Chapter 177: There had been Spring, Once

Their brisk pace meant the strange inventors-not-inventing gaggle made good time to the portal plaza; this was Sen’s idea as well: Nara would not reveal her hand on conjuring portals in areas they are restricted from (within reason). Important locations often restricted both outgoing and incoming portal conjuration; it may slightly inconvenience those working there, but it greatly inconvenienced anyone who wasn’t supposed to be there at all. Denying outgoing portals meant infiltrators and saboteurs had to make their way in and out of a building, preventing easy escape.

Staton was the city with the greatest concentration of portal denial arrays that she’s been able to detect. Every single guild building around her thrummed with such protections. However, Nara had yet to bear a protection that managed to deny her Astral Domain portal gateway…aside from the dimensional isolation of the Einvaldi’s Mausoleum challenge rooms, which wasn’t strictly an anti-portal protection…and also the spirit domains of gods. She may need to revise that statement to ‘she had yet to bear an array protection that managed to deny her portal gateways’. Thanks to her fragmented nature—soul in astral and soul in body, the gateway was created with the power from her astral seated soul, which was not limited in rank the same way her body was. Her normal portal with no astral middle step would be stopped, just as any other.

The devil was in the details; Or perhaps, the astral was in the intermediate. She had to be wary of those who were aware of alternative means of portal transportation, and accounted for them in their designs. Speaking of, Aliyah was now, and could probably eventually figure out a means to block Nara from directly portalling into an area.

Nara’s Cosmic Path beneath her feet swirled, stretching up to form that paper thin window into the infinite. Rasmus and his secretary eyed the portal. Rasmus’ eagerness seemed to war with his caution (he had survived in Staton’s political landscape not just as a puppet (hopefully) of those in power. He seemed to have some instinct for self-preservation.)

“Where…where exactly does this lead?” he said warily, his steps faltering back. “It’s, it’s not that I’m not eager, however…” He was too close to fail his daughter at the final step.

“Its my workshop. You’ll be able to see the prototype, not just the proof-of-concept.”

“…And where is this…workshop?”

“Well, we can hardly reach my workshop with one portal,” Nara explained. “We’re based in Sanshi.”

Which, while not a lie, wasn’t the truth. They were currently based in Kallid, but her experiences with Oswald taught her that the full truth invited further questions—and you never knew who was listening. Better the believable lie. Her observations of Encio (selling his grandfather’s location) let her know that someone’s location was valuable. If someone did find out who they were truly discussing, it was best to lead them astray. Team members could request from the Adventure Society the location of their teammates, but it wasn’t information lightly given out to strangers. The Adventure Society understood the value of information—it was why they were so insistent on collecting it.

“That’ll take quite some time to travel,” Iris remarked intelligently, likely calculating an estimation of the possible portal routes. She reached into the dimension pocket of her cardigan, accessing a self-updating magic tablet (at the rate it refreshed, it was hella expensive) of the Trans-Com Society’s portal timetables. “There are currently no convenient routes…Perhaps we may reschedule for a different time? The project of using a mana battery for a personal transportation device, was it, smaller than a skimmer?”

“That’s right.”

“With a similar top speed?”

“In progress, admittedly.”

“The Magi-Cycle project has great potential,” Iris said, every inch the proper negotiator, polite and respectful, “but it may be best for everyone to organize a portal schedule for efficiency in all of our schedules, and reconvene at a later date. Sanshi is inconveniently far, unfortunately.”

Nara met Rasmus’ eyes evenly. “That’s up to Mr. Teresina, but I think this project is worth the inconvenience. If the doesn’t think so, he may not be right for the project.” It was an unsubtle threat, and perhaps a bit heavy handed, but this trip to this city under their current political circumstances meeting this man wasn’t one she wanted to make repeatedly, doing a little can-I-trust-you dance until someone unsavory takes notice, or Rasmus finally enters the damn portal.

“Is this some sort of test?” Iris asked in a tone slightly too sharp that indicated she thought Rasmus deserved more respect. A bronze ranker should be offering a silver ranker more respect, but Nara had little respect for the man that was Eufemia’s father. The man who ran his family to the ground.

“I’m testing him.” Nara snapped with a warning pulse of aura. “He’ll speak for himself.”

The iron ranker was briefly cowed, although she trembled and looked up at Rasmus with worried, stubborn eyes. She had willpower at least, Nara thought. A fine secretary worth her salary. (It was more than Nara would’ve ever done herself as a secretary…but Iris was probably a very highly paid secretary.)

…And not just his secretary, Nara realized, taking advantage to skim her senses over her exposed aura. It would’ve been rude if Iris had noticed. She was an untrained core user, unconcerned of combat. Sweet and pleasant, like honey to a bee, a flower in a garden. Other emotions rippled through her aura, emotions that a purely professional secretary shouldn’t have.

Nara sighed, she hadn’t wanted to sense that: For all of Rasmus’ faults, somehow, he was attractive to women. Was it the money? Was it his social helplessness?

“I’ll go,” Rasmus said. In a fit of insanity, or perhaps fatherly desperation, he bolted through.

