maid whom she has grown close to.

And as she looks at the Pinkett and she knows of the many things in her mind as her brows furrowed, the matters with her sister, the mysteries of the raven haired man, and the inconsistencies throughout, and some part of her wishes to help her sort it out too, even she is drowned with questions.

But she shall help not, and for once she was fine not knowing all, she'll humor his obsession with his secrets, that was honestly all fine by her, as strangely as that seems, she was at peace.

Like kindred spirits they both relished in the silence and quietness that followed the harrowing storm known as Natsuki Subaru, for a maidens heart could not bare many encounters with such a man.

Even as she was seated looking over an empty book, she can't help but feel a smile creep up her tiny mouth, her heart no longer cast into a pit of despair, no, she felt quite...empty?

But not the bad kind, not numb, nor emotionless, not a husk or a thing to be used, no, she was content for once? She was glad to be alive, and almost a little excited for what the future held for her.

Damn that man and his way of words, one cannot just light a flame inside her heart again and act like it was nothing worthy of praise.

Truly a good for nothing, hmph!

"Beatrice-sama! Nee-sama! A d-dragon...A dragon is coming!"

Chapter Text

Luther was a simple man.

In his late twenties, unwed and orphaned, he didn’t ask for much from life, no lofty ambitions or grand desires. His world was the field—the fields he tended every day, bequeathed by the village chief himself. They were humble plots of land, modest and plain, yet suited Luther just fine. 

Why the chief chose to give him such a gift was a mystery he never bothered to solve. Gratitude filled him enough to keep curiosity at bay.

No family name followed his, only "Luther." It was a given—orphans weren’t afforded surnames. He might have taken the name of the woman who first took him in, a kindly old nun called Mrs. Agatha, but she’d already given him plenty: a roof, a name, a start. her last name felt like too much to take. So "Luther" alone was more than enough.

People pitied Luther whenever they learned about his life, but he found that strange. He didn’t see himself as someone to pity. He ate, he worked, he slept—simple things that satisfied him. 

The only thing he would count as a struggle was when the chief’s wife would invite him for dinner sometimes, her fawning, the way she treated him like a lost son, made him uncomfortable, he was not her son, nor did he wish to accommodate her fancies.

Still, it was a small burden to bear. She was kind, and the village had given him more than he felt he deserved: a cabin to sleep in, enough land to work on, and food on his plate.

He didn’t remember the last time he felt pain or sorrow. But he couldn’t recall a time of great joy either. Maybe that was what adulthood was: a soft, gray line between happiness and sadness; or maybe he just forgot those moments.

Once, long ago, his neighbors had found him sleepwalking near a cliff’s edge. Another time, he tried to lift a boiling pot without a rag. That one hurt. 

Luther was definitely a forgetful person.

And Luther thinks to himself: he's lived a full life, or close enough. There aren’t many things he would go back and change, not really. 

Even if he could turn back the clock, he doubts he’d do much differently. Maybe he’s exaggerating. A few childhood embarrassments could go—those moments that make his cheeks burn when they come to mind—but that’s about it. Nothing grand or serious. 

Besides, he figures every one has those cringe-filled memories that are more laughable with time. Even now, some of them still bring a reluctant chuckle. He tells himself he wouldn’t change a thing, even if that sounds a little corny.

Yet here he is, feeling indecisive—a rare thing for him. Changing the past… was that something worth thinking about? Then again, did he even know himself as well as he thought? 

Campbell, his friend since they were just boys, had always insisted that Luther would love shroom soup. Luther had scoffed, turned up his nose, all but swore he’d never touch the stuff. But one spoonful had been enough to change his mind, the taste earthy and strangely comforting. 

Campbell knew him better than he knew himself, maybe. It made Luther wonder: how much of himself was just guesswork, things he assumed without ever testing?

And, by Od, he misses Campbell. Misses him fiercely, more than you’d ever guess for a man as quiet and reserved as Luther. But for Campbell—his friend through thick and thin, the only one who’d stuck by him since they were children—he could forgive the oddities of his own heart. 

After all, he’d sacrifice a great deal for friendship, even if he couldn’t explain why.

Luther was a simple man, through and through, and he took a quiet pride in that simplicity. He didn’t need much, never had much.

