Second Chances

by honepi

Summary:

She doesn’t mean to, but her mind wanders back through her memories, to the lonely and cold palace of her childhood. It was impossible, how different the past and present were.

“Like a dream come true,” she mumbles, and she drifts to sleep, happy that she’s able to say those words with sincerity.

 

Or: The twins disappear, never to be found for thirty years, but unexplained demon attacks has their past crashing into their present with dire consequences. It doesn't help that they've got families of their own now too, so what'll happen now?

Notes:

• Inspired by Unfettered by silailo
• Inspired by Observing The Villainess Paths by Arnsol

Nothing would exist if I hadn't read silailo's Unfettered and Arnsol's Observing The Villainess Paths. If any of those authors are reading this, love your works, thank you for the food.

 

Shoutout to otome isekai, you've got me in a chokehold for the last four years now, with this tribute I hope you can let me go.

Enjoy!

Chapter 1: Past and Present

Notes:

Translations for non-english words will be at the end.

Enjoy!

It is said that a woman naturally becomes a mother once their child is born, that their maternal instincts are triggered the moment their eyes first lay onto the new life tucked away in their arms. 

 

Soft skin, thin and white as paper. Tiny bodies curled towards her heart.

 

Their first breaths, gentle and steady.

 

That this primal love grows as their baby does, only getting bigger and bigger until it entirely consumes them.

 

Little fists grasping her fingers as tight as they can. Full faces flushed pink, framed by her dangling hair when they touch noses. A bell-like laugh from a toothless smile. 

 

But there are those who exist where this couldn’t be further from the truth. This, of course, is through no fault of the child, but the mother’s.

 

It starts with unconditional love.

 

“Arien!” The little pot clatters onto the floor, splashing its boiling water everywhere. She’s quick though, and the woman is able to pull her daughter away before the water can hit her. Although a bit of it managed to land on the exposed part of her forearm, she was too focused on the crying child in her arms to care at that moment. “Are you okay, baby?”

 

She soothes the distraught girl, and her twin climbs down the chair he sat at a few feet away, stumbling over his little feet to get to them. Once he makes it to them there are already tears brimming at the corner of his eyes, and he spreads his arms wide open in an effort to hug both his mother and sister. The woman chuckles, and scoops him up in her embrace, wincing a bit when he accidentally grazes the fresh burn.

 

The kids are a blubbering mess, but their cries mellow out as their mother rocks them back and forth, quieting to sniffles and whimpers. Through their hushed words and hiccups they ask about their mother’s arm, and she reassures them with smiles and kisses that everything’s okay.

 

And everything will be.

 

But the love doesn’t stay, and like a crashing wave it recedes back to the cold sea.

 

The burn doesn’t disappear, and instead, only gets worse. What once would be nothing but a patch of slightly discolored skin was now an angry-looking keloid scar. Over and over she’d will her body to repair the injury, but nothing came out of the effort. The wound remains unchanging.

 

She gazes at the twins, sleeping hand-in-hand at her side. The moonlight from a nearby window bounces off their blonde heads, surrounding them like a crown of light. It was ethereal. Everyday they seemed to grow even lovelier than the day before, but the pride of a parent was nowhere to be seen in their mother. There was only confusion, and a creeping sense of dread every time she looked at them.

 

And she couldn’t help but think she was in the right to feel so.

 

And nothing but apathy and hate remains.

 

The emperor’s blood was fading from her hold. The curse was weakening, and so was her healing. It was almost non-existent now, as if she were a mortal and not a force of nature. And as her powers sapped away, the twins’ only grew.

 

It was not by much, but it was significantly greater than a month ago, and it only fuelled her suspicions. If things continued the way they did, her life would be in danger. She’d be at the mercy of the emperor, of the very bastard she swore she’d crush to dust.

 

It was infuriating.

 

The only comfort the woman had to keep her mind off her declining powers were the liquor that filled the cellar of the castle. Day and night she would be inebriated, and she saw less of the twins; of the glaring miscalculation she’d made.

 

Every intoxicating drop filled her core with warmth and pleasure, giving her the strength and confidence she lost all those years ago. She was young again.

 

“Mama?” Her children are awake now, worried. It was her daughter who spoke, her brother watching silently at her side. “Is mama hurt?”

 

She stares into her eyes, and once upon a time she would’ve been lost to them. They were a beautiful reflection of her own, a red that sparkled like a rare gem. They reminded her so much of herself. Too much of herself.

 

It was as if they were taking pieces of her for themselves, bit by bit. Yet at the same time, there was so much of him in them too, in their faces, in the shine of their hair. It was torture for her to see; herself and him, joined together in unholy union, leeching off of her like parasites. It was unsightly.

 

It was wrong.

 

Rurahel does not answer the girl, and instead tightens the hold on the object in her hand. A wine bottle.

 

This will do.

 

Now there is only tragedy.

---

 

It's still dark when Arien wakes up, and through the blurriness of sleep she starts to register tiny hands tugging her awake from behind her. She yawns and rubs her eyes, and turns her attention to the girl that stood beside the bed.

 

“Clara?” Her voice is rough from drowsiness and she starts to wake herself up more, because from the slits of the window panel that allowed some of the moonlight in, Arien can see shiny tracks running down the child’s face. She sits up on her elbows, pushing aside the arm draped over her waist, and reaches up to wipe the tear stains away. “Aww, baby, what’s wrong?”

 

Clara says nothing and sniffles, wiping her eyes harshly. Arien scoots towards the edge of the bed and hauls the child onto her lap, which only makes the girl weep a little louder.

 

“It’s okay, mommy’s here. Mommy has you.” She whispers, rubbing circles into her daughter’s back, but this does nothing. Next to her, the man attached to the arm from before stirs and reaches for Arien again. He finds that someone’s already beat him to it, and a sleepy eye opens to see what was happening.

 

“A rún…” he sees sleepily, but when the scene in front of him registers to his brain he’s fully awake, sitting up straight and joining Arien’s side quickly. “Oh, a thaisce, what happened?” He takes the blanket and wraps it around the three of them, drawing both girls close in his arms, worry apparent on his face even in the darkness. Arien rests her head on his chest, continuing to comfort their daughter.

 

“I think she wants to sleep here with us,” she guesses, readjusting her hold so that Clara sat between the both of them. Her partner nods, and he moves over so that the child can lay down. Her face is still red as she settles in her spot, clutching at both of her parents’ nightwear like lifelines. 

 

“Shh, shh,” Arien uses the cuff of her sleeve to wipe the snot under the girl’s nose, and places a warm kiss on her temple, “shh, my sweet girl, everything’s alright—do you want daddy to sing you the sleepsong?” In the middle patting the girl’s head, the man shoots her a look, but to his relief the answer is a teary no. “Alright, alright, then do you just want to sleep?”

 

A wordless nod, and both parents oblige the girl, whose eyes were already drooping close. They arrange the blanket around them and cuddle close together, and the sniffles and hiccups quiet down until they’re replaced with soft snoring.

 

“A rún,” the man whispers when he sees that their daughter is in deep sleep, “is this because I came home late often?” He pouts, and Arien can see his mind has been running in circles for the past few minutes. She giggles, and he pouts deeper.

 

“What makes you think that?” She smiles and caresses his cheek, the man’s slight stubble providing a comforting feeling to her palm. His face shows guilt, and she tuts at him for his negativity. “It was probably just a nightmare, honey. Let's go to sleep, and ask her in the morning.”

 

“Arien—”

 

“Sleep.” She covers his eyes and leaves her hand there until he concedes, huffing good-naturedly and settling down under the covers. It's not long before he dozes off, and Arien gazes at the peaceful faces on both lover and daughter. She leans down and kisses his forehead, a small smile on her lips. “Such a worrier you are.”

 

A soft breeze lightly blows the bedroom window open, and bathes the bed in gentle light. It illuminates all three occupants, and Arien can’t help the swell of love that consumes her heart. She doesn’t mean to, but her mind wanders back through her memories, to the lonely and cold palace of her childhood. It was impossible, how different the past and present were.

 

“Like a dream come true,” she mumbles, and she drifts to sleep, happy that she’s able to say those words with sincerity.

Notes:

A rún: my secret; a term of endearment, mostly romantic

A thaisce: my treasure; a term of endearment, can be used between friend, family, or lovers

edit: I changed how Arien's partner is addressed, nothing major other than worldbuilding

Chapter 2: The morning and it's tea

Notes:

translations for non-english words will be at the end notes

Enjoy!

When Arjen wakes up that morning he’s alone. The space next to him is empty and undisturbed, as if he’d slept the whole night by himself, which, given the events of the day prior, might just be the truth. He sighs, and gets out of bed with a groan, forgoing the wash bowl and heading straight for the door.

 

“Good mor—woah,” Arien looks up from the newspaper she’s reading when he walks into the living room, and eyes the apparent shadows under her brother’s eyes. “...Did you win?” He only grunts as he takes his seat at the table, taking his sister’s mug for his own and taking a gulp. He instantly gags.

 

“What the heck?” He spits out taste, and Arien swats him when she snatches her mug back. “What is that, dirt?”

 

She rolls her eyes as she wipes the rim with her sleeve, and takes a sip for herself. “Coffee beans from the Forest Empire. It’s not that bad, you’re being dramatic.” She sets the cup down and looks out the big window behind her, smiling at whatever she sees outside. Arjen follows her sight and sees her partner, spinning in a circle with two small children hanging off his arms.

 

“That’s a first in a while,” he comments, scratching his cheek absentmindedly, “is the clinic closed today?” Usually, his brother-in-law was gone by breakfast—sometimes even earlier, before the sun rose. Consequently, he’d return late as well, and that was all due to his job at a private clinic in the busier parts of their city. Arjen left for work as a city shield after breakfast, and they’d both walk back home together when the day was over, so he rarely saw the healer before then.

 

“No, he decided to take leave for the next few days,” Arien replies, “he’s worried that he’s not around enough for the kids.”

 

“Aww, what a great father,” he replied monotonously, and smirks when he dodges another swat from his sister. “No no, really, I’m being serious.” She arches her eyebrows at him and gives him a dubious look before returning to her paper.

 

“You better be, because he does his best.” That, Arjen can agree with, which wasn’t surprising given how in-tune the man was with his emotions. Both Arien and his wife joked that he should learn a thing or two from him about that, and as of recently, he was starting to understand why.

 

Speaking of…

 

“By the way,” he changes topics nonchalantly, and reaches for Arien’s mug again, “where is everybody?”

 

Arien moves her mug and answers him without looking up. “Daire’s cooking breakfast with Nana, Arthur and Clarke went to the mill to get our flour, Pie’s still sleeping, and I haven’t seen Saera this whole morning yet.” Arjen tries not to let his disappointment show at the last statement, but nothing escapes his twin’s attention, and she folds her paper back up to look him in the face.

 

“What did you do this time?” Suddenly, the fraying edge of the tablecloth looks much more interesting to Arjen, and his attention is taken away. Arien huffs and asks again, in a much more unavoidable way. What happened, Arjen? Her question echoes in between their minds, and Arjen winces at the unexpected intrusion.

 

“Stop, it’s too early for that,” he grips his head. “And why’s it automatically my fault? What if I’m completely innocent here?”

 

“Because you’re saying ‘if’ , not ‘am’ , and knowing you, it probably is your fault.” It’s Arjen’s turn to whack his sister, but she merely blocks him with her rolled-up newspaper and gives him a knowing look. “And Saera’s pregnant, so she gets a free pass on everything.”

