When Triella felt the weight of the rapier on her hands, taking the measure of its balance and length, and she wondered whether she would prefer to pair the weapon with a shield or parrying dagger, it occurred to her that the rubies that formed the showy red rose that adorned the hilt were more valuable than the sum total of everything the populace of her hometown had accumulated throughout their entire lives.

On second thought, she reflected as she placed the rapier back on the rack, right next to another work of art masquerading as a weapon, her hometown would not warrant a particularly impressive appraisal, given that it was mainly ash and dust now. Nevertheless, the fact remained that Triella felt like she should apologize for even holding something so priceless, or for directing her gaze towards it, or for being in the same room.

“Your eyes are the same as Loreana’s when we first took inventory of the armory,” said Ebriss Sanilla, who two days ago had been a fellow initiate and peer in training and classes, and was now a quartermaster under Marinor Mycroft. “I assume mine were the same, too. This is a treasury, not an arsenal, its arms and armors befitting imperial halls and opulent galleries. It feels almost a sin to chance such relics to damage and to loss, and one invariably wonders if fellow Blossoms have not, in the past, absconded with some of these artifacts.”

“Has that been a problem in the past?” Triella asked, though she hadn’t even considered the possibility, in truth. It seemed to vile to even conceive such a thing, now of all times.

“Very rarely, but yes,” Ebriss admitted. Her eyes full of caution, she watched the other Blossoms as they inspected the myriad weapons and selected the ones that suited them best. No doubt Ebriss and Loreana wouldn’t wish for something to go awry on the very first day of their duties. “Usually, recently-inducted Blossoms would not be allowed access into the armory, but right now we’ve graver concerns than a novice misplacing a timeless artifact imbued with priceless enchantments. Many of the Rose’s most storied treasures were lost when… Well, you understand,” Triella nodded. Everywhere, everyone still struggled to put the loss into words. “There are heavy tomes dedicated to tracking each time a weapon is retrieved from the armory, and returned. Certain artifacts are magically tracked, as well. It appears the Office of the Treasury collaborated with the Office of Intelligence to recover any such lost objects.”

“But we don’t have an Office of Intelligence anymore,” Triella said, recalling something Sieglinde had mentioned.

“If you believe that,” a voice came from behind her, though Triella had heard no footsteps, “then the Office continues to succeed in its operations,” clad in a deep, lovely purple that matched her vexingly long hair, she seemed a noble figure, though fidgety fingers and gentle eyes did not quite match the haughty tone with which she greeted Triella. It was a voice of feigned confidence, one that Triella knew well enough, all her life. “Apologies. A jest, no more. Forgive my maladroitness, I did not know how to approach you, a stranger, but a countrywoman. Triella Amathiste, no?”

“Y-Yes, indeed,” Triella clumsily returned the blade she inspected to its rack, and focused her attention on this girl, while Ebriss directed hers towards the Blossoms gathered around Cecilia and Stelmaria, who were in the midst of sparring with one another while putting each available sword to the test.

Triella was hardly the only Altengrien to join the Red Rose, and why this girl would feel compelled to seek her now of all times was something Triella could only guess. Still, she intended to help if she could.

“My name is Lunéciel Satheresia. You may call me Lune, or Ciel, or Theresia, or Luna-”

“How can I help you, Lune?” Triella interrupted, putting a smile on the girl’s lips.

“I’ve never been called by a sobriquet before,” she said, before catching herself and concealing her grin. “Well, that’s hardly the point. I am one year younger than you, an inductee of this very year, so we’ve not had much contact. Any contact, in truth. Nevertheless I wished to inform you that the Lady Henriette has appointed me to the Office of Intelligence, so I’m attempting to project confidence and- I’m digressing. My point is that I’m seeking compatriots to lend me a little aid. Nothing disreputable, mind you; I’ve no idea what sort of images an Office of Intelligence brings to mind, but I’m not asking you to spy or anything of the sort.”

“You need a favor,” Triella concluded, hoping to politely urge Lune to state her point. “I don’t know what I can offer, but my life is the Rose’s, so I’m happy to serve.”

“Good. That’s very, very good,” she said, sighing with something like relief. Then, her voice turned softer, almost a whisper. “The orders have not yet been given, as there are still many preparations and decisions ahead, but our seniors have agreed that we must work to maintain our presence in our allied lands. It’ll be the work of a lifetime to re-establish the bonds so laboriously forged over the years, but it must be done, and it falls on us to take these first steps. I don’t know when you will set out, or when, but I have cause to expect that you will be part of the expedition to Loclain, under Lady Sieglinde.”

