an empty white throne;

Yes, but not in the way her mother had described. Swathed in the eternal feeling of weightlessness and ice grazing her skin, Azura shuts her eyes and lets the waters take her where they desire. Her mother is correct: inky ocean constricts itself around her chest and forces itself into her lungs; and it hurts, it hurts, but it is nothing in the end beyond a great pain to grow accustomed to. If she has eternities to do so, then she will manage.

What her mother couldn't speak to was the silence. There are eternities to tolerate the drowning, but this means that there are eternities for her to linger on thoughts in solitude. Golden eyes flutter open to find pitch-black, and she opens her mouth wide to scream — only to hear nothing, not even her own voice. Bubbles gurgle and wash past her ears, and her limbs twitch as she gasps straight cold.

Perhaps this is for the better. She shuts her eyes again. Instead of finding her brothers in death, who she wishes would have taken her in with open arms, they can spend their afterlife in peace without Azura to disturb it. All that is left for her to do is to flow alongside the current, its push harsh against her back—

And somewhere close to a Nohrian port, a woman in a near-translucent dress floats face-down in the ocean; drifting, slowly, toward the shore. Not visibly bleeding, not visibly harmed beyond the blue of her lips — and the waters set her down on sand for one of her consequences to approach.

And she had lost enough family.

So as Azura called her sister, Hinoka's smile widened.

"I forgive you," she replied. Why was that so easy to say for her sister...? Because she wasn’t fully at fault for leaving... Hearing that Azura was well though, it soothed away her thoughts. And her sister was, she supposed, right. What mattered was that they were both here now, circumstances aside. Fate had brought them back together again. She still worried, Azura had brushed it away... was it really okay?

Quietly, as light from the pond's reflection gleamed in her eyes, she murmured, "You didn't need to."

In another world, with the pendant still in her hands, she would have thought about it briefly: showing Hinoka why the path she chose had to be taken. But without the weight of it along her neck and her sister standing shoulder-to-shoulder with inexplicable trust in Azura... how peaceful. Golden irises glowed as she burst out into a round of loud laughter, covering her mouth with her free hand.

There was nothing to see, nowhere to go — at the end of the day, they were just two sisters sitting waist-deep in pond water, with the fish swimming at their feet. "I believe that nothing will," she reassured. "We can... learn to find enjoyment again. Can't we?"

She hadn't been checking his knowledge at all; Azura simply didn't know. Why would she? She hadn't cared. After everything, she turned her back on the people who called her family, and for what? For the glory of Nohr? Ryoma doesn't know.

Even now, she admits she had picked the right path, the good path.

"There have been other ways," Ryoma says, "where none had to die. Yet you would still choose the side of Nohr?" He fights to keep his voice even, to temper the molten steel in him. The fact she could stand there and say this to him nearly sends him into a rage, but he's spent years learning to drown out the pulse in his temple. Azura would not break him - neither she nor Corrin could break him again.

At least it is merely that, rather than how she would have thought traitors should be handled — a sword to the neck.

Ryoma is not wrong in calling her a performer, because that is what she does now: glazing eyes over with a complacency, quelling trembling hands with a grip of her dress, and stifling the unsteadiness in her voice with thoughts of nostalgic song. Her lip quivers, before it pulls into a thin line. "I... would," she manages, quiet. "I would choose the side of Nohr, and still find a way where you could still live. If I could do it all over..."

When they set off there was no question; they could not bring back all twenty-four as regrettable as it is to admit.

There is something to be said about this any blades pointed at him though. The life on the line right now is not his.

"Don't worry," he deadpans as he glances over at Azura. His expression is grave. He's not very good at acting but it's none too difficult to channel his intent to dismantle these kidnappers into the rage a noble kid might feel having been abandoned to die for the sake of a "mere" twenty-four people. "Mother does not expect me back... but a scar would make me look brave."

The axe at his throat falters and the man holding it scoffs. "Is there anything you brats won't turn into a trophy?" His voice is much too gentle considering their circumstances.

"Before I go, take me to them," Byleth calls out to the one leading their group.

And then, even if she thinks the brigands are in for more of a surprise than they are, she snaps her head over to the other voice. "You can't say that!" she hisses, slipping her hand past a blade to wag her finger. Her voice then raises with each word, adrenaline serving as a reasonable substitute for the panic she is supposed to embody: "You... you swore that by having milord here, you would not hurt—!"

"Someone," the leading woman drawls, "take care of her."

"You liars, you cheats—" and the sharp breath is genuine as the flat of a blade is pressed against her back, pushing her toward the double doors at the end of the hall. She spares a knowing glance back at Byleth, wishing him luck through silence, and then back to acting she goes. She spits murmurs under her breath ( "—degenerates, idiots, scum, dirtbags—!" ) before—

A brigand swings the doors open; a brigand still has their blade to her back; and the last brigand swipes his axe upwards, the tip of it nicking Azura in the cheek. She falls into silence past a small gasp, hand reaching over for her face to find scarlet already dribbling out of the wound. Her eyes narrow as she glares, but the brigand only seems to take satisfaction as he gestures to the doors. "Go."