He was the kind you’d never see flustered or fretting over trifles. It would take a mountain-moving effort to rouse him, to shake him from his calm. Holding grudges, for him, was about as easy as beating the Sword Saint in a duel—practically impossible. Luther just let things go, as if he’d never learned how to hold onto anger at all.

He’s had a handful of friends over the years, though, if he’s honest, most of their names and faces blur in his mind. A few were kind, others less so—but all have slipped away in time. Campbell, though, was different. 

He was the one who stayed. 

They’d met back at the church orphanage, two scrappy boys who grew up sharing hand-me-down clothes and an endless string of mischievous ideas. 

But now, even those memories feel like they’re sinking beneath a thick fog, Campbell’s voice fading, his laugh a faint echo, even his irritating habits becoming nothing more than shadows at the edge of Luther’s mind.

Luther’s a simple man with simple fears, the kind you could call practical. 

Heights, for one—probably a leftover of some forgotten childhood scare. Drowning too; he’s spent little time around water and never learned to swim. Cats? Now, that’s harder to explain—something about their slinking, watchful ways unnerves him, those little devils.

And there are more fears, more than he cares to list or think too hard about. And sure, like most, he fears death. But that one’s always felt different, almost distant, like something on the other side of a vast hill he’d never have to climb. It’s a terror he’s never quite known how to hold, nor wanted to.

Yet it’s strange, he thinks, how rare it is for him to ponder death. There’s no denying it’s frightening, the idea of it, and maybe more than he lets on. But it’s always felt foreign to him, almost surreal, a dark thing he’s only heard about from afar, never quite real in his own hands. He feels a kind of gratefulness for that, even if he doesn’t dwell on why. 

That’s just one more blessing to count.

And here he is, Luther, lost in thought—doing all kinds of remembering, reflecting, getting strangely sentimental over things that only just passed. It’s not like him to linger like this, to sift through memories as if he’s stirring a pot. But today, it seems he can’t help it. He’s thinking of moments he rarely considers, memories softened by time and dust.

Luther’s a simple man, through and through. He knows how to care for cattle, how to tend a crop, and not much else. 

When he sets his mind to a task, it gets done—no questions, no drifting thoughts. Work has always kept him anchored, each day an unchanging rhythm of familiar chores. Ordinary life has never burdened him with troubles too heavy to bear.

And yet… he can’t shake the feeling that something’s wrong. It’s not as if there’s a thick, creeping dread gnawing at him, nothing he’d admit to, at least. But the air does feel different, drier, hotter. There’s a strange ringing in his ear, faint but persistent, jumbling his thoughts. His toes have this odd, prickling sensation, like a tickle he can’t reach. And his midsection—it’s warm, an uncomfortable heat simmering beneath his skin, searing him from the inside out.

But surely, it’s nothing.

He hears voices now, faint but full of something raw and aching. They sound pitiful, each one laced with a sorrow so deep it almost stirs pity in him, kindling a strange fire in his chest. They’re pleading, caught in some silent torment that cuts through him. He wants to say something, anything to comfort them, but his mouth feels like sandpaper, parched and cracked. No words come.

His eyes feel heavy, and when he tries to open them, there’s only darkness. No shapes, no shadows—just an empty void pressing back at him. He lets them close again, surrendering to the dark. There’s a dampness on his face, a coolness tracing his cheeks, but he pushes the thought aside, letting it fade like the voices themselves, as if it, too, might vanish if he just waits long enough.

Luther is a simple man, always has been—never given much thought to romance or finding someone special. It’s not that he’s against it, no grand reasons to deny it. It’s simply that the idea has never felt necessary, not for him. He’s always been content with his life, as quiet and simple as it is.

So, when he feels his head gently rest on a pair of thighs, it’s jarring. Almost embarrassing. His thoughts twist in a moment of confusion, but the warmth beneath him is oddly comforting. Even with the chaos—the distant wailing, the roar of something far too fierce to comprehend—the closeness offers a strange sense of peace.

The ringing never fades, a constant high-pitched hum that weaves its way into his mind, but he’s learning to ignore it, letting it buzz in the background. The sound of his own blood flowing through his vains thunders in the back of his ears, drowning everything else in a muffled static, turning the world around him into a fog of unintelligible noise. Each sound feels distant, like it’s being filtered through layers of cotton.

