Eluviale had always prided herself on being a calm, cool, and collected woman when things mattered most. Be it dungeon dives, expeditions into the Desolation, or being part of the Inheritors and all the burdens and responsibilities that came with that role. She had been, in one shape or another, the iron rock upon which her companions, friends, and party members had been able to lean. Whether it was as a friend, an advisor, a healer, or a lover; Eluviale had happily been ready to assist.
She had spent her life being the eye of the storm, and always ensuring that the task at hand was handled—or that the pressing objective, whatever it may have been, was given the due focus it deserved. She was honed, precise, unruffled, and veritably unshakeable outside of her private admittances to her beloved Antony. All of these things defined her, made her who she was, and kept her grounded and secure in a world that was, ostensibly, designed to endlessly trial its people.
Which was why, in that moment, the sudden loss of her composure shook her to the core.
“Hello, Eluviale.”
Those words, spoken from the mouth of a woman years dead, had destroyed all sense of composure or calm that Eluviale had laid claim to. Those words, delivered from the lips of a friend, a mentor, a leader, a hero had been enough that she had very nearly let her legs go to jelly.
Vasilia was alive.
Vasilia was alive.
“I… I don’t know what to say…”
It was true in ways she could barely begin to express.
Eluviale stared at the Adamantine Maiden, standing in front of her in the flesh, and her heart thundered in her breast. Vasilia was alive, and Eluviale had used her Empyrean Elucidation to manipulate her daughter. Worse, she had done so while weaponising Vasilia’s own memory as a means to get through to the princess, and encourage her growing trust and affection.
It was something that, with anyone else, Eluviale would have been confident she could explain away or distract them from with chiding. With anyone else, she could have even used the skill on them to ensure that there were limited, or even no consequences for her actions. It was one of the benefits of being able to twist and turn emotions the way she wanted, with her insights.
Vasilia was not anyone else.
Vasilia was force of will made manifest.
“I see you’re still travelling with Antony,” the High Justicar—the title still made Eluviale’s head spin, though she was hardly surprised—said while looking at the half-orc, who was staring at Vasilia with a similar level of awe and dread. The woman’s soulforce was not only as potent as it had been before, it was moreso. Eluviale felt it like a noose around her neck, just waiting for the command to snap it in half. Vasilia’s power might have even eclipsed Bjorn.
“Of—of course,” Eluviale said with completely sincere shock, “I could never leave the…” she felt her words die in her throat, and struggled to keep herself from gaping like a fish. The absurdity of it all was just too much. Any chance for composure had fled the moment she’d been noticed. She still remembered, when Vasilia had appeared, what her reaction had been—and the conversation that had ensued.
> Eluviale had been standing with Antony, Marcus, and Delsie in subtle conversation while the exchange between Lycinia and Charlemagne proceeded, and was careful to keep her voice as low as possible to avoid being detected. Theirs had hardly been the only group having a quiet discourse, but theirs was one that could land them in jeopardy if it were discovered by the wrong people.
>
> “...no way it can just have existed here for all this time without us knowing,” Marcus was saying in a flummoxed and furious whisper, “an entire civilisation of Elyseans? A whole Successor Empire in the middle of the Desolation? It’s insane!”
>
> “It does make some sort of sense, however,” Delsie had said with a thoughtful nod. “The Last Imperator was recorded to be outstandingly foresighted, and that gaudy fellow in front of the throne proclaimed the Imperator was the one that put this whole plan together. I can believe this to be the result of Lucius Tollarius’ planning.”
>
> “Which still doesn’t explain how we didn’t know!” Marcus had hissed back as quietly as his disbelief would allow. Eluviale had also been able to tell, passively, that the Seraii was not just angry—but also shaken, and even a little terrified. Compared to the Sanctuary, the Inheritors were little more than a costumed brigade of angry rabble rousers, truthfully. Certainly they had presence and position within the Ascendancy, but it was a microcosm of strength comparatively.
>
> “One of them flattened the Storm’s Blade, too.” Antony had pointed out grimly.
>
> “Yeah, and how the fuck does that make sense?” Marcus had demanded.
>
> “Clearly, he must have been Expert or even Master Tier,” Delsie postulated idly. “Which would infer that the Sanctuary, as they call it—”
>
> “—is vastly superior to us in Cultivation, and in resources as well.” Antony finished grimly. “Even out here in the Desolation. Did you feel what that kelpas fruit did?”