With a huff, she stomps her way through; and although she expects someone to follow, there is the loud bang and click of the doors instead. A glance back, and there are no more brigands (thank the gods); a glance around the room, and she has merely some of the answers she's looking for.

Which was to say, blessed with a lot of pride.

Zasha also knew, unfortunately, that one member of the current company was in fact the actual culprit. Facts line up- their alibis were unchecked, and they were the only three that could have possibly made it to the scene unnoticed.

At first, he hopes that one of them would slip up during their confrontation, but it seems that they were locked in a nonverbal standoff. He doesn't want to be stuck here forever, so he breaks the silence.

“I was outside,” He says, drawing the attention of the investigator. “Flying.”

The investigator glances up incredulously, which naturally draws her eyes to the large pair of black wings. He sees the confusion- the preparation to ask a question followed by a thought that it may be rude, before she simply looks down and begins scribbling again.

“You can probably find a few of my feathers outside, if you’re lucky.”

There. Alibi.

"Someone who can fly!" Sir Marley outbursts, pointing a finger over at Zasha. "Part beast, and you," back at the investigator, "are trying to pin the murder on two people?"

Beatrice opens her mouth as if to say something, but Azura's frown deepens. She glances over at Zasha and his wings — really, they aren't out of the ordinary, considering she had once fought with the wolf known as Keaton — and then at Beatrice as Azura raises her hand. "Pardon me, investigator, but I believe that having wings should not immediately implicate a person in crime."

"I would argue otherwise," Sir Marley retorts. "Someone who can fly is more capable of covering their trail. And if the details of the case were accurate — that there were no footprints found to and from the body — then neither you nor I are capable of doing that. Wouldn't you agree, Lady Azura?"

Gold flickers over to meet Zasha's stare — and although the easy escape from this interrogation has been offered, Azura's gaze narrows at the unease it leaves in her gut. So a pause, and then, her nails dig into the back of her clasped hands.

Selena wasn’t entirely sure yet if she was actually going to be participating in the White Heron Cup—she hadn’t in years prior at least, mostly reserving herself to the sidelines of the event—but she would be lying if she claimed to not have some want to try.

Whether or not that would manifest in actual tryouts was another question (and one she would not be answering yet), but regardless of what she decided, she still wanted to be at least somewhat prepared. (Even if she ended up passing on the opportunity, the ball was a ball—there would still be dance.)

—and that had never bothered her before, but that hardly felt like good reason to remain complacent in her skills. One of her fellow professors—a recent Deer by the name of Azura—was said to be an apt instructor; an offering one also, if the word on the wind was able to be trusted. It is thus that Selena decided to seek her out—just in case, and because there was no real cause not to.

She’s been told to take breaks more often anyhow.

“Excuse me?”

(Her choice of calling, the other found outside the pond, classes since ended for the day.)

“Professor Azura, isn’t it? My name is Selena, also an instructor of the Golden Deer house.” (Holding herself upright, a confidence instilled into her case.) “I’d like to request dance lessons, if you’re willing to give them.”

...and then someone calls her name. Surprise flickers in her eyes as she pivots on her heel to meet ice blue, and even more so at the mention of lessons. Perhaps there has been a misunderstanding here; Azura is not here as a creative arts instructor, instead having turned down such a role — but she hums, blinking for a few moments, before breaking into a soft smile and nodding.

"Professor Selena, a pleasure to meet you." A bow of her head, and then quiet laughter. "What a lovely name — have you met Professor Selena of the Blue Lions, by any chance?"

Then, she pauses. Back to the lessons, and gold glimmers in the sun as she ponders. "I would... be more than willing. Although," her smile grows sheepish, "I would advise keeping this out of the ears of the choir director. I doubt they would be happy to hear this, haha."

But then, why accept?

( Is it because of the way Professor Selena holds herself up when she asks, strength evident through the poise she carries herself with? Is it because as a fellow professor of the same house, Azura is willing to support others however she can? Is it because when she hears Selena, she thinks of herself and the Nohrian retainer enjoying life as if Azura had never died, as if they were still back home in Nohr? )

Still, it was a calm day, and it had brought her out here... breathing in, Hinoka took a moment to try and let the calm flow through her. A task successfully failed though when she saw her. Azura. Her little sister. Not by blood... certainly not by war, but... She approached her pond quietly. How very Azura of her, really... A familiar sight indeed...

