Royal Academy of Cascadia
Afternoon, 2 days earlier
Her steps became deafened by the bell, and so were the faint voices of instructors and professors within their halls. From a lull beyond its final toll, a throng of voices rumbled across the concourse one after the other, and then the educators retired from their lectures. The students emerged, emancipated from the attitudes beholden within their red uniforms.
"Good day, Miss Annalise."
"How do you do?"
Indeed, they took their fresh breath of freedom and straightened themselves the most gentlemanly and ladylike, cleared their throats as the most poetic, and offered a slight but solemn bow of the most loyal. They have come to this world innocent, taught and separated, and through their younger years, return divided and congregated.
"Following the revelations of the Parliamentary fact-finding commission's analysis, the Lower House will be convening an emergency session and officially announce a popular package slated for implementation before the end of the quarter."
"And which statutes have fallen prey to these regulations, bills, and amendments, Liaison Officer Dreck? And should the developments concern our noble friend, Treasurer Tassol, and his responsibilities?"
"Chiefly stricter budgetary allocations and limitations, the creation of a permanent Oversight Committee to investigate and supervise the trend and frequency of extracurricular activities held by the Student High Societies and other after-school programs."
"Has the House provided the Board and Upper House copies?" Student Chairman Buredesy cycled through his catalog.
"No, sir. They have invoked the Confidentiality Clause of the Particulars of Legislation Act on the grounds of potential voter manipulation and intimidation."
"I'll expect reproductions on my desk for tomorrow's session on the grounds of the range these bold accusations cover. Lord Speaker Numen, After-School Program. This Incident Report regarding their Forum."
"The Budget Execution White Paper, Mister Chairman. I have noted emergent symptoms of belligerency among other associations and clubs."
"The diagnosis being?"
"Peers-Commons relations; Reactionary sentiment and Common grievances crossing swords over the matter of wasteful and unnecessary expenditure, holding their leaders and associates in contempt, threatening disorderly conduct charges for Provocative Speech."
"Preventive or reactive?"
"Preventive, sir. The rest can be found in my report. I still have to meet with the School Ombudsman to submit their Motion of No Confidence against me."
Everyone around the meeting table but Annalise and the Chairman roused. Let alone challenging the Headmaster's Honorable Appointed, challenging a Ducal House was nothing but suicide.
"The petitioners?"
"Our passionate friends from both benches," passionate in their capacity as obstructionists and victims. "With my tenure as Lord Speaker under scrutiny aggravating the Board's many commitments, I would like to posit a vote for my suspension and allow me, in my right as an Honorable Appointed, to handle the formalities."
"Very well. Given the reasons stated, all in favor of suspending Lord Speaker Annalise Numen?"
All members of the Board raised their hands.
"Following a unanimous decision, Miss Annalise Numen, you are hereby suspended from your seat following the onset of the motion. All in favor of endorsing Lord Speaker Annalise Numen against the Motion of No Confidence?"
Another unanimous decision.
"Good. Miss Numen, you are free to dismiss yourself and do about your proceedings."
Annalise rose, bag slung, and papers stacked and firm. "Thank you, Mister Chairman, my Noble Friends."
"Now, Treasurer Tassol, about your proposals for the End-of-Quarter audit."
With a smile, she shut the door behind her and tossed her mask.
Annalise strolled under the watchful gaze of her distinguished predecessors immortalized; of times when there was no Board nor Parliament, simpler days under a Student Council greeting and arranging everyone and their monthly functions, a moment when the academy had life beyond the constricting monotony of slithering snakes.
Climbing one floor, she knocked and entered the Headmaster's Office. A quiet afternoon, but the secretary was anything but.
"Ah, Miss Numen. Has the Board meeting ended already?"
She raised a brow. "Are there matters that warrant my attention, Sir Persecer?"
"The Headmaster requires your presence. Perhaps you have unrelated businesses related to the Office?"
"Yes, indeed."
Annalise summarized the whole debacle plaguing them, the funds, the class conflict, and her seat. The secretary nodded, unperturbed.
"Very well," the secretary motioned to the door. "Now, if you could."
She knocked and entered with a sweet smell greeting her. "Headmaster, I have arrived."
But amidst its flowery scent, Headmaster York faced the mirror — his long platinum hair down, false eyes removed in favor of his true white eyes looking at her — in white ceremonial garb and staff flanked by his two elven kins of similar grandeur.
For the first time.
Annalise snapped to a curtsy. This was not the Elven Headmaster of the Royal Academy of Cascadia, but Thaumaster Reginald York, the High Elf of Ashes, Laurentia's Echo, The Last Disciple of Fenix.
"Raise your head, Young Annalise. The sooner you clear your thoughts of negativity, the better your heart prepares," he waved his staff, and an illusion of his usual clothing wrapped over his clothes. "Please, take a seat."
The Headmaster's aura flooded the room with a suggestion of following his advice to heart. There are only so few that could affect him this greatly as he sat, hands clutched together in the cold.
She followed, and the attendants directed her to the sofa and poured refreshments. Annalise swallowed with barely a moment to ready herself for the looming cause, whatever it may be. The Lightshippers wouldn't dare test her boot against a holy cloth. Has the Dusk Prowlers waged their next move?
"Perhaps we can save the pleasantries next time."