 

“If I was pregnant, you wouldn’t give me a free pass…” he grumbles, aware of the absurdity of his words but too tired to come up with a better counterattack. The front door opens, and Faraday walks in with the kids in hand. The little boy holding his right hand lights up when he sees Arjen.

 

“Daddy!” He lets go of his uncle’s hand and runs straight to Arjen, who gets up from his seat and kneels down to scoop up the energetic toddler. “Magic ah!”

 

“Maidin mhaith,” Arjen corrects, his pronunciation not quite there despite years of practice, and tousles his son’s hair. “I saw you outside with Uncle Fairy, did you have fun?”

 

“Mmhm, Gilby pick these for you and mommy,” the boy smiles and held out his hands. In both were two rocks, each with a prominent hole in their centers. The one in his left hand was blanch-white and shaped like an arrowhead, while the one in his right hand was faintly blue, cream and white-colored streaks running across it. He places them in his father’s hands, who stares at his findings impressed. “They’re g…gul–len…gwen–yeh, uhh…”

 

“Gloine nan Druidh,” his uncle finishes, depositing Clara onto Arien’s waiting lap, “ ‘Druid’s glass’ .” Gilby nods enthusiastically, and his father pats his head as a reward for trying. “Do you remember what I taught you, Gilby?”

 

“Yes!” Gilby takes the stones back and holds them up in the air. “Uncail Fairy says that the stones can protect you, but we have to paint them first so it can activate. This one is for mommy,” he holds the arrowhead one up, then the blue one “and this one is yours.” 

 

“But where’s yours?” Arjen asks.

 

“Gilby doesn’t need one yet,” he smiles and throws his arms around his father’s neck, “because Gilby will always be with mommy and daddy, so there’s no guais for Gilby.” His son’s cuteness spears his heart, and he pats his son’s cheeks lovingly to show his gratitude.

 

“How about your brothers and sister?” Arien asks, because her nephew was not an only child. The boy shrugs and stuffs the rocks back into his pocket, and goes on about the rest of his adventure outside. As the conversation moves, a young man enters through a door from the otherside of the room, a thick scent of spices sticking to his clothes, and greets everyone a good morning. Gilby climbs off his father’s lap and charges at the man’s legs, and hugs them tight.

 

“Deartháir, magi why!” He beams. The man laughs and hoists the child up by his armpits, but instead of carrying him he tosses the kid high up into the air, and shouts of surprise from Arien and giggles from Gilby fill the room.

 

“Maidin mhaith, ya runt,” he catches Gilby in a bridal carry and attacks the boy’s stomach with wiggly fingers. “You have to work on your Naofa, it sounds terrible.” Clara, keen on never missing out on a good tickle attack, dashes in to join them, and it quickly becomes a free-for-all.

 

Hiding the fond smile growing on his face, Arjen clears his throat. “Daire,” he calls out, and all three stop their battle and turn to him. “Have you seen your mother today?”

 

His son stands up and snaps his fingers, “I came just to say something about that. She said that, um,” he taps his lips, thinking back to what his mother said earlier that morning, “Oh! She said that she’s staying at her sister’s today. I don’t know if she was talking about Aintín Cia or Aintín Fiona, so…” Everyone looks back at Arjen, who can only sigh at the news.

 

“Of course…” he mumbles. He looks at Arien and her partner, and sighs even longer at their expectant faces. “Daire, can you go and get the kids clean for breakfast?” The man nods, and takes the little ones by their hands and guides them to the door Arjen previously entered from, leaving the three parents alone in the living area.

 

“What did you do this time?” Faraday asks—rather, he states, and Arjen takes Arien’s newspaper and whacks him with it.

 

“I swear, you and this girl are the exact same.” He massages his temples as the couple laughs, and when they quiet down he continues. “I’m going to explain the situation, but you both just stay quiet until I’m done talking, got it?”

 

“Did you eat the last of the pickled eggs again?” Faraday gives him a pointed look. “It’s not good to mess with a hungry pregnant woman, you know.”

 

“Don’t worry, I learned my lesson.” He did, and he was never going to make that same mistake twice.

 

“Did you murder someone or something?” Arien jokes, but when her brother doesn’t answer she starts to worry. “Wait, really—”

 

“No!”

 

“Just kidding! Okay, okay, continue.”

 

Arjen takes a deep breath, and fishes out a piece of paper from his trousers. It’s crumpled and slightly torn, both from being crammed hastily into his pocket and from last night’s argument. He places it on the table, and before either Arien or her partner can make out the writing, he tells them.

 

“I’ve been conscripted.”

Notes:

Arien and Arjen are currently 46, and the kids who were introduced are: Daire (22), Clara (8), and Gilby (6). Faraday is 40.

---

Maidin mhaith: good morning (casual); Gilby continuously misprounces this words
Guais: danger
Uncail: uncle
Deartháir: brother
Aintín: aunt
Naofa: language spoken by the family, different from the imperial language of Yuriana

*Nana is not the name of a character, its the grandmother (grandmother-in-law in the twins' case, great-grandmother in the children's cases*

#bilingualtings

edit: changed the title of Arjen's job as a guard into "shield"; means the equivalent, just thought it sounded cooler.

Chapter 3: State affairs

Notes:

CW(?): Implied sexual content, not explicit

 

Enjoy!

Lloyd wouldn’t describe himself as someone who could get easily annoyed. Years serving as the empire’s crown prince—and now emperor — taught him the value of patience and understanding. Fatherhood even more so, especially if you had sons as smart and trying as his. 

 

But lately, the recently-crowned sovereign has been finding his virtue being tested. By his advisors, the parliament, his vassals; the nobility in general.

 

His youngest son.

 

“Amos.” After years of being called to his office, the young prince didn’t have the same fear that many others would have if they were to find themselves in his situation. “Why?”

 

“I haven’t the faintest idea of what you’re talking about, father,” his son tilts his head, wearing an unusually relaxed expression that did not fit in at all with the current atmosphere. Lloyd sighs and pushes the papers he’d been looking at aside.

 

“Why. Why did you think it was necessary to sleep with Marchioness Ehrenfest?” Lloyd cringes at the crudeness of the question, but he didn't have the time to beat around the bush, not when there were much more pressing matters at hand.

 

Amos gasps, an exaggerated look of shock on his face. “I did not sleep with her.” He protests. “I’m simply building rapport between me and the Ehrenfest marquisate, nothing more to it.” Not yet at least, but his father didn’t need to know about the ‘ifs’.

 

“I know you, son, and I know that you know how this looks,” the emperor picks up an open envelope with a letter attached, and holds it up for the prince to see. “The marchioness’s son wrote to me, complaining about your frequent ‘visits’ to the Ehrenfest estate.”

 

He turns the letter towards him and adjusts his reading glasses, “It says, and I quote, ‘As for the purpose of this letter, I want to express my concerns pertaining to the fourth prince, as he has been a consistent guest of my mother’s estate these past few weeks. I am happy that my mother and the fourth prince are getting along swimmingly, but I do find it strange that he always requests that my mother entertain him privately. I wish not to disparage the good name of my family, nor our righteous emperor’s, but I can’t help but worry about what our lords and ladies will perceive through their watchful eyes. With sincerest regards, Lord Felix Mayhew, of House Ehrenfest.”

 

His father stares at him when he sets the letter down, and Amos finds it hard to keep his laughter in, and he lets a little bit of the smugness he was hiding slip out. What an eloquent git, he thinks. “I didn’t know the young lord was bothered by my presence at all. That’s quite unfortunate.”

 

“Mhm, and this wouldn’t so happen to be connected to the dispute you had a week prior, right?” He knew his son had gotten into an argument with a young gentleman last week, but he didn’t realize it was with the Ehrenfest house’s heir. He didn’t know the specifics of what transpired, but it didn’t take much to set Amos off, so the possibilities were limitless.

 

The prince shrugs, which only confirms Lloyd’s guess. Amos sees the look of disappointment cross his father’s face, and goes on the defensive.

 

“You didn’t hear what he said, father.” He makes his case, crossing his arms over his chest defiantly. “He mocked our family right in front of me! I couldn’t allow it.”

 

“So you decided to flirt with his mother?” Amos doesn’t respond, and Lloyd wonders how he came to that conclusion, and whether or not he inherited this thinking process from him or his mother. Maybe both. “What did the boy say?”

 

Depending on what was said, Lloyd can either let the young lord off with a light warning or make an example of him. It was all too familiar; he used to get just as heated as his son does when matters involving his family were brought up in petty and malicious gossip. But if Lloyd allowed his emotions to take over and lash out at everybody who had something bad to say about the royal family, he'd be no better than a tyrant.

 

It was especially bad when they were brought up, but for the past thirty years it was made crystal clear that all rumors and slander were off-limits when it came to them. That was one of the few circumstances that Lloyd would raze the kingdom over.

 

So what could it be that was said?

 

The prince hesitates, as if he was weighing his words before he spoke. “He was criticizing your response to the rise of demon attacks,” Amos settles on saying, “he was going on about how there should be a nation-wide draft, so that the capital and other crucial territories can be better protected and whatnot.”

 

Tension Lloyd didn’t know he was holding in his shoulders lessened, only to be replaced by annoyance. He’s glad that what the boy said wasn’t too radical, but it was an irritating echo of what was said these past few weeks. Demon attacks were getting more and more frequent out in the rural territories and left many nobles uneasy. Quite a lot of them came to the royal palace in droves, or sent an excessive number of letters to parliament, seeking appeals for conscription notices. Even those who had no land where the attacks were occuring, or predicted to occur, were demanding that they form their militias.

 

It was ridiculous, and Lloyd told them as such. The number of demons were increasing, but their power level was still the same. They had weak magical attacks and physical attributes equal to that of wild game; in Lloyd’s opinion, the increase of demons was more like an infestation than an ill omen. It was still a serious issue, don’t get him wrong; the demons were heavily affecting life for the civilians and vassals that lived in the infested areas, so Lloyd was doing his best to meet their needs and offer support.

 

“Nothing I haven’t heard before,” he sighs. He was swamped with work, from reading evaluation reports on damaged resources and properties, discussing possible services and actions with several humanitarian commissions (both government-funded and civilian-ran) to ensure no economic collapse and deal with displaced civilians, to monitoring the areas the attacks were happening and predict where they’d appear next. So much work, and the nobles who’ve never had a speck of dirt on their hands before were raising a fuss. “That’s nothing to be petty over, Amos. Don’t waste your energy on people like that.”

 

“Of course, father,” Amos concedes.

 

“You may go.” The prince bows and turns to leave, but not before his father calls for his attention one more time. “And Amos, if something like that ever happens again, rather, I’d like for you to come and talk it out with me, okay?” His son smiles at him and bows once more, and leaves the emperor to his mountain of work.

 

---

 

Amos leisurely walks down the winding hallway, all his energy spent from his meeting with father. His father is a great man, and an even better ruler, but he wasn’t so fun to be around when he was wound up, and just from their short conversation Amos can tell that his father was wound up bad. The useless nobles who loitered around the palace weren’t helping, and Amos hates to admit it, but his most recent escapades didn’t either.