“L-Loclain?” It made sense, of course, but fortunate, in a way. Of course, the land itself was unfortunate, and its people, but Loclain was close enough, and it was the homeland of several of Triella’s yearmates. She wondered if Stelmaria had already been informed of this. With the effort and dedication she put into sparring alongside Cecilia, Triella could only assume she had. “Is it proper for you to mention that to me?”

“Of course. Even if the plans don’t materialize, keeping it a close secret serves no purpose. If I ask you not to share it freely it’s merely because these decisions are not set in stone, and plans are subject to change. Nevertheless, I ask you for help now rather than waiting for everything to be decided to brief you because I may have obligations outside the Tower in the near future.”

“I see… Please, do go on.”

“I’ll be brief,” she said, having until now not shown the slightest affinity for brevity. “It would be tremendously irresponsible, sloppy and counterproductive to keep detailed accounts of all of our Rose’s intelligence assets, lists of contacts and safehouses and such. Our Blossoms typically operated on a need-to-know basis, knowing better than to risk compromising allied agents and useful informants. And that was an acceptable way to operate before the vast majority of magical girls faded into dust and wind. We shall have to rebuild our networks, and endure the aftershocks as well as we can.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that the Blossoms alone swear full loyalty to the Red Rose, not the assets used by my Office. The work of gathering intelligence is a complex one, and assets are led to cooperate by a myriad of manners, and equally varied are the ways in which they are controlled. Bribes and less-friendly coercion are typical, but there are always useful idiots as well as the rare enemy willing to turn cloak. We must keep our assets safe and uncompromised, and we are now utterly unable to. We are blinded, to put it plainly. Without our protection, many assets will be killed, others will change their allegiance once more, and many will try to sell any intel they might have on us to our enemies. That would be a lucrative business for them now that our weakness will embolden all our foes, and create many new ones. I would request you to do what you can to protect the ones I have managed to identify.”

“Only protect?” Triella expected there would be more to this. “You must be aware that this is not my area of expertise. I don’t believe myself to be a subtle person. Among the other Blossoms headed towards Loclain-”

“I am not asking you to manage any elaborate operations, or to sully your hands in any undue way. Only that you try to locate a selection of assets and offer them asylum, keep them from falling into enemy hands. Is that not what us Blossoms are tasked with? I will prepare a dossier for you with what information I could gather from archives and scattered notebooks. This is not to be the focus of your mission, so don’t excessively endanger yourself or your peers on account of my request. And I only ask you to keep this as private as possible not because I’m hiding anything but because secrets spread freely and beyond our control. I trust all of our bloom-sisters, but when the winds pick up words they can scatter quickly, and in a matter like this we can’t afford to put our assets in such risk. They will doubt that we can keep them safe. The entire world will, no?”

“That’s why it is so important that we prove otherwise…” Triella said, understanding. Lune nodded. “I will do all I can, then. I hope it will be enough.”

“That’s sufficient,” Lune seemed about to reach out to Triella’s hands, but held herself back from doing so. “We won’t be able to retain all of our assets, but we must at least make an effort. Thank you for your understanding; once it is determined what is to be your destination, I will contact you with more details.”

With an overly-practiced curtsy, she bid Triella goodbye, to return to her selection of armaments. There should be no difficulty in this, no great delay. It was only a weapon, after all, and beneath its gilding and enchantments it was the steel that spoke most truthfully with its bite. Still, she was looking for something, for a distant memory. They were shining vines that sprung from the pommel, she told herself, trying to recall the weapon that her savior carried with her all those years ago. She found a falchion that appeared to match her recollection, but that couldn’t be it. It was a larger sword that she carried, Triella thought, but sudden uncertainty made her freeze, a hint of cold burrowing into her chest as she doubted her own memories. How can I recall so little, when it was the most important moment of my life? Triella had hoped that the mere sight of the sword would rekindle the same feelings that burned in her heart that day, but it was only doubt that gripped her instead. In the end, she grabbed a rapier, which to her felt right, proper.

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

It was this blade, she told herself, trying to convince herself of a truth that no one could ever confirm nor deny. Yes, it had to be. A rapier is the most heroic of blades. This is what she would have chosen, my savior. A weapon that wounds so cleanly, unlike those brutish swords that dismember and hack off flesh in grotesque chunks.

