prelude to a heroic tale.

Nikola felt too old. She was in her nineties, and had been rushing around her room frantically trying to pick out a dress for her date with a person so interesting they had to be in the highest of demands. She had narrowed it down between her old A-line dress from the 2000s and one from a couple of years ago that she had been taking to events. On one hand, she knew she looked stunning in the old one, but perhaps there was too much chest visible, and perhaps it was too frilly…but the second was practically an evening gown—far too fancy for a casual first date in the middle of the day. 

Her alarm went off for the third time in the past half hour, a recording of Mophead’s voice reminding her that tardiness was the devil’s hand or something of the sort, she had long since drowned it out as mere noise. She glanced at the time on her phone, tossed haphazardly on her bed on top of a pile of unchosen garments, hissing through her teeth when she saw it. She had to be on the train in 45 minutes and here she was in her undersized chemise still undecided on clothes.

She tossed both candidates on the ground, grabbing the dress from the top of the discard pile. It had been her third choice—she thought it perhaps too simple, when Cerydra would surely show up in something perfectly elegant and fitting, but Nikola always believed it was best to err on the side of simplicity. Complexity was for mechs, not clothing.

She pulled the dress, an amaranth piece with a high waist and a light circle skirt that tickled her thighs as she moved, over her chemise. Tugging on a pair of white stockings and slipping into comfortable black Mary Janes, she grabbed her off-white handbag and practically ran out the door, her hair, brushed out and undone, waving behind her. It was a youthful look, Nikola mused, perhaps not the sort of image she was going for, and perhaps in poor taste at her age, but importantly, it was complete and it was fast.

First a train ride, using technology even she, the prodigy, didn’t understand, took her to the Xianzhou Luofu in nearly no time at all. She caught her breath as she traveled, resting on the bright cushions that lined the sides of her car, twirling her hair through her fingers and trying to plan for possible scenarios. 

She wouldn’t be late, or if so, barely, but what if that was too much, and Cerydra found it offensive? What could Nikola do then? Confidence and status might save her back home, but Cerydra radiated security while Nikola’s neuroticism was visible to anyone with the courage to look too long. That wouldn’t work. Maybe an apology would do.

And what if she seemed uneducated? She probably was, having barely been off her planet, knowing nothing about the ship or its books. Perhaps Cerydra saw her as someone more like Mophead, able to somehow instantly make sense of any situation. Nikola found it inevitable that she would disappoint Cerydra somehow, anyway, so this wasn’t too much of a concern. The question was only what she would do when it happened.

As soon as the train reached its stop, Nikola sat up and almost sprinted for the doors. Nearly no time wasn’t the same as none, and she had a matter of minutes to make it to the bookshop on a ship she had never visited. Pulling her gauntlet out of her handbag and turning it on, not even bothering to wear it, Nikola pulled up a map of the ship. Her destination was down a lot more stairs than it was up. Relieving. She skipped down all the flights of stairs two at a time, holding her hair away from her eyes with the back of her hand.

The light was dimmer here than where she had disembarked. Whatever environmental controls they were using, it created a beautiful effect. The dark blue of the clouds contrasted with the glowing orange lights of the shops, and Nikola imagined that if she were a painter she would have no choice but to create a masterpiece, and, of course, Cerydra would be the centerpiece. 

Nikola forced her steps to slow as she gazed at her date for a moment. The light from her phone bathed her face in a subtle blue, matching the shadows cast by the sky. The yellow of the lamps backlit her in a way that made it seem like she herself was glowing, a projection of flesh and color and movement.

   It was different, compared to how biting her skin felt when they had been on Belobog. Back then it was still as inviting as her skin felt now, only at that point it was an invitation that felt reminiscent of Hyperborean winters, rather than the reminiscence of Okhema’s warm embrace that Cerydra felt now. Cerydra basked in that warmth, allowing her thumb to run against the dorsal of Nikola’s hand. She was radiant, in outfit choice and warmth, and for a moment there was a curiosity of whether or not Cerydra was worthy of someone putting up this much effort for her, of all people. 