 

“But he totally deserved it…” he mumbles. He idly looks at the wall as he passes by, glancing at the portraits of kings and queens past, as well as his other ancestors who bore the mark of the Sun God’s blessing. He stops at one particular portrait, one that makes his chest feel tight with an indescribable emotion. The sun was going down behind him, the setting rays making the painting glow like a holy relic. It might as well be, because it never failed to make Amos stop and admire the art whenever he passed.

 

While the other portraits were sketched and painted with accuracy and exactness in mind, the one before him was fluid, more natural, as if the painter had much more freedom with their art (they probably did, given the circumstances of the portrait). The subjects looked warm and genial, and even though he’d never met them before, Amos feels like he wouldn’t hesitate to trust his safety in their hands. He can almost imagine them jumping out of the painting and taking his hands into theirs, guiding him to a place far away from the cold and harshness of the royal palace.

“The royal family’s done for. I heard they have a couple of bastards running around and breeding like rats. Before you know it everyone’s going to have blonde hair, even the pigs rolling in the mud will have God’s blessing.”

“Be lucky I didn’t tell my father all that you said, Mayhew.” Amos casts one last look at the painting, regarding the twin gazes that seemed to follow him with an odd sense of melancholy. “Or else you would’ve had bigger problems than getting me as a step-father.”

Notes:

Next chapter: back to the twins!

edit: changed the phrase "raise hell over" to "raze kingdom over" for worldbuilding purposes. there seems to be a running theme here with me editing after posting a chapter.

Chapter 4: Chatter of the people

Notes:

translations for non-english words will be in the end notes

Enjoy!!

“And then he asked me to go find and talk to Saera for him!” Arien exclaims, smacking the clipboard onto the crate in front of her. “I mean honestly, I thought being made shield captain of his patrol would make his spine stronger.” The day until now had been a total mess, what with Arjen’s big news, the argument that came after it, and now the sudden workload given to her since the staffer assigned inventory manager that shift sent in a sick notice.

 

So, she found herself venting her frustrations to two delivery carriers. Her regular listeners, the blacksmiths, their apprentices and the other staff were hard at work inside the forge, so the carriers would have to do. Besides, they looked like they were enjoying the story, if the loud laughing from one of them was any indicator.

 

Currently they sat in the small alleyway behind Selmir’s Stellar Swordstock , right in its shadow. The carriers had just finished unloading all of the materials that Arien’s bosses ordered, and the one that was laughing was supporting herself against the crates to keep from falling over. Her partner (a very young-looking uncle, Arien learns) rolls his eyes at the story. He shakes his head as he hands Arien the receipt forms to sign.

 

“That cousin of yours needs to get his priorities straight,” he says, scowling, “my mother would beat my father from north to south then back again if he went about the news the same way. And she’s pregnant as well, you say?” Arien nods, handing the receipts back, and he scoffs loudly.

 

“He sounds like he’s got a death wish,” his niece adds, composing herself. “Can’t say if he’s brave or thoughtless.”

 

“How about both?” Both carriers agree in their own ways, the woman just laughing even more. “I swear, I feel like I took his common sense when we were in the womb.” She doesn’t notice the slip of words until she catches the confusement the other two give her.

 

“In the womb?” The man asks, “I thought you both were cousins?”

 

“Oh, we are,” she corrects hurriedly, “but we were raised so close together, sometimes I forget that.” To her relief, their expressions shift to understanding.

 

“I get that,” the woman smiles cheekily, putting an arm around her uncle and pulling him close to her to his annoyance. “Our mothers were pregnant at the same time with us, so they reared us together as well. You couldn’t pay me a thousand credits to call this man my uncle, haha!” He shoves her arm off and pinches her side, and she jumps away to lean against one of the crates.

 

“At least show me some respect, will you?” He grouses.

 

“Absolutely not, I’m older than you.” The man sighs, like he’s heard the argument before and tosses in the towel, and the woman snickers. After she throws a few more teases at him, she pats the crate she’s leaning, a thoughtful look on her face. “But back to the topic at hand—I didn’t know there were conscriptions going around. I guess that explains the increased orders for metals.”

 

“It’s crazy,” Arien says. She knew that monster sightings were becoming more frequent, but she didn’t expect for militias to be formed so soon. The coastal city of Port Madeline was considered one of the better protected cities that bordered the Yuriana Empire as well, and was not in the immediate proximity of where most of the monster sightings were concentrated. “Which other forges did you deliver to?”

 

“Including yours? The Goyen Brothers, Roundshield’s, Master Wheelock,” the man counts the names down on his fingers,”and…oh! And Thomasin Black, but we’ve got a few more to go.” His partner holds up her own clipboard ruefully, and Arien sees the stack of papers that have yet to be signed.

 

Arien laughs lightly. “Well, you have mine and the rest of the Umberite Guild’s gratitude for your hard work,” she says sincerely. “You both should come to this week’s Frīgedæg’s fire, I feel like it would help you relax after a long week.”

 

They both look at her quizzically. “Isn’t Frīgedæg fires for the Wheshans? I don't think we'd be able to go, we’re both native-born Yurians,” the woman replies a bit wistfully, and the man nods with the same kind of regret.

 

“Not at all! I’m not Wheshan, and neither is my family, but we attend every week,” Arien tells them cheerfully. “In fact, my youngest plays her fiddle at the fires whenever she remembers to bring it, and everyone’s only ever praised her.” And like the proud mother she is, Arien starts feeling giddy when she thinks of Clara standing high on a beer barrel, excitedly playing the jig she’d spent a whole week practicing. “She’s only eight as well, can you imagine?”

 

Both delivery carriers raise their eyebrows in surprise and smile. “That’s wonderful!” The man looks over at his niece, who looks back with pleading eyes, and concedes with a happy sigh. “If you say so, then we’ll try to make it. I’ll have to walk it by the missus, but it shouldn’t be too hard.”

 

“Yeah!” The woman jumps up in victory, and hops into the driver’s seat of their wagon with excitement. She leans back and looks at Arien with wide and happy eyes. “I’ve always wanted to go to the fires, just never thought I could.”

 

“Anyone and everyone is welcomed to not only Frīgedæg, but to every other celebration that happens in Madeline,” Arien walks over and pats her on the arm with a smile, “no one should ever be left out.”

“To the holy union of Prince Lloyd and Princess Amalie! Long live the Lights of the Empire!”

 

“May the Sun God, Aegletes, bless Prince Llyod’s royal heir: Prince Emilian!”

“ ̸̮̪̭͇͙̊͗̀ͅR̴̬̹̼̖͕͐̇̏͒ͅa̶̟̰̜͂t̴͔̝̖͙̍̑̄s̴̡̨̲̥͖͐̇̈́ ̵̡͉̘̘͖͎̬̮̿̔͑̉͘͝ḽ̷̲̳̼̭͔͖̓̂͛̅͠ĩ̴̧̮͇̙͔͈k̵͙̜̥̲̘̑͑̃̑͂e̶̦̐͘ ̷̝͓̗͂̆͂y̴̡̨̨̧͚̟̎͋̄̌ó̶̼̳̠͈͔̖̠͐̀̐͝ŭ̶̝̳͉̄͋̑̽͠͠͠ ̴̨̲̥͐̎̀͒ṁ̴̧͓u̵̥͇̰̣̣̹̼̿̾̈́̓̀̆͂͝ͅs̷͎͂͒̈̇͆̚͝t̸̞̳͔̠̫͗̈̂ ̷̟̹̦͈̺̒̃̈́̀s̶̟͑̅̐t̶̡̢̨̞̊̌͌͜ā̶̝̦͗̍ẙ̷̻̫̭̲̰͎̤̜͐͛̑͌̈͘ ̷̢̭͓̠̉̃ḧ̷͖̤͈̤͚͙̎͋͊͜i̸̞̓́̾̾̇̽̾͝d̸̮̓͆̈́͑̐̌̓̚d̸̖̼͌̋́̆͊̃͝ę̶̠͎̦̽͐n̴̘̥̾̈͝!̶͎̦̜̭̱̼̳̈̌͌̿”̶̡̰̠̝̑͒̈́͊͆̎

“Besides,” Arien gives them a wicked smile, “I’m forcing my coward for a cousin to come along, he won’t be able to avoid Saera then.” All three of them laugh, and the two carriers enthusiastically agree to come no matter what. “Well, thank you for letting me air out my grievances, you didn’t have to,” Arien says at last when the two board their cart, giving the delivery horses a few cubes of sugar as an apology for the delay. They eat them happily.

 

“Not at all,” the man smiles, and adjusts the reins in his hands, “we enjoyed your story a lot! I hope your cousin-in-law rips him a new one.”

 

“Hope to see you this dies Veneris!” The woman calls out.

 

“I hope so too— wait! I didn’t catch your names!”

 

“We’ll introduce ourselves next time! Good day, Missus Jane!” And with a soft yank on the lines the pair ride out with bright smiles, and Arien huffs with a small smile on her face.

---

 

“Aintín Jane and Nana are calling you a coward, pa.”

 

That was not what Arjen wanted to hear when his son came over to his post to give him his lunch. It has been close to twenty hours now since his fight with Saera, about five hours since both Arien and Faraday lectured him, and exactly forty minutes since his patrol sergeant stopped ribbing him about the whole mess when he told her what happened.

 

“They’re kind of right.”

 

And now Daire was giving him grief for it as well. He can faintly hear his guardsmen snickering from behind them, and he makes a mental note to put them down for armory-cleaning duty when they return to their quarterpost.

 

“Daire, can we not talk about this now,” Arjen groans, taking the tied handkerchief from his hand. The clay pot inside it is warm, and his stomach growls in anticipation. He left home without eating much besides a piece of toast with elderberry jam.

 

“But I want to,” Daire insists, crossing his arms. He gives his father a pointed look, and Arjen is reminded that he’s an adult and not just his little boy. “I’ve got some words for you too.”

 

Arjen raised an eyebrow at the serious expression on Daire’s face, slowly starting to feel rather amused than annoyed. But then he heard one of his men actually lose it—Fowler, if the goose-like honk of laughter was to be trusted—and he got annoyed again. Daire’s expectant look on his face didn’t budge though.

 

Arjen sighs and looks around, and spots an area clear enough of the general public to give them some semblance of personal space. He nods over to the spot and hands the food back to Daire, “Take the food and go over there, I need to do something first.” When Daire goes, Arjen takes off the metal helmet he’s been sweating in and plops it in Fowler's arms. “I expect it to shine before I’m back, guardmen.”

 

Fowler’s left speechless while the others do their best to hold in their own laughs. “Wha—but captain—!” But Arjen’s already walking off.

 

“Shining!” He last hears the rest of the patrol playfully mock him before he makes it to the empty spot at the fountain in the middle of the piazza his patrol were walking around in, gratefully taking the clay pot from Daire once he sits down next to him. And sure enough, a warm aroma of coal-cooked salmon and pea pottage wafts up his nose when he lifts the lid, and he starts scarfing down the food once his son hands him his spoon.

 

He only needed a piece of bread and some sorrel to make this truly perfect.

 

“Maolaigh ar do luas,” Daire takes off the waterskin hanging on his side and hands it to his father, “or you’ll choke, pa.” Arjen thanks him and quickly takes a gulp, only to immediately regret it when he realizes that he’s not drinking water, but ale.

 

A very lukewarm, stale, and nasty-tasting one.

 

“What the hell?!” It was like drinking Arien’s coffee all over again, and he promptly spat the drink out of his mouth. He glares at Daire, who takes three big gulps from the waterskin before looking back at him. “Really, Daire?”

