Hadrian held Isaac's gaze, trying to keep his emotions in check. Isaac was the servant of a god, and Hadrian refused to allow them a foothold in August. He knew Isaac harbored good intentions, but divine power is ultimately a borrowed resource, and even a skill to diagnose ailments would be touched by those accursed “divinities”. He would not allow the gods to take note of his great-grandson until the boy held an ideal, and could resist the influence of such beings.
The emperor looked the boy over. August was a mess; his appearance alone was enough to cause concern. However, as Hadrian was aware of the malady, he knew the boy would likely be fine. Still, as he was unaware of how an increase in affinities would affect a child’s body, he allowed Isaac to remain in the room. This concession, though seemingly minor, was all he could allow for now.
The gods' influence on the young was well known, their most established source of acolytes coming from church-owned orphanages. A God, at least the kind worshiped by the churches, and Isaac, was a literal embodiment of an ideal. Being under the scrutiny of such a being, children who were already so malleable, would be easily corrupted by those ideals. This is why he is so strict on church involvement in the matters of children.
“Isaac, we will watch and wait. I know what is afflicting the boy, and though he is suffering greatly, he will be fine. I can’t abide the involvement of your divine healing unless strictly necessary. I will however grant you leave to administer more mundane methods.” Hadrian capitulated, finally freeing Isaac from the pressure of his presence.
Isaac hurried to August’s side, not saying a word as he examined the boy. First, he forced his eyes open and found them bloodshot. Taking a mana-stone from somewhere on his person, he filled it with his energy, causing it to glow a brilliant bloody red. Watching, Isaac took heart in the fact that August’s pupils responded to the light, albeit slowly. At some point, August must have succumbed to the sweet abyss that is unconsciousness.
Next, Isaac checked the wounds on his hands but was shocked to see that they had already healed. Upon closer examination, instead of finding scars on the skin where his nails had penetrated, he rather found blood surrounding the tips of his fingers. Taking stock of the area surrounding each hand, he found the torn remnants of the boys’ fingernails. Somehow, whilst clenching his fists, instead of his nails digging into the relatively soft flesh of his palms, they were torn from his fingers.
Isaac flexed his hand, extending and elongating his fingers into a fleshy amalgam of a tree branch. With dexterous digits, he poked and prodded at the boy, finding extremely hearty resistance in what should be the pliable body of a young man. Noting the odd feeling, he moved his examinations to the bile on his tunic, noting a small acidic burn in the fabric. Likely unrelated, but he still noted the oddity.
After his examination was done, he turned to the emperor with a look of resignation. He could see the boy was recovering, but his temperature was still extremely elevated. He needed to cool the boy down but had no mundane means of doing so.
“The boy needs to be cooled down. I don’t know what is going on, but the injuries to his body have already healed. The only thing that I am sure of at this point, is that his temperature is far too high, and he could risk permanent injury without some sort of assistance.” Isaac told the emperor, his face a mask hiding his frustrations.
“I can assist with that, Isaac.” Duke Castellane said, entering the room alongside his wife, and carrying an unconscious brown-robed boy on his shoulder.
Without another word, the duke moved his mana, a far more subtle and nuanced action than the outpouring of power felt earlier by the household. The duke moved the mana from his core, rotating the prismatic gem at the center of his being. Weaving together patterns of wind and water, he created a tunnel around his youngest. Closing that tunnel in, he surrounded the boy in a shockingly cold mist, and manipulated the air currents to displace the heat into the hallway.
The entire room cooled nearly instantaneously, and a quack of relief could be heard from Mr. Quacksworth, as he was finally able to drop his own hastily crafted spell-work. The duke lowered the unconscious boy from his shoulder into what seemed to be a conveniently placed pile of laundry in the corner of the room. Stepping away from the heap of boy and cloth, he grasped Mr. Quacksworth’s shoulder.
“Thank you for what you have done for August today, Pek.” Leon said to his bedraggled retainer. Pekin Quacksworth had been a scout assigned to his unit during the war, and when the war was over, Pekin and many of the other members of Leons' unit, joined the Castellane house as retainers. This made Leons' next decision easy.
“At a later time, I will fill you in on the details, but from here on, you will be August’s personal retainer. What’s more, anything that happens from this point in this room, stays here. That goes for everyone here, not just you Pekin.” Leon announced to the room, eliciting no reactions, as the unusual nature of what had transpired spoke for itself.
Mr. Quacksworth nodded, then bowed in recognition of the order. Pulling away from his liege, he went to a small wooden chair situated next to a desk by the window, in the corner of the room. Sitting down, he let out a soft honk of appreciation.
