Revised December 2024

***

Cascadia Palace

Her father hunched over his desk, consumed by his and his advisors' exchanging thoughts and words. Aurelia stepped forward and locked her joints, embracing the drill and the wooden wall furnishing behind his seat.

"We shall continue this matter later. You are all free to go."

As they bid their liege farewell, the advisors degraded themselves to Aurelia with a curt bow. The door shut, and her father's shoulders heaved. He glanced her way, shook his head on something, and began arranging his desk.

Her palm cried from the nails driven into it. She should've been quartered in the same cell and stripped of her rank, but here she was, still the princess, dignified above righteousness.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Why would the king, who has tolerated his impulsive daughter's escapades, forcefully recall her all of a sudden?"

Nothing as important as the air they breathed and the living tragedies haunting them to this day mattered—maybe never.

"Is a sudden betrothal any better?"

"It would make the prairie hoods cast aside everything once they learn who might be the groom."

Just like she 'cast aside everything' once she learned what happened to Anna?

The pretense caught her attention, sure. So did the mother who pushed Aurelia away and continued cursing and digging alone her husband and child's graves for raising their pitchforks against bandits.

The voices may be hoarse, defiant, or hopeless, but it was the same cries of the innocent; the little child told not to look back by his brother as a pack of hungry dreadhounds that had ruined their village gave chase, the father seeking justice against the corrupt lord's hands on his daughter, and the children tricked into slavery still clinging to promises of peace inside a burning dungeon.

"The contrast in cultures and customs has already begun to bring unease among us. On one hand, we are apologetic. We seek to offer him compensation."

Her father settled on leaving some clutter on his desk.

"On the other, he recognized what occurred was due to miscommunication and reassured us that the incident would not affect our relationship."

Heroes throughout history have accepted sentimentality as a form of reparation. But why?

"Why must we be troubled over it?"

Aurelia maintained her disciplined posture, avoiding eye contact, and she was glad she did. Or else her father's searing gaze would've burned her where she stood defenseless to it.

"'Just kill me already.' Those will be the first words uttered in this era."

Aurelia tensed. Already, something welled up inside her stomach, bloating and going up… and there it was—a sharp, constant, burning prick straight to the heart. History has shown the Hero's Will as vindictive. A raw fury that burned the weak-willed and emboldened the zealous. But this was neither.

It was… disgusting.

She only knew he was suffering, not why. It would continue as long as she didn't break away from broad strokes and enter into finer ones that truly painted it. Aurelia broke from her posture and clutched her chest. The thought he'd hide it scorched it, meaning she was a step closer to unraveling it.

"You should've seen the defiance in his eyes. It was like staring at a powerless boy facing monsters with his little sister behind him." He sighed."What a sight to behold."

Her heart, every pulse from head to toe, pounded.

"He came to us at the brink of death from a thousand cuts—torture, amateurish. Personal."

Her legs went weak. She forced her breath through it, her stomach rose, but it went into nothing. Aurelia slumped to a seat and held her head from the floor. Her chest was on fire. The tiny, burning prick in her heart became hands that spread it out hollow.

She's dying. She had to be. This was not the sharpness and chaos of a knife, nor was it the claws of a demon digging through her chest, it was a devastation unbecoming of noble blood, a responsibility that must never overwhelm her and leave the candle burning closer to another tragedy.

Damn sentimentality! Damn the thought that always 'counts'! Why can't heroes just accept the world is too barbaric for such immaterial luxury? Even those with good conscience learned it wasn't that time yet.

If only the heroes were more greedy and less hesitant to accept their apologies, there wouldn't be a need to fret. If need be, thrusting it toward them almost always got accepted. But how can they… how can she thrust something she cannot understand? Only a child and the insincere would do that!

"Why did you have to summon a hero?" her breathlessness and hands over her face silenced her words.

"The old world is dying."

She shook her head. Her father should know that wasn't her speaking rationally, but he continued.

"Your uncle and I under your grandfather's rule witnessed its dying breaths during the Plemeniti Crisis almost two decades ago."

"The Union bought the mountain and forest tribes and threatened the fertile plains that fed Belosea's eastern conquest, and nobody wanted to test each other's bluff at the eleventh hour," she paraphrased her reading materials.

"And both forced the kingdom and the untamed tribes to form the Plemenitic Commonwealth."

Aurelia glowered. "Is this supposed to be a remedial, father?"