She nodded, willing the words to come, but her mind remained stubbornly empty. The words she wanted to say burst into flames in her mind mere moments ago, but now they seemed to have snuffed away.
"The day of days has come. Tonight, the Hero shall descend to this world."
Annalise's jaw dropped. With her heart racing, something gnawed in her stomach. It was an agonizing sensation, like desperately searching for a missing puzzle piece that just wouldn't fit. How long was this in the works for? Why withhold this from her? Does her father know?
Annalise wished to fathom their school of thought, but it felt like it had slipped into a dark, unreachable corner of her brain. Even if this was her fate, she at least had the right to know.
She could already see it, of the very mockery sculpted across cathedral and palace walls shedding their stone skins haunting the night with cackles and flapping wings, relishing in the screams of women and children to arouse another great crusade to march north against the Lightless' hordes once more.
"Make no mistake, the demons are not involved with this."
"Huh?" What was their enemy then?
"I don't need to remind you of the consequences should you relinquish your title as the Prioress Superior. However, by the moment you enter the ceremony, your freedom is all but forfeit in ways so slow, you may not see and hear the chains rattling."
She recalled all the points she wanted to make, the vows she took within the Altar of Heroes, but her mind felt like a foggy void. She got up and walked to the window, taking a few deep breaths. With a cup of tea in hand, she gazed out the window and let her mind drift.
The moment she shielded herself with the altar's name, something was wrong. The compassion, the tenderness of the canonesses— all the things cowards covet among the faithful and true who had endured their tests of conviction, of great trials and sacrifices — and their embrace in Annalise's unfaithful ascendency. There had to be a reason.
"I may not know what great calamity was foreseen, and I dare not challenge my ignorance of it, but am I worthy among those sown as instruments the Heroes shall reap?"
"That is for you to answer. You have vowed to bear the weight of your destiny to escape the Church of the Eternal Light, and it is time to choose."
She would've assumed it was the sage's wisdom, but the Headmaster's words seemed to lead her to a prearranged path. But why?
"Headmaster, is apathy the answer to clear my thoughts of negativity?"
Headmaster York's eyes narrowed, and Annalise fought against a shudder.
"What is our reason to fight? Why must we fight?"
"So that our hubris may not bring an end to everything we've fought for in bloodshed."
"And you do so by controlling the bloodshed by choosing which blood to shed? How can you assure this may be the harbinger of everything you fear?!"
Father, uncle, everyone must be pressed by something beyond her understanding. But who was she to play the saint who preaches the Hero's glory to those he orphaned, widowed, and the man behind the Hero?
"I swore an oath."
Annalise reached for the necklet cross, squeezed it, and her palm burned. She winced, approached the desk, and released the decoration from her clutches, blood tainting its white finish and blue medallion.
"And you were there when it was written."
***
Present
Lighting struck Annalise, its roar ebbing further into the archive of her memories. It's been a while since she felt a body with less tension.
If the ceiling ever gave away where she was, Annalise couldn't tell anymore. Her heavy eyes closed once more, retreating to the superficial contentment of the cozy bed and warm blanket.
Still, she recalled her name, her position as the new heir of the Estrier Duchy, and her purpose. What else was there? It will eventually come to her. And yet, the heaviness had gone, and millions of needles pricked her. Annalise gasped for air and threw the scorching hot hay off her. She rose from her marble bed and blinded herself in a healing light. No prankster sought for baseless definitive torment. Where's the entertainment? This was different. It had to be.
"My Lady, you're awake."
Annalise jumped at the familiar voice, turning her around. Marie's smile was so sweet. It was repulsive.
"What have you done?"
"Hm?" she smirked. "Is this what we get for saving you?"
"Save me from what?"
"Oh, my poor, poor Annalise." Marie sat her down and pulled her into a hug. Annalise shivered from how warm it was, and Marie began pinching her cheek like a distant aunt. "A beautiful girl like you against a man like him; it must've been so scary."
Annalise's head felt light, and she pulled Marie into her deep embrace, caressed her hair, and cherished her warmth.
"Have you no shame?" her voice trembled. "At long last, have you left no sense of shame?"
Marie grinned. "Yes, don't worry, Annalise. As you've said, we're just two sticks in a bundle. So if you could junk those commoners' bills–"
Annalise headbutted Marie and slammed her head against the wall. She gripped her head throbbing and staggered to her feet. Then Annalise hurled a fist toward Marie, connecting at the cheek, sending Marie spinning to the bed.
"You bitch!" Annalise snatched the pillow and went on top of her, hiding that disgusting scowl. "Urgh–! Get your hands off me!"
"Shut up! Just shut up!" she put all her weight on it and winced as her scalp stretched out of her head and elbowed Marie's stomach. Relief returned over her head, and Marie's arms flailed around with bits of Annalise's hair, nicking a piece of her coat. "You think I endured years of your cruelty out of fear?! You think I forgot all those years together?!"
Marie's arm locked. Long nails hitting the seam at the wrong angle, Marie's muffled wails barely got out. She struck Annalise's side, who writhed from the strength and cycled through healing and power into her arms. A fire emerged from the girl's palm, and Annalise kneed her abdomen and snuffed the flame.
Her tears ran free as Marie continued thrashing about. "Stop! Please, just stop! Don't fight it! Just don't!"
