Revised November 2024

***

Royal Academy of Cascadia

Afternoon, 2 days earlier

The bell drowned her steps, as were the faint voices of instructors and professors within their halls. A lull within the toll, a swarm of voices rumbled across the concourse one after the other, and then the educators retired from their lectures. The students emerged, emancipated from the attitudes beholden within their red uniforms.

"Good day, Miss Annalise."

"How do you do?"

Indeed, they took their fresh breath of freedom and straightened themselves the most gentlemanly and ladylike, cleared their throats as the most poetic, and offered a slight but solemn bow of the most loyal. They have come to this world innocent, taught and separated, and through their younger years, return divided and congregated.

"Following the revelations of the Parliamentary fact-finding commission's analysis, the Lower House will be convening an emergency session and officially announce a popular package slated for implementation before the end of the quarter."

"And which statutes have fallen prey to these regulations, bills, and amendments, Liaison Officer Dreck? And should the developments concern our noble friend, Treasurer Tassol, and his responsibilities?"

"Chiefly stricter budgetary allocations and limitations, the creation of a permanent Oversight Committee to investigate and supervise the trend and frequency of extracurricular activities held by the Student High Societies and other after-school programs."

"Has the House provided the Board and Upper House copies?" Student Chairman Buredesy cycled through his catalog.

"No, sir. They have invoked the Confidentiality Clause of the Particulars of Legislation Act on the grounds of potential voter manipulation and intimidation."

"I'll expect reproductions on my desk for tomorrow's session on the grounds of the range these bold accusations cover. Lord Speaker Numen, After-School Program. This Incident Report regarding their Forum."

"The Budget Execution White Paper, Mister Chairman. I have noted emergent symptoms of belligerency among other associations and clubs."

"The cause being?"

"Peers-Commons relations; Reactionary sentiment and Common grievances crossing swords over the matter of wasteful and unnecessary expenditure, holding their leaders and associates in contempt, threatening disorderly conduct charges for Provocative Speech."

"Preventive or reactive?"

"Preventive, sir. The rest can be found in my report. I still have to meet with the Academy Secretary to submit their Motion of No Confidence against me."

Everyone stopped what they were doing and cast their eyes on her. It took a while to sink in.

"The petitioners?"

"Our passionate friends from both benches. With my tenure as Lord Speaker challenged, I will have to recuse myself and discuss with the headmaster as his Honorable Appointed."

"Very well. Given the reasons stated, I would like to posit a vote in favor of endorsing Lord Speaker Annalise Numen against the Motion of No Confidence."

All members of the Board of Overseers raised their hands.

"Good. Miss Numen, you are free to dismiss yourself and do about your proceedings."

Annalise rose, bag slung, and papers stacked and firm. "Thank you, Mister Chairman, my Noble Friends."

"Now, Treasurer Tassol, about your proposals for the End-of-Quarter audit."

Smiling, she shut the door behind her and tossed her mask.

Annalise strolled under the watchful gaze of her distinguished predecessors immortalized; of times when there was no Board nor Parliament, simpler days under a Student Council greeting and arranging everyone and their monthly functions, a moment when the academy had life beyond the constricting monotony of slithering snakes.

Climbing one floor, she knocked and entered the Headmaster's Office. The academy secretary beamed.

"Ah, Miss Numen. Has the meeting ended already?"

She raised a brow. "Are there matters that warrant my attention, Sir Persecer?"

"The headmaster requires your presence. Perhaps you have unrelated businesses related to the office?"

"Yes, indeed."

Annalise summarized the debacle plaguing them, the funds, the class conflict, and her seat. The secretary nodded, unperturbed.

"Very well," the secretary motioned to the door. "Now, if you could."

She knocked and entered with a sweet smell greeting her. "Headmaster, I have arrived."

But amidst its flowery scent, Headmaster York faced the mirror—his long platinum hair down, false eyes removed in favor of his true white eyes looking at her—in white ceremonial garb and staff flanked by his two elven kins of similar grandeur.

For the first time.

Annalise snapped to a curtsy. This was not the elven headmaster of the Royal Academy of Cascadia, but Thaumaster Reginald York, the High Elf of Ashes, Laurentia's Echo, The Last Disciple of Fenix.

"Raise your head, Young Annalise. The sooner you clear your thoughts, the better your heart prepares," he waved his staff, and an illusion of his usual self materialized. "Please, take a seat."

She could sense the heaviness of his aura if she dared for the door. Only a handful could affect him this greatly as he sat, hands clutched together from winter.

Annalise sat across him, and his elven attendants poured tea unaffected. Headmaster York helped himself first with a sip and sat back, staring at something distant inside his cup. He looked at her as though surprised.

"Perhaps we can save the pleasantries next time."

She nodded and warmed herself with tea. The words she wanted to say burst into flames in her mind mere moments ago, but now they seemed to have snuffed away. Is it that time again? The Lightshippers wouldn't dare test her boot against a holy cloth. Has the Dusk Prowlers waged their next move?

"Tonight, a hero shall descend to this world."

Oh.

She set her cup on the table and buried her breath under her hands. How long was this in the works for? Why withhold this from her? Does her father know? She willed the words out of her mouth. But it remained stubbornly empty.

Even if this was her fate, she at least had the right to know. She could already see it, the grotesque sculpted across cathedrals and palace walls spouting rainwater, shedding their stone skins, their haunting cackles and flapping wings in the night, relishing in the screams of women and children for the Lightless Horde once more.

"What did they do this time?"

"Demons?"

She nodded.

"Child, I have been on this plain for a thousand years. I have seen those vile beasts when they sprouted from the corrupted land and became no different from us. No, the demons are not involved with this."

Huh?

"Those entities were only a hindrance and tried to usurp the inevitability of our shared existence."

"No."

She recalled all the points she wanted to make and the vows she took within the Altar of Heroes, but her mind felt like a foggy void. This has to be it; the reason for all the compassion, tenderness, and all the things cowards covet among the faithful and true who had endured their tests of conviction, Annalise received.