In truth, Triella held the sword somewhat clumsily, her huge, heavy gauntlets not perfectly suited for grasping a delicate sword. She had never earned praise from her instructors for her fencing skills, either, and her more proficient peers rarely asked to spar with her. She approached the training ring where Cecilia and Stelmaria made a spectacle of practice, their battle as much art as it was struggle. Though their blades had been, as a precaution, magically dulled, that didn’t seem to matter as neither of the two fighters allowed a swing to connect.

“Ah, there you are,” Erika Chantesse called her from among the onlookers gathered to marvel at the swordswomen’s dance. “Our seniors are almost done with the rites of pallium, so it will be our turn soon.”

“I like your cape,” remarked Riza af-Ahrria, clad in flowing blue silks, quite unlike the heavily-armored Erika. “Are these gauntlets bronze? They’ve a beautiful color. I’m not sure what to expect from the rites. Though I’ve studied some of its theory, most of it is beyond my grasp.”

Triella was uncertain, too. A Blossom could not always carry her weapons and dress herself in unwieldy armors, but nevertheless had to be prepared for conflict at any moment, so beneath her ordinary appearances she always bore her armor, needing only a thought and a gesture to conjure it onto her body in an instant. Transformation, unveiling, cloak-shedding, all these and more terms were used interchangeably, though to Triella they each seemed to imply a different meaning. Some of us, Sieglinde had taught her once, see our lives as Blossoms as extensions of the lives we had until Efflorescence. Some of us see borderlines between those lives. Whether both of these selves are true, whether we mantle a different life, more heroic, more magical, and whether or not that magic is truer than our ordinary selves… That is for each Blossom to determine. Whether the cloak we wear is that of our daily lives, or that of our duties, or if there is no veil at all… You’ll come to realize that in time, as we all do.

Transformation was to Triella’s liking above all else. She could never let go of her past, but, fighting as a Blossom, she could become more than it, more than the frightened girl shrinking away from the shadows, more than the lonely soul so distant from everything and everyone. She grasped the rapier more firmly than before. It felt right, indeed. Though they were flowers that bloomed in tragedy and dire times, it was only that darkness that granted them light to rival the stars. It was only in the dark that one could be remade, a rising sun, only in the smoldering flames could one be reborn.

“I’ve not seen Ise all day,” Triella remarked. She wished to apologize to the girl, though in truth she didn’t know what good that would do, and hoped that her honest feelings would be enough to ease the tension. “Is she absent?”

“She performed her rites with Elanor and Ingunn in private,” Riza explained. “It seems the Lady Henriette had business at the capital and request Ise to accompany her, as well as Princess Sayuri.”

“Sayuri told me that they’d meet with His Radiance the Basileus,” said Erika. Triella wondered if the reason Erika eschewed Princess Sayuri’s regal honors was that she truly saw her as a bloom-sister or if she took the royalty of distant Tawarasato less seriously than she did the House of Rosavor. “If I were to guess, it would be to remind him that it is our Rose which has enthroned his dynasty, and that our moment of weakness is not to be taken as an opportunity to push his family’s ambitions.”

“Their ambitions?” Triella asked. Erika spoke with confidence, as though privy to the manners of kings and archons and emperors.

“There has never lived a powerful man who does not hunger for more power,” Erika explained. “Even a Basileus - or Basilissa - will always find new horizons to crave, new riches to strive for, new pleasures to indulge in. I wonder what leverage Henriette intends to wield to pressure someone so mighty and to quell such ambitions.”

“Hopefully this does not become another problem for us,” said Triella, though she couldn’t quite guess what sort of advantage Basileus Johannes might try to extract from the Red Rose. “Troubles come in legions, old folk in Altengrie would say. We’ll have to trust Henriette to preserve our stability.”

“I have faith in her,” Riza remarked. “We are fortunate that the sole survivor of the Rose Council is such a deft diplomat. We owe our peace in Najmail to her intervention.”

Riza spoke with enough confidence that Triella chose to agree with her. It was true that Henriette carried herself with admirable composure considering the horrible circumstances, able to keep her cool when everyone else seemed to reel in the chaos. Someone has to know how to act. Someone has to be able to tell us what to do…

After the sparring died down and the Blossoms who were still undecided on their equipment returned to their selection, Triella found herself by Cecilia’s side, who appeared only slightly spent by her training. She makes it look so effortless, Triella thought, with only a little bit of envy tainting her admiration. Cecilia looked so beautiful, as always, skin so soft and unblemished, her hair braided once again, as though her imperfect appearance during Efflorescence, during mourning, would never be repeated again. She had a way of making Triella feel ashamed of something she couldn’t even put into words. Most shameful of all was how Cecilia had always been nothing but kind to her, words spoken in tones so serene that Triella couldn’t imagine Cecilia ever screaming, or even merely raising her voice.

