Fioro, Inner City

“And what then?”

Uren shakes the wine inside its glass as he glances at it, wondering whether drinking it to forget today’s disaster is a good idea or not. Outside the window – the same one he has been staring at for the last minutes – rain pours, making it for a poor view of the city’s night lights.

Not that it matters. In Uren’s opinion, the gloomy view outside is a perfect match for his dreadful humor.

“Uren?”

Uren sighs. The deep voice of his tutor is one used to receiving the attention it demands, and he is no exception. Turning away from the window, he prepares to face Oreo’s dark, severe eyes.

“Then nothing. I walked away and had my afternoon classes. What else was I supposed to do?”

Oreo has a glass of his own, sitting on one of the living room armchairs as he looks into the prince’s eyes. They both wear party clothes, waiting for the right time to leave.

“You think she played you dirty,” Oreo says, quirking a smirk. “Of course she did. We’re nobodies here, boy. We only got so far because they let us; Because they would rather have us play in their backyard, where they can keep an eye on us.”

“You could’ve tried somewhere else!” Uren insists, though he knows himself the reasons why they didn’t.

Oreo shakes his head. “We’ve had this conversation before. Everywhere is the same. They don’t trust us; They want nothing to do with our bloody war. And who can blame then?”

Uren watches as his tutor takes a long sip from his glass, nearly emptying it before smacking his lips in appreciation.

“Difference is, Elysium has the means, if not the will. If you look at it from the right perspective, we’re halfway there already; We’ll just have to convince them to point their big guns in the right direction.”

Uren shakes his head, even as he finds that a small smile still cracks his lips apart. “How? Aston has the school as her playground, and I’ll never achieve anything of note there for as long as it remains so.”

“It’s a shame you weren’t able to convince her,” Oreo says, shrugging as he finishes his drink, “So much for that pretty face.”

“…I warned you it was a long shot. Aston could have anyone she wants; I doubt my looks matter to her. Or my words, for that matter. She seemed convinced.”

Oreo hums as he stares toward his empty cup, then signals the nearby hovering bot to pour him another drink. “Her father must have made her mind. I agree in that it was a long shot… Worth the try, I suppose.”

Easy for you to say. You’re not the one whose reputation was destroyed.

“Do I still have a reason to keep going?”

Oreo raises his gaze, frowning at Uren in a way he knows to mean the man thinks he’s being an idiot.

“Your scholarship was the reason we acquired the visa. Should you keep going? What do you think?”

Uren sighs, averting his gaze. “…Sorry. It’s just… I don’t know what will happen tomorrow. Aston could escalate things, or…”

Oreo snorts. “As much as your school life interests me, I doubt you’ll be in any significant danger as long as you keep your head low from now on. Let them bully you if they want, you’ll survive.”

“…And what of the mission? How are things on your side?”

Oreo’s smile disappears, his face turning grim. “I offered them land, resources, labor, explained the potential Crecia could provide in the long term… When they don’t laugh in my face, it is to ask for a concrete plan for dealing with Aston, which I don’t have. Bloody hells.”

“We expected as much,” Uren murmurs, his tone giving away his disappointment.

“We’re not out of cards yet, boy.”

It sure seems like it.

Oreo smiles. “I don’t blame you for doubting. However, there are many who would benefit from Aston’s downfall. Even at a loss, they are willing to patronage our cause… And offer us information.”

“And would my tutor be magnanimous enough to share said information with his pupil?”

“Perhaps. Would my pupil run toward the nearest pair of tits to brag about it?”

Uren frowns. “Sara isn’t-”

“Just a pair of tits?” Oreo waves his free hand dismissively. “Spare me. She has you hooked; I understand as much. And, in fact, as it happens… You may have to approach her again.”

“What?! But this morning you told me-”

“I know what I said,” Oreo cuts in, his gaze growing severe. “Circumstances have changed.”

“…And I assume this has to do with the information you received?”

“Precisely.”

Uren glances at his cup, before turning his gaze toward the rain outside once more. “I’m listening.”