"I don't need to remind you of the consequences should you relinquish your title as the Prioress Superior. However, from the moment you enter the ceremony and carry out your vows, your freedom is all but forfeit in ways so slow, you may not see and hear the chains rattling."

"Headmaster, is apathy an answer to clear my thoughts?"

Headmaster York's eyes narrowed, and Annalise fought against a shudder. "Don't subject yourself to one school, Miss Annalise. You are much better than that."

"Then what is our reason to fight? Why must we fight?"

"So that our hubris may not bring an end to everything we've fought for."

"And you do so by controlling the bloodshed to choose which blood to shed? How can you assure this may be the harbinger of everything you fear?!"

Father, uncle, and everyone must be pressed by something beyond her understanding. But was she to play the guardian angel who preaches the hero's glory to whom they orphaned and widowed or, perhaps, be the lover manipulating him?

What insanity.

"I swore an oath," Annalise reached for the necklet cross, squeezed it, and her palm burned. "And you were there when it was written."

She threw it on the table, blood tainting its white finish and blue medallion. She won't play this game. Nobody should.

***

Present

Lighting struck Annalise, its roar ebbing further into the archive of her memories. It's been a while since she felt a body with less tension.

If the ceiling ever gave away where she was, Annalise couldn't tell anymore. Her heavy eyes closed once more, retreating to the superficial contentment of the cozy bed and warm blanket.

Still, she recalled her name and position as the heiress to the Duchy of Estrier Duchy. What else was there? It will eventually come to her. And yet, the heaviness had gone, and millions of needles pricked her. Annalise gasped for air and threw the scorching hot hay off her. She sat up and blinded herself in a healing light. No prankster sought for baseless definitive torment. Where's the entertainment? This was different. It had to be.

"My Lady, you're awake."

Annalise jumped at the familiar voice, turning her around. Marie's smile was so sweet it was repulsive. Wait, Erich? She scanned the infirmary, but he was nowhere in sight. She turned back to Marie, a wider grin painted on her face.

"What have you done?"

"Hm?" she smirked. "Is this what we get for saving you?"

"Save me from what?"

"Oh, my poor, poor Annalise," Marie said, sitting her down and pulling her into a hug. Annalise shivered from the warmth, and Marie began pinching her cheek like a distant aunt. "A beautiful girl like you against a man like him; it must've been so scary."

Annalise's head dipped, and she pulled Marie into her deep embrace, caressed her hair, and cherished her warmth. It may be the last time she'll ever feel it.

"Have you no shame?" her voice trembled. "At long last, have you left no sense of shame?"

Marie grinned. "Yes, don't worry, Annalise. As you've said, we're just two sticks in a bundle. So if you could junk those commoners' bills–"

Annalise slammed her forehead against Marie's nose, and for a moment, the two shared a look. But then Annalise hurled a fist toward Marie that connected at the cheek, sending Marie spinning to the other bed.

"You bitch!"

Annalise snatched the pillow and straddled on top of Marie, hiding the disgusting scowl that showed her returning to her senses.

Marie screamed, "Get your hands off me!" and the sort. But as she dragged on, the air in her stomach could no longer pierce her words through the pillow. Despite that, she continued to gurgle it out with bubbles. Annalise screamed at the image in her mind.

"Shut up! Just shut up!"

Annalise put all her weight on it and winced as her scalp stretched out of her head. She curled and hopped, knee first into Marie's stomach, then relief returned over her head. Marie's arms flailed around with bits of Annalise's hair.

"You think I endured years of your cruelty out of fear?! You think I forgot all those years together?!"

Marie's arm locked. Long nails hitting the seam at the wrong angle, Marie's muffled wails barely got out. She struck Annalise's side, who writhed from the strength and cycled through healing and power into her arms. A fire emerged from the girl's palm. Annalise hopped again, kneeing her abdomen, and snuffed the flame.

Her tears ran free. "Stop! Please, just stop! Don't fight it! Just don't!"

Then Marie clutched Annalise's arms. Her muffled groans turned to pleading yelps. But Annalise shut her eyes and looked away, masking the noise with heavy sobs as she shoved Marie to the bed once, twice; she lost track of how many, but the shaking dwindled, the groans diminishing until, finally, Marie's arms gave out.

Annalise pressed the pillow once more. Then a second, and a third, but not even a jerk. She let out a cathartic breath and backed off, the other bed catching the back of her leg, and slumped.

At long last, she's done it.

Annalise buried her face into a pillow and screamed, tossing it aside as it withered into uncontrollable sobs suppressed by wheezing for air.

The annals of history will praise her murder and parade the corpse across the land where the hero's spirit touched. They will recount her revocation of shame in the tales, glorify damnation in the plays, and discard all dignity to those who may drag the source of their sorrows to the very depths of insanity.

The ceiling glowed yellow. She blinked, but it remained. Annalise squinted, and the shape of the light matched it.

Oh no.

Wherever she looked, a yellow glow illuminated. Annalise rose and faced the mirror on the desk between the beds.

No-no-no-no-no. Why now? Not again!

A monster masking as herself reflected, irises shimmering gold. It shared the terror in her face, the passionate tears dripping down her cheek, and the scars. Then the mirror shattered. The monster matched Annalise's fist embedded in the millions of burning shards. It shared her pain, mimicked her mouth that muttered her spell, which expelled the shards for new skin.

It continued staring back at her, eyes golden as the sun's rays. It was disgusting. Annalise punched the glass again, and water ran out of her eyes. The form of her fist crumbled, yet it continued peering from the fragments of the mirror, and Annalise thrust for another. Then a second, a third, until blood seeped into the wood behind the mirror.

Her bloody hand glowed, and a million tiny needles slithered out of her skin and disappeared into the dust. The blood spilled and stained pulsed, all its essence down to the metallic stench assembling above the tip of her forefinger and motioned out to the window, meeting its lustrous demise.

Annalise sighed and set the trash bin beside the desk, sweeping the glass. She sat and wiped the sweat off her forehead. She'll save the excuse for the missing mirror later. Annalise set the pillow over Marie's face aside. Her stomach rose and fell, and a wave of relief hit Annalise. Yet her first clenched, imagining her neck. She hoisted Marie straight on the bed and under the blanket.

