Archive of Our Own ^beta

To this day, the extent of arts and originium remain clouded in mystery and potential. Arts could conjure fire, raise the dead (or at least control their corpses), compel people to do despicable actions, or even turn a person inside out with enough fine tuning of one’s ability. But currently the Doctor, in their finite amount of wisdom, had a look of confusion that masqueraded over a much more obvious look of enjoyment especially with the shake of their shoulders.

Because in front of them, arms crossed with a cross look on his face that seemed incredibly off putting considering those who saw him could easily picture his taller older version self doing the exact same expression. However while the adult version of him would look stern or severe, on this youthful child’s face he now currently had, he looked positively adorable with how stern he tried to look.

“Uncle-”

“I’m not an Uncle!” Even his voice was a far cry from the normally deep and even tone. Now it was all pitchy and squeaky. It did little to stop Zofia’s laughter just outside the office, and Maria looked so confused as she stared at the boy who was meant to be her Uncle. Her expression of confusion was only matched by Margaret’s look of anxiety as she looked at Shining who was looking over the boy who was her Uncle carefully. The Sarkaz’ woman’s eyes were narrowed in deep concentration as there was a light glow emanating from the pommel of blade. She kept it just beyond touching the boy who did his best to not squirm. The grip he had on a sword that was much too big seemed to help calm him, but not by much.

He only let out a breath of relief upon Shining straightening back up and the glow from her pommel dissipating.

“Well?” The Doctor asked.

“It is from Sarkaz ritual, though I can tell the origin of who, Temporary it may be, I myself cannot disenchant Sir Nearl from his curse,” Shining replied eloquently. “And if your preliminary tests done by Miss Silence are correct, the memories beyond this current age have been locked aside in connection with the body’s youth. Boy, how old are you?” At this Mlynar looked up with a haughty look and proudly declared.

“Thirteen and a half!” 

“So that’s almost forty years?” The Doctor questioned. Margaret took a bit to count in her head before confirming. “Any estimation on when the spell will run its course?”

“A week? Maybe two at most. I could probably look into some old books to try and expedite this, however…” The trail off was enough for the Doctor to know it would be a longshot for Shining to find something. 

“Alright, thank you for your efforts and analysis, Shining.” The woman bowed at her employer before giving a knowing look to Margaret. “I should note, there is no guarantee that the events leading up to the echnament’s wearing off that the memories of those days will be locked away in the same way as his actual age.”

“So he might remember being his thirteen year old self again, or he might not?” Margaret asked.

“For his sake, he should hope he doesn’t remember,” Shining added before walking off. 

“Why would my future self be ashamed of remembering me?” Mlynar asked.

“You’re taking this all rather well for a twelve year old,” the Doctor mused and Mlynar looked at him crossly.

“Thirteen and a half!” He tried to wave his sword, but his arms could not pull the blade out of its scabbard, and he couldn’t even try when Margaret made sure that the sword remained sheathed.

“And why would I not? It makes sense! Mother always said there were weird arts that could do all sorts of things! To fly! To dive into an “ocean”, or even to crush mountains! Turning someone younger must have been some nefarious villain plot to defeat the future knight me!” Maria’s jaw nearly dropped at hearing her Uncle spout such flighty nonsensical words while Zofia had fully embraced her laughter as she made sure to keep the door closed before doubling over. It was only Margaret and the Doctor who kept their expression as neutral as possible at the boy’s preening.

“I hope you dashed that villain down!”

“Does he know that the curse happened in an expedition through an old Sarkaz ruin?” the Doctor questioned. Margaret only shrugged as Mlynar let out a squawk of indignation.

“I will not be ignored!” And with the volatile emotions of a thirteen year old boy, he seemed to feel something glow about him as almost everyone in the room grew increasingly shocked as they felt a build up of arts start to happen.

“Oh f-” Was the last thing someone heard before an explosion of light rocked the Doctor’s office and shattered the glass windows. The hallways shook as people around the administrative building poured in to see what the explosion was. Kal’tsit herself was at the head with Ascalon and Red in tow as they fanned away the dust that had been kicked up. Behind her, a collective of other Rhodes Island personnel followed.