It had never been her intent to startle the young woman, but that was precisely what happened. Azura's greeting pained her though. The hesitation gave reason for Hinoka to examin Azura though. The last time that she had seen the blue haired woman, they had been on opposite sides of the war. The last she had heard about Azura, apparently she had disappeared. Yet another ghost, and yet.... this was her Azura. Hers. Not... some other apparent timeline. Not someone who didn’t know her pain. Someone she could forgive... Someone who had believed in Corrin's path to end Garon's reign.

Azura had betrayed Hoshido. But Hinoka found herself caring less about that, especially given the pain it was to think of the other of her family who knew and understood her pain.

Azura was her sister, first and foremost.

"Did our paths diverge so far that you cannot bare refer to me as family anymore... little sister?" Hinoka asked softly, her smile weary and hurting. She held out her hand to Azura.... but took a step into the water. Always she seemed to be calling her sister from the water... this time she stepped into Azura's domain. "The weight of my crown has settled, I hope. I am.... well. But how are you? Corrin told me that you disappeared...?"

...Hinoka saw her as family still, enough to wade into the water — without a second thought nor care for her dress or the sharp cold of the pond. Her dress trailed behind her, puffing up as water lifted blue and white fabric onto its surface, gold reflecting in the bright sunlight. Her hand was raised toward Azura: not waiting for Azura to approach, but instead reaching for her ghost.

But Azura was still family to Hinoka, even if she was dead — or disappeared — and traitorous. Water lapped at her hips as sand washed over her feet, entrapping her further where she stood. She managed a small smile in return, wavering, as she returned the outstretched arm.

"No — you will always be my sister." Sister, spoken firmly despite how soft her affirmation was, but the endnotes of it still trembled. "Forgive me."

( And it isn't clear what she seeks forgiveness for: her betrayal, her failures to save Ryoma and Takumi, the stumble time and time again with sister, the wide-eyed stare that she returned as she stood rooted to the pond. Perhaps all; perhaps something else entirely. )

A pause, as she bowed her head, sinking more of her hair into cold waters. "I am well, too." The question that Hinoka posed, however, could not be easily answered; thus, with a fade of her smile and a shake of her head: "There's no need to worry about me. We're here now, just the two of us again; and I find that more important than the circumstances that brought us here."

Speaking of the staff- who all are in charge of this little event anyway? Or, was it just a free-for-all in terms of who was lending a hand? Sure she knew how to organize an army and weapons stash, but a dance competition? How in the world.. even if she is technically faculty, she isn't cut out for this-----------

IS WHAT SHE'D SAY IF SHE WERE A QUITTER!! MOMMA AIN'T RAISED NO QUITTER! So it is no surprise that Selena strides down to the ballroom to get a jump start on this new assignment. She does need to work to get paid ( and buy those cute pillows she saw at the shop the other day ).

What she comes across does not come as much of a shock to her, and a soft warmth of familiarity settles in her chest. Even if they weren't intimately familiar, having fought side by side in a war bonds you in ways unimaginable- unreplicable. But, that's not important right now. Right now, she's more interested in why the woman was ( seemingly ) alone.

❛ You know, you really need to find another hobby. Surely you have other interests than only performing arts, yeah? ❜

The redhead calls out, a hand on her hip as she makes her own grand entrance before giving a brief glance around the hall.

❛ What are you even doing in here? Trying to get set up for students to audition, or something? ❜

It's the undeniable energy of Selena. A brief reminder of home and familiarity where she had believed there was none — so despite what others would see as insulting, Azura only takes endearment.

"Song is the most enjoyable... hobby." The fact that it can be alluded to mere hobby now feels foreign, clunky to admit; but through the weight in her tongue, she still smiles. "Dance is a close second. So," a tap of her chin, "perhaps you're right. Maybe I do need more interests, hm?"

The squeak that Azura makes is matched with a yelp from Hugh. Given the crowds and the darkness, maybe he should have expected something like this to happen. And maybe he did, just, not to him!

Fortunately, the outfit he wears is fairly dark. It'll be annoying to dry off, but nothing's ruined. The fact that its only water helps, too.

So, in the end, he ends up laughing with her. "Who's idea was it to provide drinks after the lights went down?" He jokes a little with her. "Man, I should've brought the torch staff. I could dry everything way faster that way."

But he doesn't have it with him, so he ends up searching for the next best thing. Plenty of napkins and the like are nearby the refreshments, so it's easy for him to grab some for him and Azura.

It certainly could have been worse — Azura stifles a frown at the thought of something staining like coffee or tea — so at the end of it all, she smiles. "You're right, though. Who thought that this was a good idea? Although, I'd think they wouldn't want us to have fire, either — did you hear about the fire that happened around the corn station? I wouldn't be surprised if they forbade any form of fire magic in the future."