He was, in the end, capable of surprising Nara in a good way.

“Mr. Teresina!” Iris yelled despairingly. She shuffled and sighed, her hand uselessly hanging for a man that had already disappeared.

Nara swept her hand out in invitation towards the portal. “After you.”

Iris fidgeted. She flicked her eyes towards the portal, then back at Nara. “Oh Song,” she lamented, “Why does he half to be so impulsive? If only he’d put as much thought into his financial decisions as his inventions…”

It seemed his secret admirer was very aware of his faults.

She glared at Nara, huffed a displeased breath, then marched on through.

“...They’re a pair alright.”

“A pair of something,” Encio agreed.

They entered, the portal closing behind them.

*****

It was unintuitive, in a way, that sometimes the untrained could be braver than the trained. Rasmus and Iris may have had some sense that the portal led not to where Nara insinuated, may have had some sense that what lied beyond the portal contained mortal danger. For those who did not fight, the expectation was death; Living was a pleasant surprise.

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Rasmus may be a silver ranker, but the lump sum of all his experience was a lump of cores. He didn’t feel like a silver ranker, not like the arrogant, not like the fighters. Fault or strength: he was humble.

However, his strength had not followed him through the portal: two strangers did.

“Where’s Iris? What did you do with her?” he demanded, possessing a spine in defense of his secretary. The affection between them was not so one sided.

“She’s perfectly fine,” Nara explained. “She’s in stasis.”

“Stasis?”

She gestured forward, and the three walked along a lake path. Trees of pink blossoms painted the far shore and drizzled upon the lake as reflection and petals both. At the end of their path, was a gazebo—vaguely Shian in style, yet one Rasmus could not quite place.

Rasmus didn’t feel like a silver ranker here, less so than usual. There was a warning within his soul, that this place was unlike any other. Unlike the safety and stability of reality, where rules were fixed and whims unspoken. There was no turning back, so he cast his gaze forward.

The shine of a blood red ruby glittered in the distance. Familiar eyes of the most precious gemstones set in white ivory. He saw her side profile, head leaning on hand, gaze complicated and flung out to the far shore, not yet meeting his.

Suddenly, the danger didn’t seem to matter so much.

Decorum (and Iris) said he shouldn’t run—he did, sprinting across the paved path, rippling flowers and grass in his wake. He slowed at the barrier of the gazebo, unsure how to proceed, desperation and anxiety irreconcilable.

She noticed him. Her face turned to face him.

“Ramus,” she greeted.

Not Father, he lamented, but he deserved that. This careful distance she placed herself, emotionally and physically, across the table. She was inscrutable—was this the woman his daughter had grown up to be? But last he’d seen her she had been 12, and that could hardly compare to the woman she was now. Still, she was his daughter.

“Eufemia,” he breathed, like he hadn’t before.

His hands twitched; he wanted to hug her, but he was sure it wasn’t welcome. Would a good father have rushed forward to hug her anyway? A good father would know if she’d prefer it. He had been a failure of a husband and a failure of a father. There was his little girl: alive, healthy, and distinctly (and reassuringly) non-vampiric. If this was a dream, he wanted to live it.

A pursed frown. “Why don’t you sit instead of staring.”

“Sorry,” he stammered. “Sorry. Is it making you comfortable? I’ll stop staring. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“Too late for that. We’re both going to be uncomfortable so just sit down already.”

He sat slowly, as if sitting too quickly would generate a wind that’d blow the mirage away, and there’d be no dream to live, no air to breathe.

“I’m surprised you knew it was me,” Eufemia began, breaking the silence. “It’s been 15 years.”

“Your necklace...”

“You didn’t think someone could have stolen it off of me?”

“It’s not worth much. No one else can use it,” Rasmus said self-deprecatingly. “Who would steal it? And...” he searched her face—she was right, he couldn’t stop staring. “You have your mother’s hair and eyes, your nose...my face structure.”

“Glass cutter cheekbones. Blade edge jawline.”

“Yes. Those. Unless, ah, you’d prefer not to look like me?” he quickly backtracked. “Then you don’t. Um.”

The sat in silence, Rasmus gazing at a masterpiece as though he may never see it again. He may not.

An impatient finger tap. “You won’t ask anything of me?”

“I’m sure we’ll yell about it later,” he hummed thoughtfully, he mind hazy yet blank. He tried to memorize her features—his little girl, all grown up! “I’m still in shock.”

“Premature, isn’t it. You need to verify first. You should be more careful.”

“I’ve never been very good at careful,” he admitted. “That’s why I have a secretary to help me.”

Eufemia scoffed, a mixture of derision and—he hoped—fondness. “I know. Always fulling committing without a second thought. Never with a backup plan. Never knowing when to stop.”

“...But I succeeded.”

Eufemia’s temper flared, hissing like scalding steam. “You succeeded too late! Is it still a success when it had cost everything else? Your fame and fortune now, was it worth it? We kept sacrificing for you—every year, a little less food. A little less space. And you were so focused, so unconcerned. Because everything would be worth it if you succeeded. Would you have stopped when we were dead?”

