“Once Mother Pizna’s three soul fragments, split across another land since time immemorial, are reunited with her silent body, she will return to life and create a perfect existence for her Children,” Ninon recounted from a book of scriptures which had been passed down generations in the Karesti family, a physical tome whose age showed well. “The land must be taken care of by her Children till then, so that the vessel containing her soul may reunite easily with the body. It is the duty of all Children to ensure the safeguarding of the land in which her soul resides, so that they may receive mercy when it returns to its rightful place.”
Ninon then closed the book, and leaned back in her chair, taking an exhale.
“Alda, you still haven’t told me why you suddenly had me read the Scriptures. I get that my family are supposed to be the executors of her will or whatever, but isn’t all this a little… unexpected?”
“There are reasons, Princess Ninon,” Alda said rather cryptically as she stood over her like a protective hawk guarding its chick. “They are beyond my control. Would you like to take break?”
“Of course I do,” Ninon sighed, leaving her chair and making for the door out of her study. “I’ve been in here three hours and haven’t left once.”
“Very well, then,” Alda smiled. The palace halls outside of the study were like a town square, as dozens of servants and other employees filtered in and out of rooms as they carried out the tasks that made the palace functional. “To your chambers?”
“Yes, please.” Ninon nodded as her handmaiden, teacher, and bodyguard followed her. Each servant she stepped past took a bow in her presence, and she made sure to reciprocate each time by greeting them with their name as Alda had taught her to.
After what seemed like an eternity of greetings, she made it to her chambers, with Alda making sure the automatic sliding door was closed and locked behind her for the Princess’ privacy.
After crashing onto her bed, Ninon was taken by surprise after a large shape jumped onto her chest.
“Hey, what in the—
Craning her head forward, her shock was quickly replaced by a look of tenderness.
“Oh, it’s just you, Daemu,” she said, as the young purple dragon nuzzled its smooth, scaly face against Ninon’s neck and cheek. “Did Count Moller forget to take you down to the store rooms? You know you can’t stay here all day, as much as I’d love you to.”
“No matter how big he gets, he will always be fond of you,” Alda giggled. “I’ll call the Count to take him down when I leave.”
“Alda,” Ninon said, gently pushing Daemu away to sit upright. “Can I speak with you about something?”
“Why, of course, Princess Ninon. What’s on your mind?”
“It’s that talk I had earlier,” Ninon reminded the servant. “Here.”
Ninon reached over to her nightstand, taking out a notebook and pen. She quickly began writing in it. Alda avoided inquiring as to why she suddenly chose to write, but she stayed silent.
There’s something she can’t speak to me about, she surmised. Rhona could be hearing her through the chip in her nape.
She says that the only way to end the war against the New Yeupisians and the Anti-Imperialists is to bring back Father.
The text that flowed out of Ninon’s pen was short and made no sound, but to Alda it was louder than a thousand words being shouted at once. After giving her maid ample time to read, she tore the page out of the notebook and crumpled it up. It flung from her hand into the air. It was the signal for Daemu to lift his head, and with a lightning-quick shower of fire emerging from his throat, he burned it asunder. Despite only being an infant of his species, and with no older representatives to learn from, the young dragon did as expected of the once universally feared creature, but only as much as his small body could muster.
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“Are you being serious, Princess Ninon?” Alda could hardly believe it, but the girl’s nodding head and mildly glum expression told her everything she needed to know. “You’re certain that’s what was spoken?”
Alda tried to mask the franticness on her face as she sat next to her ward.
“What am I supposed to do about this, Alda?” Ninon’s body subtly shook as the uncertainty came rushing back. She hugged herself, holding her arms close to her body. “Who am I supposed to talk to about this? How do I even prepare? What can I even do?”
Alda knew there was only one certain way she could ready Ninon to face the truth, but she was going to try whatever it took before she had to resort to it.
“I… believe there is one person we can speak to about this. Don’t worry, my Princess,” Alda took the hand of Ninon's that was nearest to her, squeezing it tight. “I will make sure you get a sense of all this.”
--
The manor in which Gunnar Karesti once resided stood tall and strong in its remote location, far from the overwhelming life any city offered. A white craft, capable of seating five occupants, rolled to a stop just outside the gates of the estate.