 

“What?” Daire gives him an innocent shrug. “I passed Tawny’s on the way here and he gave me some of the ale that wouldn't sell the past week for free. It was a steal.” He takes another sip to Arjen’s horror.

 

“It’s poison,” Arjen gags, furiously wiping his tongue with his handkerchief. “Next time just get water, or some braggot.”

 

“Cowards can’t be choosers, pa,” Daire admonishes teasingly, and Arjen silently curses in his head that the original purpose of their shared lunch time wasn’t forgotten. To his son’s credit, he allows Arjen to finish his salmon and pottage before taking the pot away and making the older man meet his eyes.

 

“Athair,” Daire says.

 

“Leanbh,” Arjen replies. They stare at one another, unblinking, neither saying anything for the next few seconds.

 

“Athair,” Daire repeats, “you have to apologize to ma.” Arjen groans, and he goes to stand up, to end this conversation and march back to his patrol, but Daire grabs him by both of his arms and forces him in place.

 

“Enough, Daire,” Arjen pushes his hands off and runs a rough hand through his hair, “I understand what I have to do, you don’t think that everyone else hasn’t told me to do the exact same thing already?” He vaguely gestures over to his patrol, who quickly busy themselves as to seem like they weren’t trying to eavesdrop.

 

“Yes, I figured you have, but I stopped by Aintín Fiona’s today. Ma’s there.” Arjen involuntarily winces at that. Fiona’s never held him in good graces, or he with her either for that matter. “Aintín was out at the moment, but I saw ma, and pa, she was kind of a mess.”

 

Arjen snapped at attention at his son’s words, like he’d just dumped a basin of cold water over him. Immediately, worst case scenarios intruded his mind and had him rising from his seat, hand unconsciously reaching for his sword. So he could do what? Arjen didn’t know, but his heart was beating fast and he was ready to bolt to his least favorite sister-in-law’s.

“Is she—”

 

“She’s doing well!” Daire added quickly when he saw his father’s alarm. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have said it like that, I just meant that she was really sad! She was sad when I saw her!”

 

“Sweet Sathe, are you trying to kill me?!” Arjen exclaims, plopping back down on the fountain. Passerby, and his patrol, eye them curiously. “I think my heart stopped there for a moment…”

 

“I’m sorry!”

 

“I’m too young to die from a heart attack, Daire.” He takes a few more seconds to steady his heart beat, turning down another offer from Daire’s waterskin, and runs a now-sweaty hand through his hair again. “Okay, okay. So, what happened when you saw your mother?”

 

Daire purses his lips and wrings the waterskin in his hands. “Well, she was laying spread out on the rug in front of Aintín’s fireplace, just staring at the ceiling. I made her some peppermint tea and tried to giver her some of your food, but she wouldn't eat anything I gave her.”

 

“You were going to give my lunch away?”

 

“That's not the point, pa,” Daire rolls his eyes, “I’m saying, ma’s not just angry with you. She’s sad. We all are.”

 

“We?” Arjen asks, and Daire looks at him like he’s said the stupidest thing while trying to look somewhat respectful about it.

 

“Of course, we ,” he emphasizes, “Mama, Aintín Jane, Nana…me.” Daire folds his legs up and sits criss-cross on the ledge of the fountain. He looks much younger than the twenty-two years he is. “Papa, I don’t want you to leave.”

 

“Daire…” Arjen starts, but his son gives him pleading eyes for him to finish.

 

“I know it’s your duty and that no one can ignore the conscriptions, but I can still not like it all the same. Pa, your work as a city shield already puts you in harm’s way everyday. You may not realize it, but everyone prays that you come home safe and in one piece everytime you go out to protect the city. And you do! But now you’re being called to arms to fight literal monsters. You won’t be coming home once you leave…”

 

Daire doesn’t cry, but he sulks when the words come tumbling out his mouth, and oh , does Arjen’s heart pinch at the look on his son’s face.

 

“And I know I’m well past the age of majority, but…I’m not ready for you to leave us. None of us are.”

 

And now Arjen’s heart absolutely shatters. He steadies the shakiness that’s bound to be heard in his voice and offers the boy a smile. “Daire, you make it sound like I’m going to die,” and he wants to smack himself, because he just might. For all the supernatural skills and abilities that he’s inherited from his lineage (no matter how hard he’s tried to deny them), Arjen was still very much mortal. He wasn’t like              , so there was no guarantee that he was going to survive whatever monster’s he’ll inevitably come across.

 

And it seems Daire understands this as well, and like the sensitive child Arjen’s known him to be, had let the idea ruminate in his head for a while.

 

“You might,” Daire says, “and mama is worried. She’s afraid you won’t be able to meet the baby before you leave either. Did you know the first few days of a newborn’s life are important for the parents? It helps the baby know who they are.”

 

“The baby will come to know me when I come back,” Arjen assures. Saera will surely be due after he leaves, there’s no doubt there, but he will be damned if the child won’t be smothered in his love once he returns. “I’m…I can’t quite explain how I feel about this whole mess. Angry, most definitely. At the Order of Oppidan for the decree, and the emperor and his parliament for approving it, but there’s nothing we can do about it. I wish there was.”

 

There was a bout of quiet until Daire whispered, “We could run away, all of us.”

 

Arjen smiles ruefully. “Not with your mother as pregnant as she is, and not with the rise in monster sightings outside the city. You all are safer in Port Madeline than anywhere else right now, and I’m not risking that.”

 

“Ughhh,” Daire groans, and Arjen laughs softly when he dramatically drapes himself over him, “all of this is a load of horsecrap!” He can feel the disappointment that weighs his son down, and he ruffles the boy’s dark curls. It's an inky dark-blue, like a starless night-sky. Like his mother’s.

 

“…‘m sorry,” he says quietly. Daire huffs a light-hearted ‘no you’re not’ , and takes comfort in the fingers that card through his hair. He can’t say anything else because his mind is a jumble of anger and sadness and calm. He can’t do anything more than give a sad little sorry that partially wasn’t his to give.

 

“Captain Bruce!” The two men look up and see Arjen’s sergeant a few steps away from them. She looks a little apologetic for interrupting, but she silently tells Arjen that lunch is over and walks back to their patrol. 

 

If his eyes were seeing the truth, then he can swear that most of his guardsmen were dapping the corners of his eyes. Fowler’s lower lip quivered a bit, gripping his helmet in his arms like it was a baby’s blanket.

 

He was going to have to give them a lecture about privacy when their patrol was over.

 

“All right,” Arjen grunts when he stands up and pats Daire’s shoulder, his hand lingering a bit longer than usual. “Get home safe, Daire. I’ll talk to your mother soon.”

 

“You better,” Daire sniffs, and he cracks his back. “You know she made your lunch? She said the one that I cooked would’ve just made you hungrier, so she made the salmon and peas and gave them to me before I left.”

 

Arjen smiles, a bit too smugly. So she wasn’t too mad at him. “Thought so. Tell her it was missing sorrel when you see her again.” Daire rolls his eyes and laughs.

 

“It’s your funeral.”

 

“Well, I wouldn’t mind dying by my woman’s rage.”

 

“Of course you wouldnt.”

Notes:

I went crazy and rewrote this chapter like five times haha! And alias reveals! As for how the twins came up with Jane and Bruce…its actually kind of dumb but I can’t wait to write it!

This chapter was a challenge, and the only thing that kept me from entirely giving up was a pack of breath mints, blue gatorade, and the promise of hibachi

Up next: Back to the palace!

 

---

- Frīgedæg: the last day of the work week (not related to Naofa)
- credit: type of paper currency; the third highest (fourth lowest) out of six
- dies Veneris: the last day of the work week (Imperial language)
- Maolaigh ar do luas: go slower
- Athair: father
- Leanbh: child, specifically one's daughter/son/the one you waited nine months for

 

And hopefully not to confuse: Arjen is a shield captain and has a sergeant working directly under him. He’s the capt. of a patrol: him, his sergeant, and a batch of guardsmen, which is the lowest rank of the city shields. Can’t wait to expand more!

Chapter 5: Wonder and wandering

Notes:

IM LATE BUT ENJOY!!!!

The palace was absolutely busy with activity, and Emilian is quite frankly done with it. Gone were the days of relaxation and quiet (not that he had many of those to begin with), because now the man couldn’t go a minute without being stopped by a giggling court lady, an overly-comfortable distant relative, or—Aegletes forbid —a dusty old noble who thought that they should lecture him with their ‘words of wisdom’.

 

And to resolve this predicament, Emilian decided to become a night owl. For the past couple of weeks, the heir apparent reworked his circadian clock and has effectively become nocturnal, much to the exasperation of his father. But it was all for the sake of his sanity, Emilian reasoned, because if he had to go through the same mindless, irritating conversation one more time , he was surely going to lose it.

 

The man walks through the halls—empty and quiet, and revels in it. His path is lit up by the moon that shone through the windows, and it washes over him like a gentle lap of water. He tries to savor each drop, but finds the limestone walls and velvet curtains that surround him stifling, so he makes his way outside.

 

He ends up in the palace’s east garden. It opened up to the untamed force known as Peristi Forest, separated by a large man-made lake. The quiet of the halls persists outside, and he takes in the fresh smell of flowers that accompany it now, already feeling much better than a minute before.

 

“...he believes so,” Emilian slows down, hearing a voice as he nears the lake, “then I’ll go. I trust my brother's judgment.” Instincts and paranoia take over and he crouches behind the nearest rosebush, a hand already reaching for the small dagger hidden in his boot.

 

The low voices stop, and a whip of the wind is heard. 

 

Odd, there is no breeze tonight. But then, a rush of wind blows behind him, and before he can turn around, hot breath is skating down his neck.

 

“Prince Emilian?” With the grace of a wet cat, Emilian yelps and loses his balance. He scoots away, and in the same breath pulls out his dagger, but any sense of intimidation is moot before the newcomer. They put their hands up, “My apologies, your highness.”

 

He huffs unamusedly at the empire’s Jade-Pierced Hawk , who looked a little sheepish at the state they were both in. “Kirra,” he greeted, “It seems you and uncle are well.” He holds his arm out, and the green-haired man hastily helps him up. Sharp footsteps make their way to them, and by the time Emilian’s dusted himself off his uncle rounds the corner.

 

“Emilian!” And despite his age and size, his uncle grasps him around the waist and lifts him in a bone-crushing hug. “It’s good to see you, my little runner!”

 

“Uncle Eiji,” Emilian gasps, “you as well.” After a good squeeze his uncle releases him, and Emilian tries not to stumble when he regains his footing. He rights himself and straightens his jacket. “I wasn’t aware you were visiting.”

 

Eiji hums and starts walking in the other direction, gesturing for him to follow. “Frankly, neither was I.” Emilian cocks his head. “Your father called me in when he heard I was in the next city over.” They stroll around the garden as Eiji continues to explain his sudden appearance, ending up at the bank of the lake.

 

“An expedition? To the northeastern forests?” Emilian lets the news settle in his head for a moment.

 

“Mhm,” Eiji nods, seating himself on a nearby stone bench, “Your father thinks there’s something worth noting there, but he wants discretion, so it will only be me and a few men from the Sparrow Meliora going.”

 

“I see…” he rolls this new information around in his head and tries to piece things together. The reports being sent back to the palace had intrigued him somewhat, so whenever he had time and visited his father’s offices he would skim over them. A spike in demonic activity was observed eastward of the capital, and as of late the demons there were exhibiting abilities and behaviors that they previously didn’t before.