A part of Kal’tsit felt like she should have expected it would come from the Doctor’s office of all places. She only sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose as she saw the Doctor knocked out and splayed over their desk whereas Margaret had fallen against a wall, Zofia lay flat on her back, and Margaret had been the only one remaining conscious but breathing heavily with several cuts on her face. Below her was a wide eyed and scared Mlynar who was holding back tears as he held onto an arm that had a glass shard embedded. Relatively harmless, but Kal’tsit could already guess what happened.

“Page whoever the current on duty medic is, we have five patients coming in for a check up.”

-TaT-

Gavial was doing her best to keep the confused expression of her face as she made to dab the disinfect into the wound on the arm of the man she normally saw shrug off impalements and broken bones. This childlike Mlynar was doing his best not to cry, but flinched every time he felt the dab of disinfect touch the cut in his arm. The only reason he hadn’t run away was because he was holding onto the hand of Margaret, who he asked to sit with him.

“Alright brat, that’s all of it taken care of! You can quit crying now,” Gavial said as she finished wrapping up the arm in a bandage. The boy blinked back the shining in his eyes as he looked up with indignation.

“I wasn’t crying,” he retorted. Gavial let out a sharp bark of laughter as she ruffled the kid’s head.

“Sure you didn’t squirt,” she tossed over her shoulder as she packed up the supplies before turning to Margaret. “Right, the kid's arms are alright, just make sure he doesn’t strain it for like the next few days. He doesn’t even need stitches.”

“Got it,” Margaret responded before Gavial went up and left, leaving her to look at her boyish Uncle who seemed to mope. He had a crestfallen expression ever since he had woken up under Margaret’s cloak after destroying the Doctor’s office. Zofia and Maria had stayed to help clean up while Margaret got checked over for her injuries as well as getting Mlynar treated.

“I did a bad thing…” The boy lamented with a quiver in his lip. He hadn’t even held onto his sword, instead it rested on Margaret’s hip. “I…” There was even a quiver in his much too high voice.

Margaret, for all her experience, had no idea how to confront this situation. She could comfort children, she did so a lot in her travels with the Followers and then once more when she returned to Kazimeriz to act as Rhodes Island liaison and  representative as she visited different Infected households. But this wasn’t any child, this was her Uncle and it was still difficult to see this downtrodden wet behind the ears Kuranta with that always scowling stoic broad backed man she had always remembered her Uncle being.

Her Uncle didn’t cry. Her Uncle didn’t mope. And her Uncle certainly didn’t normally talk like some new knight prodigy thinking he would save Kazimierz with a swing of his sword.

The… Irony was not lost on Margaret as she led a sad Mlynar out of the office. Then she heard a stomach growl and knew it wasn’t from her. So she did the one thing she knew she could.

“Why don’t we get some lunch first, okay?” The boy looked up with gold eyes that seemed far too innocent for her mental picture to be fully comfortable with.

“Okay…” They walked quietly for a bit before Margaret spoke again.

“It wasn’t your fault,” she said. “You had an accident because your arts training regressed, but it seems your arts output stayed the same as when you were old-...er.” Mlynar didn’t meet her eyes.

“But Father always said I should control myself. A lack of control creates problems…” He replied. Margaret thought back to her grandfather. Kirill Nearl had a lot of maxims he liked to preach, especially when it came to training. He always said to master the body was paramount to being a knight, however when he gave her training he was more… open to letting the girl’s passions move through her. It sounded different than how her Uncle had been raised, but she didn’t speak of it. His actual self most likely knew the differences, he had been there after all, making pointed comments to the man shackled to a wheelchair as she swung her wooden practice weapons at him.

When they reached the mess hall, Margaret counted her blessings that the cantina wasn’t as crowded as before. Though he might not be showing it, the boy had been a bundle of nerves upon seeing all the people when he was first brought though Rhodes Island.

Currently she knew that Zofia and Maria were there, which gave somewhat of a sense of familiarity for him, however her eyes noted the few other people who seemed to be near the table. 

“So wait, it was like a Sarkaz curse?” Feist asked, eyes narrowed in confusion. “That’s terrible! If it aged me back forty years, I’d cease to exist.”

“Tch, are you sure the curse isn’t repeatable?” Rochele questioned as Feist let out an indignant noise. Elysium was leaning on the table with a half eaten sandwich in his hand, crumbs falling onto Czerny much to his displeasure.