***

Fioro, Outer City, Iron District

Beatrice stares up at the large apartment complex surrounded by blinking holographic ads through her transparent umbrella, something twisting inside her stomach over the vision.

“Well, this is it. I know it isn’t pretty, but it’s sturdy, and it’ll keep you out of the rain.”

Beatrice clenches her grip over the umbrella’s handle.

It looked so much better through pictures. This is what she gets for rushing things.

Containing a sigh, she turns toward her new landlord; Or, in this case, his representant, a hovering plate-like bot that seems unbothered by the rain splashing against its metal case.

“And now I just… Go in?”

“If you wish so,” her landlord replies, his voice slightly mechanical from being conveyed through the bot, “I already conceded you the relevant permissions.”

Despite the time, and weather, Fioro’s streets are far from being empty, and Beatrice scans her gaze over a group of drinking friends sitting at a nearby bar as their laughter echoes over the noise of dying raindrops.

“Thank you,” she murmurs.

“Regarding your old apartment, I figure we’ll have someone by the end of the week… Unless you wish to reconsider?”

“No…” Beatrice forces herself to murmur, “It’s fine. Thank you.”

“Well, I’ll pass by tomorrow so we can go over the contract in detail. If the apartment isn’t to your liking, it’ll be your last chance to reconsider, Miss Swain. Do you remember the apartment’s number?”

“Y-yes.”

“In that case, I shall take my leave? I’ll be available for contact until midnight, save for emergencies. And then, after eight in the morning. Don’t hesitate to contact me in case something unexpected comes up… I’m at your service.”

Beatrice watches as the bot hovers higher and higher, first at a slow pace, then quickly accelerating as it disappears into Fioro’s night sky, undoubtedly following some sort of invisible “road” to the naked eye.

Containing a sudden urge to vomit, Beatrice swallows. Her body seems to belong to someone else as she commands it to move toward the set of stairs leading into her new life.

Stairs. What sort of backwater place doesn’t have a damn elevator in this day and age?!

Beatrice curses as she nearly slips over a rain puddle, only to have her dress caught up in the guardrail as she stares toward the distant ground and freezes.

Seven flights of stairs. Seven flights of stairs she’ll have to go through… Every. Single. Day.

Closing her eyes, Beatrice takes a deep breath, before opening them as she takes a careful step back…

Did something… Did she just hear something tearing?

Oh, it is clear her dress is ruined. Still, Beatrice refuses to glance down, raising her chin proudly as she continues to climb.

Apartment L137. At least, it isn’t hard to find.

“L for loser? How could I forget?” Beatrice murmurs as she stares toward the apartment’s door. ‘Open, please.’

After a pause during which Beatrice dreads nothing may happen, the door does so, revealing a dark room.

‘Lights.’

Under the sudden assault of clarity, Beatrice blinks, quickly inspecting the one-room apartment she’ll most likely call home for the foreseeable future.

It looks… Livable?

As promised, the apartment seems to contain the basics, and Beatrice releases a sigh of relief as she puts aside her umbrella, giving one last glance over the empty corridor outside and the falling rain beyond it before ordering her door closed.

Beatrice’s luggage, what little she managed to fit inside a single suitcase, should arrive in a couple of minutes. She’ll go back to her apartment in a couple of days to sort through the things she might be able to save… Basically anything easy to carry and small enough to fit inside her new apartment.

Which, as she scans the place, Beatrice realizes isn’t going to be much.

This is it. Her new life.

Beatrice stops at the flat’s middle, her gaze drawn by a full-body mirror standing in the corner.

Might as well get it over with.

Beatrice approaches the mirror, taking a deep breath as she carefully inspects her nose…

To Beatrice’s surprise and relief, she manages to find no imperfections, even from as up close as she manages to get (fogging the mirror and almost falling in the process).

With a sigh she isn’t able to contain any more, Beatrice lets her body slide against the wall as she sits on bare ground, staring at the hollowness of her new apartment.

A small hollowness, just like her heart.

At last, the petit girl finally admits she is delaying the inevitable, and that a thousand roams through the minuscule flat won’t prepare her for what’s about to come.

‘System, connect me to Seijuro Aston... Please.’

