“So, you said you had something important to ask me. What was it?” Lucille asked the blonde-haired girl in front of her.

They were sitting on one of the few balconies of the fortieth story. Lucy was drinking her coffee again for the first time in a while, which the Prophetess had timidly tried once and then inelegantly spat out and never touched again, while Annaliese was drinking hot chocolate, a drink she had taken to when Lucy was demonstrating the abilities of the jug. The girl had a conflicted expression on her face as she gazed into the steaming surface of her drink. It was the early afternoon of Monday after Lucille had met up with Vincent.

Annaliese grimaced and took a deep sip of her hot chocolate.

Lucy smiled brightly at her, her voice sweet. “You’ve been procrastinating and avoided answering me for the last ten minutes by drinking that hot chocolate. I’m not falling for it. There’s no more in the jug, by the way.”

The girl stiffened slightly with a sheepish expression on her face but sighed and nodded. She gingerly clasped her hands together on the balcony table and stared at them. “I know I’ve only known you for a week…” she began. “But I have nobody else to ask.”

Lucille remained quiet as she gazed at the girl with narrowed eyes.

“How do I prevent the Citadel from controlling me and my brother?” Annaliese asked, raising her eyes to stare at Lucy with her golden eyes.

Lucy stared back, and after a moment, ran a hand down her face in exasperation. “I should’ve known that snake would give me more grief,” she muttered.

The Prophetess blinked and hastily shook her head. “Oh, um… this has nothing to do with Scytale,” she said. Then she hesitated. “Well, kind of.”

Lucy made a face. “How can something only have somewhat nothing to do with him?” she asked blandly.

“He said I should ask you when it came to knowing what kind of things I should push the Citadel to give me, and what not….” she said in a quiet voice.

Lucy tilted her head, thinking, but then her eyes narrowed abruptly. “Why did he think I would be best to tell you?” she questioned, suspicious.

“….he said you’re the best at scheming,” Annaliese replied, inwardly apologising to Scytale for getting him into trouble. He was sleeping on Lucy’s couch.

Lucy gazed at the Prophetess for a moment and then huffed. “Well, fine. That’s his way of admitting I’m smarter than him,” she said.

“But as for your question… I’ll help you,” Lucy suddenly said, surprising Annaliese.

“You… will?” she asked dubiously.

Lucy cocked an eyebrow. “It’s not like I’m doing much else at the moment. And we probably won’t have time to meet tomorrow, at least until you leave.” She shrugged. “Besides, we likely won’t see each other again, or if we do, it won’t be in a private setting.”

Annaliese had an odd expression on her face for a moment, making Lucy curious, but the girl nodded and sat up straighter to listen to Lucille’s words.

“I’m not sure where you got the idea I wouldn’t help you, especially after all that has happened, but let me use this to correct your misconception,” she began calmly. She put down her mug and crossed her legs. “The Citadel will get you to sign a contract when they take you away. This much is a given, as it is mandatory because of the System’s Authority bestowed on the Supreme Institution. They have no choice but to specifically state your tasks and their requirements in the contract,” she told her.

“There have been instances in history where the Prophetess has a special request to make, or issue with the contract, in which the person responsible for collecting the Prophetess will negotiate with her,” Lucy said, pointing at Annaliese. “To give yourself some leeway, this is what you must ask for, no matter what. You cannot fold to the pressure of the Citadel.”

She held up a finger. “Firstly, they are to, under no circumstances, attack, kill, suggest for, or order for, the death or harm of you or your brother. Ensure he is placed at the same protection priority level as you. The Citadel has no justification to prevent you from protecting your brother without appearing suspicious. They don’t know you were aware they were there while he was sick,” she said sternly. “They might try to get you to change the contract a few years later, but even then, they still need your permission to change anything. This is what it means to be directly bestowed a Unique class by the System itself.”

Annaliese nodded solemnly with a serious expression, firmly committing everything to memory. Lucille held up a second finger.

“Secondly,” she continued. “Is to ask for free time.”

The Prophetess blinked. “Free… time?” she parroted, confused.