“I want to see a young Mlynar. I can’t imagine that guy as a kid. It just seems so… Foreign.”

“We were all kids once,” Czerny replied, whipping the crumbs off.

“No, I’m pretty sure he came right out in a suit and a scowl.” The joke fell flat to the rest, especially when everyone’s eyes but he looked to see the target standing, half hiding behind Margaret.

“Oh my gosh, he’s so cute!” Deszcz gushed as she looked with wide eyes at the little blond Kuranta desperately trying to hide. “I never knew Mlynar could make an expression like that!”

“Where the hell did his height go?” Leontuzzo questioned as he stared bug eyed at the boy. “When did he shoot up to his tree height?”

“So it really is just your fault you're so short, eh!” Chiave laughed.

“You fu-”

“Language!” That had been Lavinia who had said that, her hand quickly grabbing his ear and pulling it. The woman gave her younger brother a cross look as she pulled his higher appendage. “You would swear in front of a child?”

“Ow ow ow! Okay! Okay!” Leontuzzo pleaded before Lavinia let go and he rubbed his upper ear. “What gives, it's not like it REALLY matters. He’s gonna turn back, right?” No one answered him, since everything that had been found out had only been theoretical, and that the boy in question still hid behind Margaret with eyes filled with trepidation.

“Mlynar,” Margaret found herself emulating the tone her Uncle used. Maria and Zofia gave her a shocked look, but the stiffening in Mlynar’s back was apparent. “Please introduce yourself, and don’t hide behind me.”

This is so weird…. She thought as she gently tried to push Mlynar in front of her. The boy looked up at her in a panic, but there was a placating look to her eyes before he carefully faced forward.

“M-My name is Mlynar Nearl, second son to Kirill the Hero and Lady Marika,” the boy started formally as he did his best bow. “Thank you for accommodating my older self.”

“He certainly takes a level of seriousness like the older one,” Elysium mused before being cuffed over the head by Czerny as Mlynar sat down for lunch. “Hey, rude!”

“Hello Little Mlynar!” Feist waved as Maria gave her Uncle his lunch, a sandwich and a juicebox which he stared at the second in abject confusion.. “I’m Feist, I’m your mechanic.” Something cracked on Maria’s happy smile before she turned towards Feist.

“No you’re not!” she hissed. “I’m his mechanic!”

“What do you mean no? I built Fealty!”

“I built the second one!”

“It was a group project, but it used my design!”

“Oh dear heavens,” Zofia sighed as she massaged her temples. “This argument again…”

“She’s… My niece?” Mlynar asked, eyes confused as he saw Maria squabble with Feist. Then his face scrunched up as he felt the unexpected sour lemon juice hit his tongue. “Your younger sister?”

“She’s normally more put together. But there’s now argument over who built your Hussar,” Margaret responded. A light lit up in Mlynar’s eyes.

“I have a Hussar!” There was an innocent voice of glee in his voice, one which everyone paused to see as the boy’s tail was positively flicking in delight. “Can I see it after lunch!”

“...Sure,” Margaret said, then her eyes narrowed as she looked at his lunch plate and the way he was eating. “Are you avoiding the carrots on your plate?”

“...”

“If you don’t eat your carrots, you’re not allowed to see your hussar.” 

“...Seriously what happened to him in that time???”

-TaT-

The Doctor found themselves positively delighted at this turn of events. For one thing, the fact that such a phenomena could occur was something monumentally hilarious. The fact that it chose to affect Mlynar was a happy coincidence. And now the Doctor had a treasure trove of fresh wide eyed pictures of the little golden haired boy looking at all the things in Rhodes Island with a look of wonder.