Then Marie clutched Annalise's arms, prying them off. Her muffled groans turned to pleading yelps. But Annalise shut her eyes and looked away, masking the noise with heavy sobs as she shoved Marie to the bed once, twice; she lost track of time, but the shaking dwindled, the groans diminishing until, finally, Marie's arms gave out.
Annalise pressed the pillow once more, not even a jerk. She let out a cathartic breath and backed off, the other bed catching the back of her leg, and slumped. At long last, she's done it. Marie, the girl she once played with on the fields of Estrier, her friend, her betrayer.
Annalise buried her face into a pillow and screamed, withering into quiet sobs and wheezing for air. The annals of history will praise her murder and parade scarecrows of her corpse across the land where the Hero's spirit touched. They will recount her dismissal of shame in the tales, glorify damnation in the plays, and discard all dignity to those who may drag the source of their sorrows to the very depths of insanity.
Then, wherever she looked glowed yellow. She faced the mirror on the desk between the beds and punched the reflection of her irises wearing a golden shimmer. She winced. Her hand burned from uncurling her bloody fist. Then she punched the glass again, and water ran out of her eyes.
She forced herself to curl her hand back and punched the shards deeper and deeper into her skin. Blood seeped into the cracks, pummeled the mirror again and again, and struck the wood behind it.
Annalise breathed and muttered her spell. Her arm shuddered as millions of needles slithered out of the openings in her regenerating skin. The blood spilled across the desk pulsed and congregated at the center, concentrating all the metallic stench Annalise filtered out to the window and met its lustrous demise.
She set the trash bin beside the desk and swept the glass. One good shake, and they sifted through the rubbish. She sat and wiped the sweat off her forehead. She'll save the excuse for the missing mirror later.
Now, for the other one lying on the bed. Marie's stomach rose and fell. Good enough for her. Annalise's fists clenched, imagining her neck. She hoisted Marie straight on the bed and under the blanket. It's the least she could do to preserve the memory of her friend who has fallen to her demise from parents fattening her ego just as much as her belly.
Annalise dashed out of the infirmary. Her steps echoed through the arcade, and a few doors swung. It's only a matter of time before Marie and her lackeys face justice not seen in many eons. But now wasn't the time for it. Someone had taken the fall for their crimes, and she must wipe it clean.
Students and professors from all five floors and bridges looked at her as she rushed down the second-floor stairs and vaulted from the mezzanine.
"You! Halt this instant!"
Yellow manifestations of dust appeared in her sight, visualizing them merging into a thin inclined platform. She conjured as she foresaw and caught her fall, sliding down to the subfloor.
"No magic in the hallway!"
"Royal matters, make way!"
People always called her the ideal student, always present in the planning, preparations, and executions. A Student Council member running down the hallway warranted some praise. So she kept running, much to everyone's surprise. Nearing the other end, she conjured a staircase to the ground floor, and Annalise broke out to the courtyard.
She gasped for air and shielded her eyes with the sun near its peak, but across the Great Court were the engaged columns embedded in the wall, partly projecting from the surface, and the stained windows of the academy's towering administration building. Annalise ran on her last legs, slowing to a crawl in front of the door waiting for her, and entered. A well-dressed gentleman stared down at Receptionist Liah.
Baron Coralis.
Madam Liah's long ears twitched, but her face stayed stoic. Whatever the Baron said must've amounted to beyond the thousands of people that came and went during the elven woman's hundred years of service.
"Sire, our detention facility has been meticulously designed under the Hero Fenix's wishes in reprimanding unruly students and intruders," the elven receptionist leaned down at her desk and handed a form to the Baron. "If you have concerns regarding the Headmaster's orders, I am happy to provide you with a grievance form directly to the palace. Until then, the suspect is under Academy jurisdiction."
The man froze. The receptionist then took the chance and glanced at Annalise. She didn't give her a reprimanding look — but a curious glance before entertaining the Baron again. Then Annalise snuck into the corridor and sighed in relief. The Hero still had allies he could rely on.
"That man has lusted for both my and the Duke of Estrier's daughters, and you mean to say I cannot bring justice to my own?"
Annalise stopped. "His blood is not yours to take, Baron Coralis."
"L– Lady Annalise? How– What brings Your Lady here?"
The Baron winced as her eyes reached him.
"Patience is a virtue, My Lord. And I am not patient," Annalise pressed on. "I have matters to attend to. But for your sake, Baron, please gather your alibis. Because none of this will go unpunished."
***
Tower of Ancients, Palace of Cascadia
Evening, 2 days earlier
It had finally occurred to her on the eve of the ritual...if there were any realizations left. Green beacons manifested across the city amongst its artificial lights. Annalise may have counted a mere fraction of it, but the sharpest eyes in possession of whatever encrypted map flashed a series of codes within the clock tower.
Regardless of meaning, the whole altar moved. Still, Annalise waited, scanning the altar. Ancient sigils and powerful objects decorated the room. A giant polygon blazed in the center of the chamber under the canonesses' control, its complex lines and scripts pulsing with ethereal power unlike any seen in books.
King Henry of Cascadia, her uncle, together with her father, Duke John Numen of Estrier, discarded their capes and tunics in favor of the armor and halberd. Their presence molded amongst the Paladins as one came close and stopped in front of her. She tensed and found calmness even for a bit in the familiar eyes.
