Liberal use of Elfire

Elfire. A fierce bite, after much preparation. Beautiful, deadly, and absolutely an excessive overkill. 

Mitama nodded and did as he asked, waiting patiently as he prepared for their voyage. Though not her Pent, it would be best to resolve this all as quickly and painlessly as possible, with little influence of her own that might leave a mark. If she need be quiet and obedient, she could do her best.

Her resolve remained strong until she saw the path they would be walking. Dread filled her, as well as a strong urge to simply turn and accept her new life out of time. Surely there had to be another path they could take, one that did not seem so grueling and unpleasant? Unlikely. With a deep sigh, Mitama grit her teeth and did her best to keep pace.

She did not do well. She was already miserable by the time his question was asked, enough that it took a moment to register at all. Which simply brought a new bout of worries. To confess her name might taint the future in which they meet under anonymity. To have her name tied to so unpleasant a memory to him, even if he never suspected her directly, would cause her worry…

“…Setsuna.” She answered finally, with a minute frown. She would apologize to her father’s companion at another time, but really, what were the odds that Pent and Setsuna would ever speak long enough for him to form an opinion of her past this? “And you are Pent, the Not-Yet-Mage-General.”

His steps had been quite steady up until that point. Pent was never quite able to explain it, how the earth always seemed to feel sturdy and whole under his feet, whether it had been the narrow paths cut into the mountain, or the shifting sands of the Nabatan border. More than once, he paused in the descent, waiting for his unexpected charge to catch up.

And then he nearly lost his footing.

“You should not know that,” he hissed, looking up at her sharply. No one should have known that outside of Aquleia’s highest courts. His bid all but secured, it was the least-guarded secret of the courtiers, but even they kept their cards close to their hearts. This girl...

Berkut was silent again. His eyes darted away from Pent’s, not quite toward the ground, but some place just below the sage’s challenging gaze. Not out of shame, but to hide the emotion he could no longer mask as it crossed his features in sporadic bursts.

“I did not give up my own body,” he answered, quiet yet defensive, and then he hesitated. The truth was selfish, and he was not even sure that he could speak it out loud, hear it from his own lips. In Valentia, those who knew of the battle at Duma’s altar knew what he had done as well. They judged him without need of explanation, and in some ways, that was better. He could remain indignant that they judged him unfairly; he could protect himself from hearing the truth.

But what the sage offered him was non-judgement. A sharp, discerning eye, certainly, but Pent had not rebuked him for anything yet, and even allowed the topic to depart. Berkut looked down at his hand. Ambient magic. Duma’s magic. And he could do nothing with it, except watch a few ancient symbols pulse weakly at his touch. Berkut curled his fingers into a fist and dropped his hand to his side.

“My country was at war until recently,” he returned to the topic on his own, choosing his words carefully in the long pauses. “When the enemy invaded our land, and when His Majesty eventually fell, I sought out our patron deity for strength. I saw no other option. Rigel would fall. I could not sit idly by and let that happen.

“In exchange for his power, Duma took my fiancee… but even that was not enough. … I failed. Duma was slain, and his departure from our land took the power he had given me with him.”

As he spoke, his voice grew harder, rougher, and he bit back on the tremble that threatened to undermine his words.

“I have nothing now. No throne. No country. No power.“ Louder, angrier. “Rinea will never come back. Nothing will return to what it once was. But I was left with this―“ He pulled off the glove of his right hand and thrust it between himself and Pent, skin noticeably dark and discolored, as if rotting, even in the dim light. “–to remind me of what a fool I had been to beg the gods for help.”

Even after death, the gods still taunted him, bestowing untouchable, uncontrollable power on an ugly mark for the world to see. Berkut fell silent again, staring distantly at his hand for some time, so long that one would think him finished. But then he spoke again, harking back to a question Pent had asked earlier in their excursion:

“I came to Elibe for guidance…”

It had all sounded relatively reasonable until he said it. Pent’s brows shot up behind the silver of his hair as he stared in some degree of shock. He did what, now? The admission continued to rattle in his head as the man went on with his story. He listened. He really did, but at times, he felt as if his mind had ceased to register the actual words of Berkut’s tale, and simply the angry indignation at being cheated by...