From an attempt at him trying to sit upon his own Hussar (which at this point was much larger than he was) to him trying to swing the sword that his normal self could use. (slightly too heavy and much too long for him at that size)

There were minor things as well. For one thing, he was abruptly attached to Margaret, mostly because Zofia couldn’t stop teasing him and Maria kept gushing over how cute he was. Margaret, for all her awkwardness at seeing her Uncle in this form, kept a level head as she let him tag along with her. At night he was put under observation. Mostly in case there were any abnormalities or he reverted at night. Some of his stuff had been moved out of the shared residence he originally had with Lavinia, the Lupo helping Margaret pack some things that could fit the man turned boy. Margaret didn’t question how or why Lavinia knew where some of her Uncle’s personal belongings was, more instead of making sure Mlynar didn’t make a mess of his previous room. She needed to leave as well, so this was their only time they would have access to the shared domicile before she went out in the city on business. Regardless, he spent much of those first few days in the medical bay for tests, which led into an interesting conversation as Sussurro had been initially in charge of observing Mlynar.

“Why is she watching over me? A kid doesn’t need a kid doctor!”

“Wah-I’m not a child!”

“Then why are you so short?”

That had been a curious fight to see as the Doctor saw Gavial pulling Sussuro away from throttling Mlynar. Instead Folonic had come in and the woman’s sharp icy glare cowed the boy into silence as she went over the battery of tests once again. Margaret had to hold the boy’s hand when Folonic saw that the older Mlynar had missed a vaccination shot. It was strangely endearing, but also bizarre seeing the Uncle who she knew tended to avoid medical appointments but would easily take the prescribed shots with ease holding onto her hand so tightly.

“It's not fair that Uncle is attached to you!” Maria had whined when they had gone to one of the outside food stands for dinner. It was run by a partnership between a Kuranta and a Elafina for a Kazimierzian and Leithanian hybrid, which meant lots of potatoes and sausage. Currently Mlynar was trying to hack at a large pile of both as Sona, who met them on her own run, looked with barely disguised glee.

She had heard from the grapevine that something happened to Mlynar, but seeing this bright eyed boy messily eating bratwurst and pierogi was certainly far from what she had in mind.

“Oh he’s gonna absolutely hate all this evidence,” Sona gushed as she took a picture as the boy had a checkful of pierogi. “And wow, did he always eat so much?”

“So long as it's not vegetables,” Margaret replied offhandedly. “And don’t blame me for him being so attached. Maybe if you and Zofia were nicer to him-”

“I was nice,” Maria shot back and Margaret rolled her eyes. “I was!”

“You put him in a hug and didn’t let go until he kicked you in the shin,” Margaret noted and Maria huffed.

“He was really cute! All his clothes were oversized, and for once I didn’t need to look up to see Uncle! He’s shorter than even Zofia!”

“Well that’s rude,” the woman said as she drank her cocktail. “I’m not that short.”

“You are the shortest of us,” Margaret shrugged and Zofia only sent her a betrayed look.

“Any word on how long it’s gonna take?” Another shrug from Margaret. “Well that’s helpful. No point in lording all this evidence of my dear cousin’s childish side-” “I’m not childish!” “-yes yes, wipe your face, you have pierogi on your nose. Where was I, he better turn back to the surly old man so I can hold this over his head.”

“Only time will tell,” Margaret affirmed before looking at her watch. “Ah, it’s almost time. I reserved a hall for us to use.”

“Oh, it's today?” Maria questioned after she had thrown away their trash. 

“What’s today?” Mlynar asked as he looked up from his food. He was almost done, and there was curiosity in his eye. Margaret held her tongue for a bit. Then spoke carefully.

“Normally… We aren’t all in the landship at the same time for long periods of time,” she started. “And normally we host a training session for the family when we can. But you-”

“I wanna go!” There was excitement in Mlynar’s eyes as he stared at the women of the Nearl house. Zofia was once more trying hard to keep her composure, but failing and a snort came out.

“You’re not in any way or shape ready for any sort of sparring,” Margaret argued. Mlynar glared at her, though his glare was boyish adorable, and stood firm. 

“I can spare! I just need… A proper sword! Father allowed me to spar!” The boy was on the verge of whining before he looked to Maria, who did her best to not make eye contact. Then he did something no one expected. WIth large eyes and a very pouty voice he looked at Maria.

“Big sis Maria, can I join your spar?” he asked. There was something incredibly criminal about the tone of voice. It was absolutely laid on thick, and Margaret almost fell for it herself. Only then did she remember how despite her misgivings at meeting her Uncle the first time, she was told by her grandfather that while he had taught their father from a young age, their grandmother had taught Mlynar more of the courtly arts including knowing how to persuade people. She thought it was a myth. A joke, considering when she met her surly Uncle he was far from charming and far from persuasive. But now it seemed in his youth, he really took those lessons to heart.