“I would have. I would have,” he said, a little lost, very desperate. He would have, he repeated, as if saying so would make it so.

“Words are easy, aren’t they? When your actions mattered, you failed. You couldn’t stop yourself.”

“I’m sorry,” he begged. He looked upon her, his daughter. Did his success matter? He had it now, in exchange for 15 years. Had it been worth it? “I know that I don’t deserve your forgiveness. I’m alright with that, Eufemia. I will happily spend my entire life making it up to you. All I wanted was to see you safe.” He did cry then, tears rolling down his face. “I am so relieved to see that you are safe.”

It was only a twitch of Eufemia’s lip that betrayed any outwards emotions. Ever the actress, she kept it concealed. She had been vulnerable once, to her father. His dependent: A child. She was no longer a child. She didn’t know what she wanted from her father. Penance? She had it. His regret? Undoubtedly. His wealth? She only had to ask.

She was no longer a child, but a part of her was still the daughter that wanted a father. She was a daughter that wanted both a father and mother—it had always been her greatest desire. It had been 12 fraught years with parents who had proven better apart than together. 12 fraught years, and there were still memories she cherished:

The silly sock puppets her father made, since they could not afford the theater. He had always been very good with voices, for all his inability to actually act on a stage—far too nervous for public speaking. She often read his books in his tiny workroom, scattered around the house, wherever there was room—it was how she had learned her mishmash of ritual magic. She looked over his work, understanding none of it but wanting to all the same. He’d pretend her observations were breakthroughs and sit her on his lap as he scribbled and explained his theories, using those same silly voices (Master Pen and Apprentice Paper).

Her mother worked long and late; she managed the books for one of the local seedier ‘theaters’, and their performances ran into the night. Eufemia would walk with her father to pick her mother from her workplace. The workers all knew her and would give her little snacks. They’d walk back together, Eufemia swinging between them and skipping along in the dark. She had never feared the dark, back then. It was the time she got to see her mother again.

Since she rose late, she couldn’t attend the basic literacy and arithmetic classes that most other kids took at the small local church of knowledge. One of the Knowledge priests would rerun classes a little later for the children in the district that had odd lives—poor lives—like Eufemia did. She’d walk back with her friends since it was still light out and greet her mother who was preparing for her work at the theater. When the plays weren’t too raunchy (sometimes the theater performed indecent versions of popular performances) her mother would bring back an extra script, and Eufemia would read them. Bad words and innuendos had been scribbled out, but her mother always missed a few.

(She still struggled to wake early, a habit reinforced by both her childhood and Nekroz that she fought to shed.)

She gazed at Rasmus, a failure of a father who still wanted to be her father. She thought of John, separated from his own children, unable to return. She saw how her father was willing to push a war to try to get her back.

He was a no-good father, a complete failure. What child wanted a war as their inheritance? She thought bitterly. And yet, she could not deny his desperation or sincerity. For all his planning and financial failures, Eufemia did not think her father lacked love.

She stood up, strode crossed to his side of the table, yanked him up by the arm, and hugged him. She buried her face into the crook of his neck and cried.

His return hug was just as fierce.

*****

All was not resolved between Eufemia and her father, but they had both taken a step to thaw the ice between them: Beneath it all had been spring, once. A muddy one.

Nara and Encio left the two alone to give them privacy, although it was just the illusion of privacy, in Nara’s case. Since the realm was her soul, she was always aware of what happened within it. She had the experience automatically filed away, stored and ‘out of sight, out of mind’ until she needed to recall it for some reason.

Iris was in stasis. For her, no time had passed. Once Rasmus left, she’d boot Iris out of the realm, and she would’ve experienced nothing. It would undoubtedly be extremely confusing, and she’d question Rasmus, but she was dumping that mess on him. She wasn’t Nara’s responsibility. Hopefully, Rasmus had learnt that all actions have consequences, and would consider whether to tell the truth to Iris. Nara wanted Rasmus and Eufemia’s father-daughter relationship to go well, but if he fucked it up again, well...Nara tried.

She did interrupt their reunion once it had calmed to introduce her concept for a magical motorcycle (which was much easier to demonstrate in a realm where her imagination became reality) and directed him to communicate with Chelsea Hayeth and Henri Braun through the Invention Society. Nara would probably have to avoid Chelsea for a while for dumping another project on her that Chelsea was not prepared yet to start. She feared her wrath.

But, well, it gave Rasmus plausible deniability and a truthful lie (and not because Nara really wanted a magical motorcycle. Magi-cycles coming soon to a world near you!)

Nara would be their go-between messenger, which seemed to be her role in life more and more. It was a risk to send letters directly to Eufemia, so Rasmus would send any communications to Nara, and she would pass them on. Every two weeks, Nara would go to Stanton to open a portal so the two could cry and fight in person. Rasmus would make Nara a VIP at the guild building and he’d be immediately informed of her arrival.

He’d also at some point take a trip to Sanshi. It would be easier to keep up the lie if he was genuinely working on it. (Nara hoped Chelsea wouldn’t kill her.)