 

The reason for these changes hasn’t been discovered yet.

 

“This wouldn’t have to do with the abnormal demons, would it?” He asks.

 

Eiji nods and shifts his eyes to give Kirra a pointed look. His guardian bows, and with one quick swirl of gust he disappears. The atmosphere changes, both metaphorically and literally.

 

Emilian raises an eyebrow at the excessiveness, “A concealment charm? What, are you going to tell me some big family secret or something?” Eiji doesn’t answer and Emilian’s mind stutters for a moment. “Actually?”

 

“No, no,” Eiji shakes his head and pats the empty spot next to him for Emilian to take, “nothing like that. It’s not something bad, if that’s what you’re worried about.” He pauses, as if wracking his head for the correct words to say without creating a fuss, “Brother, he…he consulted a cleric a few days ago.”

 

Emilian’s eyes widen, “A cleric? Are you sure?” The revelation is a surprise to say the least. Clerics were relics of ancient times, the mystical predecessors of the modern-day Druid. They followed and prayed to a god vastly different from his own, one who held dominion over the earth and forests rather than the sky and sun, and scried with stones and tea leaves instead of a more dependable medium, like the stars.

 

“Yes, I even went with him myself.”

 

“But…why? Were our seers not enough?”

 

“No, it’s not that. It’s because of your grandfather,” his brows furrow as he thinks back to Lloyd’s words, “he’s been having…visions? I don’t know what to call them, but he says he’s being shown something in his dreams. He deduced that the demons have a connection of some sort with nature, so going to a cleric would make much more sense than going to a seer. So we went, and they pointed us to the east.”

 

Emilian hums, “I guess so, but a cleric? Can we really trust their words, they’re not Solstan.”

 

“It’s better than nothing,” Eiji shrugs, and stands up to stretch his limbs, “besides, it’s only a few of us, and your father wants to wrap this lead up before the engagement party.”

 

And suddenly, all thoughts of Eiji’s mission go out the window at the words ‘engagement’. Emilian bites back a sigh, but his uncle catches his change in mood and smirks. “Oooh, what’s with the face, little runner?” The younger man rolls his eyes and gets up to walk away, but Eiji is quicker (and much more stronger) than him, so when he grabs the other’s wrist he stays put, his chances of escape now down to zero.

 

“Uncle, please,” the man nearly whines, tugging at his wrist, “can we not have this conversation? I’m tired.”

 

“That is a lie,” he tugs back, the momentum sending Emilian back to the stone bench, “I remember Lloyd complaining to me about your ‘abysmal’ sleep schedule and how he’s going to start putting bitter chocolate in your coffee to punish you. So, tell me. ”

 

Emilian decides to ignore the chocolate threat for now and pleadingly stares at his uncle to let it go, but he doesn’t, so he accepts his fate. “It’s just, just—okay let me say this first, I bear no ill will for Lady Sheehan, she’s a great lady and she makes father happy. It’s just…I’m so sick and tired of hearing about the engagement.”

 

Eiji bites his cheek to keep from laughing.

 

“That’s all anyone talks about now! And now because my father's getting married, everyone’s telling me the same thing, ‘Oh hello your highness, did you hear that the emperor is getting married again? How is it he can marry twice over when you haven’t a bride once?” , or ‘I know Lady so-and-so is around your age as well, why don’t you ask her?” , or ‘My daughter’s a young and beautiful thing, won’t you consider her?’ . It’s the same question over and over again uncle, I’m going to lose my mind. And then, just as I’m about to tell them off they say, ‘We’re just worried dear, you and your brother aren’t getting younger, so you have to hurry it up now,’. As if that makes it any better.”

 

“Oh, how dreadful,” he holds up his hands in surrender when Emilian shoots him a cold glare, “joking, joking! If it really bothers you, why don’t you come and join me eastward?”

 

Emilian shakes his head ruefully, “Father needs all the assistance he can have, so my place is here. I’ll just…have to grit my teeth and push through.”

 

“Atta boy!” Eiji takes him by the shoulders with gusto. “Don’t let those rat bastards get to you. And if you want, I know a little someone who’ll absolutely help you—”

 

“I’m not getting Hermia, I don’t want a ‘Third Incident’ to happen.”

 

“Ahhh you’re just like your father. No fun at all.” Emilian lets out a chuckle, and his chest feels a bit lighter than before. They decide to end their night stroll right then, sleep finally settling into them, and start walking the path. A bit of movement scurries in the corner of his eye though, and Emilian looks back, towards the lake. Over on the other shore a gentle glow walks on the bank, dotting in and out of sight.

Emilian rubs his eyes, and the light is gone. ‘A trick of the light,” he concludes, and turns around back to the palace.

Notes:

THANK YOU FOR READING!!!!

Chapter 6: Whines and Worries

Notes:

CW: implied sexual content, not explicit; unintentional name-calling(?)

 

Translations for non-english words at the end !

Enjoy !

Children are a blessing; pregnancy is not. Fiona can’t attest to this, what with her being unmarried with no kids and all, but she’s seen many of her friends and relatives go through it. For crying out loud, her sister’s been pregnant three (now four!) times over now, and boy did she have a lot to say in those twenty-seven months.

 

That wasn’t to say Saera regrets having her children. Absolutely not, no way, perish the thought. The fact that she has four (now five) kids alone proves that (Fiona’s slowly suspecting that the couple have a sort of pregnancy kink, not that she wants to find out—ever). But with all the complaining she does about the back pain, the food cravings, the uncontrollable mood-swings she has, you’d think she hates having kids.

 

It’s gotten to the point that Fiona herself hates pregnancies. She dreads the moments her sister comes over with her swollen belly, her emotions all over the place, and her hunger fussy. Today was one of those days. Sort of.

 

“You wouldn’t understaaaand,” she whines, sprawled out on Fiona’s couch like a blooming flower, “it’s not easy to stay celibate when you’re married, Fiona. I’m not a spinster like you.” A rude thing to say, but given that Fiona told her sister to ‘close her damn legs’ if she didn’t want to be in so much pain, it could be forgiven. And she wholeheartedly stands by that (more out of pride than belief), so now the venting session has become a little argument.

 

“Oh, Great Tam,” Fiona prays through clenched teeth, “grant me patience to keep me from killing my deviant-of-a-sister.” She faces away, tending to the soup cooking in the pipkin in front of her. There was not a lot holding her back from whacking her with the wooden ladle in her hand other than the fact that her opponent is pregnant. If that weren’t the case then there would’ve been a dogfight by now.

 

Saera dramatically gasps, putting one hand over her chest and the other over her swollen belly, “You would murder me and my unborn baby? I can’t believe you would do such a thing, and to your own twin no less!”

 

“We are not twins,” Fiona says, focusing on mashing the beans in the soup so that they’re easier to consume, “and if you continue to act like this in my own home I will kick you out, no matter if you’re pregnant or not.”

 

That’s a lie, both of them know, because even as they argue Fiona still ladles a second bowl of soup, setting it down on the small table where she usually dines. Saera huffs and stands up from the couch, ambling her way to sit in front of the steaming bowl of soup.

 

“Fiona,” the older sister groans and looks back to the younger, who cups the bowl in her palms, “could you cool the soup down for me? Hot foods make me nauseous.” Fiona scowls at her, but walks to the metal rack that hangs over the stove anyways.

 

“Shameless…” she grumbles, picking out a tin container. She uncaps it, revealing a dwindling supply of blue crystals, just the size of her pinky nail. She takes one of the crystals and breaks an even smaller piece off the end, crushing it and sprinkling it over Saera’s bowl. The effects are immediate, and the soup cools down enough that it wouldn’t scald her tongue.

 

Saera hums happily, “A million thank you’s.” She digs in and sighs contently when her mouth is overrun with flavor; haricot beans, celery, leeks, white carrots, and onions swimming in light vegetable stock. Fiona rolls her eyes, but hides her smile when Saera continues to eat with gusto.

 

It was an improvement from this morning, where she wouldn’t eat anything Fiona gave her.

 

They eat in comfortable silence, Saera being focused on her food while Fiona idly thinks about the real reason why her sister is at her flat today. She knows why , or more specifically who the why is, and her expression sours. Not only because she very much does not like who the who is, but also because she’s annoyed that she’s somewhat siding with him.

 

It was inevitable that her brother-in-law would receive a conscription (him being a shield captain only greatened the chances), so it shouldn’t have been a surprise for her sister when they finally got the news. Yet it was, and her sister’s emotional imbalance caused her to snap at him. More often than not, Fiona's concern is below bedrock when it comes to Saera and her husband’s marital issues. She encourages it actually! But Saera is pregnant, and such stressful situations weren’t good for her or the baby. Fiona shudders at the memory of Saera’s second pregnancy, where she barely survived. She did not want a repeat of that day.

 

She swirls her spoon in the soup for a few minutes before working up the nerve to bring attention to the proverbial bear in the room.

 

“Saera—” 

 

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK

 

Fiona all but jumps out of her chair, very nearly knocking her bowl over. Saera startles as well, more so because of Fiona, and chokes a bit on the soup in her mouth.

 

“Oh fuck,” Fiona gets up and slaps her sister on the back a couple times. When Saera shoves her arm away, she goes to answer the door. She looks through the peephole, and spies a familiar head of ginger hair.

 

She grins.

 

“Who— cough cough , who is it?” Saera asks as she opens the door.

 

“Jane,” Fiona smiles and hugs the red-haired lady. Jane returns it with just as much warmth. The two women let go and Fiona takes the moment to take her visitor in: she hasn’t changed much in the two months they haven’t met, other than the fact that her skin has tanned and her hair appears a few shades lighter than before. “It’s so good to see you, céad mile fáilte! How’ve you been?”

 

“Same old, same old,” Jane chuckles tiredly, stepping inside the flat. Saera beams when she sees her, and when Jane makes her way to the table she gets up and gives her a quick peck on the cheek before hugging her. “Oh, I got you these.”

 

She holds up a net pouch for Saera to take, and the pregnant woman squeals. About half-a-dozen blue eggs sit in the pouch, a thin line of gold swirling around each of their shells, and when she takes one out it fits perfectly in the palm of her hand.

 

“They’re not pickled, but I thought boiled eggs would be close enough,” Jane smiles as Saera hugs her again, “and don’t worry, they aren’t salted and should be cool enough for you to eat them.”

 

Saera rubs the smooth shell with her cheek like a cat, but then suddenly pouts. “But you didn’t have to, brass-jawed sea hawk eggs are expensive. I would’ve been fine with chicken or boar-tailed eggs.”

 

“But these have more proteins and vitamins than those eggs,” Jane takes the egg she’s holding and starts to de-shell it, “that’s best for a growing baby.” She hands the now shell-less egg back, and Saera bites into it with a satisfied look on her face. Looking at this scene, Fiona’s annoyance towards Bruce ticks higher.

 

Why can’t he be more like his cousin?

 

“Oh you spoil me, Jane,” Saera sighs after she swallows her first bite, “if you’d been born a man then I would definitely leave Bruce for you in a heartbeat.”

 

“Parliament is passing a bill to legalize same-sex marriage…” Fiona adds, and both Jane and Saera smack her in the arm. “Joking! Just joking.”