Maria broke instantly. Eyes full of adoration for the boy as she brought her arms around him and pet and cooed him.

“Ohh, sister! I think he can join!” Maria smiled as Margaret gave her younger sister a terse look. Sona had collapsed into a fitful (“I can’t wait till I tell the rest of the girls!”) of laughter while Zofia couldn’t decide to laugh or coo like Maria. However her position was rather apparent as she looked at Margaret expectantly. It was two against one, technically three but she didn’t count Mlynar’s goal as a vote.

She sighed.

“Ha… Fine, very well. He can watch, and when we’re all finished, we can… Practice with him, lightly.” Margaret said that and there was a smug look of triumph to the boy. “AFTER he finished his food.” He quickly struggled out of Maria’s grip before eating the rest of his food. Margaret sighed into her hand.

When her Uncle became normal, they were going to have a long talk… If he stays. After the amount of recorded humiliation that everyone had on him, he might just up and leave.

When they reached their private hall, a decently sized auditorium to use for their session, Mlynar buzzing with excitement. Or coffee that Zofia might’ve bought him. Regardless of whatever went through him, he was given a small practice blade to attach to his waist, appropriately sized after Vulcan had done a quick estimation of what he needed.

Margaret had been given her swordspear as Maria stood with a sword and shield. They would go first whilst Zofia sat with Mlynar, on some part to call out the two of them, and the other part to make sure Mlynar didn’t wander off into one of the other rooms.

Their spar started out like many of their others. Margaret, despite her time in the Followers and then classed as Defender at Rhodes, was always more comfortable on the offensive end. Slashing, piercing, jabbing with lightning fast strikes. Her sword staff was a piercing dagger that poked at Maria’s defenses.

Maria for her part was always a defensive fighter. Slow, calm, methodical. She took to combat like she took to her projects. Taking things one at a time, defending strongly and working off against attacks that her sister overextended on, as rare as it was. Feinting defensive postures before doubling an effort in attacking.

Margaret was a smart combatant, experienced. She kept to the strengths of her swordspear, her reach and range a difficult variable for Maria to quantify. At times her older sister swung the weapon with two hands with power, other times with one hand, long fast sweeping strikes that were inches away from contact.

It was Margaret who won this bout, as she often did. Maria had come to close the distance. Using her shield to arc below the blade and along the shaft. Her sword was ready to strike, but despite her advances was too slow to account for Margaret’s strike. Not from the blade, but a shifting of weight and grip on the staff was all Maria got as a physical tell before the end of the spear stopped a hair from her nose. Maria felt her eyes go cross as she stared at the end before collapsing when she realized what happened.

“Darn,” Maria cursed. “I thought I had you.” Margaret laughed before helping her sister up. Zofia let out an applause and looked to Mlynar. However instead of a joyful expression, the boy looked in deep contemplation.

“Hmm, what’s wrong cousin?” Zofia questioned. Mlynar’s face, a betrayer of his thoughts, scrunched up. He struggled to find the words before he blurted it out.

“Why does she fight like brother?” The words seemed to still the entire room as they all looked to Mlynar. Despite her age, only slightly older than Margaret. Zofia had never seen her older cousin Schnitz fight. She had been told of his prowess by her parents, by Patriarch Kirill, but never actually saw the man fight. Never saw recording ethers as he and Yolanda had disappeared before the Columbian technology ever reached Kazimierz.

She had always thought Margaret’s fighting style, especially in her Tourney days, was her own. She also knew that Mlynar taught her. In fact, part of the reason why Mlynar refused to teach Maria was because Margaret took the tutelage he gave her and entered the Tourney against his wishes.

Which came to now. Zofia, Maria, and Margaret had all assumed that what Mlynar taught Margaret was the basics of his own tutelage. Instead, it seemed the truth was that Margaret’s fighting style was based on Mlynar’s own brother, Schnitz.

“What is it? Did Schnitz teach you?” Mlynar asked. “I wanted to learn how he fought, but he told me to learn how to use a sword first before trying to copy him!” There was another heavy pause as everyone looked around each other. Eventually it was the person who was taught the style that spoke.