"Father, does Aurelia not know too?"
He shook his head. "There are too many variables beyond our control. It's unfortunate timing, but we cannot afford to squash years of preparation even on the mere curiosity as to her sudden withdrawal."
"I understand."
"Headmaster," the Canoness Superior said. "The instruments have been infused. The circle is stable."
"Good," Headmaster York drummed the butt-end of his staff on the circle. " My children, open the veil!"
As the magicians chanted in unison, the air crackled with energy. The chamber trembled, and a shimmering portal materialized within the circle. A figure lying down emerged from the portal, bathed in a radiant light. It was the Hero they had summoned, a being with a destiny intertwined with their own.
But why did Annalise smell blood?
The canonesses gasped. "Goodness me!"
Headmaster York jumped towards the bloody corpse at the center of the circle and rolled it over. He did not hesitate to conjure a healing spell.
"Do not let him die! Everyone, heal together!"
They flocked towards him, raising their arms and muttering spells and prayers. The combined magic of healers shone the room like the sun entering the skylight, and Annalise shielded her eyes.
She took a peak, and one of the canonesses fell to her knees, gasping from mana fatigue. It had only been a few seconds. Slowly, the light dimmed with wizards and mages faltering one by one. Servants and knights rushed into the room, joining a seemingly fruitless effort with their minute magic powers and vials of mana recovery potions.
"Hold on for just a little longer!"
It was honestly a depressing sight of many placing all their hopes on the few. If everyone had that dedication to facing real problems, then they may not need a Hero.
"Give me another potion!"
Canonesses Theulia crawled away from the pile toward the servants with the crates of the vials, clinging to consciousness.
"It will be your third one! Any more than that will be poison!"
But she put all her strength into reaching the crate and gulped it down, only to squirm and cough it out. A servant hovered a glowing hand, and Canoness Theulia's eyes went wide, swiping it away. Her voice was hoarse.
"No! The Hero...!"
Annalise stepped forward and extended her arm.
"Tranq–" stopping herself from muttering the spell. But in front of her was a dying man in her hands. Both her father and uncle glanced and said nothing. The door swung open, and dozens of footsteps broke through.
"Quick! His body's rejecting mana!"
She stormed out of the altar, passing by more and more servants, knights, artisans, and even the cooks running to the altar. She swore an oath to the Hero, not their hubris. But the man they summoned was not a Hero. It was a victim of their greed. Death was more merciful to life in this barbaric world.
***
Present
She snarled and shielded her nose with a handkerchief. The single handful she paid the dungeon a visit, and the fat and proud cretins always seemed to leave a mark on their methods of coping.
Annalise shuddered and held on to the damp stone wall, taking her time on each sloppy step over overgrown light mosses growing out from their torches, clinging to what little mana was in the air and bits of her aura escaping the field.
Annalise conjured light and peeked at the first cell. Several eyes shimmered, and the spiders retreated into their webs and crevices on the walls. A yelp thundered the dungeon, a sneeze.
Could it be?
Rushing to the dark end of the dungeon, she tossed the light orb into a cell and gasped at the horrendous sight. The orb shattered. Annalise plodded to the bars, and her legs staggered. It wasn't supposed to be like this. She grappled the bars. Then chains inside the cell rattled, and a figure emerged from the dark corners, his face and clothes beaten from wear and dirt.
There he was, the great Hero who shall bring forth salvation to the world, rotting behind Cascadia's bars.
"My... lord," she slammed her head against the bars. "No..."
Annalise choked and looked away from his unbearable gaze. They...she should've done better than this. She failed everyone. She failed Him. One last time.
The Hero kneeled at eye level, sniffing something, and reaped her hands off the bars. Annalise grimaced. What does he think of her now? He pressed her sensitive hand, and Annalise winced. She pulled it away, but his grip went firm. He sniffed once more as if corroborating his initial assumption, grasping her reaction, and let go.
"I'd say you ought to take it easy," the Hero looked unsurprised, "but the vindictive don't have that kind of luxury. Much less, the insincere."
His fingers penetrated through her hair, and a gentle, tingly, and rhythmic sensation as they moved across her scalp sent a shiver down her spine, and she leaned forward for more. But he stalled. Daggers rested on Annalise's head.
"My question: Which one are you?"
Father and uncle told her it was for educational and diplomatic purposes, but Annalise knew she only had to sit still, look pretty, and prop up her best smile. But the more they smile, the more secrets they hide. And that alone was enough.
"I've...brought enough dishonor for one lifetime," Annalise forced herself up on her feet. "I am deeply, deeply sorry for involving you in my personal matters. There's nothing more for you to discuss with a disgrace like myself."
It was a foolhardy attempt from the beginning. From breakfast to the blood on her hands, the Hero she looked up to and imitated was suspicious of her. Moreover, his anger had reached his threshold and had evolved into something worse — disappointment.
"What do you want?"
Why? Just let me go.
"I... want–"
Annalise stopped herself. Nevertheless, who was she to earn his laurels?
"I want it to stop."
Then his gaze softened. Already, Annalise could tell what kind of face he stopped himself from making, the choice of words he'd pick onward, and his true thoughts contending with her consideration. Annalise fought against her tears and walked away. It was no better than manipulating him.
"Is that what you truly want or are you running away?"
"What difference does it make?"
"Nothing."