Life? A ‘god’? Himself?

“You had not paid a price; you took a gamble,” he corrected, shaking off the dismay, then able to look at Berkut with more clarity. He still couldn’t quite process what he had been told. “And it turned out poor investment.”

There must have been marriages of convenience there in Berkut’s homeland then. Unions between people so incompatible that the other was disposable, not at all unlike that between Desmond and Hellene. His engagement must have been just such an arrangement; otherwise, how could one possibly--

Pent sighed, dragging one hand down his face... and his rings glinted in the low light. He thought over his words more carefully.

“You have to understand two things,” he began, collecting himself once more. The sage touched one hand to his chest, fingers settling just below the clasp of his cloak in self-gesture. “First, I am a married man. To a woman of my own choice, and who had embraced me in the same regard. I do not claim to understand your circumstance nor your relationship with this woman, nor can I fathom your rationale.” And he supposed that wasn’t a bad thing. For him.

“Second, the Other powers--gods or otherwise, as they may be--do nothing in half-measure.” You got what you paid for. The price for actual power was often much steeper than the life of another. And the fall out... Well. That was of one’s own making.

“Volatile!” A bark of laughter punctuated the very-much-amused echo. The spy’s grin reached ear to ear. ‘Volatile’ was certainly one way to put it. He’d been dealing with that specific combination for so. many. years, now… “Ahem… Don’t float that thought past the young miss, if you please - odds are good she’d make it her mission to see it to fruition some day, and I’m not sure Lycia will ever be prepared enough for that.”

Draping his arms over his knees and tucking them loosely to his chest, he scratched idly at the bit of stubble on his chin. He sized up the mage to his side with a lazy sidelong glance, a single brow arched in question. “Only if you’ve got something to hide, good sir,” he drawled in good-natured jest. (Well, mostly in jest - he’d learned long ago that most, if not all mages enjoyed their secrets).

“Sounds like your Clarine might get along with our Lilina. Sure, she can be agreeable but…” Once she’d set her mind on something… “Were lil’ ladies always so stubborn? Or… is it just their parents to blame here?” A gentle tease, a last grin before he took up a spot of rumination. Not quite brooding, albeit not far removed.

“Watching the young miss grow up makes me wonder sometimes what it’d be like, y'know? Did you… Is it all you’d hoped for?”

Of all people, Matthew probably knew it best; it would be the second generation of Ostian-Pheraen shenanigans, and frankly, Pent didn’t envy him in the least. Neither of them were getting any younger, and if he didn’t know any better, it almost seemed like every successive generation was attempting to out-do the one before. Pent shuddered.

Elibe couldn’t handle a duo out-doing Hector and Eliwood in their prime...

It was no small feat to push the thoughts of more earth-shattering campaigns on the horizon to the side, but Pent supposed they would have to burn that bridge after they crossed it. They’ve had their turn running the world; one day, it would be out of their hands entirely.

“Of course I have things to hide; no self-respecting Etrurian doesn’t.” It was hard to make out just what the grin on his face meant... It remained plastered to his face even as Matthew made his accusations. “But I would have you know that I was a paragon of a child, and am absolutely blameless in Clarine’s disposition.”

Mitama scoffed. She could think of little circumstances where the chance to spin one’s words should not be taken into account. The main one being in the heat of battle, and though young Pent seemed short with her, he hardly seemed about to turn on her while reaching for his tome. “Perhaps you should and make things easier later…” She grumbled to herself.

while he contemplated whatever they needed to have done, Mitama turned and looked over the camp. War as always, it seemed. She lacked the skill to tell what kind of battle she had stepped into. If they were prepared or defending or what. (A haiku sprung the mind and she quickly bit down on any urge to speak the words He had not known the art when they first came in contact. Best to not take any risks of unknown consequences.)