“You… Did,” Margaret said. Mlynar looked at her with wide eyes. He blinked a few times before his jaw dropped.

“I DID?” The boy squeaked. “Wait? That means older me learned Schnitz’ fighting style! Wait, that means older me was taught by Schnitz and taught you?” The boy’s emotions ran at a mile a minute as he began to question everything. “Wait, why did I… Older me teach you? Why didn’t Schnitz?”

The catastrophe in the room was now brought to full focus. With the regression of many of Mlynar’s memories, one of the key parts is that he still recognized that Maria and Margaret’s parents were still around somewhere. He only believed that they were his brother’s and wife’s kids when Margaret showed an old faded photograph that she had. No one had even broached the topic that the two were still missing, or as Margaret and Maria thought as dead.

“He… Was busy,” Margaret lied. Mlynar looked at her. She cursed under her breath. She was a terrible liar. The only lie she’s ever been able to tell correctly for so long was that she was Infected, and that was only because no one questioned it. This lie however, it cut her teeth to say. “He was busy, and so you taught me.” What was it that Elysium had said about lies? Sprinkle in some truth to make it more believable.

“Well I taught you really well!” Mlynar said proudly. “You fight exactly like Schnitz! Even the pommel switch that he loved to use when fighting father!”

“Well sister,” Maria said in a hushed tone. “It seems that you have another thing that connects you to father.”

“So I do,” Margaret said. There was a conflict of feelings flowing through her. She had always thought that Mlynar, in his dour mood, had just simply taught her moves and a style of combat that was on his mind. The swordspear he had said would “help with your lack of size, and pair well with your natural agility”, he never said it was her father’s style. She knew he used that weapon, but thought the idea of fighting like him was a lost dream to never reach, only now she realized it was there the entire time and she had unintentionally achieved it. She… Didn’t know what to think now.

“Alright, since you two are finished, I’m going to fight the little guy!” Zofia smiled as she stood up and ruffled Mlynar’s head. The boy tried to scramble out of her hands but she only laughed.

“Since my injury, it should be an even fight… For me.” She added that last part as the boy looked at her with irate eyes.

“Hah?!” There was a blazing look of irritation in his eyes before the woman languidly stretched her arms and brought her practice whipblade out. “You-You-I’ll show you!” The boy shouted before he drew his blade. Margaret regarded the two with a look of bemusement, but let Maria referee the match.

“Combatants, ready?” Maria’s voice carried loudly as Zofia got her blade ready while Mlynar, now with a blade his size, stood with the sword in a traditional form. 

“Ochs form is like him,” Margaret noted.

“Start!” Zofia, much like Margaret, was more of an attacker and she did such as she shot forward with the flick of her wrist. The crack of the whip blade was loud and there was a slight flinch from Mlynar before he twirled his blade. The simple flourish, knocking the attack of target. Zofia only grinned, seeing her now younger cousin return back to ochs guard.

Then the bout began in earnest. Zofia using her range and reach to her advantage. The loud cracks and sweeping strikes a cover for the unorthodox angles that Mlynar had to defend against. Despite her injury, with still one hand Zofia was able to use her lashing blade to the effectiveness of a reserve field operators, an aptitude that could still take down many a combatant.

Mlynar, in his youth and now with an incredible lack of experience, could only remain on the defensive end. Margaret knew that her Uncle squired under bother her father and his father. Undoubtably this meant that her Grandfather Kirill taught Mlynar much of his sword play, and in the few moments she knew of her grandfather, he always thought him more of an offensive fighter like she was.

However in this raw younger Mlynar, she saw her Uncle fight defensively. Somewhat like Maria, but whereas Maria had the shield to aid in her defense, Margaret saw Mlynar use his whole form in fighting. His blade conservatively used to keep to his triangle. His point mostly never left pointing at his target, while his legs and stance carried more of his defense than Maria’s would. Rather than walking forward, there was a sort of mesmerizing sort of dancing footwork that Mlynar employed. Cross steps, lunges, even a complete spin when his blade was not in the proper place to block.