He tries to move, to shift his head, but his body refuses him. He’s too sore, too heavy with exhaustion. Every muscle aches in ways he can’t understand, and he can’t summon the energy to open his eyes. They feel glued shut, heavy with some unbearable weight. His body feels like it belongs to someone else, and he’s too tired to fight it.

Something feels wrong. 

The thought flickers into his mind, a sharp, unsettling realization—but he pushes it aside, too tired to give it weight. Perhaps he’s just exhausted. It’s so easy to dismiss the feeling, so easy to focus on the silence that follows. The ringing in his ears has stopped, and now, in the vast emptiness of his mind, there’s only an eerie stillness. A heavy, almost suffocating silence that wraps around him like a shroud. Even the warmth that once curled in his midsection has drained away, leaving behind an icy chill that seeps into his bones.

It’s strange. Something’s off, no doubt about it. But what? He can’t place it. His thoughts feel so empty, hollow. He’s certain he’s missing something—something important—but it slips through his fingers, a squirming thing, impossible to grasp. He tries to move, to twitch his fingers, but his hand is met with another. Fingers—someone else’s fingers—clasping tightly around his. Holding him firm, unwilling to let go.

The sensation is too intimate, too invasive. 

Luther wasn’t the kind of man who welcomed touch, not like this. His chest tightens in discomfort, and his mind spins. 

Luther… who was Luther? What was he thinking about? Why does he feel so sleepy, so unbearably tired? Should he be scared? The thought flits across his mind, but it doesn’t stick. What does it even mean to be scared? What is fear?

And suddenly, everything becomes a blur—questions piling upon questions, each one tumbling faster than he can follow. What’s happening? he thinks, a frantic edge to his thoughts. What’s happening? His heart hammers in his chest, but there’s no answer. Only a spiral of confusion that grows faster, tighter, until his mind can't hold on any longer. What’s hap—

Then—Luther dies.

Clouds loomed overhead, heavy and swollen, like a bruise stretched across the sky, suffocating the air beneath. 

The once gentle summer breeze, that soft caress of warmth, had twisted into angry gusts, pushing damp, oppressive heat down onto the village. Sweat slicked every brow, clinging to skin like a second layer, and each breath felt like inhaling thick, stifling fog.

Then came the fire.

It appeared from nowhere, a monstrous, wild thing. No one saw it coming, but once it was there, it was all-consuming. The flames circled the village like a python tightening its grip around its prey. It snaked through the air, its serpentine form of blazing orange and yellow narrowing until it pressed in on all sides. Each lick of fire crackled with hunger, inching closer, closer—until the houses, the fields, everything within reach of its searing tendrils, would be swallowed whole.

A shadow fell over them then, large and unnatural, blotting out what little sky remained visible. Its form was a twisted mockery of any natural being—its very presence oppressive, suffocating. And its eyes—those eyes were burning pools of crimson fury, filled with a wrath that knew no mercy. 

The shadow did not simply watch—it acted. With a terrible roar, it rained fire upon them, hurling jagged, glowing globes down upon the village, each one bursting on impact like the world itself was cracking open. They rained down in waves, each explosion sending tremors through the earth, the ground quaking beneath their feet as craters formed where the fiery stones struck.

And then came the liquid—thick, black, and viscous—pouring from the heavens like venom. It splattered and sizzled as it touched anything—stone, wood, flesh—each drop searing with a white-hot fury. It ate through everything, turning the earth itself into a furnace. The flames had a cruel, relentless nature—searing the crops, the homes, the people. Fields once green and ripe with life now lay charred and blackened, turned to ash as if they’d never existed.

Children screamed in terror, their cries desperate as their mothers reached to shield them from the inferno. The air was thick with the smell of burning flesh—hot, acrid, nauseating. The stench of death curled in the smoke, an unmistakable, vile scent that mingled with the crackling of flames and the deafening roar of destruction. Flesh melted from bone, bones splintered and snapped, their shattered remnants lost in the swirling chaos of fire. The village, once vibrant with life, became nothing more than a nightmare made flesh—overcooked meat, broken bodies, and a stew of lost hopes.

The flames rose higher, consuming the sky, turning the ring of fire into a suffocating dome. The air thinned, heavy with heat and smoke, until it became impossible to breathe, and the heat grew so intense that even the earth seemed to melt beneath their feet. The very oxygen was being devoured by the flames, and with every passing second, it became more impossible to escape.

Smoke choked their lungs, fire seared their skin. There was no sanctuary. No escape. The village of Arlam, once full of life, was swallowed whole by the roaring inferno.