Healing her wounds, Annalise dashed out of the infirmary. Her steps echoed through the arcade, and a few doors swung. It's only a matter of time before Marie and her lackeys face justice not seen in many eons. But now wasn't the time for it. Students and professors from all five floors and bridges looked at her as she rushed down the second-floor stairs and vaulted from the mezzanine.

"You! Halt this instant!"

Yellow manifestations of dust appeared in her sight, visualizing them merging into a thin inclined platform. She conjured as she foresaw, catching her fall and sliding down to the subfloor.

"No magic in the hallway!"

"Ducal matters!"

People always called her the ideal student. A Student Council member running down the hallway warranted some praise. The quick excuse just added more teeth. So she kept running.

Nearing the other end, she conjured a staircase to the ground floor, and Annalise arrived at the courtyard. She gasped for air and shielded her eyes as the sun neared its peak. The Great Court were the engaged columns embedded in the wall, partly projecting from the surface and the stained windows of the academy's towering administration building.

Annalise ran on her last legs, slowing to a crawl in front of the door waiting for her, and entered. A well-dressed gentleman stared down at Receptionist Liah. Baron Coralis, Beatrice's father. Another work trip, perhaps.

The receptionist, Madam Liah's long ears twitched, but her face stayed stoic. Whatever the baron said must've amounted to beyond the thousands of people that came and went during the elven woman's hundred years of service.

"My Lord, our detention facility has been meticulously designed under the Hero Fenix's wishes in reprimanding unruly students and intruders."

The elven receptionist leaned down at her desk and handed a form to the baron.

"If you have concerns regarding the headmaster's orders, I am happy to provide you with a grievance form directly to the palace. Until then, the suspect is under academy jurisdiction."

The man froze. The receptionist then took the chance and glanced at Annalise. She didn't give her a reprimanding look—but a curious glance before entertaining the baron again. Then Annalise snuck into the corridor and sighed in relief.

"That man has lusted for both my and the Duke of Estrier's daughter. Surely you do not mean to revoke justice of my own?"

Annalise stopped. Justice? For a ministerial tasked with handling Blaire's financial affairs, he would be one of the first people to experience justice firsthand. She forced herself to continue. Now wasn't the time to clash hidden knives.

***

Tower of Ancients, Palace of Cascadia

Evening, 2 days earlier

It had finally occurred to her on the eve of the ritual...if there were any left. Green beacons manifested across the city amongst its artificial lights. Annalise may have counted a mere fraction of it, but the sharpest eyes in possession of whatever encrypted map flashed a series of codes within the clock tower.

Regardless of meaning, the whole altar moved. Ancient sigils and powerful objects decorated the room. A giant polygon blazed in the center of the chamber under the canonesses' control, its complex lines and scripts pulsing with ethereal power unlike any seen in books.

Her uncle, the king, and her father draped themselves in the finest clothing. They and the headmaster discussed something that molded within the cacophony of voices begging for reassurances and last-minute inspections. But there was someone else missing.

Fortunately, their discussion ended, and her father approached.

"Father, does Aurelia not know too?"

He shook his head. "There are too many variables beyond our control and sight. It's unfortunate timing, but we cannot afford to squash years of preparation even on the mere curiosity as to her sudden withdrawal."

"I understand."

If she herself was unaware of this, then it could only mean they recognized how mad this was. It may be selfish of Annalise, but having her dear cousin would make this a bit bearable.

"Headmaster," the Canoness Superior approached him. "The instruments have been infused. The circle is stable."

"Good," Headmaster York drummed the butt-end of his staff on the circle. " My children, open the veil!"

As the court magicians chanted in unison, the air crackled with energy. The chamber trembled, and a shimmering portal materialized within the circle. A figure lying down emerged from the portal, bathed in a radiant light. It was the hero they had summoned, a being with a destiny intertwined with their own.

It looked so easy. The records have always said of a grand ceremony following an awesome incantation that shook the world. Perhaps it was another victim of embellishment. But were there ever records of the stench of blood?

The Canonesses gasped. "Goodness!"

Headmaster York jumped toward the bloody corpse at the center of the circle and rolled it over, blasting it with a ray of light.

"His body cannot embrace the world's mana instantly! Heal! Heal!"

Annalise stepped forward and extended her arm. "Tranq–" stopping herself from muttering the spell. Both her father and uncle glanced and said nothing, joining the headmaster as mana reserves shoving a dying man with essence foreign to him.

"Potions! There are stocks of it in the laboratory!" one of the court magicians said.

Mages, sisters, and knights flocked towards the circle and released their mana. One of the canonesses set her sister on the floor, unconscious from mana exhaustion. One by one, they, the wizards, and mages followed, leaving the headmaster left.

The door swung open, and dozens of footsteps broke through. His voice became desperate. "Quick! His body's rejecting mana!"

She turned away. She swore an oath to the hero, not their hubris. And on the center of the polygon was not a hero, but a victim of their greed. Death was more merciful to a life of pleasure amongst barbarians.

***

Present

She snarled and shielded her nose with a handkerchief. The single handful she visited the dungeon, and the fat and proud cretins always seemed to leave a mark on their methods of coping.

Annalise shuddered and held on to the damp stone wall, taking her time on each sloppy step over overgrown light mosses growing out from their torches clinging to what little mana was in the air and bits of her aura escaping the field.

She conjured light and peeked at the first cell. Several eyes shimmered and retreated into the cavities on the wall.

Then a sneeze thundered at the dark end of the dungeon. Annalise hastened, leaving no cell unchecked, stopped, and hurried for her handkerchief. She sneezed, and Annalise widened the orb, swallowing her.

Dimming and setting the transparency, she continued and reached the end of the dungeon. A heap lay at the far corner of the cell. She approached and grappled the bars and intensified the light, and a pair of glowing eyes stared back at her.

Stolen story; please report.

"No..."