His own words seemed to return to him and she turned to him. Illia. The name meant little to her, whether place or person, so she simply nodded. It was clear she was not from here, but best not to let on as much as she could. “Very well. I assume it best we prepare some and then depart soon? Since you want me gone, I would like to cause as little disturbance as I can at this point.”

He surveyed the grounds. The men would clear out soon. Douglas would report back to King Mordred. Whatever they came with, and whatever they learned, every single piece of it would be returned to Etruria by nightfall. He brushed the ash from his sleeve with a sigh. 

“We will travel lightly; hold a moment, and we can leave.” A pack, some goods, some supplies... He was noble, yes, but he could fend for himself out there. In a ways, he felt almost more comfortable on the road than in the high courts of Etruria... Perhaps once he’s in a more secure position, he would find a way to travel more. With better company than this.

Adjusting the strap of the pack and the fall of his cloak, he returned to the girl and gestured in the direction of the path that would take them to the foot of the mountain, and away they went.

Eirika sipped her tea to hide her smile, but it was still clear in the eyes that peered over her cup’s rim. It always did her heart good to hear Pent talk about Louise. 

She had decided that true love did not exist, before she met him, and he’d changed her mind back without even knowing what he was doing.

“I think you shall have it, if you stop overworking yourself.” 

“Overworking?” The mood lifted, and a more characteristic grin spread across Pent’s face as the last traces of red ebbed. “Why, dear Eirika, the Etrurian Court may have cut years from my life, but in the moment, it does keep one young... or at least, on one’s toes, so to speak.” That was like being young and spry, right?

Tension gave way to easy conversation, interrupted only when a knock sounded on the door. Pent bade her to stay seated--‘I will answer it and inform them that Ephraim would be happy to address whatever has arisen instead’--and opened the door to an unexpected sight.

“Louise.” His voice warmed, and his eyes brightened. And there was no hesitation from either of them, exchanging a kiss in greeting. “No, you are not interrupting anything... Ah. I don’t suppose Her Majesty would object to more company, would she?” 

Though perhaps it was a choice-less question with their hands clasped so.

Pent spoke to his back, even though Berkut had turned away from him in symbolic gesture of deafening his ears to anything more that he had to say; of covering his eyes so that he would not see that which had become his reality. But he listened, quiet yet sullen, his shoulders hunched up as if against the cold while he guarded his wrist.

The sage’s voice echoed off the walls, softer than before, and still somehow entrancing. It was that charisma, that self-assured wisdom that compelled Berkut to stay and heed him, when his escape from the conversation - from discomfort and shame - was in the corridor that stretched ahead in the darkness. Most compelling of all was the sage’s empathy, as if he spoke from his own experience - the same quality which colored his earlier stories.

Long after the silence had settled between them, Berkut finally spoke in a voice both quiet and sharp.

“Why?” The head of a dozen questions he wanted to ask, and yet he could not order the words for any of them. Silence began creeping in again.

“I paid the price.” His voice trembled precariously, though he fought to hold it steady and controlled. “And in the end, I still lost everything. All except this― this mark.”

He exhaled carefully and then turned around to face Pent. His eyes were hard, his expression suddenly calm and stony.

“Tell me, Sage: Did you know? Can mages like yourself see it?” Were you just toying with me all this time?

“I paid the price.”

Pent looked him over from head to toe and frowned. “Did you?” Men had sacrificed their entire being for power, and yet Berkut seemed still very... Berkut. Perhaps he was looking in the wrong place, but whatever the youth had paid, it was obviously not enough to buy him what he was looking for. “And just what was that, exactly? You stand before me now, here on your own volition. Your body remains whole; your faculties, your own.”

But maybe that wasn’t the point.

His eyes were back on him again, accusatory and searching. Pent yielded nothing; he had nothing to hide. If Berkut didn’t like that he found then... There wasn’t anything Pent could do if one found the truth unsatisfactory. It didn’t stop it from being the truth.