Her heart leaped. What could he mean by that? Odd was the reflection, to the point the seed of curiosity had developed into a tree of introspection, with the conclusion of all uncertainties resting upon him. He has to know. He must know! She was Prioress Superior of the Bloodline...at least she was.
"Sir, may you lend a hear to my story?"
"It's not like I can walk out," he smirked.
Annalise smiled. "It happened when I was little..."
She remembered the violence through her senses — the devastating earthquake, the collapsed roads and buildings, and the hundreds of people, some hoisting their dead children, begging for food from the bad harvest outside their manor.
"My father wanted to find more recovery options, so he struck a deal with the neighboring kingdoms and merchant guilds."
"How bad was it?"
"Our army was supposed to reach the Gunpowder Era ten years ago."
Let alone the knights, where was it?
"And they profited more than you would allow?"
Annalise nodded. "Transforming Estrier into a distribution hub where the Kingdom couldn't touch."
"Preferential tax rulings."
Annalise nodded despite herself. It sounded technical, precise; he was a year or two older than her, and already, Annalise shuddered from his wisdom.
"The Miracle of Estrier. The quake defaced the old city, and it was because of the agreement that the recovery became a miracle throughout the Kingdom. The late Lord Mayor of Blaire was among those who supported my father."
"The late Count must be seething right now."
Annalise smiled sadly and sat by the wall next to the bars. To see progress and money pouring into Estrier and exploit none of it, the pain and grief of the late Horatio Blaire the Elder in his audience with Annalise's father, enduring shame and embarrassment from kneeling to investors and merchants for a trickle of gold for the realm, overwhelmed his heart and steeled the Younger's.
"Marie was my friend. When I was made aware of her father's crimes, I volunteered to watch over Marie and told her, hoping to spare her from judgment. I was a fool."
It must be around that time when Horatio Blaire the Second resolved himself and babied his children from the disrespect the Kingdom and the merchants brought to his family. Annalise imagined her father and uncle giving the House more flexibility in their methods to make up lost profit. But to prostitute themselves to Salais? A tragedy. And now she was to be the instrument to its conclusion. The Lord Mayor and Marie Annalise once knew were dead. Perhaps she can find solace in that in their final days, if forever.
Erich shifted, resting his head against the bar, pondering. It was news to him, and he needed time to adjust. Annalise could only wonder how much. Yet, she couldn't help but notice the same exhausted look on his face.
"Estrier has the most infrastructure to house the weapons manufacturing facilities. I'll have to rethink how we move forward with this."
"Of course."
No greater shame had ever befallen the host ever since the Conclave. There had to be some way to show their sincerity.
"Tongue out."
"What?"
"Tongue out," he squinted, trying to look for something.
Annalise was sure she kept her emotions in check. Did he make out an idea of her personality? She must never relax in front of bureaucrats. But with her family's negligence becoming his pain, there's no choice but to take the brunt of his disappointment.
She did so hesitantly, and he snuck something in. Annalise lurched back from the sudden intrusion, but something sugary invaded her tongue.
"It's...sweet."
She took out what appeared to be an advancement of boiled sugar on a stick. Her cheeks burned, thinking it was something else, but the Hero seemed uncaring.
"What you need right now is a lollipop. And what I need is everyone to continue with the illusion that those traitors successfully arrested a cadet officer with their crimes and kept you in check with blackmail."
"But your plan..."
"Is still in the development stages. Perhaps I was very conservative in my outlook on developing it. I need to get an idea of what I'm dealing with."
"But, Sir Hero..."
"Save that for the public, and just call me Erich."
"But–"
"I'm not asking. I'm going crazy here just hearing it, and this place has kept me sane better than anywhere else. Treat it like week-old bread in its last hours if you have to."
"I'm sorry."
If they were strong enough, they wouldn't have to rely on those they abducted because of their cowardice. In every great crisis — every great trial, salvation is guaranteed at the cost of their growth. Only the dead know how far the act of summoning a Hero has sowed their culture of complacency. Had the tragedy of the Conclave Era taught them enough?! That only the inhabitants of this world can be the masters of their destiny, not a 'God from the otherside'?
The world, united, brought mercy to a Hero before. Against ferocious and unchained fury against his slavers and all living in this world, mercy. Even so, where has it taken them now? The Belosean Thought has continued ravaging the Far East, developing new tools of war, and the Union Thought has corrupted great minds bidding for the next contract.
Annalise reached out to him. Only time will tell once Cascadia unveils the unthinkable to this relatively calm world. All the chaos, all the madness, it will all descend upon him.
Now that the world has caught a glimpse of their greed, there's nothing more Annalise can do. But for him, there was.
There was.
"Aren't you tired, Erich?"
He snorted as if holding the rest of a laugh. "That's an idealistic view of me, Lady Annalise."
"Anna," then he looked at her incredulously. "It's what my closest friends call me. Call it a snack you can have any time if you have to."
She forced a smile, but it only aroused indifference.
"You don't say?"
Annalise squeezed the bars. "Once this is over, I'll show you the city! I'll introduce you to my favorite shops and places, and...and if you ever visit my town..."
"I'd love that."
Her heart trembled as the words cut through hers. Simple, written; the same response for the same misstep. Perhaps Erich was eager to know more about their world through the academy, and here they were, squandering his freedom.