A lump formed in her throat. Annalise slammed her head against the bar, shattering the light, hiding the horrendous sight in front of her, and controlling her descent to the floor. It wasn't supposed to be like this.

The chains rattled, and she curled. The strength in her legs had gone. Stopping in earnest, she caught a glimpse of his cuffed legs, his knees, and then his sullied coat rid of its splendid buttons. His face cloth went loose.

A man's face spared from abuse had never brought so much pain. It left nothing hidden. There he was, the great hero who shall bring forth salvation to the world, rotting behind Cascadia's bars.

The hero sniffed. His face got closer and he did so again and traced a finger on the back of her sensitive hand. Annalise winced and pulled it away. He looked at her for a moment, and his fingers coursed through her hair; a gentle, tingly, and rhythmic sensation as they moved across her scalp, sending a shiver down her spine, and she leaned forward for more.

"I'd say you ought to take it easy," he stalled. "But can you?"

For whatever reason her father and uncle had him sent to the academy under her supervision, Annalise just had to sit still, look pretty, and prop up her best smile. But the more they smile, the more secrets they hide. And that alone was enough.

"I'm sorry."

"I don't remember anything worth apologizing for."

He seemed expectant in her response. Indeed, what was she sorry for? A hero saved the damsel in distress, even if it meant leading to his imprisonment. But then again, how could a group of unruly children have the backbone to relentlessly attack a heiress to a duchy?

"Even so, I want to say sorry. I'm so sorry, I can't even find any other word to express it."

"Let's hope you keep it in words then," he patted her shoulder as he perched on the floor and dragged himself to the corner beside the bars. "So, what brings you here, Your Grace?"

Annalise could have all the sincerity in the world, yet everything still led to that one curious question reserved for one of many faces of a person, one that may determine the fate of thousands.

"I could ask the same for you, Lord Hero."

But she'll reserve his compensation for later. The hero shrugged, his eyes wandering somewhere beyond this world.

"It keeps me sane."

What?

"I realized I wasn't dead. Well, more like I refused to believe it."

What a horrible man he was. Something pierced her chest. It was easier to tell from how empty it had been for so long.

"Should you be telling someone like me this?"

He rattled the chains on his legs. "The real thing's a waste of metal, don't you think?"

The same panging feeling struck her again. He was too dangerous. Annalise got back on her feet.

"I'm sorry, but any more than this, they'll nudge things to direct me into a specific path."

She hurried away from his sight.

"That's only if you don't consider everything I've said in this room a trade."

But the distance she needed to cover to escape was too wide, and he capitalized on it immediately. For once, getting courted was leagues better than putting herself in an inquest.

But, "Trade?"

He responded with silence, but it was enough to lure her back. However, he replied without a reply, and that made it a more appealing trap. Annalise sat down, pressing her back against the wall partitioning the adjacent cell. If he's willing to test the kingdom's good faith as the hero like this, then perhaps she thought of the role her father and uncle tasked her too little.

"So be it. From one vulnerability to another."

There were many things she shouldered, some raw, some concrete. But if she offloaded wrong, she ran the risk of tipping. However, one could always throw everything and hope for enough time to escape.

"I hate you."

"One less woman to worry about."

She smirked despite herself. One would think one of the heroes' woes was the scarcity of unadulterated trust in a partner from the moment they met to the misfortunes that revealed their true selves that brought them together. Yet, the life he'll have felt lonely. It felt restless.

It felt unfair.

"I envy your world. No hero to rely on, no excuses to be made, you either live or die by your hubris."

"No demons, too."

"Did your world ever need them?"

She took his silence as a yes. Annalise sighed.

"This world has gone drunk possessing a power that could bring a force to save them. For every inch of land that could be liberated from the demons, the hero had to tour the hinterlands and gather a heroic crusade from great armies idling while the frontline kingdoms received blow after blow. Yet the poets and bards will lament the fall of a kingdom that fought valiantly as the hero's vanguard from ungrateful realms that had fallen to the demons prior."

"Humor a question: How much heroes' blood does the nobility have?"

Annalise extended her hand and conjured a lustrous white orb. "It's hard to tell these days. Normally, you pass off the fifth child of your fifth wife as a happy little accident among many and marry them off until it dilutes far enough down the tree that someone is suddenly born gifted and has the potential to become a saint to a religion somewhere, so you escape into another convent."

"Sounds rough."

She nodded despite being out of his sight. Perhaps that was enough pleasantries.

"I wished you died that day."

He snorted. "Oh, I wished they didn't stop me."

Annalise gulped. The directness—eagerly growled. She snuck a glance, but his eyes met hers.

"Aren't you tired?"

"Are you?"

"Everyday."

It was difficult to pinpoint when the thought came to mind. It just happened, and she'd carried it daily for the last few years.

His gaze softened. Already, Annalise could tell what kind of face he stopped himself from making, the choice of words he'd pick onward, and his true thoughts contending with her consideration. He blundered. So Annalise capitalized on it.

"No need to dwell on it. If you need me for something, you just have to shower me with love, and I'll be over the moon with you."

He was quiet. Quiet and thinking; Annalise's legs curled. Who would even dare consider trading knowledge of each one's vulnerabilities? To have a laugh when they actually use it against him?

"Sir Erich, care to barter a favor?"

"In exchange for what?"

"The reason why a count's daughter could raise her hand to a lady of a duchy."

He thought about it for a bit. "Alright, I'm listening."

"It happened when I was little."

Annalise remembered the violence through her senses—the items on the shelves shuddering, the chandeliers dangling, the ground rumbling, and the maids shielding her and themselves, whispering to her sweet nothings in tense voices until the catastrophe of the senses stopped.

It was the first and most devastating earthquake she'd experienced. The chasm tearing apart roads and buildings, the remains of defaced walls and towers burying structures and the unfortunate mother, father, son, and daughter underneath it; and the homeless begging for food from the bad harvest after.

"We couldn't risk another disaster. My father wanted to find other means, so he struck a deal with the neighboring kingdoms and merchant guilds."

"How bad was it?"

"Our army was supposed to reach the Gunpowder Era ten years ago," and they couldn't hope to outfit a single regiment.