The air was thick with the acrid scent of char and decay, a clinging mist that invaded every breath. Flesh, scorched and blackened, hung in grotesque remnants, clinging to bone, something akin to the feasts of kings and lords. Fat dripped in molten rivulets, sizzling against the embers below, it was butter on a searing pan, hissing its last protest into the void.

It was a buffet of gore, a wretched communion where no one was denied their seat. The stew bubbled with a macabre medley of broken bones—splintered, crushed, tenderized into submission. fragments swirled like the remains of some forgotten harvest, adding their marrow to the brew. Burned scraps substituted for spices, peppered ash mingling with the remains, indistinguishable in the end.

Dust to dust, ash to ash, nothing ever truly lasts.

There is a story i so dearly hold and adore, one I keep so close to my heart.

The Monster and the Boy. A title as stark and unembellished as the land it hailed from—Vollachia, a realm where tales were often cruel and edged with darkness. 

Vollachian stories didn’t shy away from despair or cruelty; they reveled in it, wearing bleakness like a badge of honor. But this one was different. This one clung to my memory like a half-forgotten dream, a spark of light amidst the shadows.

Perhaps that was why I liked it. Its simplicity. Its defiance of Vollachian tradition. 

And perhaps that was why you hated it. 

You’d scowl as I recounted it, arms crossed, cheeks puffed out like a sulking child. Yet, as much as you scorned it, there was always a flicker of something in your eyes—something soft and unguarded.

“It shouldn’t end like this,” you’d mutter, lips pursed as if bracing against the unfairness of it all. I remember how your voice trembled, caught between indignation and restlessness. 

I used to laugh then, a quiet chuckle meant more for me than for you. That pout of yours was a rare sight, a fleeting glimpse of someone who cared far more deeply than they let on.

It is a bittersweet memory, a fragment of warmth in a land as unforgiving as its legends. 

Maybe that's why it lingers, even when so much else has faded. It shouldn't have ended like this, you used to say. Perhaps you were right.

He felt it most when the sun burned in its highest.

He didn’t think of himself as the kind of being who could succumb to such petty emotions, the kind of creature capable of yearning. And yet, here it was—a gnawing emptiness that defied reason.

Perhaps he’d traveled too far from those frantic, lonely days when all he knew was his search for her.

Those endless days of restless wandering, tracing acres of land without purpose or destination, clinging only to the fragile hope that some faint spark might ignite his hollow existence. He remembered the way it had consumed him then: the desperation, the alien ache of not knowing who he was or what he was meant to be. 

A creature without an anchor, blind to its own nature, yet destined to drift forever across the face of the earth.

Pitiful. That’s what it had been, he thought bitterly. 

He’d been pitiful. And he had sworn, with every fiber of his being, never to be that again. He had found her. Her. The one who made the silence bearable, who gave him reason to live and fight and endure. The one who filled his world with light where there had once been only gray.

He wasn’t ready to let her go. Not yet. Not ever, if he had any say in it.

But today, the silence felt different. 

It wasn’t the hollow stillness of his past, but it had its own weight—a subtle, insidious thing that pressed against him from all sides. 

She was gone for the day, and the certainty of that absence settled over him like an ill-fitting shroud. 

He told himself she was merely training—his daughter, Too old now to be tucked safely away from every possible source of hurt, too independent to need his counsel at every turn. she wasn't a child anymore, that was hard to get used to.

The moment your daughter turns into a woman, something every father dreads, and he even more so.

And then there was that boy—He didn’t even want to think about him. The thought twisted in his chest, dark and unwelcome, so he forced it down, clinging to a fragile hope that he’d hear the familiar echo of her footsteps returning soon.

Even Beatrice, his loyal, mischievous sister, wasn’t here to distract him. Not a flutter of her golden curly hair, nor the sharp tug of her puny little hands on his hair. 

The empty hallways of the manor stretched endlessly before him, their cold stone walls bereft of the usual murmurs of life. Where had everyone gone? His thoughts spiraled as he wandered aimlessly, floating much like a ghost in his own home.

But no matter how far he roamed, the truth was unshakable. He was alone today. The realization crept up on him again and again, circling him waiting for its moment. It gnawed at his resolve, relentless and quiet, like a wolf pacing the edges of a firelight—hungry, patient, inevitable.