   Bowing, Cerydra’s lips pressed against NIkola’s hand, and for the fleeting moment she allowed herself to linger, and for her senses to take in all that was necessary, and all that she wanted. Nikola’s scent was sweet, another sign of the effort she put forth for today’s outing. It was something that made Cerydra feel as though this date had been worth its weight in gold, regardless of what they may find themselves up to next. But, they had plans, and such plans could not be wasted on kissing the back of another’s hand. Standing upright, Cerydra smiled – “that was for your letter. Thank you for thinking of me, but I hope you understand that my answer remains to be as such; you are more than enough of a present.”

   Still holding onto Nikola’s hand, the smallest part of the Imperator’s core fearing that if she let go, this date would be over in a snap, Cerydra turned to the various book stalls. “Now, we’re to do a book crawl, yes? Would you care to tell me what it is you’re interested in reading? I’d love to hear you speak more on your various interests, if you’ll allow me to listen.”

   It was a completely different beast entirely to do all of this with romantic intention. 

   Of course, it was difficult to tell whether or not the fascination that steadily built-up surrounding her fiery new friend (@morescreentime) was mere respect or romantic attraction, but she did think that Nikola was endearing. Perhaps Cerydra simply appreciated a woman who knew what she was talking about, or a person who was utterly skilled in every way they could be. Goodness knows the Imperator had a storied history spanning ad infinitum with one such an individual. 

   Or perhaps, the Imperator was starved, in such a meaningful way that simply doing what the Xianzhou natives referred to as a ‘book crawl’ was her way of coming to grips with… something. And, Nikola was of the scientific sort as well. Perhaps Cerydra would be able to simply listen on as she speaks of whatever scientific boundaries the Xianzhou natives crossed. Anything to hear her voice, really; her words had been pleasing to the Imperator’s ear. So much so, that this date could very well end up being Cerydra listening, not so much as offering anything of significance to her words, and it would still have been a success in her heart. 

   But musing over how things could be when they haven’t happened yet was pointless. Cerydra arrives where they are meant to meetup, close by to a popular bookstore aboard the Xianzhou Luofu. She checked herself, ensuring that her outfit – different from the dress that Cerydra typically donned, now replaced with an outfit that even Dux Goldweaver would appreciate – had been okay. She had even gone out without her flaming crown; after all she was here as Cerydra of Hyperborea, rather than the Imperator of Amphoreus, the Monarch of Law. Frilly titles were meaningless, especially in the face of one who agreed to call Cerydra by simply… her name. 

   Now was the time to play a waiting game. Taking out her teleslate from her coat’s pocket, Cerydra began to stand idly, appearing busy in a way that wouldn’t spoil the book crawl to be; she didn’t want to get ahead of herself just yet.

Nikola pulled her coat tighter, trying to smother the bottom half of her face in the collar alongside her ramblings. “Anyway.” The fabric muffled her voice to near unintelligible levels. “We’ll find something.” She thought she could feel her hand start to tremble. “Come on, no need to dawdle.”

She stepped forward, trying to project confidence even while the cold bit at her more and more every moment. The holes in her coat were starting to get to her, ice-cold wind on skin already angry from burns wasn’t the nicest feeling. Maybe the museum tavern would be good enough because it was closer. Nikola just wanted to be inside…and drinking…maybe she could ask a local. Maybe she should have thought of doing that while they were still being warmed by the fire…

   Cerydra is brought out of these thoughts, as Nikola calls her to attention, and all she does is continue to follow as she already had been. Though, now that the Imperator pays closer to Nikola’s body language, she realizes that the Doctor shivers. ‘Hm, this weather is biting, that’s true.’ Cerydra, shuffling closer to Nikola, begins to push her cloak open. “Nikola would you like to joi-” 

   But, she is cut off by a question of literacy, and her curiosity causes the Imperator to face the sign in question. Though, as she tries to read it, it becomes clear (rather quickly at that) that the written language of Jarillo-VI differs substantially from that of Amphoreus. “Unfortunately, no, I do not. It would seem that Jarillo-VI’s- or at least Belobog’s- written language differs from my own. However…” Her eyes trail away from the sign, following where each place would lead. Up ahead, she could vaguely see the Museum’s impressive structure- and people heading in that direction in rather proper regalia. “It really would seem that the Museum might be a good call for our drinking needs… After all, I do also believe they host a party after hours.”