Lucy crossed her arms and nodded. “I’m being serious here. If you do not explicitly ask for this, you will be subjected to endless hours of lectures, training, social events, and Fate bestowal, all of which will leave you absolutely exhausted and very mentally drained,” she stressed. “They do this intentionally. Sure, they might give you breaks every Saturday or similar, but it won’t truly be stated in the contract. They will have power over how you spend your time, from how early you wake up, and when you eat, to when you fall asleep, and they can revoke your ‘weekly’ breaks whenever they need. You are not an individual to them. You are a valuable resource.”

Annaliese frowned. “But… how do I ask for free time? That doesn’t sound like something I could demand without sounding immature and greedy…”

“Use your brother,” Lucy smirked.

“Sorry?” the girl asked incredulously, feeling like her ears weren’t working.

Lucille shrugged. “Ask for a week’s worth of time each month to be able to spend it with your brother. Use family time as your excuse. They can’t wiggle their way out of that one if they want their reputation to remain good. Who would trust a Citadel that mistreats their own Prophetess, not even letting her visit her one and only brother?” she said.

Annaliese crossed her arms in thought. “So… a week each month?” she repeated.

Lucy shook her head. “No. A week’s worth each month. This is so you can take breaks throughout the month, instead of all at once. You could do that too if you wanted, but prioritize the flexibility of splitting up the days. Make sure to get them to put in ‘however you wish’, whether by saying you might want to bring your brother out to visit places or some other excuse, so you have the freedom to go almost anywhere.”

She tapped on the table. “They might try to haggle the week down, but that’s fine. Make sure it stays at or above five days, however, so you can allow for travel time. They’ll also want you to bring guards with you at all times, but you don’t need to reject that. You will be at risk of assassinations if not careful,” she stated. “Someone who has taken a private guard’s oath is under several geas that protects your privacy, so don’t feel too anxious to not reveal secrets. Unless they’re so big that the guard will accept the price of breaking a geas.”

“You mean… like yours?” the Prophetess asked Lucy.

Lucy paused, having been caught off guard. Then she nodded with a strange expression on her face. “That… yes, don’t tell them that either. I don’t particularly want to be kidnapped for my information, even if I don’t care if you know I’m a regressor.”

Annaliese smiled slightly but nodded. “What else?”

“Finally, make sure to request full access to the Prophetess’s resources. Don’t phrase it exactly like me though, because my term is way too specific to be an accident if it comes out of your mouth,” she replied wryly. “The Great Sage, who is traditionally the Prophetess’s teacher, will even be happy to grant you access. The other Sages of Paragon won’t like to give the Prophetess access to her official inheritance and will use excuses such as ‘being too young’ to withhold that money and other resources from you. They have the authority to use the Prophetess’s inheritance when there is no Prophetess.”

“Ah. So… politics stuff,” the Prophetess replied.

Lucy gave an approving nod. “Politics stuff. Don’t let greedy old men and their personal ambitions stop you from getting what you are rightfully owed. The inheritance is also supposed to include the Prophetess’s family, so you are entirely within your rights to find magic instructors for your brother using that money, and even get the Citadel to tell you all their known information on his Origin Skill, which I believe must be cyclic in nature like yours,” she said, intertwining her fingers and resting them on the table.

“Is… this really all I need to protect me and my brother?” the Prophetess asked hesitantly.

Lucille cocked an eyebrow. “Don’t forget, you will need to stand up against a high-ranking member of one of the Institutions and explicitly state for this to happen. If you show you are weak, they will step right over you and ignore your wishes.” Then she tapped on her chin. “Although, if you can perfect it, using the guise of a naïve, ignorant, and optimistic girl can help you well when trying to free yourself from the influence of the Sages. If you can demonstrate that your firm attitude is only in relation to your brother and close friends, you could manage to avoid the scrutiny of the Sages.”

She grinned. “That part’s a suggestion, not something you want to try without being fully dedicated to fooling their eyes and lie detection. Do it if you fancy becoming the actual leader of the Citadel rather than just a figurehead.”