"Sorry," his tone shifted as if noticing.
"No. I don't mind," the gravity of Annalise's words dawned on her the second she finished. "I'm sure you wouldn't want to waste precious time in unnecessary fraternization."
"Well, I'm already feeling offended by that accusation, Miss Annalise," he did not look offended. "But that's beside the point. As far as I'm concerned, you owe me."
"It appears so."
Here it comes. Annalise braced for it.
"Take a break from school, say that you're too traumatized to continue for a while, and put the blame on me."
Damn him? After everything Annalise had done to him?
"I shouldn't. I've brought you enough pain already."
"But it hurts, doesn't it?" he hunched down to her level. "No one to talk to, confide with; keeping these feelings to yourself."
If she didn't, how should she bear to hear the mothers weeping over their dead child, the fathers who resort to banditry, and the next generation repeating that vicious cycle?
"I don't want you to invalidate your pain because I'm different. Whatever god you believe in knows how much you're suffering. I have my interests in mind with this, but this is also something I want you to do for yourself."
His self-interests, sure, but "Why? Did you not see what we were trying to do this morning? Why do you want me to do this for myself?"
Then Erich smiled. And for once, it was genuine. She wanted to believe it was. But she couldn't help but see the pain in it.
"Don't be like me. It will save you from the pain of feeling nothing."
The heavy door creaked, and dozens of footsteps descended into the dungeon. Annalise distanced herself from Erich, but he didn't seem wary of it as five figures emerged. Like ghosts, the Royal Knight's elite Paladins, with their gold-colored helms and flowing blue robes neck-to-toe, approached with an air of slow but methodical elegance of a statue and preachers of the most divine.
"Lady Annalise, we are here to relieve the Lord Hero."
"It's about time."
They faces were hidden. But as they feasting the sight of their desecrated savior, the leader of the paladins staggered to his knees. His halberd slipped from his trembling hands, curling into fists that slammed the ground.
"Oh, Hero, we are not worthy of your amazing grace," he trembled his words. "This transgression will forever be etched into the hearts and minds of all Cascadians."
Erich raised a brow. "If that's what you want, take me to the palace's dungeon."
"What?"
The disbelief reached their hearts as much as the voice showed. And Erich told them the setting, the scene, and the rough script moving forward, all for the great tribulation that awaits his accusers. But the palace's dungeon housed the vilest of scum, political prisoners ripe for torture. The paladin reasoned with the fact, but Erich snickered.
"Good," then he offered his hands. "Cuff me."
For a second, the paladins hesitated. "By your will."
Through their march out of the academy, hundreds of students and their professors basked at the sight of their Hero walking in Cascadian chains. She was the victim, and he was the criminal. He specifically chose dismissal time to maximize witnesses, yet their hurtful words pierced her. Their whispers reverberated across the square, hints of mockery and disdain; the paladins nudged Annalise forward, and her tears escaped her, arousing more hate for him.
This was his plan, yet Annalise could not bear it. The Hero was too cruel for him to soothe her, only for her to feel pain once more. But flirting within the depths of her heart was the warm embrace of his presence, that everything would be okay.
What about him? Will he be okay? The procession dragged, and it came from Erich. The paladins escorting him paused as if hesitating. Erich's head turned his way ever so slightly, and the paladin yanked him forward.
Annalise pressed her nails deeper into her palms, and her fingers sensed the warm and wet sensation she wiped with her red sleeves. With a little healing magic, she pressed on. It's what he'd want from her. If his suffering continues, and if the torment shatters him, who else but Annalise can shoulder Cascadia's sins?
***
Erich squeezed the trigger, and the M1911's hammer slammed the firing pin, topping off the reassembly. It disappeared right in his hands in favor of a notepad and pen, and wrote down his sticky note ideas.
"I commend you for staying calm despite your circumstances, Sir Erich. It's courage and determination Cascadian nobles have long forgotten."
The Duke's words came in from one ear and left the other.
"If it weren't for you, my daughter would have prolonged her suffering. As a father, I am glad she's safe, but the fault lies on us for the treatment you must endure for our sake."
Erich was already busy battling boredom, and the older man and potential father-in-law outside his cell shook in disbelief over something as basic as false accusations. His daughter, righteous as she is, must've told him he knows their dirty little secret. Erich must've hit a new record as a noble sincerely lowered his head on Day 2.
"Your apology has been duly noted and appreciated."
Now that he said it, Erich never knew it was so annoying to say the phrase.
"Some students are already threatening not to attend tomorrow's classes to protest for your swift, public execution. Obviously, His Majesty and the Headmaster will not let them have their way. The one who struck you has been reprimanded as well for disorderly conduct. Headmaster York ensured he doesn't see it as a badge of honor."
Simps will be simps. To dominate someone of the poor sod's caliber is to converse with a woman like a normal person while the man in question is a discord mod, but Erich digressed. The world never really had much in terms of entertainment. Operas and plays get bland without market studies until Broadway or music genres appear, and a supposedly chivalrous student being the suspect of a sexual assault case was stimulating. Due process can go out the window if it means making it more entertaining.
The pie chart concerning ideology shifted to communism. A slight chill descended down Erich's spine. Having an open mind always opens more doors. Thinking about that, democracy and non-aligned counterweighted it. His emotions were a factor in determining his path, but even the slightest rejection fixed it.