Again—he was alone.

Forever—he would be.

The trio tore down the dim corridor like wind.

Like fleeting shadows, their figures blurred by the urgency that propelled them forward. Haste blazed across their furrowed brows, an unspoken alarm in their darting eyes. 

Worry clung to their faces, not like fleeting emotion, but like chiseled lines on the statues of ancient sages—men forever lost in grim deliberations. They held no such wisdom; their truths were buried in the ink of forgotten tomes, relics of a world too far behind to help them now.

Each stride slapped against the cold stone floor, reverberating like the cadence of distant war drums.

The rhythmic clatter of their hurried steps could have been mistaken for an army's march, a gathering storm of soldiers charging toward an inevitable clash. They moved with the same fervor, the same grim resignation—prepared, perhaps, to trade their lives for unseen foes or wreak destruction in defense of those they loved. 

In that desperate rhythm, they found kinship with them.

Her pale hands, trembling and ghostly in the fading light, clutched at the fabric of her dress as though it were the only thing anchoring her to the world. 

Small and delicate, her fingers twisted the worn cloth, her knuckles stark against the fabric’s vibrant folds. She stumbled in their wake, a frail silhouette trying to match the relentless pace of the twins ahead. Silent, determined, they pressed on, their shared dread a weight that bent her slight frame further with each faltering step.

She couldn’t wrap her mind around it, still. A dragon? A dragon. Surely, someone had to be mistaken. Someone had to have erred somehow along the way, an exaggeration spun from fear and chaos. 

What could an ancient creature want from a place like Arlam? A lonesome village with nothing of value, tucked away in the forgotten edges of Lugunica. Were there even dragons left in the world? The very thought seemed absurd, surely someone would have took notice of it sooner.

The thoughts churned in her mind, a relentless rhythm, like the drip of water from a leaky faucet, keeping her from fully succumbing to the panic that tore at her body.

It swallowed her whole, twisting her limbs in strange ways, leaving little betraying tremors escape her, it wrung her dry, like an old worn rag, her will leaked from her in small tiny droplets, no more fuel left to goad her arms and legs into harsh indifferent stillness.

There was an odd humming as they left the mansion.

The sounds only seemed to grow sharper with each step, piercing through the thick veil of the forest as they approached the village. Screams tore through the air, raw and frantic, mingling with guttural cries of despair. 

Above it all, a deafening roar echoed, shaking the ground like a drumbeat of chaos. A monstrous creature soared overhead, its shadow sprawling over the village like a smothering shroud. Its massive wings churned the air, the dark mahogany of its scales glinting ominously in the flickering firelight.

The scene was a masterpiece of horror—agony painted with delicate little fingers. The golden rays of burning flames licking at dismembered broken pieces of what was once a home, red smears painting the dirt and grass beneath feet, jagged black scars of smoke clawing at the heavens, the grotesque silhouette of the beast cutting through it—all of it formed a tableau so visceral that no artist's brush could ever hope to capture its dread. Inferno, they would call it. But no name, no stroke of genius, could ever match the raw, unrelenting nightmare unfolding before their eyes.

The play ends only when the pianist relents—and her ears can't stand the silence, so forever she laments.

The cold was unbearable, wholly unparalleled in the spacious ballroom I stood, It was a vast and opulent cavern of crystal chandeliers and polished marble, where sounds stretched longer than waterfalls, shaping themselves into pleasant earings to hang your worries on, all forms of music played, yet the eyes only seemed to pay their utmost attention to me.

I stood there, draped in a scarlet linen dress that clung to me like a second skin, adorned with intricate engravings that whispered of delicate artistry. Tiny embroidered birds danced across my bodice, their wings frozen mid-flight, as if they, too, were trapped in this moment. The neckline plunged deeper than I would have liked, exposing a sliver of vulnerability that I could not disguise. My fingers fluttered around the fabric as onlookers drank their thirst away with my image.

The attention was palpable, the lecherous glances, bold and shameless, filled with nothing but thoughts of unwarranted advances, only ungodly intentions, driven by an unabashed consensus, of higher regard for one's self, merely a glass house filled with bitter pretenses.

My hand tightened around the stem of my wine glass, the rich crimson liquid within reflecting the golden glow of the chandeliers. The bartender filled it without so much as a glance, his disinterest a stark contrast to the fervent attentions of the rest. Perhaps I was nothing more to him than another spoiled aristocrat pretending at adulthood, playing her part in a grand, meaningless theater, at times I wasn't so sure if that was entirely false.