Annaliese looked stunned and contemplative about Lucy’s words, but Lucille just gave her a dismissive wave. “Sleep on it,” she said, not believing the Prophetess would take her words seriously. “The Commission is neutral though, so I can’t help you if you want to do that.”

Lucy reclined back in her chair and picked her mug of coffee up. “How’s your brother?”

The change in topic caught the Prophetess off guard, but she nodded when she registered the question. “The doctors say he’s doing well. The wood-element healing was just as effective as light-element could’ve been, and there’s been no sign of his ‘curse’ doing anything. I think the quantity of people near him has helped, as you said. He still hasn’t woken up though…” she added sadly.

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

“Nothing much I can do about that, I’m afraid,” Lucille replied, shrugging. “The lifeforce-reduction in his body means he won’t be able to move a muscle until that’s fully restored. Don’t let the Citadel transfer him to their clinics until you’ve signed the contract with the protection rights in effect.”

I probably shouldn’t tell her that due to the lack of mana within awakening him to the presence of spiritual energy, he’s likely been capable of sensing everything around him while locked in an immovable body. That wouldn’t be good for her mental wellbeing.

Lucy drank the last of her coffee and sat straighter in her chair, stretching. “I need to get back to work. Will you visit him one last time before tomorrow?” she asked Annaliese.

She absentmindedly nodded, beginning to get up. Then her expression changed and she scowled at Lucy. “Actually, I have one last thing to say.”

Lucille raised an eyebrow. “Yes?”

“I don’t like being compared to Sedric,” she stated flatly, glaring at Lucy. “There is no way I’m as bad as him.”

Lucy stared at her, wondering what she was talking about, before realising she was referring to their carriage trip to the Headquarters. She just laughed as she stood up from her chair and walked towards the door of the balcony, a disgruntled Annaliese following as well.

…

“Is there anything else you’d like to request, Faction Head?” asked the tailor, bowing to the black-haired girl observing herself in the nearby full-body mirror. He was taking down measurements to ensure the clothing fit.

Lucy turned to get a better look at her herself in the mirror and then shook her head. “I believe this is fine for now, Sir Edalvien. You may add what you feel is best suited to the other sets of clothes. I will pay for it all and any additional costs.”

Instead of appearing shocked or eager like some of the craftsmen Lucille had talked to, he only gave another bow and calmly continued taking some extra measurements with his tape. They both paused when they heard knocking on the room’s door.

“Come in," Lucy said, her perception field telling her who it was.

The door swung open to reveal Vincent, stepping through to walk over to where they were. He gave a nod in greeting to the tailor, and then stopped to take in Lucy’s new look, a hand covering his mouth as he observed her.

“Hmm,” he said.

Lucy nodded to the tailor, who gave them both a bow, and then rolled up his measuring tape, packing up his equipment. He gave them another bow and left the room.

Lucille spread her arms wide as she gave Vincent a wide smile. “What do you think?”

He didn’t respond right away. She tilted her head. “What, does it look bad on me?” She smirked.

He blinked and then shook his head, pushing up his glasses. “No, that’s not it. It suits you very well,” he replied. “But it’s rather masculine,” he added, giving her another analysing look.

Lucille had her hair out as usual, her black mask fixed in place, but she had changed her entire ensemble. She wore a light grey shirt and dark-brown leather corset. She also had a black leather sleeveless vest with an asymmetrical front over the top that buttoned up at the waist and neck, and three horizontal gold chains hanging across her waist. Two gold chains also came down either side of her chest from the collarbone area to attach themselves high on her waist, and over the high neckline of the vest was a dark-grey ascot, two smaller gold chains fixing it in place. Over her left shoulder was a braided gold cord that tied to her leather belt at her right hip, the end of the rope-like sash hanging loosely with a tassel.

Two empty sheaths were on either side of her belt. She wore black leather boots and was also wearing an unbuttoned suit jacket, with pants of the same colour, the pants having golden lines running down the sides. Her hands had white gloves that ended at her wrists. Because of her slim figure, it definitely did look like something a man would normally wear, but not unattractive. There was only one issue.

