Chapter Four: The Foundation of Futures

Roslin Paraval nee Yogdal, noble lady of the ancient ducal house of Paraval, wife of Lord Nubinor Paraval, High General of the Orestien Empire, laid on her chest nearly as naked as the day as she was born. The only thing preserving her modesty was a slight towel covering her rear as she laid out on a comfortable and plush chair that her grandson had constructed with alchemy.

Sitting by her within the plush gardens of the Paraval Estate was her grandson who within his hand held an odd transfigured device that buzzed a needle into her bare skin. “You sure you want the concepts of winter added to the tattoo?” The young man asked with a bit of caution in his voice, “Hmm, I guess it’s balanced out by the vernal solar equinox added there; a transition of dead growth into new growth.” He mused.

The slightly dazed voice of his grandmother gave a slurred affirmative. Nearly asleep as her grandson had proven himself as the proprietor of Parallax Productions nearly immediately; having used the ingredients present in the estate’s garden to brew or grind crude -if effective- alchemical products.

Cedric puffed on a rolled up joint stuck between his lips, drawing inspiration from the dull after-tail of the acid trip. In his past life, Cedric had a lot of tattoos, sleeves, back and chest, and so on and so forth. Something that he’d always regretted was not applying the correct meaning to his tattoos, and instead just getting the artwork that he thought looked the ‘best’. An immature means of doing body art in his more mature perspective. Tattoos to him should tell something about the person they were drawn upon; a story, a belief, a symbol of attachment, commitment, and if he was in his more practical mindset; holding magical purpose.

He’d learned how to tattoo in his old life and had brought the skill to this life on his various test-subjects; preliminary experiments for runic body modifications like what he’d done to his bones. As he was now, Cedric didn’t have any tattoos. This was both because they were seen as tribal and ‘savage’ to have, and as a noble scion if he sported any tattoos publicly, he could expect an immediate visit to his father’s office to have them removed.

Painfully.

It didn’t stop him from practicing the art as a means of refining his knowledge on runes, glyphs, and inscriptionalism; but sadly, he’d need to wait until he was more independent to draw his own tattoos.

It started out as a conversation about ritualism, as that was the magic that his grandmother was most practiced in. Cedric took from his experience studying symbolism and the baser elements of ritualism from his studies and practice in tattooing, which led to him revealing his skill in the craft, and conjuring illusions of what an illustrated tattoo might look like drew Roslin’s attention and interest.

They workshopped for an hour, quickly finding elements of the seasons, notions of her heritage and bloodline, paired with a runic saga attached to the overarching design of a wilting tree the arch of her back, surrounded by complex geometric glyphs and inscriptionalism that tied within the runic saga he’d spun detailing a crudely translated story of perseverance, ruthlessness, and soft spring winds leading to greener growth.

Spread out on the bed, Roslin gave soft sigh as she felt Cedric dabbing away at the artwork, disinfecting the last of his marks and tapping on her shoulder to signal he was done. She groaned at his touch, “I just want to lay here forever…” She begged, drawing an amused laugh as her grandson laid back by her tattoo bed in the grass; lazily staring at the afternoon sky.

“You’re going to be attending the Old Academy?” Roslin asked softly as she drifted in and out of consciousness, the warm sun beating on her back and the soft winds cooling her sore skin nicely.

“Paraval Academy of Magic.” Cedric noted.

“Humph.” The woman scoffed, “That old place was around long before I was a girl and many centuries before Nubinor’s star rose.”

Cedric raised an eyebrow, “Is that why you call it the Old Academy?” He asked.

Roslin gave an affirming hum, “It never had or needed another name, until an Imperial clerk arrived and requested such as it was confusing documentation.” Roslin sighed and rose from her comfortable bed. She glanced at her grandson who averted his gaze and gave his hair a soft stroke, striding to her discarded clothing to change. As she did so, she inspected the vines and leaves of blackened ink around her legs, thighs, abdomen, and chest. Her grandson was professional as he worked, although she suspected he obtained a few peaks. Tentatively pressing her soul into the light lines of glyphs and runes etched into her skin, Roslin smiled as she felt a connection.

With a conscious thought, she controlled the winds to blow a gust of freezing cold air at her lounging grandson, causing the young man to shiver and sit up. He glared over at her, grumbling to himself as he stood. “I work my ass off and the first thin you do is abuse my gift.” He muttered grouchily as he shivered, waving his hand and warming the air around him as he shook off the chill.