‘Contacting Miss Aston… Connection accepted.’

‘…Seijuro?’ Beatrice greets uncertainly.

‘Hey, Beatrice, hi. Hold on for a sec, okay?’

Beatrice bites her lips as she spots her anxious expression in the mirror, before turning away from it.

‘Okay, I’m good. How are you feeling?’

If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

‘I’m… I’m good,’ Beatrice lies, ‘I just finished… You know, moving.’

‘From your parents?’

‘N-no, I was a-already… I had been living on my own for a while.’

Beatrice forces herself to breathe deeply. Gods, she is such a pathetic mess. But she has made her decision. And she’ll see it through even if it kills her.

‘Seijuro, look… I thought about our conversation… And I-’

‘Let me guess. The answer is no?’

Beatrice swallows. ‘Y-yes. I mean, you’re right, the answer is no. I cannot be your friend.’

‘I see.’

Beatrice clenches her fists as she lowers her head and pulls her knees closer in order to lower it against them, struggling to contain her tears.

…What did she expect?

‘You know, this is the first time anyone has rejected me.’ Seijuro laughs through their connection. ‘I sort of expected it, I suppose.’

‘I’m s-s-sorry. I-I…’

‘Well, the answer is no.’

Surprised, Beatrice ends up raising her head as she blinks toward her one-room apartment.

‘…What?’

‘I reject your rejection. You know, when I asked if you wanted to become friends? It was a rhetorical question. Refusing was never an option.’

‘But… It didn’t seem rhetorical? Seijuro-’

‘I know what you are thinking, but I can’t bring myself to believe you truly wish to refuse my offer. Am I wrong?’

‘I… I want to accept, but…’

‘You’re afraid.’

She… She wished for so long. And now Seijuro is here, so close… Was being friends what Beatrice wanted this whole time?

‘Jokes aside, obviously, I cannot force you to become my friend. The decision must be your own.’

…To be seen, heard, and appreciated… But also, she wished for…

‘Beatrice, I’ll ask once more. Would you like to become-’

‘Yes!’

Beatrice closes her eyes, something twisting inside her stomach even as she hears Seijuro’s sigh.

‘…Silly girl. If you wanted it so much, don’t make me work so hard for it. If you rejected me again, I might lose my confidence, you know?’

‘S-Seijuro. Are we…’

‘Yes?’

‘Are we friends now?’

‘I suppose one could infer as much from our conversation, yes,’ Seijuro replies as she sends through a snort.

Friends… Only friends…

…Greed has always been one of her worse traits, Beatrice reminds herself.

‘See you at school tomorrow?’

***

Inner City, Seijuro’s Apartment, Rooftop

‘Connection terminated.’

Seijuro sighs as she stares at her drenched clothes and the small pool of water they have created on the floor beneath her bare feet.

Was befriending Beatrice the right choice? Will she regret it?

Alas, she has made her decision; Now, only time may tell if it was the correct one.

After a moment, Seijuro’s gaze is drawn by the katana resting against the wall nearby.

Had her grandfather laid eyes upon such a scene, she’d never hear the end of it... But her grandfather is long gone, returned to her mother’s home country once it became clear his daughter wasn’t about to wake up any time soon.

Her mother’s katana, and Seijuro’s tenth birthday present from her: Songsinger.

How long was it since she touched the thing?

With a heavy feeling in her chest, Seijuro grabs the beautiful sword’s pommel, raising the blade to eye level.

As the building’s lights touch the metal, it seems to shine under her stare.

Kuro must have taken good care of it. Did he know she was going to look for the sword eventually?

Tentatively, Seijuro swings her arm, testing the sword’s balance…

At least, it feels much easier to use than when she was ten.

Enough stalling.

Taking a deep breath, Seijuro heads for the door leading outside, a husk of metal at least as large as she which she commands to open as she approaches, and then to close again once she steps through.

Outside, a small staircase leading up showcases a slice of the stormy sky at its end, and Seijuro doesn’t hesitate to start climbing, even as the wind hollows against her ears, droplets of rain hurting against her bare skin.

