Anabellum’s earliest memory was of Alerich.
A peasant’s life was a difficult one. Azer Luceras was an old country, meaning thousands of years of compounded wealth, resources, and experience had crafted the nation-state founded by Adelaide von Canstein, The Fourteenth Hero, the first True Hero, and the master of the Sword, into a continental superpower.
But much of that wealth and influence was concentrated in the nobility. Those ill-begotten children of great men and women - people that had actually built things, rather than resting on their laurels. Although Azer Luceras was better than most, the peasantry were still expected to live off of the scraps from their dinner tables.
Certainly, they worked the land the nobles owned. They sowed the lands, dragging oxen - and more recently, magical contraptions - over the hardscrabble soil of southern Kallisto. They ground the grain and mulched the fruit for noble beer and wine that the spoiled princess and princesses of Azer Luceras drank in copious amounts.
Still, for many, that was enough - Anabellum included. Alerich was a beautiful city, filled with sloping arches and the thousand-year-old tile roofing that made Azer Luceran architecture look so graceful. There was little risk of famine and drought, due to their close proximity to the Alfish Verdant Of course, that meant Alerich would be the first to fall under an elvish invasion, but those types of thoughts were the sorts of things peasants weren’t taught to think about in the first place.
Their close proximity with the Dukedom of Medea, a land frankly vexingly more prosperous than Alerich, meant they Alerich always got the best Yauzenflower produce. Ana had spent many a night lying on the rafters of their small house, watching her father and her brothers get drunk off of the fine wines of Medea - sold to their family by the crate on a discount for the work they did.
Ah. Father. A broad chested farmer with auburn hair by the name of Andreás, he had been the grandchild of an immigrant from one of the nameless kingdoms that had been swallowed up in the Doza-Nausian disaster centuries before. He had been a simple man with a booming laugh that cared for little more in life than his family. And his wines. He had loved his wines. But so did most in the outer district, and for that, too, he was loved and accepted by many.
Her brothers were much the same. Ana had difficulty remembering any of them - they hardly interacted. Pedró and Alex, twins that seemed to share both body and mind. They were, as mother called them, her beautiful boys, despite the fact that they were not hers, nor were they related to Ana in blood.
Mother was... a mystery. She had been an auburn-haired woman by the name of Adelyn. What was there Ana could say about her? She was an artisan and spent most of her hours in the garden, creating statuettes and small tools. She had a stash of jewelry that she kept in a box locked up in the attic.
Ana was Adelyn’s child, but the girl in her felt she’d barely known the woman. All she knew was that Adelyn was related to some noble house - it had been obvious, both from her demeanor and the jewels she kept safely locked in the attic - but aside from that, nothing.
As for Ana herself, she had been known as a simple girl. Not unintelligent - just simple in that she was quiet. She had possessed within her none of the boisterous energy that most ten-year olds her age had. Nor did she like talking about boys. Or clothes. Or anything at all, really.
Perhaps she was just a naturally boring person.
But Alerich had loved her all the same. And despite her calm disposition, Ana couldn’t help but love Alerich too.
Now, Alerich was practically gone. Its citizens slaughtered to ash and dust. The cobblestones she’d stepped on daily for over half her life ground into dust by the paws of vile animals that had no business on this continent, let alone humble Alerich.
Ana was not someone prone to emotional fits, but she couldn’t help but grit her teeth in rage whenever she remembered that accursed, sweltering summer day when the MudWraiths had attacked. The city had been quiet one second; it had burst into a maze of blood and death by the end of the hour.
Anabellum had watched in horror as she witnessed her parents, and then her brothers, spread out across the walls of their small house in a gory illustration of viscera. It had taken nothing but a callous instant for the beast, this wraith made of roiling earth, to slaughter them. And Ana had just watched! In shock, fear, and horror. In weakness.
There had been nothing she could do - nothing. Nothing! She was a peasant girl. What had she of all people been supposed to do when people many times her age had been slaughtered in their beds with ease?
Still, Ana had stumbled into her house. At some point throughout the massacre her father’s shortsword had made it into her hands. She might have been called emotionless, but she was not useless. Ana may have been quiet, but she was a smart child. That was what mother had said, before-
Before-
The Mudwraith had backhanded her right back out of the house, snorting at the blade she wielded in a horrifyingly intelligent manner. It was by all rights a move that should have killed her, but surprisingly, the specter of death had hesitated to claim her. She was made half-unconscious upon the impact, yes, but in her flight Ana had fortuitously missed the parts of the walls that had been made of stone slurry.
The beast had been confused by her survival, but it hardly missed a beat before moving in to kill her. Ana had been convinced at that moment that the wraith had even been pleased by the development - it wanted prey to play with. If the little thing could suffer longer, all the better! It would feast all the same… feast in a way that it usually could not, what with it being a beast so pathetically weak for its rank.
The monster had attacked with nonchalance, flicking a single claw in a manner that had betrayed utter disrespect. The force of the blow from that alone, however, had been sufficient to fracture the steel of her father’s blade into granular fragments. Yet, Ana stood. She held her ground, biting her tongue to stay awake.