He was happy to have been of service to his long-time commander, sure, but he was mostly just relieved the kid would be alright. Well, if he was honest, he was also happy for the promotion; though he dreaded the likely training he would have to undergo.
Leon looked towards Isaac, noting the tumultuous underpinnings in his aura. Likely, he and Hadrian had a dispute before Leon had arrived. Leon walked between the two men, flaring his own to get their attention. The cool blues and greens of his aura blanketed them briefly, pressuring them to release their power.
“Glad to see a return to decorum, though I am a bit confused as to why it required my intervention given my esteemed company,” Leon said, his tone light, a perfect representation of noble grace. Retracting his own aura, he looked to Isaac.
“Mind telling me why in the hells my son is like this?” Leon asked, expecting his healer to have some answers for him. Though Leon had already guessed the reason to be related again to the godsdamned feat he’d helped August earn, he would never be so foolish as to disregard the man whose sole purpose was dedicated to the healing of others.
“Isaac has determined that there is no physical harm to the boy-” Hadrian started to say, only to be cut off by a dark glare from Leon. This glare held no aura, nor any mana but was solely filled with the intent of a father protecting his son.
“I did not ask you, sire. I asked my healer, Isaac. Please refrain from interrupting him again.” Leon spoke quietly, his deep voice low and sinister. He knew that his tone was dangerous, but while he would maintain the appearance of decorum, he would never allow his son to suffer for it. The emperor was a lot of things, but a healer was not one.
“What Hadrian said is accurate, and while I disagree with his views, I believe his reasoning as to why I should not perform a diagnostic spell on August would match your own, my lord.” Isaac said, falling into the familiar role of comforting healer with ease.
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Though the nobility maintained a cordial relationship with the various churches, most only allowed their children contact with them at their confirmation ceremony. After the confirmation ceremony, most children don’t interact with the churches again until after forming their Ideal. Even the ceremony only has the church included as it is a system-based event, and cannot be interfered with, even by a divine being.
“Alright, I will trust your word, Isaac. What can be done now?” Leon asked, though the dark tone of his speech had not changed.
“Honestly, sire, all we can do is wait. His brain is functioning from my examination, but keep in mind that my skills as a mundane healer are far less advanced.” Isaac answered, shifting his focus back to August.
Leon looked at Hadrian, a question obvious in his gaze. Hadrian knew what was going on, and Leon would, much to his discomfort, need to rely on him. Leon held no love for being powerless in any situation, much less ones involving his children. Hadrian, noticing the question in Leons’ eyes, was about to respond, but was stopped by Astarte.
“My grandfather would not be cavalier with August, Leon. Trust him, and if not him, trust me. I don’t like this either, but if they say we can do nothing, I will trust them.” Astarte said, walking forward and sitting upon August’s bed.
She pulled at her son; the spellwork wrapped around him moving with his body. Moving his head to rest in her lap, she took no notice of the fact that the spell was soaking her. The only thing in her eyes, the only thing she took note of, was her son in her lap.
Bowing to the emperor, Leon moved to sit beside his wife, wrapping her in his embrace. The positioning was a bit odd, as there was not enough room for Leon to sit beside her, so he settled for an awkward half-sit, half-squat next to her. He looked over his son, the anxiety of helplessness filling his chest with its’ all-too-familiar weight.
“I will go greet the guests as they arrive, and excuse you from the ceremony. Leon, while I can play host for a bit, you will need to join me eventually. It would be an unbelievable breach of etiquette to have me host for you.” The emperor said, getting a nod of agreement from his Grandson-in-law.
Disappearing without another word, Hadrian went to greet his subjects. He could not wait to see the looks on their faces. Oh, the joys of shenanigans, how he had missed this.
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August floated in that black void between reality and unconsciousness for what felt like an eternity. All he could remember was the pain. His body felt as if it was being split apart end to end, then being sewn back together with white-hot needles covered in jagged teeth. What were once the normal sounds of the world, turned into a thunderous cacophony of reverberations that shook his poor young mind.
Finally, though he had tried to stay conscious, his eyes started swelling, forcing them shut. This was a blessing, however, as the light hitting his eyes had turned into that of a brilliant sun. The darkness that enveloped him had called to him on a fundamental level, enticing him with the sweet emptiness of oblivion. Try as he might to fight it, he was tired. His mind felt too… large?
His thoughts and his understanding of himself felt so alien that he struggled to believe they were his own. Now, what he thought would be a peaceful escape into the numbness had turned sour. He was still aware, far too aware of himself. His mind railed at the foreign sensations and thoughts, and panic constantly gripped him in its icy grasp.