Now of all times? The hero wished for death; she almost carried it out and clutched onto an inkling of his pain in Aurelia's chest, and Annalise paid the price for those who opposed it.

"What I'm trying to say, Aurelia, is that we have reached the threshold where mankind can no longer worry about the demons. However, because of the heroes' influence, the natural order of our society has been in disarray. And we no longer have a distraction for those who embrace ideas not yet mature for this world."

"So you called for a hero to rein them in?"

"We were certain war was inevitable during the crisis. Union representatives masquerading as merchants approached us. Belosean assassins followed and turned the capital into a battlefield of intrigue. We and your grandfather felt so helpless."

Her father's brows tensed, trying to recall it.

"Whispers across the land have begun speaking ill of the informal neutrality stance within the region. We readied for a hero's arrival. Even after the continent could sigh in relief after the two powers could reach an agreement, we no longer placed our hopes on others."

"Why couldn't we leverage the capability…? You could've reined the signatories with that."

"Do you really believe we can do it alone?"

It is easy to judge and learn recent history with a cup of afternoon tea, but it is different for those who have lived through scheming the end of restless nights. Arguing day and night, evading from the flames of war or treading through it; embracing an idea born out of desperation that blurred the lines between lunacy and boldness or the grim reality and entry into a new era as a shadow of what Cascadia once was.

"We did devise strategies without a hero. However, that is expected of us. What we needed was an illogical move to evade a logical response. His presence alone will sow unpredictable chaos in the world and force its inhabitants to tread each step carefully. And when the shock has settled, he will have bloomed. Only then, can he direct the chaos."

"Why did you call for me?"

What's her part if Cascadia was to be the Madman of Verussea?

"You've done the Summoner's Creed upon your ascent to military training."

"And I broke that creed the moment I burned the summoned."

"You're remorseful."

"Curse the traditions!" had it not occurred to him? "What about Anna?! She saved his life, yet you would choose the one who tried to take it?!"

"Anna… Anna would rather let everything burn than enable our hubris. She made her point when she left him for dead at the summoning."

"Then why did she visit him?"

You don't bring breakfast to the avatar of the world's hubris, much less embrace him as if it were her last. It was something more. Something… like there was a fire in him that broke Anna's conviction.

"Our leading theory is gratitude for saving her."

Theory? Save? "What happened?"

Her father's habit began to emerge. He rose from his seat, strolled to the window overlooking the lake, and readied for his monologue.

"To kill the shepherd, we were supposed to offer the hero one of his rotten lambs for the slaughter as a stepping stone and solidify his sympathy for the Cascadian people. But he's not a simple man. He exposed pieces of his powers that would arouse our interest and subtly emphasized that it will all go away if we turn against him."

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He never trusted them from the beginning.

"He offered us our peace through his war. But to achieve that, he will possess intricate authority over Cascadia's foundations and lands to ensure the carnage it brings is executed well. Those fabled trains, factories that produced thousands of weapons in a week, and great ships; their peaceful purposes may bring prosperity the late Kingdom of Laurentia could never imagine."

A hero in politics.

It is already difficult to determine the opportunist within a ministry full of loyal professionals who humor every minister's vision. Now they had to fret the implication of one's every shrug and sigh. And yet who were they, who has deprived someone of the death they desired, to be so worthy to reap such privilege?

"We invited him for breakfast to discuss our first agenda and assess him as a person—Very goal-oriented, but he was no different from envoys. Upon waking up, he immediately demanded an explanation and acknowledged this incident as an unfortunate misunderstanding. Calmly, the paladin added."

"Why?"

How much ambition was left from someone who'd rather die to put up with…all of this?

"We do not know. He traced his lineage to his parents, who were distinguished within their nation's bureaucracy. So far, he has been cooperating with us as a representative of an entity rather than himself. And to hide his powers, he suggested establishing his office."

Rather than an aristocrat within the assembly, a bureaucrat, hidden beneath layers of ink and paper, can nudge appointed ministers to a desired outcome rather than falling under the eyes of enemies within and outside.

"Preparations for his induction will take time, and he wanted to know the academia to bide his. However, we could have never thought Anna was suffering."

She squinted. "How?"

"The House of Blaire. Anna did not know that rotten lamb was the sacrificial lamb, and was supposed to keep watch of the eldest daughter. But her friendship was stronger than her duty. If it weren't for him, she would have to suffer longer."