The sword felt… right in her hands. It was like she had been born to wield it. Upon facing down this nightmare, Ana had felt, for the first time, powerful. No longer was she little Anabellum; she was a soldier, standing her ground in wake of disaster. She had been Adelaide standing against the demon-tide, hand-in-hand with her shining sword.
By all means, Ana should have still died that day.
But fate, she learned, could be altered by even a difference of seconds.
Like a knight in shining armor, Guard-Captain Vernas of the Dukedom of Medea had vaporized the beast’s flank, cleaving the MudWraith in twain. Ana remembered that moment dearly; if horror was the emotion most prevalent in her memories of the attack, then the reminiscence of Vernas’ silver blade, which had looked so normal despite the sheer power it had just outputted, had filled her with equal parts in awe.
That was probably the event that had spurred Ana on to approach the man. Partly because she had nothing left to lose... but also because of the way his swordplay had captivated her to such an extent.
One thing had led to another. Vernas was a kind man, despite what his stalwart and- and noble exterior might suggest. He’d brought her and the survivors of the attack to Medea, promising them to bring the man that had stolen the... wardstone? To justice.
He’d even gone a step further for Ana, securing her work in the Manor. Although that, of course, was due to her new mistress more than anything else.
Lady Everie was... strange. She looked like the epitome of what made nobles noble, despite being only four years old. Although she did look more seven than four.
Ugh. Noble bloodlines and their freaky powers.
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Still, the girl was her junior. Despite that, she maintained an aura of grace and self-control the likes of which Ana had only seen replicated in Lord Vernas and Duke Haswalth - who Ana was still slightly frightened by, though touched by his kindness. Which was, frankly, a little unnerving in its generosity.
Not to mention the fact that the four-year-old was so far above her in the social hierarchy that they might as well be a stratosphere apart in rank. Lady Everie wasn’t the greatest conversationalist either, so... Ana tried to be quiet around her, just like everywhere else.
The Manor was just so big. The first thing she noticed upon entering the house, upon which she was given a room in the servant’s hall down in the basement floor, was that everything looked terribly expensive. Every inch of floor and wall was lacquered blackwood, the value of which Ana didn’t know precisely but knew had to be much more than what even the Count of Alerich could have purchased for his estates. There were gold-framed mirrors and expensive portraits littered all throughout the house; artifacts, conducting the miracles of ether to perform the most mundane of functions, lighting and heating and warding the house; expansive etchings and painted frescoes decorated the walls and ceilings. Medea Manor had been vested with an unmistakably mystical quality by its maker.
The Servant’s Quarters were slightly more modest, but they were still a far sight better than anything mere peasants could come to expect. The room Ana had been assigned by the head maid, a stern-faced older woman named Cherry, had beds, with cotton stuffing - not straw! They were served meat as part of their meals: something that would have been a rare luxury back home, but here in Medea, they gave her heaping platters of seconds the moment she asked. The dormitories had the same artifacts and runes keeping them temperate, which meant the scorching heat of summer could not penetrate into the Manor. They called it... air-conditioning, was it? Whatever it was, it was undoubtedly expensive. All artifacts were, without exception.
And Medea Manor just happened to be liquid enough to spend inordinate amounts of money on their Heroes-blessed servants.
Ana was a quiet child. She’d never asked for much, unlike her brothers. From youth, she’d largely taken care of herself. But not even she could have called herself a peasant had she not possessed that propensity - and longing - to look skyward. To the great mansions and palaces the noblemen and women of Alerich had flounced within, wining and dining from dawn ‘till dusk.
Ana had known Medea was a prosperous Dukedom, it being the oldest and wealthiest in Azer Luceras due to its unique status as a blessed land, but the difference in quality of life was made incredibly stark to her the moment she stepped foot in it. It felt unfair. Why was it that these people, who surely worked and toiled less than her, got to have so much more when her family had so little? Was it luck? Heritage?
Or was it just strength?
If Ana had been stronger - had been more ambitious - could she have saved her parents? It was an irrational thought, obviously. But it was one that she couldn’t help but continue to dwell on.
Luckily - or unluckily - there was much for Ana to do. Refugee though she may be, she could not simply waltz into the abode of one of the most powerful families in the kingdom and expect the boundless generosity the House of Medea had shown her to continue unabated. She had to work, and she wanted to work, if she was to survive in this brave new world.
So she worked.
At least the servants here are kind to me, Ana thought, wistfully. They’re all so professional! And courteous. They’re not rough and stupid like we usually are.
It’s almost strange to think they’re all commoners like me.
The chef. The other maids-in-training that shared the dorm she’d been assigned: Lizzie, Ellis, and Aurianne. Head-maid Cherry, who oversaw the operations of the Manor with tight-knit precision.
And... then there was Miss Daphne. Lady Everie’s personal caretaker and nanny, although their relationship seemed closer to that of friends than master and servant. It probably had, at least partially, to do with the fact that Daphne had been part of the Comital House Rosenson before its dissolution and absorption into House Gladwitz. Ana knew this because everyone knew. The Purge, after all, had affected everyone, from the royal family down to the most penurious tramp.