“You seem full of certainty, too,” Cecilia remarked, almost always the one to initiate conversation. “About what’s to blossom from our chrysalides, I mean. A seed, a chrysalis, a crucible. You understand what I mean?”

“I do,” said Triella. “I understood after reflecting on why, exactly, this is called the Tower of Rebirth. From youth I knew what I dreamt of becoming, so these matters are just a trifle… I thought myself undecided about the blade I would choose, but that seems foolish to me now. I was never in doubt. In my earliest recollections I could always close my eyes and see me as I am now. This,” she extended her arms, clenching her gauntleted fingers, her body clad in as much metal as silk. “In a way, this is our skin, our flesh. I learned to paint solely so I could put into canvas what existed in my mind.”

“I wish to see,” Cecilia said, smiling. “If only I knew before that you were an artist as well, I would have loved to see your works,” Triella couldn’t hide her flushed cheeks, to Cecilia’s understated satisfaction. Even the way she smiled was graceful. Triella, of course, already knew that Cecilia dabbled in the arts as well, but a sophisticate like her would probably find Triella droll if she tried to converse about such topics. “Look,” she spun in place, frills of white and blue whirling gently before settling down. “Lady Dorthea Johansen was helping me with it, before… Everything. I hope she recovers soon, so I can show her, thank her. Couture is a passion of hers, it turned out.”

“She does look almost like a doll,” Triella remarked, and though she’d only seen Dorthea a few times, and always surrounded by fellow Blossoms, she was quite striking, brown hair swaying as she moved, so long as to almost reach her ankles. And she was born a commoner, too… “Is the fabric spellwoven?” Cecilia nodded. “I figured.”

“Lady Dorthea’s doing, of course,” said Cecilia. “That magic is beyond me. I told her there was no great hurry in making my armor-dress, as there were yet years before I was to become a Blossom. She simply claimed she enjoyed the work. She found it put her mind at ease.”

I wish I’d known, Triella thought, wish I’d asked her for help, rather than spend months saving what little money I could muster to pay that haughty seamstress in Cartasinde…

“I suppose the others will have to make do with spare armor and vestments,” said Triella. “I almost feel vain, merely for thinking about these matters when so many of our fellow Blossoms have perished… But you understand, don’t you? How much it means to us, to do things this way, just how-”

“-how we have always dreamed of,” Cecilia’s words were the same as Triella’s. “When I was little, my parents would speak of my wedding dress, as though that was to be the manifestation of my wishes, so certain were they that I was happy to be betrothed at such a young age. You don’t have that practice in Altengrie, do you?”

“Some nobles cling to that tradition,” said Triella. “But most people can choose their love. As much as such a thing can be chosen, I mean.”

“I knew you understood. Choice brought us here, the way we grasped our own desires and ambitions. That is the most important thing, is it not? I always wanted to speak more with you, these past two years. I regret my reluctance. But we are Blossoms now, and shall work together, so I wished to tell you that. Forgive my presumption, but you always seemed so certain to me, whenever I saw you,” Triella tried to hold back laughter, but failed.

“Apologies. Surely you can’t mean me.”

“I do. What I said before, about the chrysalis, the crucible, your understanding of rebirth… Many of our peers did not need to be here, you see. I’m not saying they don’t deserve it; they are talented girls, all hard-working, all admirable. But princesses could have another life. Noble ladies have left a life behind that they can yet return to. They are not like the first Blossoms we look up to with such awe, who had to fight for the world, as no one else would or could. You may not see this confidence in yourself, but I do. There is nothing else you would like to be in this life. For those as you and I, there was no choice but the chrysalis. I won’t ask you to tell me why you feel so strongly about this dream, not until you’re comfortable, but that is the certainty I saw in you. Like me, there was nothing else you would ever become. Such larvae will always emerge winged and colorful, beautiful butterflies. At least I think it’s a beautiful thing.”

“It is,” said Triella. Behind them, the Blossoms had begun to disperse, ready to make their way to the rites of pallium, to don these new skins of silk and steel and sorcery. “I’m glad you chose to talk to me.”

“We are friends, are we not?” Cecilia asked, with a hint of vulnerability behind her gaze. “Even if we did not know it yet.”

“We are,” said Triella, smiling. “Of course we are. The two of us are Blossoms, after all.”