Lachesis reached for her partner's hand with a smile, a freer and more open gesture than she felt she had made in some time. There were few people she thought perhaps to trust with an endeavor like this - it was not that she had known Lady Azura for a terribly long time, or even through trials of duress, but there was a composure and certainty to the other woman that she found comforting with regard to the presence of a stage, and the eyes that came with it.

"Perhaps it was for the good that we practiced earlier." She couldn't admit to feeling a wavering, but the evening had taught her a few things - namely, that while she was in her element with these sorts of social situations, that the element of the thing itself had changed, and that the time she had lost was all the more apparent.

When she squeezed Azura's hand, gently, it was just as much for her own sake as for her partner's.

Gold eyes scanned the crowd as formations of couples and lone dancers began to form and group, and when she saw Finn her gaze creased a bit at the corners, thankful that he could see, as he had wanted, movement and life.

The crease softened bit by bit as he approached further, and her brow pinched in confusion when not only did he not divert his path, but when he - and his partner?? - halted beside them.

"Finn, what are - ?"

The brass brightened, and her grip tightened on Azura's - not panic, but thrown off, the steps now coming by rote rather than from the heart.

What was it from? What was the connection?

Her steps faltered as she tripped over her own partner's shoe, attention drawn too far away for her to be cognizant of her own footwork. "Oh, my apologies," she murmured, head snapping back. Then, laughter as they fell back into time, as she reassured herself and her partner, "Imperfection is sometimes needed to make a performance feel human, don't you think?"

But what was the connection? A person that Lady Lachesis knew to some capacity, someone who she wasn't expecting — perhaps a friend, family, or an enemy; and understanding dawned on Azura's gaze. Just as Azura did by partaking in the Cup, perhaps it would help for Lachesis to forget briefly about the past that followed her, too. Performance was never easy when a cloud lingered above one's head, so Azura needed to pull Lachesis away: not for the competition, but because they both deserved to enjoy this moment without ghosts interfering.

So, a change in their steps it was. "Would you mind following me here?" — and Azura swept her arm into the air to pull Lachesis into a spin, before pivoting them to leave Lachesis' back facing the other duo. A little sloppy, a little strange, but they regained their rhythm eventually, and Azura gave a small smile in hopes of returning warmth where it had been lost.

"A lovely spin, Lady Lachesis — you are a natural."

If Azama knows something, if Azama is here...

Always more questions; never any answers. Life and time are both too strange of concepts for Azura to not linger on the thought, but the girl's disinterest and redirection is noted. An orchid — pink, just like her — is handed over in two outstretched hands.

"Thank you." Pink is lost in a sea of pink, but at least the different petals make for a lovely addition. "I am not much of a fan of dancing." At least, not with her. "But this was very informative as an experience. Thank you."

With all the necessities done, she is quick to leave the dance floor. Quicker, perhaps, than she had moved through the entirety of the dance. Her smile fades as worry begins to pull her expression to a frown.

Will what this Azura knows hurt Shigure, she wonders.

...

azura is watching.

the realization sinks into him as soon as she steps out of line. for though they both know how to veil their emotions with laughter and song, this dance, of all the ones on offer tonight, calls for complete honesty. in the same breath as his realization, however, he forgives her, lets it go---because the mother he remembers had also never been afraid to look, to stare into the depths and wait for them to gaze back.

hadn't it been shigure, instead, who was afraid? watching mother stand by the precipice, knowing she must eventually fall? now, he spins azura away from him, searching for a sliver of crumbling resolve.

what's important now is that he mustn't let it show, not to this woman, who had already suffered so much cruelty. she cannot know that those same depths had eventually claimed him, too. her words settle it in stone, renders the fact as clear as shattering glass----that she is not the mother he had loved, but she is still a woman who loves him.

so though he doesn't believe her words, can't imagine any version of himself that truly would, he lets his smile fall as he knows it ought to. "I... thank you, mother. I can't say it's been easy, but I've missed you a great deal."

clasping her hands as the music draws to a close, he asks, eyes still closed, "would you like to join me for one more dance?"

"i know," she acknowledges, murmured under her breath. then, quieter, with a squeeze of his hands ( perhaps even unspoken, with how the words snag sharply in the back of her pained throat ): "i'm... proud of you — and i would love nothing more than another dance."

the chatter has bloomed around them again in place of the ended waltz, but they stand still in the center of the ballroom floor. azura takes a deep breath, reaching for a stem — smile, smile, — and then forces a small laugh. "although," she lilts, "you can open your eyes now, shigure."

and if he does, he'll see that azura isn't looking into his eyes. her attention is on his shirt as she tries to tuck an orchid in the small crevice between two buttons. but her hands are unsteady as they try, the tremble in the flower reflected in eyes that are glassier than she'd like.

still, she performs: a reassured smile, a soft giggle as the orchid droops in his shirt. my promise, she looks back up, eyes now alight, that i'll never go again.