I let out a slow breath and slid onto the barstool, The cold bit at my exposed shoulders, but it wasn’t enough to numb the unease tightening in my chest. I sipped the wine, its warmth spreading through me, a fleeting comfort in a sea of discomfort. And still, the eyes remained, relentless in their scrutiny, drinking me in as if I were the finest vintage in the room.

Near me, a small gathering of boys huddled like birds of prey, their laughter sharp and their whispers sharper still, nobles plucked from every corner of Lugunica, draped in silks and adorned with titles heavier than their sense.

Their eyes flicked toward me, predatory and insistent, brimming with the same hungry curiosity I’d grown used to enduring. But one among them—bolder, or perhaps stupider than the rest—decided to test his luck. A sly wink cut through the space between us, his smirk hanging awkwardly between confidence and arrogance. The effort was transparent, poorly executed, and wholly unremarkable. To me, it made no difference.

My face stiffened, my features settling into a mask of disdain. The unamused expression carved into my face was deliberate, cold, and final. But it didn’t stop there. The edges sharpened, my lips curling into something more vicious than I had intended—a silent snarl that spoke louder than words. It was a blade, slicing through their fragile bravado.

Much like startled birds, they broke apart in a flurry of motion, their carefully curated airs crumbling into flight. They scattered, seeking easier prey, something softer, something less dangerous. I watched them go without a second thought, their departure leaving only a fading echo of their false laughter in the cavernous ballroom.

Let it be known—Capella Emerada Lugunica is not so easily swayed by pretty boys in handsome suits.

Then he looked at me.

Oh—maybe that wasn't so true.

His gaze was a weapon, piercing and precise, his eyes a shade of blue so clear they felt unreal, like fragments of the sky trapped beneath his long lashes. The world seemed to pause as he moved, his feet already turning, carrying him toward me with a purpose that struck like thunder. Each stride was long and deliberate, his steps confident but quick, as though he feared I might vanish if he hesitated even for a bit.

His frame was arresting—broad shoulders balanced by a slender build, his movements effortlessly fluid yet undeniably commanding. The golden strands of his hair caught the light, swaying with the rhythm of his approach. Boyish and untamed, the locks framed a face marked by seriousness, a tension that only heightened his appeal. The contrast between his playful dishevelment and the intensity of his expression was undoubtedly accidental, but magnetic nonetheless.

It was candy for the eyes, a feast of elegance, wrapped in a package too enticing to ignore. I tried to compose myself, but found my breath caught in my throat, my pulse quickening against my will. Sometimes I wonder how he knew not of the feelings he wills to stir in me.

Keiran Desdemona—his name was as unassuming as his status. A lowly noble of the Lugunica kingdom, with neither wealth to bolster his reputation nor land to lend him respect. He had no sprawling estates, no lineage to flaunt, no titles whispered with reverence in gilded halls. And yet, He was a dear friend, the truest I ever had.

Sometimes I wish it had stayed that way.

The wind lashed with savage precision, carving through the tepid air, razor-sharp incisions, dragging with it eerie whispers that caressed the ears—soft, spectral murmurs that prickled the skin. It smothered the world in haunting silence before giving way to chaos. 

Flames erupted, fierce and unrelenting, licking hungrily at all within their reach. They crackled and roared, wild with feral energy, devouring wooden beams that once bore stories, brittle leaves that crumbled to ash, nothing left but worries, grass that burned away in fragrant puffs of sweet, forever gone, just ephemeral glories.

Amid the inferno’s wrath, shards of violet crystal, gleaming like fragmented stars, tumbled and skittered. 

They danced awkwardly through the air, aimless at first, until seized by an unseen force. Suddenly, they soared in a jagged, erratic arc toward the heavens.

There, against the furious glow of firelight, the crystals shimmered as if caught in celestial play, casting faint lavender gleams upon the ground below.

Voices rose, fraught with urgency, piercing through the oppressive cacophony. Cries mingled with the resonant twang of disaster. Streaks of amethyst light—flèchettes of unyielding resolve—shot skyward, arcing wide in a defiant spray against the night. 

They burned their way toward their target, jagged bursts piercing with unerring velocity. Where they struck, scarlet blood flowed freely, hissing against searing skin and painted the scorched earth in vivid, terrible strokes.