“You Hests are so sensitive.” Roslin giggled, “I remember when Old Yozef came here and couldn’t wait to leave because of the cold.”

“I don’t know how you’re wearing so little in this weather. It’s not cold exactly, but neither is it the weather to be wearing that. You’ll get the chills.” He scolded falsely patronizingly with a joking tone.

Laughing shortly, Roslin sighed as she flexed her newfound connection to elements she usually only held within ritual circles. A fascinating concept, to bind a ritual to one’s own skin through etchings of ink. She felt a headache rise as she tried to understand the ramifications of her grandson’s apparent talents and abilities. His was a generational star, a genius that should be cultivated to replace his grandfather as the next Royal Magister. However, Roslin knew that the life of politics and intrigue weren’t fit for the young man, at least as he was now.

From what she’d gathered from the young man in their scant few hours together, Roslin knew that Cedric Ala-Khan Alkahest was a damaged individual; a young man who was hurting because of the harsh treatment of his family. He never knew the comfort and love of neither a mother nor a father, raised instead by distant maids, and was burned horrendously by magics learned recklessly. His apparent attainment within the various magical arts certainly hadn’t come at no cost, and what he’d sacrificed for them had created a young man who was -as base as it seemed to proclaim- lonely.

Roslin bit her lip as the questions of what to do with her grandson started to find answers. Cedric was certainly devoted towards magic as he repeatedly proclaimed it his ‘one true love’, ironically reminding her of her own husband with his own declaration of the like regarding battle and war. The young man had easily integrated himself into conversation with herself, and if Nubinor’s presence within the bath house was an indicator, he and Cedric had a similar nascent bond.

As her grandson, Roslin wanted to love the young man; however, she’d lived long enough to know that blood did not make family. Family were those that one loved because they were family. She’d been burned many times by her own blood.

‘Many times, indeed.’ She thought bitterly, thinking of the boy’s mother.

Some Houses gatekept being included within the family until they could prove themselves as an individual of worth and talent. In the competitive games that the Houses played, what their spawn could bring to the greater collective was often the most important detail. Cedric brought this in spades with what he could bring to any faction, family, or organization he was attached to; the problem came with how one wanted to do such a thing.

Roslin and Nubinor were retired; at least as retired as they could become. Nubinor’s heir was their first son, the current High General of the Orestien Empire. Their son already held the prestige and power that Nubinor once held making the games of increasing their house’s power meaningless, if not dangerous as they’d start to crush other houses under a bloated weight.

By making constant power plays and spreading their influence in any which way it could grow would inevitably attract two things: rot, and enemies both. Rot in that the spread of one’s powerbase meant in invited weaknesses and corruption native to organizations that grew too large to accurately manage. Enemies, as it was the law of the world that to grow and sustain oneself, life must consume life. Resources were envied and sought after, opportunities were hoarded, and those that held a wealth of both were plotted against.

With Roslin and Nubinor both being effectively retired, movements from them would be seen as odd and atypical; acting as old hounds rocking the settled boat that was being inherited by their children.

Roslin looked at Cedric and saw a wonderfully talented young man, intelligent, wise, with a kindness and social approachability that he defended with a stoic mask of empty platitude. He was a person of intense interest that Roslin found herself unsure of what to make of the man, for she certainly didn’t want to harm the boy, as in the short few moments they’d interacted with one another she’d truly grown to like him and his character. However, for while he was her grandson, he wasn’t hers to care for.

Cedric was a scion of House Alkahest, not House Paraval, after all.

Their relationship with House Alkahest, even with her daughter married into the house, wasn’t great. They were allies on paper, and their remote separation from one another geographically meant there was little else they could do save draw on one another’s face to pull together the paper-thin guise of being a united faction. The giants of House Alkahest and House Paraval being in bed with one another were enough to warrant hesitation in enemies seeking to hamstring either party in fear of being cast in the shadow of the other.

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However, even with this united front, there was little leeway within their actual relationship to put their full backing behind Cedric. It wouldn’t strengthen an ally, but a potential enemy. The titles a House called one another by shifted just as easily as the seasons changed. The calm and wise boy she knew today, several decades later, could become a cruel and bitter enemy to her house depending on how the winds of the world blew.