"And they profited more than you would allow?"

"Transforming Estrier into a distribution hub in exchange for marginal tariffs."

"Preferential tax rulings."

Annalise shuddered. Their world always had a word for everything. It sounded so technical, so precise, she dared assume such a topic fell on a humble title, degree, and rough ideas of one's mind.

"They called it the Miracle of Estrier. Blaire City was already old as it was, so it was only a matter of making a new one. They hid it well, helping fund repairs across the kingdom, emphasizing the route."

"And the rest either got a crumb of it or left to fend for themselves."

She nodded. "It's expensive, but when you think about saving a few coins for decades, you start to see how profitable it is. As the center of it, the late Lord Mayor of Blaire had no better choice."

"The late count will kill his son in the afterlife."

Annalise smiled sadly. To see progress and money pouring into Estrier and exploit none of it—the pain and grief of the late Horatio Blaire the Elder in his audience with Annalise's father, enduring shame and embarrassment from kneeling to investors and merchants for a trickle of gold for the realm—must've overwhelmed his heart and steeled the Younger's.

It must be around that time when Lord Blaire II resolved himself and babied his children from the disrespect the kingdom and the merchants brought to his family. Annalise imagined her father and uncle giving the house more flexibility in their methods to make up lost profit. But to prostitute themselves to Salais? A tragedy. And now she was to be the instrument to its conclusion.

The Lord Mayor and Marie Annalise once knew were dead. Perhaps she can find solace in that.

"Marie was my friend. She wasn't always like that…maybe I gave her the benefit of the doubt. But when I was made aware of her father's crimes, I volunteered to watch over her and told her, hoping to spare her from judgment. I was a fool."

He shifted, resting his head against the bar, pondering. It was news to him, and he needed time to adjust. Annalise could only wonder how much. No greater shame had ever befallen the host ever since the Conclave. Surely, her family will pester her to show some sincerity. The worst part is that he'll humor it.

"Tongue out."

"What?"

"Tongue out," he squinted, trying to look for something.

She did so hesitantly, and he snuck something in. Annalise lurched back from the sudden intrusion, but something sugary invaded her tongue. She took out what appeared to be an advancement of boiled sugar on a stick.

"There is no hero. As far as anyone's concerned, a cadet officer under your supervision tried to lay his hands on you and was caught by your friends."

"But I…" Annalise gulped sugar. "I choked her."

The chains rattled calmly, but his voice barely contained what his body did.

"Is she alive?"

"Yes," she shuddered.

He sighed. "Alright then. Look, the palace is sending knights to get me out of here before lunch."

"What do you intend to do?"

"Get me out of here during lunch in style."

Get out in…

Her eyes went wide, and Annalise slammed the bars. "No! You can't be thinking of shaming yourself?!"

"Got a better idea? I want to convey to your old friend that the incident between you two was merely a…burst of passion."

"But your plans..."

"Are nothing more than a child's ideas thanks to hindsight. I still need to learn the lay of the land to know what I'm dealing with."

"But, Lord Hero..."

"Save that for the public, and just call me Erich."

"But–"

"I'm not asking. This place can only do so much to keep me sane. I'm going crazy here just hearing it. Treat it like week-old bread in its last hours if you have to."

"I'm sorry."

If they were strong enough, they wouldn't have to rely on those they abducted because of their cowardice. In every great crisis—every great trial, salvation is guaranteed at the cost of their growth. Only the dead know how far the act of summoning a hero has sowed their culture of complacency.

Had the tragedy of the Conclave Era taught them enough?! That only the inhabitants of this world can be the masters of their destiny, not a 'God from the otherside'? Look at him! If the kings and emperors want to sing praises and glory to the hero for heeding their call, they ought to do it here.

The world, united, brought mercy to a hero before. Against ferocious and unchained fury against his slavers and all living in this world, mercy. Even so, where has it taken them now?

Only time will tell once Cascadia unveils the unthinkable to this relatively calm world. All the chaos, all the madness, it will all descend upon him.

"Anna."

He looked at her incredulously.

"It's what the closest ones call me. Call it a snack you can have any time if you have to."

His voice came indifferent. "You don't say?"

Annalise squeezed the bars. "Once this is over, I'll show you the city! I'll introduce you to my favorite shops and places, and...and if you ever visit my town..."

"I'd love that."

Her spine chilled as the words cut through hers. Simple, written; an appropriate response for a misstep. Perhaps Erich was eager to know more about their world through the academy, and here they were, squandering his freedom.

"Sorry," his tone shifted as if noticing.

"No," she shook her head. "I'm sure you wouldn't want to waste precious time in unnecessary fraternization."

"Well, I'm already feeling offended by that accusation, Miss Annalise," he did not look offended. "But that's beside the point. As far as I'm concerned, you owe me."

"Yes."

Here it comes.

"Take a break from school and say that you're too traumatized to continue for a while. If strangers ask, blame me if you have to."

Damn him? After everything, "I shouldn't. I've brought you enough pain already."

"And what about you? No one to talk to, confide with; keeping your pain to yourself."

If she didn't, how would she bear to hear the mothers weeping over their dead children, execute fathers and brothers who resorted to banditry to survive, and rule over the next generation, repeating that vicious cycle?

"Look, you fucked up and spent years making up for it until the end. You've been burdened with guilt and pain for so long that shouldering nothing feels like you're doing nothing."

She frowned. "Don't you dare talk to me as if you know more about myself."

He dropped his head and spent his time looking around. "Maybe I shouldn't have. I wouldn't wish others to be like me. It will make their life easier."

"What do you mean?"

He looked away. Somehow, it agitated Annalise. Like it extended far outside this whole farce into something…real.

He heaved a breath as though slighting her. She slammed the bars and pulled herself up. Then a squeak echoed from the other end of the dungeon. A ray of light illuminated the stairs, and dozens of footsteps clanked.

The Royal Knight Order's elite paladins, with their gold-colored helms, flowing blue robes from head-to-toe, and halberds, approached in ceremony.

"Your Grace, we are here to relieve the Lord Hero."