The colossal dragon roared in agony, its cry echoing across the burning land. Its scales quaked as it shuddered, purple shards embedding themselves like needles of despair. With a guttural snarl, the beast inhaled, its scaled lips thinning into a menacing grimace before unleashing—

A breath of infernal fire and volatile gas erupted from its maw, a fiery whip crackling with terrible force. It surged forward, an unstoppable tide of heat and light, bending the air and shattering all in its path. 

An icy barricades was hastily conjured to repel it, it hissed and groaned, melting in seconds beneath the monstrous assault.

Below the searing breath, Rem stood resolute, her expression carved from stone. Her trembling hands clasped her weapon tightly as she worked tirelessly to guide the frightened masses to safety. 

Behind her, Beatrice focused her unwavering energy on the dragon’s head. Each precise burst of magic disoriented the creature, forcing its massive body into convulsions. 

Amid the chaos, Ram darted deftly between the shadows of destruction, her wind blades slicing through roaring flames to clear paths through the wreckage.

Together, they fought against the tide of devastation, their movements a harmonious dance of defiance and desperation, as the blazing beast loomed over them like death incarnate.

The battlefield roared with elemental fury, a tempest of clashing forces converging on one monstrous opponent. the beast, Its eyes burned with hatred, glowing orbs of molten amber. Its hide, thick as steel, absorbed most attacks with infuriating ease, though the shards left fractures, thin rents in its armor.

The darkness hissed and cracked against its bulk, but even the combined assault was barely enough to keep the creature disoriented.

Every second felt eternal, yet it was not time wasted. Behind the frenzied clash, frightened families fled into the manor, their desperate escape made possible only by the warriors' relentless stand. 

Beatrice, standing her ground amidst it all, poured her magic into creating endless Minya shards, all meant to spare. Each was a fragile lifeline, breaking too quickly under the dragon's skin.

Ram darted forward, her hands weaving crescents of wind sharp enough to shear through flames. She moved with lethality, each motion designed to carve an opening for others to strike—or to hold the beast’s focus on her.

Rem, her shoulders trembling under the weight of the burden, her heart racing as fast as the tempo of destruction, called out to the fleeing crowd. “Run! Do not look back!” She pushed her magic to its limits, barriers forming to redirect the dragon’s attacks, sacrificing her mana for moments of survival.

They could not last long. They knew it with every labored breath, with every desperate strike. Yet every second they delayed its wrath was a life saved. All they needed was time—a few heartbeats more—to turn retreat into salvation.

All they needed was—

"We'll take it from here."

The words sliced through the pandemonium with unnatural clarity, as though they had no place among the roars of flames and the screams of terror. Steady, unyielding, they fell like stones into a river, displacing all that dared to challenge their gravity.

He stood at the forefront—a figure unshaken, even as the burning village trembled beneath the weight of the dragon's wrath. 

His back was straight, his face a mask, not betraying an ounce of emotion.

The princess trailed just behind him, each step a quiet defiance to the chaos. The flickering light from the flames caught on her face, painting her features in haunting shadows. 

She didn't hesitate, she didn't relent, but her eyes—a fraction too wide, her hand subconsciously brushing the hilt of her frigid sword —spoke the quiet part out. 

Her breath steady, her thoughts swarming her head, like a tide hitting the beach. Fear was a phantom hanging in the back of her mind, clawing at her resolve, but she pressed forward, step by measured step.

Guilt cut deeper than any sense of preservation could.

Ahead, the scene of destruction. People scattered in frenzied disarray, arms flailing as they fled from the dragon that towered like a living mountain, a beast of smoke and molten fury. Its wings beat with the force of thunder.

They moved as one—he, unwavering, and she, quietly shoring up her courage as the firelight danced around them. 

The storm of chaos swirled, but the quiet of their approach stood in sharp contrast. The world seemed to hold its breath as they came closer, the final cries of resistance fizzling out against their cool assurance.

The dragon’s wings unfolded, each membrane stretched wide, darker than the night itself. The sheer span of them seemed to swallow the horizon, blotting out the sun’s dying light, casting a shadow so deep that even the flickering embers of the burning village faltered beneath it.

"Kahahahaha! Soo late, too late! This lovely lady has already taken all the love there is, tadaaaaa~!"