“No. It is quite inert.” He shrugged, tone matter-of-fact and level. “A unidirectional thing, if you will. Given that it is of foreign origin, it may be possible that it is masking itself--such magic is not unheard of. But more likely, the magic has been sealed, whether intentionally or not, and directly or not.”

“Dormant as it may be, it still resonates with ambient magic... Such as the ruins.” Pent paused for a second, attempting to illustrate the idea. “It is to us as the wind: invisible, but its presence revealed through the environment. Simply in this case, unpredictable, as you apparently have no control over it.”

He certainly took his time with his prize. Whatever was contained within the cloth was kept from her sight. That was fine with Mitama. It was none of her business to intervene on what was meant to be.

Mitama raised an eyebrow at his remark and scoffed. Pent or not, at the present moment, he looked her age and acted a brat. She was almost reminded of a certain egotistical prince and her frown deepened. She would have to thank Pent, when she returned to her proper point in time, for not aging into an older and awful Berkut. “Has anyone told you yet that crafting words is not your strongest tool?”

“A key…” Mitama tapped her fingers against her staff. “Some sort of link then, from here to my world?” That…was not out of the question. She could easily find something to manage such a connection. “That will not be a problem. My next question then; how far are we to the nearest of these shrines?” She could not remember any detailed mention of Bern, just that Etruria was coastal and wherever they were was decidedly not.

“Or simply the circumstance does not call for such an effort,” he retorted in turn. It was not the court. His life was not going to be jeopardized here by a careless word, nor was there anything to be gained from a girl he was never going to meet again--a girl who shouldn’t have been there in the first place. Crafted or not, other choice words came to mind, but he stayed his tongue.

‘They are also human,’ a voice chided in his head, bidding him to reign himself back. Why was he upset with her? She had barged into an otherwise flawlessly executed operation; it reflected poorly, and Sir Douglas witnessed it. Why did that matter? Because he cared what Douglas thought, and now he was saddled with an inconvenience, travelling across the ass-end of Etruria and about to enter an equally backwater part of Bern.

‘But that was not of her choice,’ he reasoned after a moment of silent fuming, and with a frustrated shake of his head, swallowed whatever reply he had left. He was taking it out on her.

She relaxed somewhat at the knight’s words. It was odd to think that the stranger was more like the Pent she knew than the one standing close to her. She glanced at the youth curiously. She wondered what in his life would be the thing to soothe him into the count she had met.

She remained quiet through the rest of their exchange. She had never heard Pent speak of the man before, and found herself lost at what to make of it. Especially when a gift was thrown Pent’s way and his cheeks flushed darkly, unless..

Ah. Pent had never spoken to her of his wife, but she knew the man a father. Lady Louise, whoever she may be, suddenly seemed a clear candidate for such a position. Mitama had to bite her lip and duck her head to keep the amusement from showing on her face.

The sound of the general departing filled the air between them. When her composure managed to return, she raised her head once more and refocused on her…supervisor? Whatever Pent was to be, she had to approach this with caution. She had never traveled through time in such a way before. But this man was not supposed to know her yet. She wondered what consequences her actions on this day might have.

She cleared her throat. “And so, sir. I was told to follow you, but I am curious where that may lead now that your goal has shifted from detainment.”

Either Douglas had not left the capital all that long ago, or Louise had scented the cloth with some rather high-quality perfume. And somewhere under the distinctive floral notes was a hint of sugar. A treat then. Pent pocketed it hastily, both to protect the goods for a time he could enjoy it by himself, and acutely aware that Mitama had been watching--of course she had been--as she made her presence known again.

“Shifted? This is detainment,” he replied dryly. Stuck as an unwilling warden. Somehow, he figured this would have happened whether or not he had pushed the issue with Douglas. Regardless of his opinion of it, the knight had been right, in a way. There was no way to get rid of her back in Aquleia without things ending with a blade, and without oversight breathing down his neck, both of them had more breathing room to work. “Just a different sort.”

But where to begin?