Hysilens already knows something is wrong the moment the Imperator states that they will be heading into the Vortex of Genesis. Hardly any living being enters such a sacred place- aside from the fact that only a few many enter anyway. This is where those chosen by golden blood come to stand trial, and where most walk away with a new title and abilities. But.. they can't shake the feeling that things will not go down so smoothly as the Imperator barely glances their way as they enter the chamber of Titans.

❛ ... Might I ask what we are doing here? ❜

Their voice comes out neutral, hiding how on edge the siren is. Remaining calm has always been one of their strong suits, but now.. it feels like a blessing in disguise, because they are terrified of the answer.

   Of course, the nerves were mere assumptions – ones borne from an understanding unique to them and them alone. She wanted to steal those presumed nerves, and call them to a grinding halt. To tell Helektra that they had no reason to worry, even though Cerydra knew far too well that they had every reason to worry. 

   The Imperator couldn’t face her blade, despite the unseen stage directions demanding her to do so. The immersion in this plan would falter, and break far before the Imperator would be ready, and far before the tragedy calls for it. “Dux Gladiorum.” Her voice is still, a similar calm to Helektra’s own. It was easier to maintain when she chooses to not look at them. “Thank you for meeting me in the Vortex of Genesis.”

   Cerydra looks down at her own hands. They’re clean, but unseen to the naked eye was blood, stained between each and every crack and crevice of the Imperator’s hand. Golden stains that muddied the hands, unable to be washed though never to be seen. The sin Coreflame of Law ordained her hands to be forever stained with this blood, for as long as she remained to live. She looks up, straight ahead, still away from the blade that stood behind her with their nerves. 

   “I am to complete my trial, and become the Demigod of Law. For that, I need your help with the final step.” With a deep breath, Cerydra turns, finally facing her blade with her arms crossed, as ordained by the instructions of their shared tragedy. “That is why I called you here, Helektra.”

Apparently there was something going on with something called the Fragmentum, and Layla still had no clue what that was. She had been too busy helping out with the Solwarm Festival and, tying into that, trying not to keel over from social anxiety.

But the festival was over now. Layla could comfortably go home, take a week or two to recharge, and work on her schoolwork. Even before she went back to Teyvat, she could drink some more of Belobog's hot chocolate and maybe even learn the recipe. The tired woman didn't think she'd ever even get the time to make some of her own, but she could dream.

She could just relax.

She should have just been able to relax.

But nope! That was apparently too much for the already overworked woman to ask for, because now she got dragged into something that she had nothing do to with, Archons damnit! Layla could roll with the punches though (and hopefully she wouldn't get punched).

"So ah... what are we supposed to do again?" Layla asked the light blue haired woman who dragged her into this situation. As Layla asked, she quietly held her textbooks, comparing their weights as she tried to determine which would hurt more as a weapon.

Layla prayed that the Akademiya still did free textbook replacements.

    She looks the scholar up and down, studying what she can at a glance. ‘Nervous, much like Dux Carminum, though she was far more equipped for a battlefield, and far less tired. A bit frail, though likely sharp of mind if she is a scholar, not too dissimilar to Dux Helkolithist or even Dux Sagax. A tedious situation…’ Her scrutiny yields further concern rather than any sort of conclusivity. 

   Clearing her throat, “we are to push back the stragglers amongst the Fragmentum.” With confidence, Cerydra approaches the young woman, her arms still in their crossed position. Soon, the Imperator is right before the scholar, looking up to meet her nervous gaze. Without breaking their eye-contact, the Imperator unfurls her arms, picking up the thickest of the tomes in her arms. “If you are not properly equipped, then it is not a poor idea to use whatever you have at your disposal for the sake of battle. However, you are still free to bow out, should you be too scared to dive headfirst into the jagged maw of combat.”