Though illuminated by lights at its edge, the building’s rooftop is surrounded by darkness beyond them. Seijuro can’t avoid feeling she has stepped onto an isle in the clouds, can’t avoid being wary against the fury of the endless sea of darkness which surrounds said isle, save for other buildings as tall or taller shinning their lights against the sky’s wrath, bastions of humanity’s glory standing unshakable.

As Seijuro walks through the empty rooftop, her soles cold against the concrete, and Songsinger ready to slip her grip over the smallest mistake, she glances up, toward the sky ready to devour the world in its wrath; And as she watches, lightning cuts through the clouds, erasing their darkness briefly.

Finally, Seijuro’s gaze falls upon the man who seems as comfortable under the apocalyptic scene as he does every day, driving her car.

Kuro stands at the edge of the building, glancing at the world below. Like her, he’s barefoot, though, unlike her, he’s also shirtless, his milk-like skin punctuated by scars nearly glistening against their dark, tempestuous background. A katana similar to hers rests in his hands, pointed toward the ground… Even in the vague light, Seijuro can see his sword is more worn, if well cared for.

Needless to say, Kuro doesn’t seem bothered by the thousand meters’ possible fall, even as the storm rages around them.

“Your Majesty has finally decided to grace me with her presence?”

Seijuro is able to hear the smile in his voice, stifled by the rain.

“Sorry, had a sudden connection request.”

Kuro turns, and smirks, before jumping from the small concrete parapet he had been standing on as he walks toward Seijuro. “Always busy. I thought you said you wanted to relax tonight.”

“It was Beatrice. Not exactly work-related.”

“How is she?”

“I’m… Not sure, actually. Her nose should be fine, but…”

“I understand. Hard to move on from having your pride trampled publicly. Hard to understand you’re probably the one who cares the most.”

Seijuro shakes her head. “Beatrice has enough enemies to arrant caution. I doubt they’ll simply let it go… It’ll be up to her to bounce back, though I suppose us being friends means I should support her from now on.”

Seijuro raises Songsinger, slowly entering her fighting stance with it. Surprisingly, despite how long it has been, the position still seems to come naturally to her.

“A new friend, huh?” Kuro merely raises his eyebrow, maintaining his neutral position. “Why the swordplay request for tonight? I thought you considered them ‘outdated’, and ‘unnecessary’.”

“I was angry. He left me here without a single goodbye.”

Seijuro’s first step brings her leftwards, and Kuro, seemingly by reflex, shadows the princess’s movements by stepping to his right. The chase is slow, and yet the dance has begun, bringing both fighters ever so close to each other with each step they take into the circle.

“What changed? I never took you for the forgiving type.”

Seijuro smiles. “I’m not. I did it for you.”

“How so?”

“Oh, don’t pretend I’m speaking a different language. I saw how much you were sweating last time. How were you going to look into my eyes every morning after having lost?”

“A loss out of a thousand duels? I think I would have managed.”

Seijuro’s concentration brings her mind to the edge, erasing all sounds besides that of her opponent’s footsteps, all sight besides that of his sword. Though she knows she has little hope of winning, the slim chances have never stopped her from trying before.

…

Staring at his opponent through the rooftop, Kuro manages to contain his frown. Does she understand how close to the edge she brings him every night? Him?

No, he decides. She has always been the type to fight with everything she has, no matter the circumstances. It is irrelevant how close she might be to victory. Only by crushing her opponent completely, or by being crushed herself, will the princess’s battle thirst be satisfied.

Who would have thought he would find his match here, so far from the place he once called home? Wouldn’t they laugh at him for losing to a girl?

“What are you smiling at?”

…

In a second, Kuro dashes through the meters in between them as if they were inexistent.

Something gleams through the air as it flashes towards Seijuro, banging against her own sword, barely raised in time.

Metal crashes against metal, once, twice, three times as the princess steps back, absorbing most of the impact.

Still, her arms shake, and Seijuro has to roll under the next blow as it soars in her direction, ignoring the harshness of the concrete against her skin as she watches the blue steel miss her body, far too close for comfort.