“A-ahh…” Eliwood stumbled, raising a hand to his cheek, touching the tender skin delicately in a sheepish motion. Rather than casting his eyes out to the sea, he instead focused on the sky above them, which was muddled with clouds. Yet through them, there was a small patch of the dense cotton that had separated, revealing a patch of stars. They shined brightly, resilient despite the gloom that surrounded them. Seeing those few stars brought a smile to his lips. It reminded him of hope; a lesson his father had ingrained in his very being ever since he were a child.

“My heart has not changed direction, at least, that is how I feel. I am still quite inexperienced…fearful of what is to come, doubtful of my capabilities,” The ginger-haired lord began, his eyes lively, “but if there is hope, there is possibility. If you believe in something enough, then chance is more likely in your favor. ‘The undertaking of a new action brings new strength.’ My father burned those words into my memory.”

He paused, before laughing, “I am certain I sound greatly optimistic, right? I am quite aware of my idealism and I recognize the gazes of those who are skeptical–and they have accurate suspicions. I am often told I am merely a lordling with his head in the clouds…completely naive to the workings of the world. But, by St. Elimine, it takes change to shift the workings of the world, is it not?“

“Ah, I digress,” He shook his head, refocusing his thoughts, “I believe he is faltering. From what I understood, Ninian was necessary to his plot…but he allowed me to slay her in deceit. I cannot fathom what purpose that was to serve.”

He couldn’t say he was convinced. Not in the least. But at this dire hour, there was enough questioning without him adding to it. Exhaling slowly, Pent carefully schooled his expression to something safer--more neutral--before Eliwood could catch a glimpse of his own skepticism and confirm his suspicions.

“Or losing himself. Nergal was dabbling in ancient, forgotten magic... And such things are not always lost due to circumstance and chance; at times it is intentional.” Deemed too dangerous to the practitioner or society at large, some schools of magic have been pushed to the outskirts of conventional practice. Canas, skilled as he were, would have been too familiar with the costs of such ancient crafts. Men have drawn too much from the well and found themselves falling in head first. “If that is the case, then perhaps he no longer has any more understanding of his goals than we do.”

“Now that’s a motto to live by,” he said with a wide grin, a one he wore half thanks to the count’s ever sharp wit and half in response to how labourious a task getting up here had apparently been. Hardly immune to the passage of time himself, Matthew wasn’t quite there yet. Another few years, maybe.

Retirement sounded nice, some days. Other days, he didn’t dare dream of it. ‘He’d quit when he was dead.’ Which could have happened many times over the years, in truth. By some miracle, he persisted.

“That’s young Lady Lilina herself, yes, you’ve got the right of it.” Knotting his hands together and setting his chin atop them, he looked down on the yard with a gleam in his eye. “Headstrong like her pa, but she’s a kind lass with a good head on her shoulders. However… when you’ve really gotta keep an eye out is when Pherae’s boy stops in.” A formidable duo, those two.

He gave a brief, pensive hum. “Heard Castle Reglay’s been similarly busy of late?”

There was a difference between hearing about it and seeing it for himself, an almost surreal quality. The longer he watched her, the greater the similarity there seemed to be between father and daughter. The same vibrant blue tresses, the same open laughter, and the same unabashed enthusiasm for whatever it happened to be they were doing. 

(In this case, it appeared to be making Elibe’s longest flower garland, but who even knew.)

“Given her father’s track record, I could hardly be surprised. Saint, House Pherae and Ostia have ever been a.... Volatile combination.” he quipped. “One day she will don her father’s armour and bear his axe, and then all of Lycia will see.” (Joke was on him, when one day, a red and blue bundle arrived in Aquleia for schooling. They were, squarely, Cecelia’s problem then on.)

The sage was like the animated storytellers that gathered crowds during festivals to recount fantastical tales of history and myth, and Berkut was like the enthralled child who sat in wonder at the flames of candles that danced on command. His voice echoed off the stone walls with the pride of a man who truly could make the world bend to his will, of one whose independence was rooted in cooperation, not solitude, and Berkut found it contagious. He wanted that. His own independence, however, was self-centered, poisoned by a need to be better than his peers.