Roslin would need to be blind to not guess that Cedric wasn’t a powerful sorcerer. If he was behind Parallax Productions, then he was already a masterful alchemist and enchanter than houses would bleed their vaults dry to service and solicit. That was the most public form of renown that Cedric could claim, however throughout their conversation he’d revealed a seemingly endless amount of talents.

A keen intelligence, willingness to discuss politics, the ability to shed masks and talk freely and casually without the banal notions of propriety. Then there were his magical talents; fine telekinetic abilities speaking of intense control over his magic, mana shaping in his creation of the mana-construct puppet and its fine wires he’d played with briefly. Lastly, there were the soft tunes of music, an orchestral work summoned with an expression of will. If Cedric displayed that talent publicly, his name would be on the lips of every maiden within the nation, a powerful mage with a talent for music. It spoke of refinement, skill, talent, and the capability to waste one’s time for such a luxurious form of skillful magic; such a display would enthrall many a house into attaching themselves to the enigmatic mage alone.

Alone, piece by piece, each expression of Cedric’s talents was impressive. They’d be the talk of numerous sects of society, and together it’d be nonsensical and beg on the edge of what was possible. He would be tested, but Cedric would prove the naysayers incorrect; and his star would shine the brightest within the night sky. Such attention was negative, as it’d attract the jealous many and the fearful few who would seek to stomp out a resplendent talent before it could soar to the peak of its potential.

The subject of Cedric was a difficult topic to consider; how did she want to order House Paraval around him? What actions did she want to take with him? Did she throw her support behind him, come what may? Or did she remove herself quietly and act as a patron from the shadows? What benefits could she extract from the young man? Could she tie him to her House, removing the threat of him becoming an enemy if risking the wrath of the Alkahest?

Chewing on her lip as she considered the topic, Roslin found herself considering an old method of attaching people to Houses. Still used today such was its effectiveness.

Marriage.

She thought of cousins within the family, and immediately picked out names and faces of her little girls. As she ran through a mental list of names, it hurt her to consider playing with their lives like this. However, needs must, and Cedric was the silvered stag that any house would beggar itself for.

There were issues with this nascent plan. Cedric didn’t seem like the type of man to be led around by his lower head. Many men were like that, but she was old enough to know that not all men were fools who could be controlled so basely. Cedric fit the mold of those types of men; impossibly driven, focused, and never having the time for distraction or dalliance to their goals, ambitions, or projects.

However, other means of tying the man to her house were too weak. Too ineffectual, especially considering the influence the Lord Alkahest wielded.

“Grandmother.” Cedric called, breaking her out of her thoughts, “Something on your mind?” He asked.

Roslin locked eyes with her grandson, the young man cocking his head at her sudden silence and the dying mood of the garden.

Roslin smiled, “Are you excited for the Academy?” She asked in way of answer.

Cedric blinked and frowned, “I guess. A bit of a ways out still.” He mused, “I’m interested in browsing the libraries and inspecting the labs.” He eventually decided.

A very neutral answer and one that she capitalized on, “Not thinking of making friends within the school?” She commented.

And saw the carved frown that drew on his face, “I do not expect myself to be available for social functions.” He answered evasively.

“Oh?” She pressed.

Cedric sighed and drew from his collared coat a tab of metal that she was familiar with. Roslin blinked in a bit of shock. “You signed up as an Adventurer?” She muttered. She grew curious and concerned, “Why?”

Cedric shrugged, “The best way to know the world is to experience it. The Adventurer’s Guild offers the possibility of Adventure, and there’s the draw. Besides that, reagents, practical combat experience, testing of spells, some manner of renown if my name travels far -always a possibility- and on the benefits go.”

“It’s dangerous, Cedric. The profession has more casualties than any within the world. Tell me you’re at least prepared? Did you bring a Household Guard?”

The young man frowned, “No, I came alone.”

Alarm ran through her, “Do you even have a party?!” The lack of answer was enough of one, “Cedric Ala-Khan Alkahest! Are you rushing to your grave, boy?!” The runic tattoo acted with her emotions, a chilling wind racing through the environment.

“I’m more than capable enough in a combat situation; especially for the Copper Rank.”

“And what happens when you aren’t capable enough?!” She shouted.

“Then I flee.” Cedric calmly refuted, although a light smile rose on his face as he stood up and walked towards her.

“What about when you can’t!? What then?” A gust of wind slowed his advance, but his long stride carried him to her.