There were key differences of course between the Mlynar they saw now, and the Mlynar they were used to. The older Mlynar, fought defensively still, but there was a languid sort of way he fought. His movements barely more than the bare necessities of what he needed, and his strength and his positioning of his body meant he didn’t need to use two hands when it came to parrying Maria and Zofia’s attacks, he would need two hands when it came to Margaret however. 

The clanking and grinding of blades drew Margaret to the motion of Mlynar as he capitalized on a reaching strike of Zofia, he angled his guard so the crossguard of his blade locked one of the whipblade’s teeth. Zofia noted that though Mlynar’s current strength and weight wasn’t as his normal, her trying to pull him with one arm wouldn’t be enough to wrench her blade free.

And Mlynar even knew it in his age as he instead went from his guard to angle the tip down. His left hand leaving the pommel before reaching up to grasp the blade itself, entering half-guard. Twisting and stepping, he was intent on landing the pommel strike on his cousin, except while Zofia was surprised by his tactic, she now had the wealth of experience upon her cousin and acted appropriately.

While her blade was locked, her legs were not and when Mlynar had come to try and strike her, she merely twisted out of the way. The strike moving past her before Mlynar knew what would happen, but he felt it first. The sword’s blunted teeth wrapping around him like a chain as he found his arms stuck to his side and the sword caught up in his face.

“And that’s my win,” Zofia said as poked the boy’s cheek, much to his chagrin. He tried to wiggle free but the locks held fast.

“Curses!” He shouted before Zofia laughed and flicked her wrist, the blade loosing and falling away and back to form as the boy stepped free. He went to step, only for everyone to see his legs bow and shake before he collapsed. Immediately, three pairs of hands propped him up. His eyes were wide and blinked as he saw two golden and one blue pair of eyes look at him.

“I wasn’t going to fall!” He protested as he was stood up. When they let go of him, he only collapsed again much to his protest once more.

“Mlynar.” Margaret’s voice went authoritative again and the boy’s upper ears flattened against his head. “Don’t fight us.”

“Okay…” he lamented with a droop of both ears and tail. Margaret only sighed before the four of them returned their equipment back to the armory.

“We should go to the Doctor, might as well tell them that your physical performance is expected for someone who’s your age and with asthma.”

“I don’t have asthma anymore!” Mlynar prostate before, as expected with the adrenaline no longer running through him, began to cough. “I don’t.” His protests were as always, fell on deaf amused ears as they eventually made their way to the hastily repaired Doctor’s office, a large hastily put up wooden pallet for the hole and some plastic wrap for the windows. It was somewhat late, but many knew the Doctor was inside due to their enforced unpaid overtime, as per Kal’tsit and Amiya’s directives.

“Oh hello there Nearl one, two, three, and new young number four!” The Doctor greeted them when they came in. “Had a good practice session?”

“It was… Enlightening,” Margaret said before explaining the physical analysis of Mlynar. The boy would protest and try to falsely boast of his prowess, with the Doctor nodding with their hands under their chin and saying “yes yes, I believe it”.

Eventually when they were done, with the Doctor jotting down some hastily written notes, said Doctor nodded.

“Well, while field operations are expected out of the question, and subsequently as stated before with his previous clerical work, I think I can firmly say that you can take him out the landship and into the city if you want to,” the Doctor noted. There was a gleam in Maria’s eyes before the Doctor spoke once again. “Be mindful however, you must always have an eye on him. Do you hear that mister.” Those words were sent to Mlynar who seemed to try and read words written on a tapestry that was behind the Doctor. The boy’s eyes snapped to the cloaked person, almost shivering with how unnerving the figure looked. “If I hear you flew the coop and tried to run away from your family, I’m placing you under horse arrest. But if you can keep your nose out of trouble and your feet on the line, you can go out with your family.”

“I can leave?”

“With your family. Only if you give me your word that you’ll follow the rules.” Before Mlynar could give an expected “A knight’s word is his law”, an interruption shattered the room’s atmosphere.

“Dottore, porca miseria!” The Doctor only stared at the two figures who entered with a look of future migraines about to come on. Reaching under their desk, they pulled out a small bottle of bills before cracking the bottle open and using their elbow to press a communicator button.

“Hey Savage. If you’re still there, please plug me in for overpaid overtime… I have a situation I need to take care of… Again…”