"My people in Blaire City has spotted a bird familiar flying adjacent from the capital arriving at the Count's estate. Sometime later, a carriage left the estate escorted by the Count's troops, taking the Capital Route."
"He's coming."
The Duke of Estrier nodded. "An hour after that, word of the incident has spread. We've confirmed that Capital nobles have sent messenger familiars all over the Kingdom to their peers, and now there are whispers that the Hero will deal with the criminal personally."
"I didn't know they were that bored," Erich held and shook his head. Then the sharp headache attacked.
Erich loved balance — balanced rules, balanced troops — but that wasn't it. He remembered Artillery Only, and a chuckle alleviated the pain. When it wasn't funny anymore, Erich writhed.
"Are you alright? Let me call a mage," the Duke spun towards the exit.
"No...Please stay," Erich gripped the bars and kept himself up. "The ceremony won't be until two days, right?"
"Yes. What of it?"
"Set the schedule for my execution to coincide with my formal admission and hold it at the academy; it makes their imaginations run wild."
It's a delicate situation that requires perfect timing, and the Duke knew that.
"You can't possibly be thinking..."
"I'm not much of a scary guy. That's the problem."
The Duke gave him a doubtful look. What does the man see in him?
"I can't fight on the battlefield, much less duel for the life of me. The perception that a Hero must do that is a shallow definition."
A World War 1-manufactured Lee Enfield manifested on Erich's hands. It's a shame the average infantryman won't be able to use it. There are far more concerning cases that warrant the need for short-term decisions over long-term matters. After all, it will not be a repeat of history, but a corruption that'd make Tiger tank fans go bald in anger when its fighting against a P-47 instead of a Sherman tank.
He handed the rifle to the Duke.
"But that's still a tradition, huh? I'm planning to send agents to Blaire City with instructions to assault the Count's mansion at the same time of my reveal. And for that, I need your assistance. I want to make sure no one interferes with them."
"Understood. I will inform His Majesty and make my own preparations, but how do we address the man in question?"
"That's my job."
***
Morning, next day
A white metal box appeared soaring above Cascade Lake, its decorations gleaming, and four of Cascadia's strongest wyverns ferrying it. The coachman at the front top manipulated the golden ropes, and it began its descent at the Palace courtyard, where a small party of servants and Royal Knights held a ceremony for its arrival.
A servant reached for the door, but it swung open, sparing his head by mere inches. A beautiful young girl of around seventeen in a white military uniform stepped out, her hand keeping hold of the rapier on her waist.
"Sorry."
The servant rejoined the welcoming party, and bowed.
"Welcome back, Your Highness."
Crown Princess Aurelia Antonella Haart Ionela Alma Kal Rena Katina Sacra Varattu Kalsea Fiere Cascadia gave them a curt nod so as to not waste more time on pointless formalities. Bowing or kneeling before an officer is one way to let enemies and spies know you're important.
"Lieutenant, see to it that my father knows I will be a bit late."
The officer within the group clicked his heels, and went away. Aurelia veered from the palace and went to the Household Knight's barracks. The Princess' steps were heavy and with good reason. Her face was barely hiding her anger, and she knew it. Her father, the King, can wait. Paladins guarded the entrance to the dungeon.
Everyone must be incensed. The paladins straightened before Aurelia's presence as she walked in. With the door shut behind her, she exposed her blue aura, tempered it into a blazing orange, and let it dissipate in the naked eye before continuing. Be it the many town dungeons and bandit caves, none of them matched the torment emanating from the Palace Dungeon.
The Kingdom has no shortage of lowlifes. Her only regret was failing to find those from within. Her eyes were on the man a few years older than her. Despite his dirty clothes, she wouldn't mistake the military uniform. Aurelia unsheathed her sword, clanking on the bars with slow steps.
The man who laid his hands on her dear cousin shifted towards the bars, half-awake.
A ball of bright blue flame appeared behind her back, lighting the dungeon as the princess unlocked the cell door. His eyes were wide open as the heat of her fury reached him.
The criminal rose, now eyeing her with well-kept worry hidden in a facade of unsurprised scrutiny. Aurelia doesn't need to state her name. Her white hair, only distinct to the firstborns of Cascadia's rulers, was enough explanation.
"Who are you?"
Yet he spited her. He had the gall to mock the Crown Princess of the Kingdom. Balls of blue flame appeared around her back, but stopped herself from hurling it. What was his worth? Her blade or magic? As she stepped closer, an object appeared in his hand — a pistol.
Aurelia dashed, blinding him with her flames, and struck his stomach with her hilt. She snatched the weapon as he squirmed on the floor. It had a strange angle for a pistol. The grip was better than anything she's ever held.
She tapped the man holding his abdomen with her boots.
"It seems the academy has gotten some new toys. Still, I expected you to hold on a little longer than this. Have some of you grown reliant on such small ball throwers?"
Aurelia snickered to herself. Of all times, was this the future of their military? To be infested with scum like him? Then he pulled her leg and took her down. Her sword and the pistol flew further away. He staggered to his feet and reached for his weapon first, but Aurelia extended her arm and landed a yellow flame on his hand.
His scream echoed across the dungeon, and Aurelia frowned as she wiped her uniform.