She turned towards him, halberds and fists trembling, knees staggering, heads almost touching the floor, and words stammering under gritted teeth.

"Oh, wrathful hero, this heinous act will be forever engraved in the very essence of Cascadia. The depth of this original sin, committed by her children, transcends mere words, defying description as it casts a long, dark shadow over their collective soul."

"Then take me to the palace dungeon, or whatever, and immortalize it."

Their heads shot up. "My Lord?"

"You heard me. Apparently, a cadet officer tried to lay his hand on Lady Annalise."

And he told them the setting, the scene, and the rough script moving forward, all for the great tribulation that awaits his punishers. But the palace's dungeon housed the vilest of scum, political prisoners ripe for torture. The paladin reasoned with the fact, but Erich's smile got wider.

"Good," then he offered his hands. "Cuff me."

For a second, the paladins hesitated. "By your will."

***

The bell tolled for lunch. Thousands of voices mixed and hummed the air. And through their march out of the academy, hundreds of students and their professors basked at the sight of their hero walking in Cascadian chains. Their whispers rippled through squares and hallways. Very soon, it will all turn poetic.

"My Lady, please do not lag behind," one of the paladins whispered, and her tears ran free.

She couldn't even match their pace anymore. Worse, her tears may ignite an even deeper fury aimed at him. How cruel it was for him to offer her comfort, only to make her feel the same pain again—dangling hope before her, hope in his strength.

What about him? Will he be okay?

The procession dragged, and it came from Erich. The paladins escorting him paused as if hesitating. Erich's head turned his way ever so slightly and got yanked forward.

Annalise pressed her nails deeper into her arms, and her sleeve became a bit redder. With a little healing magic, she pressed on. It's what he'd want from her.

But then a thought came to mind. A selfish one. If his suffering continues, if the torment shatters him, who will be there for him, waiting to pick up the pieces?

***

Dungeon, Palace of Cascadia

Sometime later

An 8mm Mauser fired from a sub-20-inch barreled G98 was seeing someone getting kicked at the balls. One can feel the recoil and smooch it gave to the shoulder that probably had it buried and firebombed forty years later.

It was not as terrifying as the bureaucracy, however. How does one even designate it? The K98k? The Forest Carbine? And that's assuming a standardized version came when the only difference between the cavalry and artillery was a stacking rod.

But rechamber it to a 7mm Mauser spitzer bullet, and maybe they only need to worry about the precision tooling for the semi-automatic rifle.

Erich finished jotting the details, and the rounds and carbines arranged next to the moldy slab on the floor disappeared. The king, flanked by his brother the prince, continued.

"As far as we're concerned, our knights corroborated one of the floating theories regarding a certain deplorable individual's presence here. I give it a day to spread across the kingdom, but are you sure this is necessary?"

"It helps with the immersion."

"I understand, but you must also understand it does not…sit well with us to have the hero endure in this dungeon for saving my goddaughter."

Yeah, neither does he. The world's hit a new low with a hero being framed for sexual assault. But it'll be a cheap price to peek at what's behind all those pretty, mercury-powdered faces and see how much they're willing to give once the ruse is over.

"Indeed. I am grateful that you saved my daughter, Sir Erich, but even if we set that matter aside, nobody will believe you imprisoned yourself or you only did it to exploit the collective guilt."

It's amazing what the two were doing, the king of a kingdom and his brother, both in a damp dungeon pleading to a boy that a toddler in the world could snap like a twig. Erich turned to the king. He should know better what Erich's thinking. King Henry set his hand on Prince John's shoulder.

"It appears we cannot dissuade you."

The prince sighed, resigning. "Popular sentiment within the student body has developed into an academy-wide protest for your swift, public execution. It has become a very emotional environment outside. Of course, the headmaster is working to downplay their emotional tirades."

From the looks of it, the world never really had much entertainment. Operas and plays get bland without market studies until the next Beethoven appears, so a supposedly chivalrous student being the suspect of a sexual assault case was stimulating. Due process could go out the window if it means making it more entertaining.

"The question now is how to move forward. My people in Blaire have spotted a familiar flying adjacent from the capital arriving at the count's household. Sometime later, a carriage left with escorts equipped for travel, taking the Capital Route."

"He's coming."

"Another rumor has reached us, too, and it's as we feared," King Henry said. "Word of a hero's arrival has spread outside reputable mages. You should note how creative people can become with recent facts and conjectures."

"I didn't know they were that bored."

Erich massaged his head as time sped up by one tick. A C96 Carbine chambered in 9mm Export Mauser could be a good contender against the Forest Carbine or an angry bicycle tube.

"Are you alright? Should we call a healer?"

"No need."

Erich gripped the bars and pulled himself up. What he does need is a wunderwaffe battalion and a large reallocation of workers' compensation.

"If they want a public execution, they can get one. I'll introduce myself during the trial at the academy."

Prince John's face turned stiff. "You can't possibly be thinking..."

"As I've said earlier, I'm just a supplier. If an incident occurs, I shine only two times—before and after, not during. I can't fight on the battlefield, much less duel for the life of me. But I can put on a good show," just as they liked; predictable.

It makes one wearier to imagine Erich becoming unpredictable. Unpredictability leads to desperation, desperation leads to chaos, and chaos leads to money wasted. At least when being predictable, it gives them a door to fix things and continue making money. International Relations 1.

"Then we shall commence the raid at the same time. Once this is over, you can entrust the politics to us and focus on introducing your products."

Erich nodded. "Is that all?"

"For us at least."

At least?

With barely enough time to clarify, the two lowered their heads, and the king began. "We shall make preparations now. If you wish to leave, we shall be ready to receive you."

Heads raised, they glanced towards the steps before being on their way. Erich pressed his forehead on the bars, and a new face appeared from the corner passing by in a cloak carrying blankets.

Erich pulled back, pressed against the wall, and slid to the floor. The person stopped next to him. As the door to the dungeon banged shut, she slipped the blanket…no, two blankets through the bars, blanketing him. He put it on his lap, then a third one smothered him.