Cedric shrugged, “My magics have failed me, and thus I deserved to die.” He hugged her and she froze, “Thanks for caring.” He whispered into her ear, his breath smokey and herbal. They held that for a long while, before he separated. The emptiness in Cedric’s eyes unnerved her, the easy acceptance, and the lack of fear. There was just regret and wistfulness, the gaze of men a hundred times his age prepared to die.

“Fool boy.” She whispered into his chest. “Running off to die in some forgotten crack of the world.”

Cedric chuckled, “Better there than with poison in my stomach, a dagger in the back, or living a life not worth living.”

“And what is a life not worth living to you?”

Cedric thought for a long moment, “One of stagnation.” He sighed and drew himself up, dusting himself off as he finished off his joint. Drawing from his sleeve Roslin’s eyes tracked a wand that brimmed with power. A scorching blast of cursed flame leapt from the tip to erase the rolled drug. Exhaling a lung of smoke, Cedric bowed to her, “May your paths be true. I’ve dallied a bit too long, and I have business to attend. It was a pleasure meeting you, Lady Roslin. G’day.”

Roslin opened her mouth in an attempt to have him stay; to offer him a room, but no words left her mouth, and she sighed.

Watching him leave, Roslin shivered at the still ambient presence of the cursed flame; its fumes lingering thickly in the air, choking up the previously tranquil garden. ‘No wonder he is confident in his combat capabilities if he is that causal in conjuring curse fires.’ Roslin mused. The flames were some of the most powerful within the world, potential rivals to the ever-legendary hellfires and dragonflames, although cursed fire was significantly more obscure. Its most notable drawback was its tendency to spread, being uncontrollable by its practitioners.

Taking a breath, she vacated the gardens and found Balduran waiting by the entrance. “Scion Cedric has left the premise, Lady Roslin.”

Nodding, Roslin sighed, “My husband?”

“He…” Balduran frowned, “He is within his study.” He bowed.

Frowning at the ominous tone, Roslin nodded to Balduran and went to find her husband. Walking through familiar halls, she knocked on the doors to his study and entered without prompting. Within her husband sat, leaned back with a cup of tea by his side, staring up at the ceiling.

“Nubinor?” Roslin asked, her call finally drawing his attention. Blinking, the Old Lord stared at Roslin for a long second, blinking slowly.

“Apologies.” Nubinor rubbed his temple and sighed, “I’ve been having visions and hallucinations since I woke up. The Unseelie told me that I’ll be fine, just that I’m experiencing symptoms of individuals who escape from powerful illusions.”

Raising an eyebrow, Roslin frowned, “He is that practiced with illusions; to effect even you?”

Nubinor sighed, “Let me tell you of our meeting.”

The two started to brief one another on their respective encounters with the enigmatic young man, their grandson being more of a puzzle than initially thought.

“His prowess is even greater than I believed.” Roslin mused softly as she sat across from her husband. “What heights will he ascend to?” She wondered.

“You have plans?” Nubinor questioned softly, a frown and furrowed brow present on his expression.

“One.” Roslin admitted. “Marriage.”

Nubinor clicked his tongue. “Too many variables. We can’t draw up a contract; Yozef wouldn’t allow it. He’d try for more, bleed us for all we’re worth.”

“That’d be worth it.” Roslin noted.

“It would.” Nubinor mused, “But he’d pick up on that and refuse outright.”

Roslin sighed, “He’s attending the Old Academy. There is time there for us to try our gambit.”

“The question is who.” Nubinor muttered with a following frown, “I don’t like this.”

Roslin gave him a helpless shrug, “The Alkahest have alienated their most promising talent. Yoz and Selwyn’s children have been disappointing for both of them. The girls are talented Aura Knights, and the boys less so, but the Alkahest are a Sorcerous House. Selwyn likely only thinks of her son’s talent in the most surface level aspects; kept ignorant by the boy’s paranoia. The only individual within the family who is aware of his depths would likely be Yozef; but he has his own reasons for keeping such hidden.” Roslin stated.

“Yoz is practically managing he House, and Yozef only periodically interferes to keep on appearances as being both the Royal Magister, and the Patriarch of the Alkahest.” Nubinor mused, “He’s likely protecting the boy by sending him here. Selwyn won’t come back, Yoz may be the acting patriarch but he’s officially just a Scion, while Yozef will act to oppose our schemes for the boy.” Nubinor summarized.

“It’s a mess. But one we can take advantage of.” Roslin said whimsically.