>
> “It was wonderful!” Delsie had agreed with her usual lack of situational awareness.
>
> “It was horrifying,” Marcus had countermanded. “They’re raised on that stuff! Raised on it! The sheer insanity of that is—”
>
> “Enough, Marcus.” Eluviale had cut in finally, and before the Seraii could forget to remember to be quiet. “I can feel your anger and hysteria building with every word.”
>
> Her companions had looked to her when she’d spoken, and Marcus’ expression had turned sour.
>
> “I hate it when you use that Empyrean wytchery on me,” he’d grumbled.
>
> “You sound like the Anointed,” Antony had snorted softly.
>
> “It’s not fair to know exactly what to say and when to say it,” the spy-scout-assassin had groused. “Arguing with your wife is like fighting someone with your hands tied and eyes covered.”
>
> “So be glad she’s your ally, Marcus, and not your enemy.” Antony had noted, and then turned to face Eluviale with complete trust in his gaze. “What’s our plan, beloved?”
>
> The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.
>
> “We wait,” she had stated without hesitation. “We wait and we watch. We need more information, and besides which, there’s another wrinkle: if this truly is the lawful Elysean Successor State—”
>
> Marcus had growled in annoyance.
>
> “—as ordained by the Last Imperator, then we have to consider what that means for us. We’re as Elysean as they are, no matter what they say, which means we have an oath to uphold as well. What I will be curious about is how our beliefs and culture differs from theirs.”
>
> “Oh. Because of our different locales?” Delsie had asked with uncanny insight.
>
> “Yes,” Eluviale had said with a fond smile for the Gnome. “We were reared under the heel of the Ascendancy, but these people have existed outside their scope for thousands of years. For all that they are powerful, they also may be completely ignorant of what life is like under the heels of the Ascendancy itself. We can use that.”
>
> “To ingratiate ourselves, you mean?” Antony had asked with interest.
>
> “Yes. We can offer intelligence, insight, and understanding—within limits, of course, until we know more—in exchange for favourable treatment. If these are really our people, which I am beginning to believe they are, then they will need that much.”
>
> “It also means we can find a way to send intelligence back to the Elders,” Marcus had muttered with begrudging agreement. “Okay, Eluviale, I get it. So what’s the plan?”
>
> “We should see who this High Justicar is,” she’d said when Charlemagne had made the proclamation to summon her. A sense of forgotten familiarity had flitted across Eluviale’s consciousness when the voice had responded, but she hadn’t been able to place it.
>
> Then the Soulforce hit them, like a tidal wave, and she felt her eyes bulge.
>
> “Eluviale—!” Antony had whispered in a stunned voice.
>
> “That—that’s not…” Marcus’ voice had turned from wary disgruntlement to outright terror. “...that’s not p—possible!”
>
> “Announcing the Defender of the Innocent…” a herald began.
>
> Eluviale’s eyes had tracked the arrival of the High Justicar with an elf’s keen sight, and the world had fallen out from under her feet when she’d seen the approaching figure.
>
> “...Protector of the Peace, Champion of Sanctuary, Herald of the Calamity…”
>
> “Oh my,” Delsie had said with the first measure of genuine surprise Eluviale had heard from the gnome. “Oh dear, we are quite thoroughly fucked, aren’t we?”
>
> None of them had been able to form a response.
>
> The High Justicar entered with the gait of a woman on a mission, her blonde hair spilling in ringlets across her shoulders and down her back, and her white armour polished to a shine in spite of the numerous scars and marks upon it. On her back was sheathed an immense greatsword, its blade naked within an enchanted leather sheath, and worked with shining platinum-golden runes that bled power.
>
> “She’s dead!” Marcus had hissed with a hysteria that Eluviale felt ratcheting up into calamitous levels. “She’s dead fifteen years or more! This isn’t possible! It isn’t—!” he’d fallen silent when Antony had grabbed him and covered his mouth, but her husband’s eyes had been as transfixed on the ghost on the stage as any of them.
>
> “...Patrician Paramount of House Tollarius, Bearer of the Scales of Justice…”
>
> House Tollarius still existed, then, even within the Sanctuary. Eluviale had seen the banners, but she hadn’t though they would find true blood descendents within the city, not to rival those within Stormharrow. The fact that the ghost on the stage, the spectre of judgement they had thought long dead, was ‘Patrician Paramount’ effectively meant that not only did Tollarius exist, but it was thriving by Elysean standards.