"Save your voice. This dungeon's imbued with sound suppression magic. Do you know why?" Aurelia squatted close to his ear, giving him some time to muse. "Because the cries when we torture the vilest of men become a nuisance."
The man trembled as he stared at his blistering hand. It's already becoming red. Aurelia huffed; He held the pistol with his right hand. Surely it must be the same hand that violated Annalise the most. She grabbed her rapier from the ground and rested it on his shoulder.
"Stand up."
He obediently followed, his head looking to the floor.
"Look at me."
And he did, Aurelia stared into his deep, dark eyes and sensed herself spiraling into the blacks of his eyes and spat back out dizzy. Frozen, he spun around and grabbed her arm, lifting her, and slammed her to the ground. But thanks to his wounded hand and aching stomach, his movements were sluggish, and she had time to control her fall.
The man ignored everything and sprinted for the exit. She cursed herself for leaving the door open. Aurelia gave chase and released a red ball of flame that came crashing onto his back before he could reach the steps, face-planting on the stone floor. The fire burned through his coat, and he rolled over and over.
"I admit I let my guard down on you. Your relentless struggle is admirable, but it's a pity you have to disgrace yourself by losing to your lust. I have no idea what my father is thinking, keeping you alive, but that doesn't mean I won't make your last days peaceful."
His mouth opened to say something, but Aurelia kicked him in the groin, and sang out his pain, it made him pale to petrification. She won't give him the time and day to spout anything once she's finished with him. Another pistol appeared in his hand, but she swiped it away with a swing with her sheath. He must possess a rare storage spell. Aurelia will have to see if the academy is missing some firearms.
"Where did you get these?" she waved the first pistol. His sobs turned faint, and it seemed he was already reflecting on how lifeless those eyes were. "How many do you have?"
He averted his head. Aurelia struck his side with her sheath, earning a quiet groan with barely any reaction. She squinted. She gave him another powerful hit. Again, no response. She then stepped on his stomach.
"Giving the cold shoulder, aren't we?" a paler flame appeared on her palm. "Let me warm you up."
The fire splashed his chest and dispersed into thin air. The slightest touch of flame that hot was enough to disperse the effects throughout his body, utilizing an overload in the mind to think he was truly on fire.
A plate shattering and cutleries clanging mixed in with his screams. Aurelia looked up to the top of the stairs, where a horrified Annalise looked down. It's strange for her to visit the lecher in front of her, but thankfully, Annalise was fine. She froze at the sight in front of her, but it was understandable; she usually couldn't stomach such violence, and Aurelia knew she'd understand why she did it.
"Erich!"
"Huh?"
Annalise hurried down and shoved Aurelia's foot away from the vermin. Her hands ran across his face and body, fighting against his mental scarring. Annalise gasped as she sighted the blistered hand. The man reflexively rolled away from Annalise, revealing the extensive damage on his back for a moment.
"Oh dear...oh dear! Please hang on!" Golden light glowed from her palm over his chest. "To the heavens above, to the heroes of old, give me your wisdom. Bless me with your holy light so that I may brighten the darkness that ails our wounds."
Scripts of a once-forgotten civilization appeared around Annalise as she continued with the spell.
"Bless me with your almighty power so that I may vanquish sorrow and disease. Let the angels, archangels, and spirits be my witness as I cry: Experience Tranquility!"
A blinding light covered the dungeon despite Aurelia's confusion. Tranquility was a powerful healing spell that even the best healing mages seldom used. The mere utterance of the word was enough to incapacitate a mage. Chanting the whole spell — while most effective — was suicide.
She didn't know how long it lasted, but as it flickered out, Annalise gasped for air. She fought against the backlash that would've risked her life, but she scanned the scum's body for any wounds that didn't heal. Once she found none, her strained face softened to a smile. She smiled with forlorn happiness, then shed a tear as she lay down over the man's arms and closed her eyes.
The door bashed open, and Paladins rushed down. They stopped in the middle of the steps, their eyes wide open. A paladin turned to one of his own.
"Get a healer, now!"
"Mages, to the dungeon!"
Bells tolled, and footsteps rang; the whole barracks was on alert. The paladin from before ran to her cousin and the man's side, shaking them.
"Lady Annalise, Sir Hero?!" he turned to Aurelia. "Your Highness, what happened here?!"
Aurelia froze. Hero?
"There's no point trying to endanger their lives with just our healing abilities. Summon the Headmaster!"
Annalise held the man tightly, and the paladin gave her a harrowing look as if everything dawned on him. He looked at the princess in disbelief, yet still guilt-ridden for neglecting his duty. Aurelia wanted to rebuke any thoughts of that, but she couldn't utter a word from the title of 'Hero' on the man supposedly attempting to sully her dear cousin.
Was it all a farce?
The Crown Princess lost all strength in her hand. That inexplicable daze from earlier that had swallowed him took form, and it was admonishing her existence. Aurelia somehow felt reluctant to hold a sword, and she just let go of it. The thought of picking it up seemed so revolting.
She took a step back, and tripped. What she did was unthinkable. What she did can never be forgiven. She was in denial. She couldn't believe it. Aurelia should've reported to her father before everything else. His letter spoke of urgency — urgency she failed to follow.
There were so many unknowns, so many things to understand, but her anger clouded her judgment. Her anger turned to hatred. Her hatred turned to vengeance. And her vengeance turned to suffering.
What has she done?