"Get comfortable. The nights get worse here," the Heiress of Estrier walked out of view again, brought back another pair of blankets, and unfurled them across him.

"And why are you here exactly?"

Making her bed and lying in it, "I reckon you'd get cold and lonely here."

Erich sighed and did the same. "I appreciate the concern–"

"You're welcome."

"What do you want?"

"What I want doesn't matter, so just be grateful I'm here to keep you company."

He shook his head despite himself and finished rolling his pillow. "You told them."

"Just what they want to hear."

"And your father?"

A pause. "Like I said, I told them what they want to hear."

***

Morning, next day

Four of Cascadia's strongest wyverns glided above the shimmering lake, their scales catching the sunlight as they transported a pristine white box decorated with intricate decorations. The coachman at the front skillfully manipulated the ropes, producing lively bursts of golden light that pulsed rhythmically with each strategic tug.

As they neared the expansive courtyard of the palace, the wyverns descended, and the box's four sharp, outward-facing legs pierced the soft ground. A small party of servants and knights rushed and lined up between the door. It swung open, and the party bowed.

The Air Equerry raised first, drawn by his liege's daughter's dirty boots, hand replacing her rapier's nonexistent holster, and loose hair almost that of a greying hag rather than the crown princess of the kingdom.

"Welcome back, Your Royal Highness. His Majesty was eager to see you since yesterday."

"Unfortunately, criminals do not share his enthusiasm. I will be taking a short errand before I answer his summons. See to it that he knows."

"By your will."

And so Crown Princess Aurelia veered off from the path to the palace, left the dollhouse through the main gate, crossed the street, and walked into the walls of Swordsmound Barracks. Wandering knights straightened and gave way upon eyeshot.

Once past the sleeping quarters, she reached a door manned by four inconspicuous knights letting their minds adrift and, like the others, snapped to attention with her presence. Paladins; their mana could not escape her. Everyone must be incensed. If it didn't, pulling the heavy metal door did.

Once it shut behind her, the metaphors finally escaped her. She shielded herself from its blazing air with mana as her creation fought against her with blue manifestations of mana pulsing around her.

The kingdom had no shortage of lowlifes. Her only regret was failing to find those from within. Her eyes were on the man a few years older than her. Despite his dirty clothes, she wouldn't mistake the military uniform. Aurelia unsheathed her sword, clashing it on the bars with slow steps.

The man who laid his hands on her dear cousin shifted towards the bars, half-awake. A ball of bright blue flame appeared behind her back, lighting the dungeon as the princess unlocked the cell door. His eyes were wide open as the heat of her fury reached him.

The criminal rose, now eyeing her with well-kept worry hidden in a facade of unsurprised scrutiny. Aurelia doesn't need to state her name. Her white hair, only distinct to the firstborns of Cascadia's rulers, was enough explanation.

"Who are you?"

Even so, he had the gall to mock her. Balls of blue flame appeared around her back, contemplating whether he was worth her blade or magic. As she stepped closer, an object appeared in his hand. Her flames emblazoned the dungeon.

He shielded his eyes from the sudden flash within the dark dungeon, and Aurelia strode and grabbed the weapon, a pistol, and thrust her rapier's hilt into his abdomen. He squealed, clutching it on his way to the floor.

Conventionally, it looked strange. The barrel's diameter matched a stiletto and treated the wielder with a grip suited for a king.

"It seems the academy has gotten some new toys. Still, I expected you to hold on a little longer than this. Have some of you grown reliant on it?"

Aurelia snickered despite herself. Now, of all time, was this the future of their military? To be infested with scum? Then he thrust a leg between her and pulled it back upwards, dragging hers with it.

Her elbows flared, catching most of the impact. The man staggered to his feet and reached for his weapon. Aurelia intercepted his hand with a belching flame. He jumped, he screamed, and Aurelia frowned as she got up and retrieved her sword and the pistol.

"Save your voice. This dungeon is imbued with noise suppression magic."

The man trembled as he stared at his blistering hand turning red. He held the pistol with his right hand. Surely, it must be the same hand that violated Annalise the most. Aurelia knelt at eye level and smiled. That's right. The despair was not yet over.

"Chin up. Not everyone is worthy of staying in a place blessed with the cries of the vilest men," she turned around and put more distance from him. "Rise."

She turned, finding herself face-to-face with him. His hand gripped her sleeve, the other steadying her by the belt at the back of her tunic. In a swift motion, he thrust forward, leveraging his grip on the latter to send her spinning through the air. She hit the ground hard, blowing the air out of her.

His movements were sluggish, and Aurelia recovered her breaths. Without a wounded hand, it would've hurt. He realized that as he ignored everything and ran for the exit. Aurelia drove her foot to the ground and bolted out of the cell. A red fireball ready, she let it loose and crashed it onto his back just before he reached the steps. And once more, the dungeon has been blessed with the scream of fresh scum.

"I have no idea why they left you untouched for so long. But that's more willpower for me to chip."

His mouth opened to say something, but Aurelia stepped on his groin. His face turned pale with agony as he cried his heart out. Another pistol appeared in his left hand, and she kicked it away and stomped on his hand, most likely a rare storage spell. Aurelia will have to see if the academy is missing some firearms.

"Where did you get these?" she waved the first pistol. His sobs turned faint, and it seemed he was already reflecting on how lifeless those eyes were. "How many do you have?"

He averted his head. Aurelia struck his side with her sheath, earning a quiet groan with barely any reaction. She squinted. She gave him another powerful hit. Again, no response. She then stepped on the side of his face.

"You are speaking to royalty," a paler flame appeared on her palm. "Reflect on your behavior when questioned."

The fire splashed his chest and dispersed into thin air, and Aurelia stepped away for the magic to happen. The door echoed open, but she heeded no mind. The man's breath became heavy. Heavy and faster. Eyes darted around his body, but the unmistakable sensation was more than enough to refuse reality.

He sang another chorus, wriggling as though fire had engulfed him. But he kept breathing. He's still seeing. And he's still feeling.