   This was the nicest way Cerydra could find it in herself to demand that this woman departs. Direct enough to insinuate that the scholar before her was not fit for battle, but indirect enough so as to not snuff whatever embers of confidence reside within the fragility of her nerves. However, should the scholar choose to continue, then it would be Cerydra’s call to command her as she saw fit, even if it means employing more cutting words. 

And she meant it. She really had nothing else going on, why not induldge herself? It was then that Ei realized: she had no idea how to refer to her.

   Curiously, Cerydra cocks her head, curious at her opponent-to-be’s subtle hints of nervousness. Of course, the nerves themselves were of little surprise to the Imperator; after all, in her heyday, even her title alone brought fear into those who heard it. One with enough wits about them wouldn’t dare challenge a tyrant brazenly, and even those who had lacked the chutzpah to follow through when met face to face with the Flamebearer. The curiosity, in this case, stemmed from what about the Imperator brought nerves to a stranger mere moments after meeting. 

   “The Raiden Shogun… quite the title you carry.” She chuckles, leaning forward ever slightly, a hand resting on her chin. Whoever this stranger, this Raiden Shogun, had been, she clearly carried some amount of power. Every passing moment, Cerydra found herself agreeing more with her initial judgment of the Raiden Shogun’s presence. “If we are to stick with titles, then refer to me as the Imperator. Of course, you’re allowed to be a little more personable with me, if you so choose. In which case, call me Cerydra.” 

   Perhaps providing this woman with a true name would ease whatever nerves stirred within her heart. That wasn’t the Imperator’s goal, merely a welcomed consequence of it. She just simply thought it would be easier to provide her true name, were they to communicate over a game of chess. She wasn’t looking to force someone from beyond the skies to bend the knee to her will and power.

   At least, not yet. That would come later.

The bottom unseen in the pitch black darkness that Kinich stares into must be a long way down. And he can’t help but want to throw himself into it without any of the assistance those surrounding the pit are offering. And despite not being terribly familiar with Liyue’s terrain. Kinich’s work took him all over Natlan, but he tried not to leave the protection of the flames of his homeland if he could help it. Liyue was awfully far; far from the phlogiston that carried the fiery spirit of his people.

But a job was a job, and the mora was mora all the same, no matter how far from home he was.

A piercing voice cuts through the quiet fog of his thoughts, an overeager dragon taking a chance to batter his tiny fists against the young man, “KIIIIIIINIIIIICHHHHH you can’t possibly be thinking of jumping in there like this! And if you are, I hope you hit your head and die on the way down!”

Ah, Ajaw… praying for his downfall as per usual. Kinich scoffs softly, grabbing the dragon’s tail and yanking as hard as he can to shut his loudmouthed companion up.

“As much as I’d love to do exactly that, I’m not sure our friend here would appreciate being dragged along like that,” He turns an emerald and amber gaze on a rather small woman who had arrived at the mouth of the Chasm shortly after he did, and while he’s not certain of her purpose here, he can see her foreign nature clear as day. No need to drag her into the thrill seeking nature of a Scion of the Canopy on what seemed to be a simple search and rescue - though, it was one with a pretty paycheck attached to it, “You seem like you’d prefer to take the more cautious route down instead of jumping in head first.”

   Fortunately, or unfortunately depending on who one may ask, Cerydra was not acting as a commander in chief. 

   Her curious thoughts are cut short by the incessant shrill of her companion’s pet, causing Cerydra to snap her head in their direction. ‘How dare that tiny subordinate… to wish death upon its superior… pathetic.’ As she opens her mouth to admonish the tiny creature, though, she chuckles instead, watching her companion yank the creature’s tail. ‘Fascinating.’ 