Nobles were giants. When they fell, it was the peasant folk that got crushed in their collapse.
Daphne was an energetic woman. More than that, she seemed to be a decent, empathetic person, despite being a snobbish noble, which surprised Ana - or at least, should have surprised her. Heroes, the world really had gone topsy-turvy ever since Ana had arrived in Medea.
For one, she saw fit to train Ana personally. The girl hadn’t really understood the significance of what Lady Everie had proclaimed - that Ana was hers - but any confusion on the implications of that statement had been quickly wiped the moment Daphne had ushered her into an empty dressing-room, then begun taking measurements.
“For your uniform,” Daphne had said. Ana had watched, in fascination, as a ball of yarn and a strange measuring contraption floated ‘round the maid on a magical breeze. “Can’t have you serving my mistress in those rags, yeah?”
So, here she was. Dressed in an ostentatious yet oddly practical maid uniform, tailored down to fit her smaller frame, Anabellum stood in front of a lacquered door. Her eyes nervously traced the embossed carvings, waiting for her lady’s command.
“Enter,”
She swallowed. Daphne stood to her side, smiling, but it did little to calm her nerves.
A four-year old sat behind that door. A four-year old ducal heiress. Ana felt very, very small.
Like prey, being stalked by a predator.
----------------------------------------
“So. What did you do before comin’ here, Ana?”
The girl in question blinked, taking her eyes off the cup of tea that she’d been preparing. She thought it was still of abysmal quality despite her weeks of practice, although Daphne had assured her otherwise. Calling her a Heroes-damned overachiever, just like that other one, grumbling all the while.
“Ah-”
“Daphne,” Everie reprimanded. The young lady of the house sat in a plush armchair that would have bought Ana’s family six month’s worth of rations, flipping over the pages of a book. “Have some tact. You of all people should know this.”
The maid blinked, before blushing. “...Sorry, Ana,” she whispered. “Forgot, is all. I’m not the most sensitive individual.”
“No,” Ana whispered. “It’s... alright.” She could talk. I’m not afraid.
She swallowed. “I in Alerich. In the Haerenoth province, my lady,” Ana said, quietly. She had to fight off the urge to stutter- don’t be afraid. They don’t dislike you. They’re nice people. They- “As for my life there... It was nothing special. I was a farmer’s daughter,” she finished, lamely.
Lady Everie paused, shutting her book. Then she turned, and Anabellum couldn’t help but flinch as twin pearls of gold-studded violet swung her way.
“A farmer’s daughter?” she said, voice tinted with incredulity.
Ana blinked. “I... yes? My lady?”
Lady Everie drew breath, before sighing. “Then... did you apprentice with some knight or warrior? Or perhaps at least a member of the city guard?”
“No, my lady,” she said, shivering. “Two weeks ago was the first time I ever held a sword.”
Lies, she thought. That was not your first battle.
Ana froze. Does she think I overstep? That a beggar dares wield a blade? “I- I was merely captivated by your swordplay, my lady! I’d never seen anyone so... young wield a blade so well. And when Lord Vernas offered me a practice blade, I-”
“Stop,” her lady said, shaking her still-infantlike head. “I’m not accusing you of anything, Ana. It’s just-”
“-you must be crazy talented, huh?” Daphne interjected, groaning. “Great. Now I’ve taken two prodigies under my wing. One in... everything. The other for everything as well. Agghh!” She threw up her hands. “Holy Librarian forbid, if only I had an ounce of your talents, my research would have progressed at twelvefold the speed!”
Ana twitched at the sudden outburst. But before she could respond, her lady had already begun speaking.
“Yes, yes, Daphne,” Lady Everie muttered. “And yet you still became an assistant professor at the age of fourteen, despite your bemoanings. You’re plenty talented yourself.”
Ana couldn’t help but notice that her lady scowled at the word talented, but she dismissed the thought. It wasn’t her place to question Lady Everie’s quirks.
Daphne rolled her eyes. She put one hand on her hip, glaring down at her mistress - who, by all accounts, should be the one staring down at her - then pouted.
“Oh, please,” she huffed. “Like I said, miss - it doesn’t matter if magic isn’t working out for you now. You’re- pardon me,” Daphne coughed, “four. Noble-blood you may be, nobody is expecting you to Chant complex skript and lift boulders at your age.”
“But-”
“Ah, ah, ah!” Daphne yelled, shaking her head. “Honestly. What’s got you in such a twist, huh? We’ve had this conversation before. I…”
Ana watched, in bemusement, as her lady’s carefully formed expression of serenity slipped off her face in rivulets of formality. Daphne was speaking in some strange academic slang, while Lady Everie- Everie was sputtering. Her face was red, and there was an obvious, welled-up frustration within her. But like water leaving a faucet, Ana could see the stress leaving her body as she argued so playfully with Daphne.
Maybe... Ana thought, tentatively. Maybe these really are good people after all.