>
> Then the High Justicar turned to look at them, and Eluviale felt her breath catch.
>
> Her eyes were blue when she swept them over the assembled, as commanding and imperious as a Queen’s, and Eluviale had felt as though she were back to being a Novice again in that instant. Around her she could hear Knights gasping, muttering oaths of prayer, or in some cases—in many cases—openly weeping.
>
> In relief, she’d realised. They were weeping in relief. It was a stark contrast to her own muted horror, and had almost snapped her out of her fugue. To her, it was the return of an enigmatic factor that had once been both their greatest threat and their greatest potential ally.
>
> For the Knights, it was the return of their Queen.
>
> “...her ever-victorious Ladyship, the High Justicar of Elysea.”
>
> The name was fitting, for the woman that Eluviale had known. It was justified. Even her death, Eluviale had been forced to admit at that moment, had always held a kernel of doubt in her mind. How could such a Titan have truly fallen? How could something as petty as the Desolation, even enacted by the hands of the Gods, have felled her? It had never made sense. In that moment, standing there among a sea of hundreds of gawking men and women, Eluviale had realised she should have trusted her instincts.
>
> “Who have you brought here for my judgement, Scion Tollarius?” the towering beauty, her lovely features marred only by a triplicate of scars over her left eye—which at the same time seemed to only enhance her terrifying presence—asked imperiously. “Who comes before the eyes of Justice?”
>
> Vasilia Artoria Minerva Bellona Tollarius, Rightful Queen of Stormharrow, and Dame-Commander of its Chivalric Orders; the Adamantine Maiden, Slayer of the Beast-Lord of Gargoroth, Duchess of the Storm, Sword-Paramount of the Lightning Throne, Wyvern Tamer, Gryphon Rider, Dracolisk Hunter, and Adventuring Guild Legend.
>
> “We’re fucked,” Marcus had mumbled numbly. “When she finds out what we planned for Suraiya, we’re fucked.”
>
> Eluviale had only been able to silently agree.
“I understand seeing me alive after so many years must be a shock,” the Queen of Stormharrow continued in the present with reassurance, of all things. “But rest assured, I’ll see to it you’re properly cared for. You were dear friends to me, in my old life as an Adventurer. I haven’t forgotten how you helped me. I’ll be sure to see to it you aren’t treated too harshly.”
“Th-thank you.” Eluviale had found the wherewithal to stammer in thanks.
“Of course. It’s the least I could do,” Vasilia laughed. She was so warm, so vital, so alive. One moment she was an imperious Queen once more, staring down at them with the fury and power that had made her the greatest upcoming Adventurer in hundreds of years, and then she was the calm, warm, reassuring maiden once again—chatting to friends as if they were just seeing each other again after separate and extended Dungeon Delves.
It was surreal.
“Vasilia, I…” Antony said with still-present shock. “How are you alive?”
Vasilia turned to the half-orc with a raised eyebrow, and then smiled wryly.
“That’s a longer tale than we presently have time for,” she said with all the grace of the Queen she was, “but I promise, we’ll find time to catch up and I’ll tell you everything. It’s the least I can do. I know you’ve all probably been wondering what happened, as arrogant as it is to say.”
And just like that, Eluviale felt herself being swept up again. Swept up by the woman’s effortless charisma, her force of presence, and her indefatigable sense of self. Vasilia was not just a person, she was pure resolve distilled into mortal form. She was the final shadow that preceded death for anyone, or anything foolish enough to cross her. Eluviale wanted to laugh hysterically, cry, or both at once.
Dead? How could they ever have thought the Adamantine Maiden dead?
She was a fucking force of nature.
“I see some Knights I need to speak to,” Vasilia said apologetically, “but we’ll catch up soon. I’ll see to it.”
“Of—of course,” Eluviale repeated again, and watched the armoured woman slip away among the crowd.
Silence descended on their group after she left, and they all turned back to look between eachother as if by instinct. When they did, once again it was Delsie that finally broke the silence.
“Oh yes,” the gnome said with strained cheer, “we are all most certainly fucked.”
And again, all Eluviale could do was agree.