   As Cerydra’s companion turns to face her, assessing (correctly, if the Imperator were to add) that Cerydra was prepared to take a more safe route, she nods. For a moment, though, she could swear that there was a hint of disappointment in the young man’s tone. Mayhaps it was her own imagination. “You are correct, diving in head first would be… unfavorable to me. However,” she did already decide to explore the unknown without a proper plan in her back pocket. Sometimes planless actions were welcomed. “If you can promise my safety, I wouldn’t be opposed to diving head first. Plus, regardless of what your little… creature says, you seem capable enough to reach the bottom uninjured.” Her words were honest, after all the Imperator was proper in the way of assessing the skills of warriors and the like at a glance. A leader must have a good eye for these things, and as the leader of many her eye was far better than most. 

   The glimpses she caught of the cats roaming, and the people partaking in some sort of unfamiliar merriment (‘what manner of game are they playing…?’) made Cerydra’s gaze sharpen. She wouldn’t say it out loud, regardless of her not being in Mondstadt with anyone who would care, but the Imperator desperately wanted to enter the tavern. 

   She just didn’t know what to say, who to talk to, what to do. For someone so outgoing, she was stunned in the face of such an unfamiliar environment. 

   Passersby mutter, questioning the Imperator’s curious stare. Some wonder if she’s lost, or simply unfamiliar with Mondstadt - “Maybe she’s not from here?”, some muse aloud – but none so much as interrupt the intimidating individual’s gaze into the Cat’s Tail. None, other than the individual herself, of course.

   Cerydra shakes her head, ‘standing out here will do me naught but stir further curiosity.’ Turning around, perhaps too quickly, or without paying much attention (rather uncharacteristically at that), the Imperator bumps into another. “Tch!” She stumbles back, readjusting her crown before getting a good look at the presence before her. “My apologies. It appears as though I wasn’t paying attention…” Allowing herself a closer look at the person, Cerydra takes a mental note of their shared visage. ‘How peculiar…’ To see someone with a resemblance much akin to her own, and so very far away from Amphoreous as well… “Are you also going to enter the Cat’s Tail? If so, may I walk in alongside you…?”

This predictably woke Lynette up, being the light sleeper she is, and creeping through the halls she found her brother, Lyney, sniffly and sick.

On any other day this wouldn’t be a problem, Lynette would stay home, make sure Lyney was well taken care of. Unfortunately today was not like any other day.

This was the day of one of their biggest shows, and as much as Lynette would like to skip, that simply wasn’t possible. See, they were tracking a person of interest to the House of the Hearth, who just so happened to book today’s show. Who knew how long they would stay in town? There was no choice.

The show must go on, with or without Lyney.

The performance was in the afternoon, and all day Lynette has been practicing tricks.

Sure, she was an equal to Lyney in almost every way in terms of raw talent, but she very rarely took centre stage, and now unless Lyney made a miraculous recovery, she would be forced to take that role.

There was another matter that needed tending too.

Any good magician needs a reliable assistant, the other half to their flashy tricks, the hand behind the scenes.

But where would she find a magician’s assistant? And how could she train them in less than a day! She couldn’t just pick someone up off the street, and hope they had some latent talent… could she?

On her 15 minute break Lynette hurried out of the theatre, and scanned the crowd. She had to be flawless in her judgement.

   She walks away from a stand, having bought something the Fontanian’s call a ‘croissant’, when her eyes suddenly begin darting around, a shiver down her spine; it felt as though the Imperator was being watched, even as one amongst a crowd of passersby. Typically, one feeling as though they’re being pierced by watchful eyes would chalk the feeling up to misplaced paranoia. Unfortunately, Cerydra was not one who the world, and even those beyond, would consider ‘typical’. 

   The Imperator began to wade through the crowd, keeping a keen eye out for who, or what could be watching her as she chewed on the croissant in her hands. It was very tasty, far more flaky and buttery than she had expected it to be. She wanted to savor the bite, but the concern surrounding being watched took priority. 