The Craft approached the lefthand pillar where the intercom was located. Ninon’s hand stopped Alda’s arm from moving forward, as she prepared to lean in and speak into the system.
“What is it, Princess Ninon?” Alda asked, her voice as calm and soft as it almost always was towards her ward.
“Will Great-Aunt Ortrun really have the answer I’m looking for? I’m… I’m so nervous…”
“She’s been witness to the occurrences of your family for more than two decades. She will have something to say, no doubt.” Alda said, while remaining realistic.
Ninon’s hand slowly dropped back to her side, allowing Alda to ring the buzzer.
“Your name and business?” Meurig’s authoritative but professional voice echoed through the speakers of the intercom.
“Her Highness Princess Ninon Karesti. I, Alda Silje, her servant am accompanying her. We apologise for the arrival without invitation, but there is an urgent matter we must take up with Her Grace Ortrun.”
The abnormally long silence afterwards made Ninon’s skin crawl. She was getting farther from the answer she needed, and each second made her more distressed. Two minutes of waiting felt like two decades, but it wasn’t forever. Meurig returned to the intercom, clearing his throat.
“Mistress Ortrun is elated to have you visit,” Meurig announced the decision. “But I must warn you… her condition at the moment is not good. If at all possible, please try to make your visit as brief as you can.”
The intercom buzzed and the gates were opened. The Craft rolled over the magnetic driveway where it pulled off to the side, next to the steps that led up to the front door. The household guard driving it was asked to remain inside, and Alda and Ninon made their way up the door which was promptly opened by Meurig who guided them to the third and uppermost floor. Like most noble residences, the home of the junior Karesti family was teeming with servants and would’ve been filled with even more officials during daytime as the manor served as the centre of administration for the area. This was a remnant of a time when nobles held much more power, and before elected officials were commonplace.
Ninon noted about how inundated the halls were with stacks of shelved books, like an organized chaos. Just like the last time she had visited.
Meurig then approached the door to Ortrun’s room. Slowly opening the door, the first thing Ninon noticed was how much fuller of books it was. They were stacked all the way up to the ceiling, and not a single inch of wall could be seen.
“Mistress Ortrun, they’ve arrived.” Meurig made known to what Ninon initially believed was a mess of machinery and wires, but upon closer inspection, there was indeed a person lying on a bed at the centre of it.
“Mother Pizna… you’ve grown to be so—
A hacking cough took hold of the thin, emaciated woman, shaking her entire body. Her skin had become grey, and her hair was stark-white. Alda knew exactly what this was a sign of, and she lowered her head in respect. Meurig hurried to support his patron, but she waved him off.
“… so elegant, so beautiful, Ninon,” Ortrun mustered a warm smile. “You resembled your father when you were a little girl, you know. But your mother’s features are starting to stand out. They called her the Hand of Pizna because of ethereal she looked.”
“Y-Your Grace, I am… so sorry,” Alda spoke with her head lowered. “Your pain must be so intense.”
“Don’t be, Alda. Don’t be. It only means that…”
Ortrun weakly turned her head to her right, where a glass jar sat on an unimpressive nightstand. Within it was a clump of golden hair, cut from the head of her late husband a decade earlier.
“…I know that he and I will reunite soon.”
Ninon’s Detection was stronger than most Titanians, but the drawback was that she was much more sensitive to it. Fully understanding the plight of her great-aunt, she blinked away tears. She could feel the tremendous emotional pain Ortrun had faced since the passing of Gunnar, on top of realizing the woman’s fate.
“You are your parents’ daughter,” Ortrun noted, waving the girl over. Her frail hand took a hold of Ninon’s firm one. Although the grasp was weak, it brought an unexplainable strength directly to Ninon’s heart. “What’s on your mind, my sweet girl? What has brought you here?”
Alda handed Ninon a pre-written note, explaining the reason for her arrival. The girl used her empty hand to hold it before the dying duchess, one of the final nobles or royals of her generation still living.
Silvan surely has not told you, but the reason he and I spoke with Aunt Rhona today was so that she could tell us that she would be ending the war. The only way, she says, is to bring my Father back. So I ask: what now?