A short silence fell.

“I propose Aislinn.” Roslin stated eventually.

Nubinor coughed, “Astrada will have my head.” Nubinor uttered with shock, “Whoring off his daughter; the man will kill me! Or worse, take my manhood!”

“The High General’s daughter is unpromised; he needs to decide eventually.” Roslin countered, “A match between the High General’s daughter, a young woman of notable magical talent, and the youngest Alkahest; it will be a reinforcement of our alliance within the younger generation. Furthermore, the girl is attached to Astrada’s reputation, something that will prevent Yozef from interfering. So long as Cedric keeps his abilities and reputation as the owner of Parallax Products under wraps, it’ll look as if we’re merely committing to the perceived alliance between us and the Alkahest; not gaining a future potential Royal Magister.”

Nubinor looked annoyed, before he sighed and sagged, “Now how do we seal the deal?” He asked.

Roslin grimaced, “This is where things tend to get messy.” She whispered, truly feeling dirty for these plans. They loved their granddaughter; the girl was brilliant, and she loved her grandparents. However, now they were going to have to test that relationship, and potentially ruin it. “Was she planning on attending the academy this year?” She asked.

Nubinor thought for a moment, and shook his head negatively, “She’s seventeen; soon to be eighteen. She’s likely to attend next year.”

Roslin tapped her finger against the desk, thinking deeply. “Draft a letter to Astrada. Tell him that we’ve found a match for his girl and explain to him some of the details. She should attend this year; no time to waste.”

Drawing out his stash of pens and paper, Nubinor raised an eyebrow, “Some?” He questioned.

“Leave out Cedric’s baggage; just claim that he’s impressed us, and tie in that he’s the sole proprietor of Parallax Productions. Add in details of his magic and claim that he’s attending the Old Academy this year.”

“He’ll want more than that.” Nubinor warned.

“We can’t write this in stone. Yozef will block it. He’ll want a Yal-Hest wife, or at least one with their family interests at heart. Frame it as stymying Yozef, tying his youngest and most talented spawn to our house. It’ll make the old magister grind his teeth to dust.”

“That works.” Nubinor started writing, his wife offered more insight as he did so.

“Now, what about Linn?” Nubinor questioned, a grimace riding on his face. “It won’t be a contract, thus the only way for her to bind Cedric with our house would be to get with child and carry it to term.” Both didn’t like that thought, let alone what they thought Astrada would think. Nor the fact that the entire plan hinged on the girl both being willing to become a honeypot for the young man and carry a child to term.

Considering that Cedric was a proficient Alchemist, that meant it was practically impossible to hide that she was pregnant; meaning she’d need to have him emotionally invested. Which entirely hinged on her ability to seduce the young man, which on paper didn’t seem difficult. Cedric had opened up to them nearly entirely during his short stay, merely the slightest sign of humanity and conversation had him a bleeding heart. Completely understandable considering his traumas and how he grew up, and something that could work to their advantage.

Roslin too remembered the hazy conversations that had led to her new tattoos. A marvelous work of inspiration, and perhaps a bit rushed, but the young man was a consummate artisan. Their conversation in the arts of ritualism had shown her a side of the man that reminded her greatly of her husband, just in a more erudite vein. Cedric was the devoted savant, the passionate artist, the obsessed arcanist; all of them brewed within the young man’s mind and his loneliness made him desperate for an equal. Someone to talk to with similar interests.

“When the girl is sent here, we’ll instruct her. Cedric is an erudite, he values magic and academic achievement; Linn is a brilliant girl, although Cedric’s achievements overshadow her own attainments in ward craft. Knowing how to approach the young man with topics of such would be getting one’s foot in the door at the very least.” Roslin mused.

Nubinor frowned, “Cedric is a perceptive man.” He warned, “He will notice emotional manipulation; he is a master of the mind, after all. He is not guarded because he is desperate, but he is sharp. Perhaps we should not entirely brief Linn, and try things slowly first?” He offered, “We have plenty of time within the Academy. Have them meet, have them become friends, then we can start hinting to the girl our objective. Familiarizing herself with the young man will have her possibly more acceptable to our plan.”

Roslin smiled and leaned over the table, their lips meeting as she grinned, “You have your moments.” She whispered. “Enough of this talk. What is this I hear about you telling our grandson of our nightly activities?”

Nubinor paled, “Now wait a moment…”

Roslin smiled wickedly.