Something shattered with a loud crash, sending shards of porcelain flying down the stairs, while the clattering of cutlery dragged a jarring symphony amidst his screams. Freshly baked loaves of bread tumbled down the stairs, which blended with the rich, comforting scent of tea.

Aurelia went to the base of the stairs and raised her head. Annalise and the paladins shared a frozen state and horrified expression. The man's screams reached a refrain, and Annalise rushed down and slammed Aurelia against the bars. She didn't consider how strong it was as her focus was on the man who defiled her.

Her body jolted at the sight of his burnt back and instinctively draped him with a healing light. His cries became that of agony, and he began slamming his head on the ground. Annalise clamped him with her arms and flailed on the mercy of his manic state. Annalise looked back at the paladins. One snapped back to the stairs and blew his lungs out.

"Healer!"

Another threw his arms around the man, restraining him. The man reared his head and struck the paladin, who broke away, grasping his nose. A second paladin covered for him and grappled the man's head and upper body, but not the legs.

"Erich, listen to me. Listen to me–!"

His frantic legs connected with the side of her stomach. Annalise didn't take it personally. Instead, another paladin secured it, and the light got brighter. However, it was no longer the cry of pain but someone tired. She focused her light onto his burnt hand, but it did nothing.

"My Lady, what's wrong?!"

"He's-he's-he's rejecting it! Without enough mana to overpower it…" her hands curled into fists. "Keep him still."

They opened, and mana surged with the fiery light. The paladins' eyes went wide.

"My Lady, this is…"

Aurelia stepped forward and grabbed her. "Anna, this is dangerous–!"

"Don't…!" she shrugged her away, "stop me."

Aurelia couldn't see her face. But whatever expression she made convinced the paladins. She reached for the man's cheek, flinching from her glowing palm.

"If I don't make it, tell him the favor will have to wait."

The paladin holding the man's head gulped but gave her a nod, and then the light intensified.

"Echoes of Days, heed me, a sinner."

Aurelia shielded her eyes as the light intensified and slowly enveloped Annalise. Scripts of a once-forgotten civilization, styled from the days of wax and clay tablets, manifested and circled Annalise. She motioned the paladins away and latched onto the man despite his growing resistance and cries.

"Let no shadow deep within my heart remain. Listen to its plea, for no paltry words can describe its woes. Cast upon me your judging light and bless the man I cradle with your scrutiny. I pray you that by heeding this heretic and blasphemer's prayer, grant me your power so I may expose the darkness that ails him and heal his wounds."

The light's serenity reached Aurelia, and she bit her lip. Indeed, a poet may sing in the altars and temples, for they have been gifted with words. But to the farmer who sacrifices part of his harvest to his master, the child who sings for plenty, and the stray who has returned to the flock, it was the beating of their hearts that lent weight to their words.

"Wield me as your sword, bless me with your almighty power, and release it with one ultimate swing so I may vanquish sorrow and disease. Only then can you deliver me to my fate. Let the angels, archangels, and spirits be my witness as I cry…tranquility."

A boom erupted. Everything flashed white, and Aurelia shielded her eyes. The mana surge threw her against the cell and raged a river. The light was gone, and the usual dimness had returned to the dungeon, but the blur took decades to recover.

Nevertheless, Aurelia squinted at a hazy golden patch within the dull background, crawled towards it, traced her fingers, and felt its silkiness. Annalise. Aurelia buried her face in the fair parts of it and felt the chill within it, tears.

Why?

Eventually, Aurelia's vision sharpened. Annalise still latched onto the man who would've scarred her, a man she'd set her life aside for. And for what?

"Lady Annalise? Lord Hero?!"

Aurelia's heart thumped. It had to be a lie. Hero. The single word jabbed a stake into her heart. The paladins gathered around the two. The one with a bleeding nose winced and expended his mana on Annalise. The other two joined him, but without a concentrating instrument, more mana went loose than gathered.

The paladins' faces got paler. Their hands, guiding their mana flow to Annalise, trembled and let loose more mana than concentrating it on her. Finally, more footsteps rushed down. A mage knight slowed down upon basking in the sight.

"What is the meaning of this?!"

Aurelia still had the presence of mind to heed the knight's words. She could tell them her cousin had used a godly spell. So godly, it had drained her of all mana, and she was dying; a simple explanation, yet the word hero still latched onto Aurelia's mind.

"Lady Annalise…mana…deprived!"

The mage knight's sword screeched. With a blue glow, he directed the tip of the blade to Annalise, further concentrating mana towards her. Many joined the knight. Those who cannot did not hesitate to transfer it no matter how much excess they released into the air.

"We need more healers now! Even the mages!"

"She sacrificed herself for the hero. Get the headmaster here now!"

"Yes, even the squires! Anyone with a mana pool!"

The alarm bells tolled as every boot in the barracks struck the floor, gathering in the very room. Aurelia stepped back, seeking a moment of distance, yet her mind remained trapped in a whirlwind of thoughts. A revered and celebrated hero has appeared in this world and lay imprisoned in this grim dungeon, punished for trying to sully her beloved cousin.

The weight of betrayal hung thick in the air, mingling with the faint scent of damp stone and despair. But there was something wrong. Why would her cousin sacrifice herself for him? What favor did he owe her that evoked a dying soldier's broken promise?

A farce.

Aurelia tossed her sword away without a second thought. The mere catering to that conclusion sparked something inside. The thought of picking it up disgusted her. Wielding it once more? The idea repulsed her, and a part of her hoped it would remain untouched. Maybe ever.

He's the hero.

It is beyond question regardless of the reasons for blessing this land with his presence once more. It is the truth, and what she did was unforgivable.

Her father had summoned her, the contents of which were unthinkable, and one could not help but set aside everything and clarify. Whether the accusations were fabricated by design or from a scheme, the hero confronted Aurelia, asking her who she was. He fled when he could not reason with her, only to cling to hope once more, only for her to smash it.

There's no point in keeping up appearances anymore. Aurelia curled up next to the laid-down blankets. They had a scent that was so sweet and feminine, but familiar. She going to be sick.

What have I done?