Monday, September 2nd, 996 ABE

Home, Minerva thought, wasn’t looking forward to it. She tapped a palm against her breast pocket to ensure she hadn’t lost the message along the way, and advanced towards the Whiscourt Estate.

House Whiscourt, as one of the six great houses of Lancaster, occupied a massive bit of land not too terribly far from the Academy. Most nobles had similar facilities. The property had a mansion and a few other houses around for various utilities like a servant’s quarters and such. From the outside of the iron-barred fence, one could see the vast gardens and pools. Servants were outside in droves, ordering around slaves that seemed to be building a new house.

Minerva had never been fond of keeping slaves. Of course, they were as common in Theria as sliced bread, but it didn’t settle her unease of housing someone who likely wanted her dead on the property. It's cheap, her father said. Sure, she couldn’t deny that. Having slaves build a house was certainly a lot cheaper than hiring a professional, and it was even possible to buy ones with previous experience in certain skills if you went to the right place. Minerva’s father always went to the right place.

Minerva watched them work, growing increasingly anxious as she reached the gate. It had been about two weeks since she’d left home. It was hard, admittedly, to live like a normal person. However, once the feeling of nobility left, it was hard to retain. Minerva couldn’t shake the feeling that she didn’t belong on the estate anymore. That being said, it wasn’t like she’d ever been particularly welcome.

“State your business.” A guard spoke in a monotone voice.

I’m not the first person to enter today, that’s for sure. Minerva raised a brow and surveyed the guards. She didn’t recognize either of them. Perhaps it was something to do with the security risk regarding the Magekiller. Assert your authority, she thought. “I’m Minerva Whiscourt. Daughter of this house,” she said.

Two guards were at the gate. One of which, the one who’d spoken, laughed. “The lord doesn’t have a daughter–”

The other guard punched him in the arm with considerable force. “Yes he does, you twit! I’m so sorry, Lady Minerva. Please go ahead.”

Minerva attempted to maintain her facade, but the dumb smile on her face gave it away. She quickly passed through the gate and onto the main path leading to the mansion. The building grew even bigger as she approached, only heightening the weakness in her legs. She felt like she’d been on a boat, wobbling back and forth, desperately trying to steady herself.

While Minerva was busy gaining her bearings, a butler snuck into sight and rested a hand on her shoulder. “Lady Minerva. Are you alright?” He asked.

Minerva turned to survey the man. “Ekkels. Just the man I was looking for,” she said.

Ekkels, a posh looking butler with an immaculate moustache, smiled cheerily. “I’m glad to be of service, my lady.”

“Take me to my father,” she demanded.

Ekkels nodded. “Right this way.”

The man led Minerva into the mansion. A vast entrance hallway was lined with doors, and a stairway at the end of the hall which she could barely see. She handed her jacket off to Ekkels, and proceeded down the red carpet which lined the whole building. Looking around at the familiar paintings and portraits, she idly followed the butler down the hall. He led her exactly where she would’ve expected, which was to her father’s office, up the main stairwell and in a far corner of the building where the windows had a better view over the city.

“He should be in his office now,” Ekkels said, bowing.

“Thank you. It's good to see you again.” Minerva managed a smile. As much as he pretended to care, Ekkels had never done a thing to stop the abuse she endured. He worked for her father, and so he was an enemy.

“You as well, my lady. Shall I put your jacket in a guest bedroom?” He asked.

Guest bedroom? I guess father didn’t waste time moving me out. “Go ahead,” she replied.

Ekkels jetted down the hallway and disappeared down a side corridor, leaving Minerva alone with her father on the other side of the door. She waited in silence, feeling his presence though she could not see him. She tapped her foot, wiping sweat from her palms. Thoughts raced. Just hand the letter to him. But it won't be that easy. She took a breath, and stepped forward to knock on the door.

“Just come in already, Minerva.” A deep voice beckoned from the other side.

Minerva hadn’t even knocked on the door yet, she froze, hand hovering inches from the wood. She gulped. “Coming in.” As she turned the handle, the scent of ash and fragrant cinnamon struck her nose.

Shaw Whiscourt sat confidently behind his desk in a quite spacious office. The desk was made out of some expensive wood imported from Euleria. The bookshelves that lined the room were made from equally expensive wood imported from Milchaka. Everywhere she looked was something from a different side of the world. On her father’s desk was a stack of papers, and in front of it were a few framed pictures. Magical photographs of him and Minerva’s brother, Edward. Minerva wasn’t included in any of the photographs around the house.

To her right, a window gave a view of the city below. Lancaster was known as the ‘Valleyed City’, named for the massive valley in the middle of it. The valley divided the city into thirds, the rich living on either side of it, while the poor lived in the valley. A massive bridge went across it so that those transporting goods didn’t need to go down and back up again, the ‘Prospector’s Bridge’. Because of that bridge’s existence, Minerva had never needed to go down and experience the squalor of the bottom.

Shaw followed her eyes out the window, and leaned eagerly on his desk. “What are you here for, girl?”

Minerva jolted out of her apparent focus on the landscape and closed the door gently behind her. “I have a message, sir,” she replied.