Her suit jacket and pants were violet. Violently violet.

“When Scytale and I told you to pick a colour that wasn’t black, I don’t think this was what we meant,” Vincent deadpanned.

She looked down at herself and then looked back up. “I don’t see the issue," she replied innocently.

Vincent’s expression distorted, making Lucy give him a cat-like grin. “Apparently black is too boring for you guys, so I thought this would be better to make a statement,” she said, smiling from ear to ear.

Vincent’s eyes widened as he had a horrifying suspicion. “Don’t tell me you ordered all your clothes in this colour?” he pleaded.

She blinked and then went back to looking at herself in the mirror. “Hmm,” was all she said, copying Vincent’s mannerisms from earlier.

“Lucy, please!” he exclaimed desperately.

As his expression got increasingly despairing, she turned back to him and narrowed her eyes. “Maaaaaaybe?” she replied in a sing-song voice.

He let out a loud groan as he ran a hand through his silver hair. “Seriously, why would you do this Lucy? I’m already hearing the complaints that will be sent my way if the Faction Head goes out wearing something like this.”

She reached into a pocket of her violet pants and pulled out her pocket watch, a suspiciously similar shade to her jacket and pants, and swung it in circles by its chain. “I didn’t pick this colour completely thoughtlessly," she replied. Then she gave him another smirk. “Also, today is the first time you’ve called me Lucy. You did it twice, in fact.”

He crossed his arms and stared at her with light grey eyes. “And why did you feel the need to point this out?” he questioned.

She shrugged. “No reason. Besides making you feel awkward. It seems I succeeded,” she added, pointing to his crossed arms.

He rolled his eyes, dropping the crossed arms, and didn’t deign to respond. Instead, he frowned as he looked at her with an odd expression. “You seem very different today.”

“I know I have taste, but clothing doesn’t normally make that much of a difference to my good looks,” she remarked with nonchalance, placing the pocket watch back in its pocket after brushing off the nonexistent dust on its surface.

But he didn’t react to her statement the way she expected. He pointed at her with a strange expression on his face. “And there it is,” he stated.

She spread her arms and glanced down at herself to see if she had some insect climbing on her or something. “Am I the it?” she asked curiously.

“You’re exaggerating your body language,” he said. “You don’t normally do that.”

He held his chin as he frowned slightly, still looking at her with an odd expression on his face. “I’ve noticed how you normally act. You make very little unnecessary action, and your walking is at an almost perfectly equal pace each time you take a step. You never appear tired, never speak with much emotion in your voice, and you’re not normally this expressive, if expressive at all.” He tilted his head. “Actually, this is reminding me of the time with the intruder. ”

“Well, isn’t someone unnecessarily observant,” she stated flatly. “Am I such an oddity that you felt the desire to pay attention to me like this?”

He grimaced. “And now the weird incongruity I felt is gone. You’re back to normal. But you just avoided the subject, meaning something is going on,” he pointed out.

She stared at him for a moment, expressionless, before turning around to walk over to a chest of draws in the room they were in. She picked up a long, thin black object off of it.

Vincent raised an eyebrow. “Is that… a cane?”

She held it up to her eyes, looking at the black gloss of the texture. “Well, it looks like a cane.” She tapped it against the chest of draws. “It sounds like a cane.” Then she took off a glove and ran a finger down the surface. “And it feels like a cane.”

“So it’s a cane?” Vincent asked dryly.

“It’s not a cane,” she replied, shaking her head.

He stared at her for a moment, dumbfounded, and then sighed. “Of course, it’s not. If it was then I’d be asking why a perfectly healthy 18-year-old needed to carry one of them around, but it seems the situation is different.”

She smiled. “Even if it was a cane, I’d still carry it around.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

“Aesthetics,” she replied smugly.

He glared but managed to refrain from sighing again. “Moving on then. What is it?”

“A staff,” she stated, pulling back on her white glove as she held it in the crook of her arm.

“For magic? I suppose that makes a bit of sense... I doubt many people would expect a cane to be flinging spells at them,” he mused. “What does it do?”