 

Jane shakes her head and laughs, “I swear, I don’t get why you two can’t get along, you both are more alike than you think.” Fiona pretends to gag and steps away from the other two, plopping herself on the couch.

 

“Please, do not insult me like that ever again. My heart almost broke.”

 

“That’s exactly something Bruce would say!” Saera sidesteps the pillow Fiona throws at her and giggles. The three women spend the next few minutes chatting idly, from the latest talk going around town to their personal lives, but when the conversation starts to lull Saera hums, and brings up the unsaid reason for Jane’s visit.

 

She puts down the half-finished pouch of eggs on the table and looks at her cousin-in-law, “But Jane, you came here to talk to me about…last night, yes?”

 

“...Yeah, something like that,” Jane stands up straight from where she is leaning against the wall, “but we won’t talk about it if you don’t want to.”

 

“No, it’s fine,” she shakes her head and sweeps the discarded eggshells into her hand. “But I’m staying for a few more nights. I feel like I’ll erupt again if I see his face. 

 

Jane nods empathetically, “Absolutely understandable, I would do the same.”

 

“You’re lucky Faraday doesn’t have tempers like us.”

 

“I am, aren’t I?” She smiles, “I really won with my love.”

 

Saera glares at her with no real heat, and she stands up to throw away the eggshells, but Fiona comes and takes them from her, nodding down to the hallway further in the flat. “You two can use my room to talk, I’ll be out here…reading, I guess.”

 

“Thank you, deirfiúr,” she gives her a quick peck and makes her way to the room. When Jane goes to follow, Fiona grabs her wrist gently and pins her with a worried gaze.

 

“Please don’t push her, okay?” She pleads, tapping a worn-out book she’d gotten from a shelf against her thigh. “She was a mess this morning and wouldn’t eat much, and now she’s feeling better so, so…” Jane places a hand on the one on her wrist, and reassures her with a tiny squeeze. 

 

“I won’t do anything that will stress her out, don’t worry.” She takes the other’s hand off and holds it. “And Saera’s strong, she’s been through worse and got through it. She’ll be okay.”

 

She purses her lips, then sighs, “…Okay. Yeah, you’re right, sorry.” She squeezes Jane’s hand back and lets go.

 

“Don’t be, you’re being a good older sister.”

 

“...Thanks.” Fiona walks back to the couch and sits down, cracking open her book. She sees Jane smile at her when the other thinks she doesn’t notice, and then she goes down the hall to join Saera.

 

---

 

Arien holds up a finger to her mouth when she closes the door behind her, and Saera, although confused, complies. She watches in fascination as her sister-in-law bites the pad of her index finger, hard enough to draw blood, and starts to write something on the door. The red stains the wood, soaking into it, and then does the impossible, and begins to crawl.

 

Like the vines of a choking tree they grow, and they start to snake over the door’s surface. Saera gasps when they pass the doorframe and spread to the walls, overtaking them until the ends meet again on the opposite side of the room. When the spell completes itself Arien pulls her finger away, and the bite on her finger closes itself like a stitch.

 

Saera quickly gets over her wonder and claps excitedly, “No matter how many times I see it, your magic always amazes me!” Arien looks up from her hand and blushes. “What did you do anyways?”

 

“A modified hushing spell, it lets us talk freely without having to worry about eavesdroppers.” Arien’s eyes widen and she waves her hands quickly. “Not to say that Fiona’s a gossip—”

 

“She is one though,” Saera interrupts, and she laughs when Arien looks at her unimpressively, “I’m sorry I’m sorry— hahaha, it was funny, it was funny. Admit it, she is!”

 

Arien sighs, “And here your sister said that you were a mess. You really know how to flip-flop with your moods, Sae.”

 

“I wonder why,” she smirks, showingly rubbing her belly. Arien gives up and joins her on the bed, carefully laying on her side while Saera leans back on her hands. “But I understand. I feel like we’re going to talk more than about your brother.”

 

“I guess? I don’t know, I just want to know how you’re doing,” Arien takes the hand nearest to her own. Saera’s filled with a feeling that makes her want to cry from the sincerity in her sister-in-law’s words and expression, and she curses her swaying moods for making her so emotional.

 

“I’m…alright, I think.” She eases down onto the bed and stares at the cracked ceiling. “In hindsight I can see how I, er , overreacted?” She groans at the questioning sound of her voice. “It shouldn’t have been a surprise to me, is what I mean! Of course Arjen would get a conscription, he’s the right age and he’s fit. He’s a shield captain! It would’ve been weird if he hadn’t been chosen, I mean, I would be a little offended on his behalf because ‘is my husband not good enough for your stupid militia?’ No! Arjen’s perfect in every way, besides you know, his impulsivity and lack of social skills, but that’s whatever!”

 

“Back to the point! I just, I don’t know why I got so mad but I just did, and now I’ve ruined everything! Arjen hates me—!” 

 

“Okay, okay,” Arien sits herself and Saera up, rubbing soothing circles on the other’s back, “I think that’s your hormones talking, not what you really think.”

 

“Hor…what? Are you calling me a whore?”

 

“Jesus—no! I’m saying—nevermind!” She grabs Saera by the shoulders and they intensely lock eyes with one another. “What I’m saying is you’re overthinking right now. You didn’t ruin anything, Arjen doesn’t hate you, and you didn’t overreact.”

 

Saera blinks. “I…didn’t?” Arien shakes her head. “But, but I really did…”

 

“No, it was perfectly reasonable that you reacted that way, Saera.” Arien drops her hands from her shoulders to her hands and once again holds them. “Your husband is being sent out to fight literal monsters. Not the ones from stories or in our heads, but real ones that can kill. It doesn’t help that you’re pregnant as well, your sense of danger is heightened to keep you and your baby safe. Your family too.”

 

Saera nods, but they aren’t fully getting through to her. Arien notices this. “And…Arjen’s my brother, I know exactly how you feel, Saera.”

 

Saera starts to panic, “You’re right, I didn’t even think of that. I’m so sorry Arien—” But her sister-in-law squeezes her hands to get her attention back.

 

“Stop, stop, don’t apologize. I’m saying that you’re not alone in being worried for him, we all are. How you acted is probably what half of us would’ve done too, if we were in your position.”

 

She hangs her head. “But I did anyways. I could’ve reigned in my temper and thought my words through instead of blowing up.”

 

“The situation you were in was stressful, and both of you were probably tired too, so you probably couldn’t properly process what you were feeling and what you were trying to express.”

 

“Mm…” She sniffles, and Arien frowns at the image of the woman crying

 

“Saera,” Arien nudges her chin up so they can face each other again, “we’re living in difficult times now, there are difficult situations. Everyone will get overwhelmed at one point or another, allow yourself to be scared, and overcome it. Okay?”

 

No tears are spilt yet, but they just might by how understanding and open Arien looks at her. She pulls her into a hug, careful of Saera’s growing stomach, and they stay like that for a quiet moment. When they pull apart Saera is still sniffling, but there’s a small smile on her face.

 

“Sorry, sorry, I’m a mess right now.” She fans her face with her hands and laughs. “Ugh, Fiona’s right.”

 

Arien laughs with her, and goes about fixing the other’s hair from laying down. “Of course she is, older siblings are always right.”

 

“Isn’t Arjen older than you by a minute?”

 

“He is not, I don’t know why he keeps lying about that,” Arien grumbles. She finishes smoothing out Saera’s hair, but when she sees Saera’s now-smiling face, a sudden thought comes to her mind. “Oh, I just remembered!”

 

Saera tilts her head. “Hm?”

 

“A few days ago, you seemed happier than usual. I wanted to ask you, but the forge started getting busier and then you fought with Arjen…”

 

The other woman perks up. “Oh, you’re right! Something good did happen! I was going to tell everyone once we were all together, but then, you know.”

 

“Yeah.” Arien folds her legs underneath her and scoots closer. “Soooo, what happened?”

 

Saera gives her the biggest smile and she slaps her hands on her legs like a drumroll. “I got a letter from Dealla! She said she’s coming to visit with Uriah and Ellis soon, right around this week’s Frīgedæg.”

 

Arien gasps, and she quickly catches onto Saera’s excitement. “That’s amazing! I haven’t seen them and the little one since Ellis’s first birthday. That was around…ten months ago, right?

 

“Yes, but that’s not all,” Saera pulls Arien even closer, a wild look in her eyes, “guess what else Dealla said in her letter.”

 

“Uhm…” she tries to think, but nothing comes to mind. “I can’t say, but knowing her it’s probably something that would give Arjen a heart attack.”

 

“Close,” Saera shakes Arien by her shoulders and yells out loud, “SHE’S PREGNANT!”

 

Arien’s eyes nearly pop out of their sockets, and she watches in dumbfound silence as Saera squeals.

 

“I’m going to be a grandma again!”

Notes:

Guess who’s back, BACK AGAIN (gen, gen)

We finally meet Saera ! And her not-twin as a bonus. Pregnancy’s wack I tell you, it makes the nicest people turn into demons for nine long months, take my word as someone from a really big family.

This update was super duper late, and I apologize. Life and motivation are at an all-time low, but we persevere ! Like Arien said, its okay to feel frustrated and weak, those feelings help you understand what you’ve got to overcome and triumph over ! Im learning that the hard way.

 

Thanks for reading if youre still here, it means a lot !!! CIAOOO

---

- céad mile fáilte: a hundred thousand welcomes; a greeting for visitors and guests
- deirfiúr: sister

Chapter 7: Into the woods

Notes:

CW: language(?) (just in case)

 

Translations for non-english words at the end !

 

Better later than never amirite haha

Enjoy !!

In the less-busier parts of Port Madeline, where the shops turn into family homes and the streets become unpaved paths of dirt, a group of children play together, all young enough that their elders beg them to go outside rather than stay with them. Clara is one of these children, and as much as her parents love her to bits, they couldn’t keep up with her energy like they did when her older siblings were younger. It doesn’t help that they both have jobs.

 

This miffs her from time-to-time, but on the bright side of things she’s able to spend as much time outside as she wants to.

 

She loves the outdoors! Whether it’s splashing in the lake, rolling in the grass, or just laying in the sun, she loves it all! It’s pretty much expected given who her family is; a clan of awe-inspiring heroes (ignoring her Uncail Leif) who immigrated all the way from the proud nation of Brenwal, a country northward that was hidden in magical forests and beautiful glens.

 

But!

 

But even knowing that, Clara’s love of nature exceeded that of her entire family’s, even her dad and Aintín Cia, both of whom were druids and devoted their minds and bodies to Tam, their patron god of the gentle woodlands. It’s gotten to the point where her older siblings would tease that she’d grow up to marry a tree and have wooden puppets for babies (though she’d be okay with that as long as they were a kind tree, and she’d love her babies regardless).

 

A lot of her mother and father’s friends have told them that she showed the makings of a great druid, some even saying she could become a paladin, like her older cousin, Dealla. But she was still young, not even big enough to take the family’s cow out to graze without an elder with her, so all she did right now was enjoy as much of the beautiful bounty the earth had to offer.

 

Which makes the entire situation happening all the more frustrating! How terrible her friends were at this very moment.

 

“Kalen nonay eedis— the doorstop’s here!” She watches as four of her friends play Doorstop, which has been going on for about five minutes now. Five minutes prior, the leather ball they’d been playing with was kicked into the thicket, and no one wanted to be the one to retrieve it. They were told many times by their parents, their grandparents, their aunts and uncles, even by their neighbors to never ever go into the woods alone. The warning has loomed over them for the entirety of their lives, and nobody wanted to be the first to break it.