This was no longer everyone's self-interest for the kingdom. It's become personal. Yet her father continued as though it was insignificant. The hero's plan for the ceremony two days later, its focal point, and its ultimate goal may be to humor himself and others. It's not strange for someone to be reckless at that stage. But what is there left to humor when they went to his aid until he was healthy enough to reveal themselves as slavers?

"Where is he?"

"He should be in his room, but he will be leaving the palace before noon. I offered him accommodation, but he simply asked for money to last him a while in an unnamed inn."

That could barely cover a night's stay in an inn in the residential district!

"And you didn't stop him?"

"There was nothing to stop."

Aurelia stormed out of the room, but her father stalled.

"Guardians have historically supported the hero through limited Crown Authority and informality. As Guardian Plenipotentiary, you will be the greatest seal that walks the land; your will will be the Kingdom's will, every word you utter will be law; all for the hero's sake."

But what use was it to an emperor of emperors but the first of many envious hands feeding him?

"How far can I exceed my authority?"

"You have seen injustice firsthand. You should know when to use tact and treason."

Too vague… unless that is the goal.

It's not the lawbreakers they should worry about, but those who can bend the law without snapping it. He'll have to conceal the lies from the competent ministers and aristocrats of the parliament with the help of the opportunists of policies, good and bad, well-carried out.

"You are strong, Aurelia. There is nobody else we can trust with this."

Of course, there are. "You just want me to be a scar."

Aurelia stepped out, and the paladins roused.

"Take me to the hero."

***

The paladins arrayed themselves with another team in a defensive envelope around a door. Taking one deep sigh, she curled her hands for a knock, then it occurred to her: will his heart endure her presence? What is she even supposed to say about that?

What kind of torment had the hero endured to utter such words? And why did her father tell her all this? To understand him, or to warn her?

The knight to her right looked away after sneaking a glance, and Aurelia's forehead met the door. This has been a foolish cause, wasn't it? Something draughted her head, and she moved without thinking. Again.

The door handle clicked, and Aurelia pushed inwards. She struck something soft, and papers fluttered. She dropped to her knees and gathered them.

"S–Sorry!"

"I-It's fine, Your Highness," the bureaucrat joined her.

She arranged them by the imprints of seals from the appropriate department on the top left: Internal Affairs, Court Inspector, Treasury. She skimmed a piece on trends and national investments. Huh? She cataloged it and double-checked with the rest: military assessments and expenditures, and foreign relations.

No. Oh no, no, no, no, no. What is the meaning of this?

It's too early. It was too much work. Aurelia plucked the documents according to the seals and page numbers and handed them to the bureaucrat, earning her a curt nod. Aurelia waved—or at least she did as the door shut behind her—and snatched a few more scattered on the bed. If the goal was familiarization, this was outright inconsiderate as were the hopes this world had for him.

What does he see in the beauty of the falls as he sits alone in the chair facing the window? Was the comfort around him that superficial? Or was it a cage he locked himself in? Tomorrow will be a big day. He needed rest. Her conscience wasn't worth his restlessness.

He groaned, wobbling to his feet, and Aurelia took one step and reached her hand out to him, and then he shot a glare. Aurelia tensed as a pistol appeared the second his right hand moved out of her sight, and let loose a little as he holstered it in a pouch under his left arm.

"I won't be acknowledging an apology. Apologizing is for when we can't work for it."

And for the first time, Aurelia sensed something real. But the burning leaving her left her no time to cherish it. It left her so easily. It can't be.

"What have I done to earn your absolution?"

"Everything's better as long as everyone's useful, don't you think? How many things could we accomplish if we all swallowed our pride? Yes, there was a time when I was going to kill you twice, and there was a time when you wanted to kill me slowly, but that's beside the point."

And what is the point; with a smile that never reached the eyes, a limp towards the bed, and a groan as he slumped and reached for the papers?

As he stopped, canvasing through his stack and scanning those in the bed, Aurelia joined him and laid out the ones she picked. He raised his head, and Aurelia lowered hers. Just seeing his face bludgeoned her heart with a club that knew no armor.

It's less than getting choked by hands that'd silence her and a lover's warm lie that'd embrace her with hope. His silence was not an affirmation, but a resignation. He had no reason to help them for what she had done, but here he was still.