As she rises, Seijuro jumps backward, ready to face her opponent’s attack… Which never arrives. In fact, Kuro might as well have disappeared in thin air.

Her skin suddenly prickling, Seijuro stops, closing her eyes. Gradually, as if deliberately done slowly, she feels the unmistakable coldness of metal being placed against the back of her neck.

“So much talk for someone who lasted less than twenty seconds…” Kuro teases, “Have you forgotten everything you have been taught, oh illustrious Elysium First Princess?”

“Shut up! I’m just rusty.”

Moving back to their initial positions, Kuro and Seijuro stare into each other’s eyes as they start to move in a circle again.

This time, she will not be caught by surprise.

Watching her opponent’s footsteps, the princess raises Songsinger, clenching her teeth as she embraces herself for the inevitable impact, and lightning flashes through the sky.

…

Kuro’s first blow hits Seijuro’s sword from underneath, taking her balance as he glances toward her unprotected, unused lower body.

A kick?

Having predicted it, Kuro easily sidesteps Seijuro’s front kick as it cuts the air in his direction, placing the edgeless side of his sword against her leg’s underside as he shoulder-shoves his opponent.

So graceless. Forgetting herself because of a piece of metal in her hands.

As she falls, Seijuro rolls backward in order to distance herself. However, instead of pushing his advantage, Kuro simply smiles as he walks after her.

Now what? Show me what you’ve got.

…

Fast!

As Seijuro watches her opponent’s sword flash through the air toward her body, she braces herself…

However, instead of the expected impact, something hits her stomach and she doubles over herself, breathless.

Her knees shake, though Seijuro refuses to let herself fall, briefly relaying on her sword as a cane to stand upright.

“The sword must become an extension of your body, not a hindrance. Don’t ever take your eyes away from your opponent.”

“Shut… up.”

“Do you need a break?”

“Again!”

This time, as soon as Kuro dashes in her direction, Seijuro also runs in his.

In a flash of sparks and metal their swords meet, though Kuro is first to step aside and slash again, faster than Seijuro thought possible.

Forcing herself not to panic, Seijuro feels her arms trembling as she blocks for a second time.

And then a third time, from underneath.

A fourth time, from the side.

A fifth time, from above.

Attack!

A sixth time, from underneath again.

A seventh time, aimed at her leg.

C’mon, attack!

Kuro thrusts, and Seijuro barely steps aside as his sword continues upwards, forcing her to step back again and lose her balance completely.

Suddenly, Seijuro has her kimono grabbed. Before her, Kuro’s dark eyes have a serious glow to them.

“Look behind you.”

Seijuro does so. At less than five centimeters from her heels, stands the rooftop parapet; Her upper body, however, has already crossed its limit. And as the princess’s gaze follows its natural trajectory down the building’s side, she is unable to contain a shiver from going down her spine.

“Need I to remind you of the importance of being aware of your surroundings?”

Kuro sneers as he pulls her back toward relative safety, and Seijuro narrows her eyes at him as she walks past, containing the urge to flip him the finger.

“Again!”

This time, she’ll attack at least once, Seijuro swears.

***

Outer City, Gold District

“What’s wrong? You’ve barely touched your food.”

Sara sighs, finally putting her fork down after having merely fidgeted with it for the last five minutes.

Isobel, who stopped doing the dishes to meet her gaze, frowns.

“I got admitted back on the team,” Sara confesses, although her voice carries little of the excitement it did earlier in the day.

“Sara! That’s amazing! I didn’t know you had decided to join again!” Isobel celebrates as she claps her hands, looking barely short of doing a little dance. Then, she seems to realize the look on Sara’s face. “Wait. It is amazing, right?”

Sara sighs again. “Yeah, it is. They didn’t have to give me a second chance, but they trusted me enough to do it anyway. I’m grateful.”

“Then what’s wrong darling? Does it have to do with the boy from this morning?”

“Boy? Oh, you must mean Uren.”

“Uh-ren,” Isobel spells carefully, nailing the accent Sara learned from the person himself. “Who is he?”

“A new student; A foreign one. I met him yesterday when he… Well, it doesn’t matter anymore.”