“From whom? Give it,” he demanded.

Minerva drew the message from her breast pocket and handed it to Shaw. While he read it, she looked him up and down. Her father had grown fatter in the last two weeks, somehow. He had a bald head, and always wore nothing more than a dress shirt and pants which were held up by straps. On his desk leaned a cane, which he used to walk despite the fact that he had no relevant injury. Minerva suspected that he kept it for the sake of hitting servants or slaves.

“Concerning,” Shaw said to no one in particular. Then, he closed the letter and set it on his desk. “Cedrick Boneshaw gave it to you?” He asked.

“Yes, sir,” Minerva replied. She trailed off slowly, afraid to ask her next question. “What did it say?”

Shaw ran a hand along his glistening bald head. “You didn’t read it?”

“He told me not to open it.” Minerva wasn’t actually sure if that’s exactly what he’d said. She was too flustered at the time to really listen.

“So what?” Shaw chuckled, and smiled devilishly with a golden tooth. “Have I taught you nothing, girl? Information is everything.” Looking at the clueless Minerva, he just sighed. “The boy called Ulfric Arrowheart claims to come from a noble family,” he said slowly, “we need to find out who it is, and eliminate them.”

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Eliminate? Minerva stammered. “I-I, yes sir!”

“Cedrick says you’re friends with the boy, are you a fool?” He asked. Seeing Minerva open her mouth to respond, he raised a hand to shut her up. “No matter. You got lucky this time. Your blunder turned into a boon, but you won’t get so lucky if you screw up again.”

Minerva blinked. I’m off the hook? “What would Cedrick have me do?” She asked.

“Get close to him,” Shaw shrugged. “He’s a young lad. Vulnerable to a lady’s charms. Find out what we need to know. Find out who he really is.”

Minerva blushed. Seduce Ulfric? He’d rather read a book than pay attention to me. Despite knowing it was an impossible task, Minerva straightened her back and pressed a fist to her chest. “I’ll get it done.”

Shaw lit a cigar from his desk. “Yes, child. Perhaps you aren’t as dull as I’d believed. Now get out of my office.”

Minerva didn’t waste a moment obeying that command. She stepped into the hallway and quickly closed the door behind her. The scent of the cigar vanished but for the tiny fumes leaking beneath the door. Minerva stood, clenching her fists and staring straight ahead. I can do it. I have to.

“My lady?” Ekkels asked. It seemed he’d been waiting somewhere near the doorway, watching Minerva’s display of confidence. “Shall I take you to the guest room?” He wondered.

I’m staying the night? “Sure. Lead the way.”

There were many guest bedrooms, and quite a few seemed to be occupied already. She passed the one that used to be her permanent bedroom and frowned nostalgically. When Ekkels finally stopped, they were at the very end of the hallway. Minerva knew that her staying the night was only a formality, so it was only natural that she would be forced to bunk the furthest away from any important happenings.

She glanced back down the long, perfectly straight hallway. To the right was a wall covered in windows, and to the left was a wall covered in doors. Night had fallen, casting the hallway in shadow. It had an eerie feel to it, like she might expect a monster to crawl from behind the corner at the end of it. Nothing of that nature occurred, however, only Ekkels standing and growing obviously impatient in front of her.

“Alright,” she huffed. “Goodnight, Ekkels.”

“Goodnight, my lady.” Ekkels nodded respectfully. “And good luck.”

Minerva didn’t know the purpose of him wishing her good luck, but it was a comment that set her immediately on edge. She returned the nod to him, and watched as he disappeared down the hallway with her mana-enhanced eyes. Only when he’d gone did she return her attention to the doorway. Expanding her senses, she seemed to feel some sort of negative energy coming from the other side. A faint feeling of mana, vaguely familiar. Someone was waiting for her on the other side, but who? Minerva prepared for a fight.

What she got was perhaps even worse than a fight. The person waiting for her was maybe the last person she’d have wanted to see. Her red dress was doing too much, even in the dim light. Her blonde hair was curly and whisked past her shoulders. Her face had copious amounts of makeup that couldn’t do good enough to hide the folds and wrinkles of age. Malennia Whiscourt, her step-mother, and probably the person who was angriest about Minerva’s conception. Minerva truthfully didn’t mind her father all that much; it was Malennia she’d been hoping to avoid. Shit.

“I thought I told you never to come back here?” The ageing woman stood at the foot of Minerva’s bed, and turned around to greet her.

Minerva couldn’t hide the disgust on her face. Just looking at the woman made her sick to her stomach. You don’t live here anymore, Minerva. You probably won't ever again. There’s no need to be kind to her, she reminded herself. “Good thing I don’t really have to listen to you.” Minerva pulled the tie from her shirt and tossed it with her jacket on a nearby dresser. “Go on. Get out of here.”

Melannia smiled that fake smile of hers. Minerva knew it well. “Now, now, is that any way to talk to your mother?” She asked.

“My mother was hung in the square,” Minerva said immediately. “Wish I could say the same for you.” She took off her boots, one of which had a dagger hidden in it. As she set it on the dresser, she contemplated it for a moment, but turned to face her ‘mother’ without it.