A poison which suddenly pulsed out through the blue runes on the wall before him, a reminder, a bucket of icy water that brought him back to the reality he tried to hide and forget with proud lies and overconfidence. He looked at his hands pressed against the wall, and then to Pent, speechless, frightened, confused. And faintly, hurt. The expression on the sage’s face was expectant. He was no longer the festival magician who helped children pretend that they, too, could control fire. He had sensed something and now sought truth.

Berkut recoiled sharply and turned away - from Pent and from the wall both. An audible exhale preceded his answer.

“I’ve no reason to explain myself to you.” He rubbed his wrist and stared stonily into the darkness ahead. “If you don’t believe me, then so be it.”

“What would you explain even if you had reason to do so?” He doubted that Berkut even understood what had happened to him. The end-result, yes, but the means? The mechanisms? The being who left him so marked? Pent knew that both of them would walk away with more questions than answers... But would that truly be so bad?

“I know it is other to you. You do not feel magic as I do.” It could not have been an act, back at the Anchor, for Berkut to be deaf to the stone. Flippant. Even walking into the ruins, the youth was unaware of the ancient magic that still hummed in the walls, quiet and dim. He could not feel it. That... thing. A focus? A scar? Pent looked from Berkut’s wounded expression down to his wrist, held protectively out of view. “It is exogenous. Whatever this is that you carry, you do not command it.”

“But you sought it out, did you not? Whether or not you knew what you had asked for... Just as today. It would seem that the last time was not so kind to you as now,” he continued. He didn’t wait for Berkut to defend himself; there was no need. His own expression softened and eased to something more neutral. “But you would not be the first to do so--to look too deep and find the cost steeper than you were willing to pay. Elibe is no stranger to such stories either.”

The tone of the younger made her bristle. She found it hard to believe, whatever shenanigans the gate had decided to pull, that this could possibly be Pent in any timeline. He was rude and brash. Hardly anything like the man she had met.

The other man seemed much more polite. Useful too. He ensured her safety so easily. Mitama relaxed a tad. Even if the so called Pent seemed displeased with the idea, he did not seem eager to displease his companion either. The man’s gaze moved to her and, polite as she could muster, Mitama curtsied. “Thank you, sir. I appreciate your kind concern.”

Granted, she still did not know where she stood. Pent’s letters had spoken of a war ended. Younger Pent here seemed to still be in the throes of battle. War caused all kind of tensions. There was no guarantee that this man’s word would truly keep her safe.

“If I may, sir.” She began slowly. “If there are any injured following the battle, I would be pleased to aid with their tending to. I am grateful for the…aid of your young companion, but I would gladly be willing to do my part for my stay, however long it may be.”

The knight had a easy, booming laugh, and raised a hand for her to be at rest. “Don’t worry about things like upkeep. Lord Pent’s mages are self-sufficient. Just concern yourself regarding getting home safely. Etruria’s safe, but lingering here is not in your best interest... Skirmishes like these are not the norm.”

So something unusual had been happening in the nation’s outskirts. The tensing of Pent’s shoulders only confirmed what Douglas described, clearly uneasy with the on-going situation.

“With all due respect, these circumstances are exactly why she should be brought back to the capital for ques--”

“Lord Pent, your men may return with mine to Aquleia, so that you can focus on returning this girl.”

The finality of his words were not lost on the sage, and the two exchanged a look before Pent acquiesced with a sigh. “I will report back on my own return.”

That seemed to satisfy the knight. He turned, nodding to the girl. “Lord Pent can be... abrasive, but if anyone can resolve this, it would be him,” and with that, he untied his mount and made to leave, but not before pausing. “Ah. Lady Louise sends her regards, by the way.”

The words certainly got Pent’s attention, looking up sharply just in time to fumble and catch a small parcel thrown in his direction. A small little bundle: something in crinkly paper and carefully pressed violets wrapped in a thin handkerchief.

(The embroidery was atrocious.)