Suddenly, a golden light appeared in the emptiness, a soothing wave of calm cascading out from its center. The serene light washed away the alien sensations and echoes of pain that hounded August, forcing him to gasp. The freezing grasp of fear receded in the warmth of that golden light.
Looking towards the light, he realized for the first time he could see. Reaching out to touch his face, he realized he could make out the outline of his small hand. Looking himself over, he was shocked to see… well, himself! He was intensely curious as to what was happening, as he was certain he was no longer conscious, yet here he was.
“Be not afraid, August.” A soothing, distinctly feminine voice said. Stepping forward from the golden glow, a woman appeared wreathed in gold and silver.
She was tall, her form covered by a regal gown. Frilly lace wrapped her shoulders, following the contours of her body towards her bosom. The midsection of the dress was a compact affair, interwoven with golden and silver flowers. This culminated in a swooping skirt that fell entirely to the floor, the same flowers wrapping around scenes that seemed to be moving on the fabric.
“It is good to meet you, young August.” The woman said, the features of her face still obscured in shadows cast by the radiant glow behind her. “Though I wish the circumstances less painful.”
August struggled, trying to respond. The person in front of him, this woman whom he had never seen, was powerful. Though she did not intend to, August somehow knew, that her presence alone was squeezing at his very existence. He felt as if his entire body and soul were being crushed by her titanic strength. He had no idea who this person was, but he was certain she was far stronger than even his father.
August tried to stay calm and present himself as a proud son of the Empire should. He tried, and failed, to stay standing in the woman’s presence. Finally, his boyish legs buckling under the pressure of the being in front of him, he found himself falling. As he fell, as his knees were about to touch the ground beneath him, he found himself caught by the woman.
“Now, now, child.” The woman said, her voice light and teasing. She helped him to right himself, and he felt the pressure on his being lesson. “We can’t have you bowing before me. It would be a disgrace to my husband’s legacy.”
“Who are you? Where am I? What do you mean by your husband's legacy?” The deluge of questions poured out of August before he could stop himself. With his newfound freedom from that titanic pressure, he could not stop his curiosities’ ferocious insistence any further. Just what in the world was happening?
“One question at a time, August.” The being chided, though her tone held no malice or irritation.
“To answer your first question, my name is Titania. I am the queen of fairies and was the wife of the man whose inheritance you just gained. As for where you are, you are still in your home. We are currently in a plane I created for us to speak, using your unconscious mind as the foundation.” Titania said.
With a wave of her hand, the world around them changed. What was once a black void shattered by a golden radiance, was replaced by a mystical meadow. The leaves of the surrounding trees were a mix of alien blues and purples, and flowers bloomed in every inch of open space. A floral scent permeated the area, and in front of August sat two chairs and a small table between them.
The chairs and table were made from flowers as well, though these were pure white, contrasting against the purples and pinks of the flowers at their feet. On the table sat two cups, and a tea kettle. These, too, were flowers, their shapes somehow manipulated to serve the function they were designated. The cups and tea kettle were pitch black, made even starker with the juxtaposition of the white surrounding them.
“Sit with me, August. We don’t have all the time in the world, but I think we can enjoy a cup of tea together.” Titania spoke lightly, sitting elegantly on the flower chair, that was shockingly able to bear her weight. Her greatest feat so far may be her ability to look elegant while navigating the impractical dress she wore.
Sitting down in the chair offered to him, he was surprised to find it not only sturdy but immensely comfortable. As he sat, the white flowers around him changed, their colors shifting individually. Some turned blue, others red, and others brown or green. Every color he could think of appeared, and though none repeated, they seemed to follow a pattern. Different shades of green stayed in the green area, blues with other blues.
What was more, the textures of some changed as well, some becoming bumpy and others coarse. Some became sharp as a blade while others became hard as a rock. Occasionally a flower would disappear altogether or turn translucent. Even more shifted in weight, temperature, or even state of being. As August watched, enraptured in the process, Titania examined the boy with keen focus.
Smiling, Titania poured a cup of tea for herself and August. Sipping at her tea, she waited for the show to finish before proffering the drink to the boy. Remembering his manners, August bowed his head in gratitude and sipped at the tea. As he did, he realized that though the quality of the tea was supreme, the flavor was sickeningly sweet. Fighting the urge to spit it out, he swallowed what he had imbibed already and set the tea aside.
“Oberon didn’t care for my tea much either. Always said it was far too sweet, like me.” The Queen of Fairies laughed, causing August to blush in embarrassment. As he was going to apologize, Titania held up a hand to forestall him.
“No reason to apologize, any reminder of my late husband is always welcome.” She said, “Now, to answer your third question. What it means to inherit the Mantle of Oberon.”