Wiping her hands, Isobel approaches the table to sit beside Sara, grabbing one of her hands in between hers. Isobel’s hands are cold, but her touch is warm nonetheless, and Sara can’t avoid a small smile in spite of herself.

“Tell me about this Uh-ren. Did he hurt you?”

“No… Yes. I mean, I don’t think he intended on doing it.”

“Our intentions rarely are that of hurting those close to us. Why don’t you tell me what happened?”

“I… Well, I freaked out and ditched him during our first date, and then… He has this ‘mission’…”

Realizing she doesn’t know where to even start, Sara frowns.

“A foreign prince... Yes, I remember.” Isobel laughs, squeezing Sara’s hand lightly as she does so. “Let me guess, he pushed you away and claimed it was for your own good?”

Sara gives her a glance. “How do you know?”

“Oh, it’s a classic, sweety. He’s afraid of letting you in.”

“I-I’m the one who pushed him away first. He has no reason to trust me.”

“Do you still wish to help him?”

“It’s just… I don’t want to get in his way. But they sort of involved me in it already! And I want to help!” Sara groans. “Why is it so frustrating?!”

“They?”

Sara averts her gaze. There’s no way she’s telling Isobel about Aston possibly being their enemy.

“All right, fine, I suppose I don’t have a right to lecture you about secrets. Just promise me you’ll be careful, okay?”

“Sara Careful Palmer; Yep, that’s me.”

“Sara.”

Begrudgingly, Sara meets Isobel’s gaze once more.

“I wouldn’t know what to do if something happened to you. I won’t forbid you from living your life, but could you please, please, promise me you’ll be careful?”

“…Okay. I promise.”

“Thank you. And regarding this Uh-ren… I figured if he’s truly interested in you, he won’t refuse your help. Why not approach and have a conversation?”

Sara snorts. A conversation? She’d never take such uselessly logical and reasonable advice.

“…Okay, fine, that might work,” Sara concedes after a moment of being under Isobel’s exasperated stare.

“There is something else, isn’t there?”

“Yeah.”

“Is it about the team?”

“Yeah.”

“Sara…”

“All right, all right. There’s this girl – her name’s Grace – and we sort of have the same playstyle, so our positions in the team overlap; A lot. It was okay before because everyone knew I was better than her, but…”

“You left, so now she thinks she should have your place on the team.”

“Something like that. I don’t blame her; I’d have probably felt the same.”

“And then? What happened?”

“She challenged me to a stupid duel. If I lose, I’ll have to stay on the bench for the rest of the year. But if I win… I don’t think she’s going to accept it. She’d probably leave the team.”

And even if she doesn’t, Avril will probably convince the others to kick her out.

“This… Doesn’t seem very fair.”

“For me? Or for her?”

“For either of you.”

Sara raises her eyes from the table, fighting to contain her tears as she meets Isobel’s gentle gaze.

“Then what am I supposed to do?! I don’t want to have someone leave the team because of me. I would never be able to look into their eyes again.”

Oh Gods, Braden. Braden would never, ever forgive her if Grace left the team because of this.

Sara groans, pushing her hair back as she bumps her forehead lightly against the table.

Isobel laughs. “Sara darling, hurting yourself won’t make anything better.”

Sara watches as Isobel caresses her fingers through the line of her hair as if to soothe the pain. Her eyes carry love, care, and so, so much more…

She has been such an idiot towards Isobel lately, and all because she couldn’t find any information on her stupid biological parents. How could she be so blind?

“Mom…”

“Mom? You must be feeling worse than I thought.”

Sara smiles, wiping her tears as she sniffs. “What do you think I should do?”

“How about you rest for a while? I noticed you haven’t been sleeping well lately, and I’m sure your problems will still be here tomorrow.”

Sleep? She could do with some sleep.

After smiling at each other, Sara heads for the stairs while Isobel goes back to finish dinner’s dishes.

Her eyes seem ready to close with each step she climbs, but Sara still stops to glance back for a moment as she quirks up her lips tiredly over the scene of Isobel whistling while working.

Good night, Mom.