If Aurelia had an answer to gathering the papers, organizing them page by page, on the subject, it could only be to find an answer—to give his new life meaning. A simple "hi," asking how he was on the dullest hour of the dullest day, but it's only natural. Regret was an emotion only the heart could feel and a facade for the mind to doubt.

Everyone weighs her blood in gold. Some venture for it; some fear it. They say there can be no true love between Lord and Lady, and by the same token, there can be no true friendship, just bad memories.

"What does His Majesty want?"

Her hand froze, and the grating flow between taking and arranging the pages exposed it.

He stopped. "Let's start over. I'm Erich Kasper, the unlucky bastard who got caught in a summoning ritual, and my job is to enable the world's hubris. You?"

"I am Aurelia, Crown Princess of Cascadia."

"That's it?"

It's the only name you'll bother to remember. "His Majesty ordered me to assist you politically and personally as Guardian Plenipotentiary."

He sighed and continued arranging pages. "What I need is someone bearable. I can guarantee that from a spy caught stealing from my drawer with a written complaint. But what do we have here?"

With an exhausted look, the bridge she doused had burned away with his anger.

"Do whatever you want. So go back."

Taking the arranged papers, a squeal escaped his lips as he rose and walked towards the door. Aurelia didn't dare look back, lest he'd see the face she was making. He was too weary to hold animosity; too tired to care about many, many things. However, he gave his blessings.

By his word, she has become the hero's guardian. And yet it was disgusting.

"I'm sorry..."

The door swung shut. He still shouldered all his emptiness. His loneliness was still the truth, and the pain and misery of the future were his to bear alone. Aurelia's opportunity had long slipped from her grasp the very instant she raised her hand. Her anticipation reached no further.

***

Tower of Ancients, Cascadia Palace

Within the halls of the Tower was a hospital from the Order of Hospitallers of the Cascadian Red Cross. There, the canonesses of the Altar of Heroes knelt in prayer under the watchful eye of Headmaster York and his elderly students of the Household Mages, their collective focus directed in hushed supplication of auras flowing like a web of rivers of translucent lime, enveloping Annalise's in a luminescent cocoon.

And in this sacred ceremony, among the Kingdom's greatest healers, the last person Aurelia wished to encounter took notice of her. Her uncle, Duke John Numen of Estrier, separated from the assembly and gestured for her to join him in a quiet corner.

She quivered from the firm hand descending onto her shoulder, silencing the simplest of words. She couldn't bring herself to meet his gaze.

"The roots will heal with time. Sir York was able to guarantee it. Now, it's time for us to make haste."

Aurelia's eyes fogged with unshed tears. There had been moments when she tolerated empty customs, but not on this day, perhaps never again. She deserved all the scorn from the esteemed nobles and the ordinary folk, all holding their tongues in dread of retribution that was her birthright. And yet, the one worthy of raising their banner had cast it away.

"She smiled, uncle. She welcomed death with a smile."

She sobbed and sobbed some more as her uncle put his arms around her. All this time, she envied Annalise's life. How could all of them not foresee her suffering?

"Annalise loves you, Aurelia. And I do not need to know if you return it. However, the choice to burn the past you both shared is not yours alone. If what you've said is the truth, then we cannot leave her final wishes in vain. Do you understand?"

Aurelia weakly nodded.

"Do what you must, and she will naturally see your sincerity. You are his Guardian Plenipotentiary. If you find tools that may support him, you have the power to seize it."

She didn't deserve those words, forgiven or not. Aurelia had lost all right to love her sister.

"Where do I even start?"

"Paladins will supplement my knights to what must be done tomorrow. They are conducting their final hours of weapons familiarization in the barracks."

"What will they do?"

"A raid on the Blaire residence tomorrow morning. We've already the evidence to arrest them, but the paladins taking the forefront and the hero casting out judgment will present a show of unity."

"Then I know what I must do."

"You don't have to push yourself, Aurelia."

She clasped the hilt of her sword. "If I don't, then what is the purpose of wielding the Sword of Covenants?"

She had inherited its responsibility with forged steel that had tasted the blood of the deserving since the Laurentian heirs. If she were to be his guardian, then she would accept as it were the Blood Communion. To repent from almost spilling the blood of the hero, rivers will turn red, children will become fatherless, and mothers will sing their wails. This is her vow, her sacred duty, whom she shall torment until her final breath for failing to seal it.