 

Well, nobody except for Clara.

 

“This is taking forever,” She groans, hanging off her friend’s arm as they watch, yet again, another tie between the remaining four children in the game. Two would throw out different signs while the other two would pick the same one of a different kind, and they’d start over and over and over again. “We’ll be here until suppertime!”

 

“Well, why don’t you get the ball then?” A boy with shaggy hair crosses his arms and looks at her with annoyance.

 

“No, she’s not allowed to,” her friend answers immediately. Clara’s never seen this boy around before, so he probably doesn’t know about Clara’s absolute fascination with the forest. “The minute she goes in there she’ll run off and get lost. Like a dog in a deli.”

 

“ Anneeeeth,” Clara whines, shaking her friend by her shoulders, “I won’t, I promise! I’ll be quick, in and out.” And maybe because she sounds too pleading that both Anneth and the boy don’t believe a single word she says. She doesn’t either, if she’ll be honest with herself.

 

“Why don’t you just go with her ?” the boy asks Anneth. Clara pauses in her whining to frown at his tone.

 

Anneth, on the other hand, doesn’t mind the boy’s rudeness and simply answers, “I’m allergic to gallowood. See right there?” She points into the thicket and at a tree a few hundred paces away from them. Limber wood of a lighter color wraps itself around it, a few innocent-looking blue and purple berries growing on it as if it weren’t killing its host.

 

Clara wrinkles her nose at the parasitic plant. She always hated them. Not only because they were selfish killers, but they also gave her friend terrible rashes and made it hard for her to breathe. Their berries didn’t even taste good.

 

“This part of the forest is crawling with them. You want me to die?”

 

The boy backs down and shakes his head. Clara dismisses her attention from the boy and turns back to the game, four players now becoming two. Both remaining look too serious for a simple game, especially when you remember that this was all so they wouldn’t have to walk a couple paces into the woods.

 

“Yes! Finally!” One of them jumps up in joy, punching the air, while the other stares down at her closed fist in betrayal. It seems the loser has been chosen.

 

“Well then,” the winner nudges her to the forests, and she tries to slap his elbow away but misses, “come on, Goby, the ball’s not gonna come back by itself.”

 

“This isn’t fair!” She wails, stomping her foot. “I wasn’t even the one who kicked it! It was Gerek who did!” The aforementioned boy scoffs when Goby points at him.

 

“Stop making a fuss and go get the dang ball,” he shoots back. And like that, another argument starts, and Clara, Anneth, and the random boy just sigh from the sidelines. When it starts to look like a fistfight is about to break out, Clara thinks she’s had enough and leaves Anneth’s side. Anneth tries to get her back, but she’s already hollering.

 

“OKAY! That’s enough!” And because Clara was the youngest and shortest out of their group, no one listens to her, so she steps in and pulls on Goby and Gerek by their ears, the same way her Aintín Saera does when Clarke and Daire are being naughty. “I. Said. ENOUGH!”

 

Anneth, both the oldest and tallest out of all of them, walks up and stands behind her like a guard. Clara lets go of them and turns to Goby, who’s rubbing her ear with a furious glare. “If you’re so scared, I’ll go wit’cha, okay?”

 

“Clara…” Anneth warns.

 

“I’ll just be walkin’ her in a straight line, promise,” she says, putting a hand over her heart. When her friend doesn’t look convinced, she adds, “everybody’s tired, ‘Neth. I wanna get the ball and go home.”

 

When she sees everyone nod in agreement, she sighs, and gives Clara a reluctant nod.

 

“Just, don’t let go of each other’s hands, got it?”

 

And with barely-contained excitement Clara agrees, and she drags Goby into the dense growth of the forest’s entrance without a second to lose. When the last they see of their friends disappears from view however, Goby immediately lets go of her hand, saying about how they’ll find the ball faster if they split up for a bit.

 

Clara can also hear her mutter about not wanting to babysit and hold hands with an annoying baby.

 

But that didn’t matter, because Clara was free to do whatever she wanted now! She looks back one more time and sees her friend still in view, and after noting the different landmarks around them, she smiles and skips away.

 

Amazing! Clara wanders the woods and marvels at how tall the trees grew, about how everything looked so green and healthy, and of all the little critters she observed. She walks on, minding where she stepped and being quiet as can be so she doesn’t disturb anyone, and relishes the not-so-silent silence of the gentle woodland.

 

Already, Clara started feeling like she was the queen of the castle, like she could do anything. Her body was light as a feather and she wanted nothing more than to ride the breeze with the leaves. To just float and exist and be whole.

 

She finds a creek, and jumps down the little cliff she’s on and jogs up to the water. It was clear and showed all the pretty rocks that rested in the shallow channel, and she coos at the tiny fish swimming by. She’s never seen an actual running stream of water before, only ever experiencing Boon Lagoon on the other side of town. She’s never even seen the ocean either! She promises herself that she’ll see it one day and as she begins following the stream.

 

At some point she’s taken off her shoes and merrily splashes in the shallow water, and has long since forgotten about her friend and the missing ball.

 

Until…

 

Splash!

 

Clara looks up when she hears something behind her. There’s nothing new at first glance, but her eyes lower down and she gasps. A ball! No wait, it’s the ball! She remembers why she was here now in the first place and walks over with delight, but once she’s only a few paces away the ball starts moving down stream.

 

“Ah, wait! ” Clara quickens her pace, but the water slows her down, and the ball floats farther away. “Oh, come on!” She steps out of the water and continues to follow by the bank, not minding the pebbles or sticks that she steps on to catch up.

 

She also doesn’t notice the soft trilling that goes to follow.

 

The creek has now turned into a river, and Clara’s frustration starts climbing the more she runs. The trees she passes get taller, and their leaves grow in abundance, blocking out a lot of the sunlight from above, not that Clara’s noticed. The pebbles under feet become stones, and it isn’t until she steps on a jagged one that she notices her surroundings now.

 

She was no longer in the gentle woodlands. She looks around and sees how much different the woods have become compared to a few moments ago.

 

It’s cold, so cold that she starts rubbing her bare arms for warmth. There are no birds chirping, no swaying leaves; it’s utterly dead and quite all around her.

 

No, she picks up an incessant buzzing sound coming from somewhere. She can’t find where it is, but it keeps buzzing as if it was just over her shoulder. It plants an agonizing feeling in her, rooting itself deep inside her chest and sprouting for more room. The pain makes her even colder and she crouches into a ball, clutching at her belly and wishing for the noise and the aching to go away. 

 

She’s made a mistake, she realizes belatedly, a very big mistake, but the overwhelming pain and chill going through her body doesn’t spare her any energy to be mad or panicked. She can’t even be afraid about being lost because all of her fear was towards the worrying thought that the pain wouldn’t end.

 

It’s not long before her limbs go stiff and become impossible to move; breathing has become difficult and her throat is dry as cotton. Is this what Anneth and that tree felt like with the gallowood? All the more reason to hate the dumb plant, she thinks.

 

She collapses onto the cold dirt and has given up on trying to push through the pain. She wants to sleep. A little part of her is afraid of closing her eyes, but she can’t deal with whatever’s come over her anymore.

 

“Ah, we found her.”

 

She blinks tiredly, but can’t muster up any strength to see whoever it was who said that. A shimmering glare of light comes into view, and someone sighs. A hand brushes through her hair soothingly.

 

“It’s alright, its okay. I’ll take care of you.” The last thing she sees is red, swirling with mysteries. Yet…familiar, somehow.

 

“Just go to sleep, Clara.” And Clara does.

 

---

 

It took four people to restrain Anneth. The girl is only twelve, but her apprenticeship under Thomasin Black has filled out her muscles generously, and now she has the strength of a horse. 

 

A very angry horse that wants to kick Goby’s face in.

 

“WHAT WAS THE ONE THING I SAID, HUH?!” Even with four people dogpiling on her, Anneth was putting up a fight, her fury undoubtedly giving her more power to work with. “The one thing I said! What was it?!”

 

Goby, both thoroughly mortified and afraid, looks down at the ground with tears in her eyes. She whispers, but everyone hears her. “To…to not let—”

 

“TO NOT LET GO OF HER HAND! And what did you do?!”

 

The girl takes a shuddering breath, not backing away even as Anneth inches closer. “...I let go.”

 

“You stupid. Fucking. Cunt!” Everyone flinches at the poison she spits out. A whole barrage of curses is released onto the poor girl, on her family, her ancestors, and even her future kin; she left no one in her family tree behind in her tirade. And while everyone was in agreement that Goby was at fault for losing Clara, they had to draw the line in the dirt somewhere. 

 

“Anneth, please,” one of the older girls steps forward, her hand hesitating on touching her enraged friend’s shoulder, “you need to calm down, you’re scaring everybody.”

 

“Me? I’m scaring everyone right now?” Anneth stares at the girl in disbelief, but at least she’s stopped in her pursuit to get to Goby. “We damn well should be, Clara’s gone! Lost, all because this stupid dunce couldn’t do something as simple as hold her hand.”

 

“But cursing her entire bloodline’s not gonna help!” Another child says. “We need to think with our heads on right, and we can only do that if you stop yelling and calm yourself.” Anneth scowls, but to their relief she backs away from Goby, who now is quietly crying into the palms of her hands. Two children go and try to comfort her.

 

Everyone takes a moment to collect themselves, because even though the two girls were the ones the most visibly distraught, that didn’t mean they weren’t either. The two children comforting the crying girl are close to tears, and the one who’d yelled at Anneth holds himself to try and stop his shaking.

 

“Maybe we should get an elder,” someone suggests, “they can come and get those sniffer dogs that find people.

 

“Or maybe a mage!” Another adds. “There must be a spell they can use to find lost people.”

 

“Isn’t Clara’s father one? He could have a spell.”

 

“No, he’s a druid,” Anneth corrects. “Druids are healers and diplomats. A paladin would be a better choice to go to, but there isn’t one in this town.” And then, she suddenly remembers that Clara’s uncle was a city shield—and a captain at that! While the forest was out of his jurisdiction, her uncle would certainly pull some strings to make finding Clara a top priority for the shields who patrol the town’s boundaries.

 

“We should get Clara’s uncle, he’s a shield captain. He’ll know what to do.”

 

“Do we have to?” Anneth almost breaks her neck to see who said that. A girl around her age in a white wimple jumps when the entire group’s attention falls on her. She fiddles with the leather strap of her belt and explains herself when it’s clear most of the attention is not positive. “It’s the city shields! We could get jailed or something for this, and our parents will definitely be angry with us.”

 

The mention of their parents has the group falter, and Anneth wants to slap each and every one of them until their faces are red and swollen, like a bunch of big, stupid tomatoes. “Are you—”

 

“Why would we get in trouble?” Anneth’s interrupted by the boy from before, the one who’d given her and Clara attitude earlier. She lets him speak, just to see if he needs to be put on her slap-list as well. “Is there a law saying we can’t go in the forest?”

 

The question makes the girl shrink into herself. The others only shrug, and when he looks at Anneth she shakes her head; she’d personally asked Clara’s uncle if there was, because if there indeed was one then she would’ve used it to convince Clara to give up on going into the forest. There sadly wasn’t one.