“Magic, I assume,” she said, grinning. She continued explaining before Vincent could get truly mad at her. “This one helps with arcane magic. It’s the most practical magic for me as the Commission Head.” She leaned on the cane, its T-shaped handle made of black wood, and its thin end dipped in gold.

He nodded. “I see. How powerful is it?” he asked curiously.

“This one is only Rare level. Partially because of the limitations of its structure, but also because I’m only Rank-0. Nobody is expecting me to cast any big spells,” she said.

“That’s true. But what is also true,” he replied, gazing at her with narrowed eyes, “Is that I can tell you thought you distracted me with the cane. Why are you acting so-”

His question was interrupted by the sudden opening of the room’s door. A panicked staff member ran in, bowing deeply when he noticed them both staring at him.

“Faction Head,” he said, after another bow to Lucille. Then he turned to Vincent and gave another bow. “Sir Evisenhardt.”

Vincent frowned. “You didn’t knock. Someone has to have taught you the proper manners for this, I’ll have to check wi-”

“Vincent, wait.” Lucille stepped forward, putting a hand in front of him to stop her aide from speaking. “Something else is going on here.”

She frowned as she stepped forward, aware through her perception field that the man had been running, judging by the way his legs trembled with exhaustion, and he was very pale as he panted to catch his breath. “What do you need to tell me?”

The man gulped, and slowly straightened up. “T-The Citadel is here, Lord,” he said. “Th-They’ve brought a contingent of Paladins,” he told her fearfully.

Vincent stared at the man, disbelieving. “Wait, Paladins?! Why haven’t they sent notice, or sent a messenger to-”

Lucille gestured to him with a hand, pinching her nose bridge as she frowned slightly. “No, this is my fault. They’ve arrived sooner than I expected. How annoying.”

Vincent’s incredulous stare switched to Lucy. “How could this be your fault?!”

She ignored him to step forward and touch the staff member on the shoulder. “I need you to do something for me,” she told him seriously. “Don’t tell anyone, but immediately go find Annaliese Verdon and bring her to my room. I’ll deal with the Paladins.”

“Annaliese…?” Vincent murmured.

The man shakily nodded. “W-Where could I find her, F-Faction Head?”

She paused and closed her eyes, expanding her spiritual perception field. She blinked and then looked at the man. “She’s on the rooftop near the central fountain. Go quickly," she ordered.

He nodded again, and quickly dashed off to find the girl. Lucy frowned, and cane in hand, began making her way out of the room, walking quickly. Vincent followed after her with an exasperated expression on his face.

“Lucy, tell me, what has Miss Verdon got to do with this?” he asked agitatedly.

She didn’t glance at him as she navigated the corridors of the fortieth story. “I don’t have much time to explain. Golden eyes, blonde hair, the Citadel. Make the connection yourself.”

He frowned as he thought over her words before his eyes flew wide open. “Oh you have got to be- Did you really kidnap the Prophetess of the Citadel?!?” he demanded.

“And her brother,” she added absentmindedly with a troubled expression, stepping into a lift.

“And her brother she says,” Vincent muttered, following after her. The lift doors closed as his stormy gaze bored into her head. “What were you thinking?” he suddenly growled, bending down to talk into her ear.

Lucille snapped. She whirled around and hooked her cane around his neck, pulling his head down lower to stare emotionlessly into his startled eyes. “I was thinking I could save her dying brother,” she growled back, her voice frigid. There was a tense moment as they stared at each other, neither of them making a sound.

Then she slowly removed the cane to let him awkwardly straighten up, and he rubbed his neck as he gazed at her with a complicated expression.

She took a step back and sighed, running a hand through her hair. “Look. I offered Annaliese a chance. She willingly decided to come with me. Her officiation got pushed back a week later, so now the Citadel is here to take her and her brother after they have reasoned that no harm has come to her.”

“How much earlier did they arrive?” he asked her.