Melannia said nothing.

“What do you want?” Minerva demanded. She leaned against the dresser and crossed her arms. The meeting with her father had gone better than she’d expected, so she wasn’t looking for her mood to be soured.

“Just to give a warning to you, daughter.”

Minerva didn’t detect a trace of malice in her voice. She thought she was good at that type of thing. When she was younger, failing to identify it would’ve gotten her beat. “Let’s hear it.”

Melannia nodded. “You aren’t going to get the increase in station you’re looking for, girl. They’ll only use you to their own ends, then discard you when it's convenient. If you were wise, you’d cut your losses and get on with your life. Forget about the nobility.” She said so with a genuine tone.

Minerva just laughed. “That would be convenient for you, wouldn’t it? I leave the picture. You and Edward get to rule this house once father meets an unfortunate and mysterious end, right?” She stepped forward. Minerva stood at about five foot ten. Elven genes were to blame. As such, she was quite a bit taller than Melannia, and casted a shadow over her body. “You’ll have to kill me before I relinquish my position in this house.”

They’d always been intimidated by Minerva because of her Elven heritage. Despite being extinct for a thousand years, their genes were powerful enough that a half-breed would still end up entirely Elvish. As such, even a millenia later, Elven mutations arose. Things like ears, but most notably and dangerously, eyes and magic power. Minerva, however, wasn’t lucky enough to inherit any of the good benefits.

Melannia stood her ground, standing up on her toes despite already wearing heels. “It's not about that.”

Minerva just growled dismissively. “Out.”

They stood not even a metre away from each other, breathing down each other’s necks. Minerva had spent her life trying to match up to her brother, and to the family she was born into. She wouldn’t be deterred by malice disguised as friendly advice. It was too late. Cedrick and the others were counting on her. She raised a hand and pointed aggressively to the door.

Melannia sighed, finally admitting defeat. “Then you will learn the hard way. Goodnight, Minerva.”

When the door closed, Minerva was left alone in the Whiscourt manor for the first time since her arrival. She was breathing heavily as if she’d been in an altercation. She clutched a hand to her chest, and quickly undid her shirt, discarding it to the floor. Still huffing, she did circles around the perfectly cleaned room, eventually ensuring the door was locked before stagnating in the middle of the space. She’s gone. Calm down, Minerva. But her eyes focused on a single point.

She couldn’t help staring at herself in the mirror above the dresser. That naked figure, with all but the breasts uncovered. She looked anything but ladylike. Minerva Whiscourt wasn’t a noble, and it was apparent with only one look. She closed in, placing one hand on the mirror and surveying herself closely. That soft face, trimmed black hair that cut a perfectly straight line at her shoulders. Kind eyes filled with light. Most of all, those ears that pointed slightly at the end. Going down further, her chest was flat and her stomach had ripples of muscle. Anyone who couldn’t see the head might assume she was a man.

You’re not like them, she thought. The nobles who ruled from their high castles and ordered the deaths of many, watching others starve while they themselves grew fat. Melannia is right. They’ll discard you. Minerva clenched her fist and shook her head. What did your mother die for? She died as punishment for your existence, Minerva. She didn’t die for you to rescind your title and succumb to the life of a civilian. She died for you to take the top.

“But I fear I’m not strong enough,” Minerva said aloud. “How can I ever… How can I make them respect me…” She stripped the remainder of her clothes and went to the private bathroom in the guest room. There, a steaming hot shower awaited her. Melannia’s words echoed in her mind as she stepped into it and let the water run through her hair.

She closed her eyes and saw the image of her mother’s body hanging from the gallows. She broke through the crowd and fell down at the foot of the wooden structure, crying and screaming out her name. The nobles who gathered to watch the executions just laughed. The moment it was discovered exactly which servant had given birth to her, her life hadn’t lasted long. Minerva watched them as they laughed at her. She memorised each of their faces, so she knew exactly which ones to hate. Strangely enough, on that day, Melannia Whiscourt didn’t laugh.

Minerva braced herself against the side of the shower as she recalled the memory. It was there and then in the square that she’d unlocked her magic. The truth was that no one knew exactly how or why magic was unlocked. It was said to be a combination of many things, and that tragic events could speed up the process. Things like sadness, anger, or even fight or flight might cause one to unlock magic. Minerva had exploded, turning all of the civilians in the surrounding area into statues of ice.

After that, they shunned her. No one wanted to look at her, or be near her, thinking they might be frozen solid. Minerva had spent many sleepless nights thinking about that moment. When she did sleep, she dreamed about that moment. That was where it all started. That was the moment she decided that she wanted to put an end to the suffering. Minerva wasn’t a noblewoman, but that was alright. After all, if a noblewoman took her father’s place, it wouldn’t change anything at all.

The hot water washed over her face, stinging her skin. She gritted her teeth, and finally opened her eyes. I don’t care what it takes. Magekiller. Ulfric. Whoever. If it means I can save the next child from losing her mother… I’ll find you, and I’ll kill you.