 

“If there’s no law, then we’ll be fine,” he reasons, and Anneth’s pleasantly surprised. She was sure this boy would be a bother. “And if we have to get in trouble with our parents to get that girl back, then let’s do it.” He looks over the group with the same annoyance from earlier, even crossing his arms the same way. “Unless, you want her to die in there, right?”

 

The group erupts in no’s and no way’s, and the boy nods at the agreed disagreement. “So what’s the problem then?” And everyone once again goes silent and looks anywhere but at him, and both he and Anneth scoff.

 

But Anneth is again surprised when Goby walks up with a determined look on her face. She stands a comfortable distance from her. “I-I don’t care if I get punished, I just want to find Clara quickly!” She casts her eyes down when Anneth meets her gaze. “Its, it’s my fault that she’s lost, so it’s only fair.” She goes and stands next to the boy.

 

Now Anneth feels a little bad for what she said earlier. She’ll apologize after this whole thing is over with, when they find Clara.

 

And like the syrup being collected from a tree, the others make their decision and agree. Even the girl who started the whole argument relents, looking properly embarrassed when she does.

 

“I’m glad you made the right choice. It’s good to know that she has friends she can rely on.”

 

There is no exaggeration when she says this, but Anneth feels their collective souls jump out of their bodies when an unknown voice appears behind them. They run a few paces away without looking just yet, and when they turn they see a person standing just under the shade of a tree.

 

But their sudden appearance is not what takes Anneth’s attention, because in their arms lies Clara, all curled up with her eyes closed. Anneth’s heart leaps with joy at seeing her little friend, but the person steps forward and she’s reminded again that a complete stranger was holding her.

 

The others call after her worriedly when she takes five long strides forward, stopping an arm’s length away from the stranger and her friend. The individual doesn’t back away, but they do pull Clara closer to their body. The slight action offends her greatly, but she reigns in her temper and looks the individual straight in the face, right into their bright, ruby eyes. “Who are you?”

 

She doesn’t think they're nobility, but they were definitely not a regular citizen like her or the other kids. They dressed very loosely, wearing nothing but a light-colored chemise that was shamelessly left open and nearly slipping off their shoulders. A newborn baby had more modesty than this stranger, and they were holding her dear friend hostage!

 

Yet, despite their lack of clothes they held themselves with the carelessness and confidence of someone who had luxury in abundance. There was something else to them, but she couldn’t quite place what it was…

 

The figure just smiles, “I’m the one who found your friend. She was very far away from where she’s supposed to be.” They adjust their hold, and for just a moment Anneth’s unease vanishes. They looked like a parent with their child. The stranger held her tightly with a gentle gaze, and Clara’s small face was tucked under their chin, unbothered and gone of any discomfort.

 

It felt natural for a moment, but she snaps back to the reality of the situation. This is a stranger, and Clara is not awake. This is not good.

 

“Yes, she was,” Anneth says. She holds out her arms for Clara to be given to her, “Thank you, for finding her and bringing her back.”

 

The person hums, and for a horrible second Anneth thinks that they won’t let go of Clara and run back into the woods. She’s not sure if she could chase them, even if there weren’t any gallowoods on the trees, this person didn’t look like they would break a sweat doing anything. But thankfully— thankfully —they do. They hand her over, having to bend a little bit to reach Anneth’s height, and draw back with no problem.

 

But her relief is short-lived, because Clara is cold. Winter only passed a few weeks ago but she was far too cold for the weather to be at fault. And the more she looked, the more she became worried about Clara’s condition: her body was rigid and stuck in her curled position, her hair lost its bounce, and her chest wasn’t moving. She still looked calm.

 

It was like she was dead.

 

“She’ll be okay,” the stranger says. They raise their hand and push a little bit of Clara’s hair out of her face, their palm resting on her cheek. “I did the best I could, but I’m not very talented with healing.” Anneth finally sees her breath, and she gives a little laugh of relief.

 

“But you have to hurry home if you want her to get any better.”

 

A gust of wind swirls past, and Anneth springs into action. “Y-yes! Thank you, thank you so much—” when she looks up, the figure is gone. She looks to her left, then to her right, but they’re nowhere to be seen. She stares into the forest and sees only shadows.

 

“Anneth!” The other kids finally approach now that the stranger is gone. They crowd around her and Clara, all worried and happy that the girl has returned. They bombard her with questions, like ‘Who was that?’, and ‘Is she okay?’, or ‘What do we do now?’ . Anneth answers the last one.

 

“We have to get her home, her dad will know what to do,” and with that said, all the children rush with her back to Clara’s house, where they’re certain they’ll be met with very heavy emotions. But Anneth is just glad that her friend was safe, even if she was returned to them by a mystery.

 

She hopes they never come back.

Notes:

Trying to write dialogue that matches a fantasy setting is so irritating!!!

And if you've noticed how Clara doesn't always refer to her dad as Athair in her head, it's like how when you speak a second language, your brain becomes google translate. When she refers to her dad she'll say dad, but when she addresses him she'll say Athair. Idk if other people do this, I do this so I'm adding it in. Same logic applies to the rest of her family too.

 

THANKS FOR READING! I appreciate every single comment, even if it's a short one or simply a heart, it's nice to see that people enjoy my fics! I almost always find errors in what I write and it frustrates me, but seeing that others still like my work despite that is encouraging. THANK YOU AND STAY GOLDEN YALL !

 

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Uncail: uncle
Aintín: aunt

 

Some useless but neat info! :
- Kalen-Nonay-Eedis, the doorstop’s here!
It's basically rock paper scissors; Eedis beats Nonay, Nonay beats Kalen, Kalen beats Eedis. When you play in group settings you play until everyone has two different signs, because if you play all three then everyone's beating everyone. For example, everyone must play either paper or rock, and since paper beats rock everyone who chose rock is out. If someone played scissors, then there's no clear winner or loser. If it's still confusing just watch kpop idols do it. As for why the game's called what it is, we'll see ! It's not very important so I'll probably never explain it, but let me know if you wanna know and I'll edit the endnotes.

- Choking/strangling vines--a real thing!
So yeah, there are murder trees out there, but we should be fine. I think. They're highly invasive.

Chapter 8: Exposition: Calander

Summary:

Neither me nor this fic is dead !! I'm just slow and can't write

Firstly, I want to thank anyone who has bookmarked, subscribed, or is interested in this fic, your patience is amazing and I'm so glad you have it. Second, I also want to apologize for putting that same patience to the test. I've been in a writer's block for a while and couldn't stand how I wrote literally anything, not even my school essays, and only now did I get some confidence back. The next chapter is being re-written, so I just wanted to share some world-building I've made for the time being.

Again, thank you for sticking around!

 

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Imperial Calander System: the Imperial Calendar was invented by the Yuriana Empire around four-hundred years ago, and is utilized by its allied nations for convenience. There are twelve months, each named after nine Yurian royals and three heroes.

• AN: After researching the history and creation of many of the world's calanders, I realized that I did not want to drive myself crazy, so I just used the Gregorian Calander as a template. If you happen to be someone who's ever made their own calander system, are you human? You must be a god of some kind. I'm both terrified and in awe of you.
• The decision to give the three coldest and harshest months out of the year to three non-royal immigrants, whose names are changed to better fit the running theme of the calendar, is deliberate in context with the Empire.
  • AN: I've censored the name of their countries for the time being.

Month	Equivalent	Desc.
Ianuaris (30 days)	January	- Named after Emperor Ianuaris - The first recorded emperor of the Yuriana Empire. Not much of him is known other than the fact that he was devoted to his wife and children to a terrifying degree.
Faun (31 days)	February	- Named after Emperor Faun - Most remembered for the wild celebrations he would hold, which may or may not have had supernatural beings in attendance. In documents left behind by his staff it's stated multiple times, by multiple people, he was a nightmare to work with all because he would not stop partying.
Martius (30 days)	March	- Named after Prince Martius, also a war hero. - Despite being hailed as a war hero, he ended many conflicts of his time with diplomacy.
Appia (31 days)	April	- Named after Princess Appia - Her death, at age 10, sparked a civil war that lasted eight years.
Flora (30 days)	May	- Named after Princess Flora, daughter of Emperor Faun. - She had a strong affinity towards nature, much like her father, though didn't inherit his sociability. Most paintings that have her as the subject depict her barefoot and outside. She mysteriously disappeared after the death of her father, and was only considered alive because her guardian had been spotted in the forest near the Imperial Palace every few years since her vanishing.
Juventia (31 days)	June	- Named after Princess Juventia. - Most remembered for her nine "deaths", where she didn't die but everyone else thought she did.
Caetilis (30 days)	July	- Named after Prince Caetilis. - He was renowned for both his beauty and his long list of rejected suitresses, which included four foreign princesses. In the end he couldn't marry as he died young, murdered at the hands of a jealous nobleman.
Flaventis (30 days)	August	- Named after Empress Flaventis - Known as "Flaventis the Faceless", all portraits and personal records of her have been destroyed by her own orders. All government documents that have been signed and approved by her are registered, but nothing else remains. Her reasoning behind this action is still a mystery.
Vergilia (31 days)	September	- Named after the Vergiliae, seven royal sisters of the Yuriana Empire. - The only formally documented case of a set of siblings in the royal family (a set of seven). Many accounts, from both civilians to nobles, explain how the sisters wrecked havoc wherever they went.
Renideo (30 days)	October	- Named after the hero Tabassum, who was the sworn brother of Prince Titan, the second son of the emperor during his time. His home country, ███████, is located in the uncharted lands beyond ████. - The two met during Titan’s adventuring and have stuck together ever since. What cemented their bond was when they got lost in the Deep Forest with their companions, a place nearly impossible to escape without losing your life or sanity (even for someone blessed by a god). Only Tabassum and Titan made it out of the forest alive, five years later. - His name was adapted to Renideo when the months of the year were being named.
Novea (31 days)	November	- Named after the heroine Nuon, who was also a mistress of Emperor Vespero, the ruler during her time. Her home country, the ████████ ██ ███’███, is not a part of the mainland. - Although she at first started as the hated “other woman” of Vespero, she garnered respect and reputation when she started navigating and mapping the entirety of, not only the Yuriana Empire, but many of the nations neighboring and beyond, becoming a renowned cartographer and anthropologist. - She had four children with Vespero, but all of them joined their mother on her travels. After her death, only one stayed within the Empire, creating the Fitzhugh line of the royal family tree. - Her name was adapted to Novea when the months of the year were being named.
Albinus (30 days)	December	- Named after the hero Baoying, who was the treasured companion of both Empress Domitia and Emperor Arcadio, the rulers during his time. His home country, ███████, is not a part of the mainland. - Baoying had been the favored entertainer of both Domitia and Arcadio, being one of the only people who could calm the brilliant but emotionally-unstable empress without losing his life. He was very protective over the royal couple, having stopped twenty-four different assassination attempts on their lives during his time at their sides. His most well-known accomplishment would be saving Domitia’s life when she was giving birth to her second child, Princess Hesperia. - His name was adapted to Albinus when the months of the year were being named.

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• AN: Just like the Imperial Calander, the days of the week are modelled after the already-existing days that is used world-wide. I use Latin to represent the language and writing system of the Yuriana Empire, so the names are mostly direct translations of their English counterparts.

Days
dies Solis = Sunday	dies Lunae = Monday	dies Martis = Tueday	dies Merci = Wednesday	dies Jovis = Thursday	dies Veneris = Friday	dies Saturni = Saturday

 

Notes:

Thank you for reading this non-update!