“Only a few hours. But I had planned to meet them before they any news about the Prophetess being with me could spread,” she said, crossing her arms and tapping her fingers against them. “Whoever was responsible for this didn’t care about rumours being spread about the Prophetess’s relation to me. Something pressured the Citadel to move sooner, and they put someone unpredictable in charge of the contingent as a result.”

She stiffened as she had a thought. Vincent noticed her reaction. “Who is it?” he questioned, understanding she knew something.

“Jasten Albrecht,” she said, feeling perplexed. The lift opened and they stepped outside. Lucille tapped her cane twice on the ground and Vincent blinked as a semi-translucent white barrier appeared around them. “Soundproofing,” she explained.

“I don’t recognise the name,” Vincent replied.

She shook her head. “Nobody would. He’s only a High-ranked Paladin.”

Vincent followed her as she made her way to the reception hall, her boots clacking against the ground. “But the Prophetess would need the safety of a Templar escort, so why would he be in charge of the contingent?” he asked her, confused.

“How should I know?” she complained, frustrated. Albrecht always made her plans flip upside down. “But I know he had been next to the 6th Templar of High Justice when I visited the Prophetess.”

He ran a hand through his hair, his glasses askew. “And yet you didn’t trust them to save the Prophetess’s brother?” he asked exasperatedly.

She paused, but only slightly before continuing to walk. “They didn’t act to help him before I arrived, so why would they afterwards?”

Before he could say anything, she turned and tapped him on the head with the cane, then continued moving until they reached a pair of tall double doors. “I highly suggest you do not ask or even consider things further. As long as the situation can be resolved properly, we will never see her or her brother again most likely, so let’s refrain from getting ourselves in more trouble, shall we?” she said, smiling brightly.

He gave her a suspicious look but slowly nodded, straightening his glasses before they entered the reception hall. She tapped her cane on the ground, and the barrier dispersed. “Then let’s go,” she said, pushing the double doors open after Vincent nodded.

Several dozen people within the hall looked up at the noise, including ten Paladins dressed from head to toe in white and gold armour, fully armed. Only the tallest Paladin at the front had his helmet removed. He turned to look at the newcomers with his stern steel-grey eyes, wild blonde hair framing his face. Lucy inwardly sighed as she saw it was who she expected.

She put on a calm smile as she made her way through the gap that had opened up between the curious onlookers of the reception hall, one hand behind her back as she carried her cane. Vincent followed close behind.

When she came to a comfortable distance away from the Paladins, several of them got into a hostile position. She stopped where she was, and spread her arms wide, her cane still grasped in her right hand.

“Well, isn’t this a surprise!” she announced. “If an unexpected one...” she added, her eyes narrowing.

Jasten Albrecht glanced at the way the staff and other onlookers had let her through, understanding she held status of some sort.

“And who are you?” he replied, gazing at her expectantly.

Her face split into a wide grin, showing her white teeth. Placing the cane’s end on the floor as she grasped its handle in one hand, she placed the other hand on her chest, dipping her head in a polite bow. “My name is Lucille Goldcroft,” she revealed.

She suddenly straightened up, making some of the Paladins reach for their weapons. A gesture from Albrecht calmed them, but Lucille ignored their movement to lean heavily on her cane in a lazy manner. She smirked as she observed them. “As for who you are….” she drawled.

She cocked her head and grinned at the steely-eyed Paladin. “Perhaps we might want to discuss this somewhere else?” she asked amicably.

One of the Paladins behind him stepped forward with a hostile expression, glaring at her. “How dare you think to order-”

A stern look from Albrecht silenced him, and he retreated, still angry. Albrecht narrowed his eyes at her. “And why have you come here to meet us?” he questioned.

Still leaning on her cane, she blinked. “Me?” she replied innocently, pointing at herself.

There was no reply from the blonde Paladin, but she smiled like he had answered. She straightened up and reached into her pants pocket, withdrawing the violet pocket watch, and dangled it as it swung slowly for them, enabling them to see the emblem on the front.

“Isn’t it the duty of a Faction Head to greet their guests?” she told them sweetly, her wide smile growing just a tad too much to be natural.