   Cerydra’s eyes follow the faces of the crowd as she passes through, following them as they walk in a vague direction towards a sort of large building. Her ears pick up on murmurs of some sort of performance upcoming soon, and the crowd of people she follows alongside funnels into a particular building, while Cerydra stands outside; ‘who has the audacity…’ As the crowd thins, her eyes fall on the panicked visage of a young woman in some sort of gaudy attire. The attire did not matter, though, as the Imperator approaches her. 

He blinked, slightly confused. Commanding support…? Well, it could be a common thing here, whatever it was… No time to discuss its meaning, however, he rushed forward. 

“I see, thank you for your aid.”

As if he were a flurry of winds, he struck these monsters with remarkable ease. Though their base was of Cryo nature, very little could withstand his winds. Anemo rushing in the palms of his hands, he leapt into the air, crushing some of the monsters as he descended. 

She cracks her knuckles, ‘the time for pondering what-ifs shall come later.’ Like a performance, Cerydra twirls her implement, a spectral Rook smashes through the enemy. The battlefield becomes her chessboard, as it always does – where she controls the pieces that dismantle the Destruction before her. She runs to the warrior’s side, a hand holding a spectral pawn finding their shoulder. “Fight for me, warrior.” As the words leave her lips, the pawn between the Imperator’s fingers becomes gold before disappearing. Her command bolsters strength, a means to push forth a battle that she intended to win. 

Another creature of the Fragmentum tries to close the distance, and with a loud crack, Cerydra’s staff makes impact with the enemy’s leg. It keels over, and she dispatches it with a final slam of her staff. ‘A bloody fight until the end, even when there are only two warriors on a battlefield.’

Soon, the flood of enemies dissipates, and two combatants are left alone in the aftermath. The Imperator pants, exhilarated from the battle, as she turns to face the warrior that fought alongside her. “You carry a great skill. Pray tell, what do you understand about our enemy? I doubt that this will be the last of them, thus whatever knowledge we carry will be that which spares us in the long run.” 

It was a simple question – though one the Imperator didn’t expect much of an answer to. This warrior didn’t seem to have been from Belobog, if their outfit was indicative of anything. However, as far as she had been aware, they could’ve been well-traveled. Maybe they’ve fought ‘Fragmentum’ in the past, and that would benefit the pair down the line, as Cerydra said. ‘Who knows.’ 

   To those discussing Mr. Kough’s death, it was obvious that he was a fairly disliked, shady man amidst the general populi. His clear murder itself was quite justified, if not a bit garish in the methodology. However, to do so under the nose of the Supreme Guardian, when such a matter should be her right, was of great disrespect to her. Cerydra was keen to tell the murderer as such, and in order to be able to do so she needed to solve the murder itself. 

   Whether circumventing the Silvermane Guards because of another’s disrespect was disrespectful in itself was a question that Cerydra was not willing to answer for herself at the moment. Finding the answer to such a question would stall her from meting out Law. 

   So, Cerydra was weaving through a crowd of people, trying to make her way outside of the city – the crime scene had been at the Snow Plains, after all. Her thoughts were circulating, trying to ascertain a who in this matter. ‘The why is obvious. They didn’t like Mr. Kough so they dispatched him – that makes the who far more of an annoyance to determine…’ As her thoughts vary, possibilities swimming through like schools of fish through the vastness of the ocean, her eyes catch onto a young girl in similar contemplation – another walking towards the city gates. ‘Hm.’

   She doesn’t immediately call out to the girl, the possibility of her thoughts being elsewhere had been far too likely for Cerydra to take the risk. Instead, though, she chose to walk next to the girl, all the way outside the city walls. It works out, after all Cerydra was already on her way out. Yet, as she and this curious girl continue in the same direction, it grows ever clear that they may be going in the same direction. “Excuse me,” Cerydra speaks without fanfare, “Are you heading towards the crime scene? If so, it would behoove us both to make haste alongside one another. Doubtful that just a singular individual would be permitted to take a look at the scene.”

No, it had been that look in her opponents eyes that brought intrigue to Cerydra. It was the look of one who too had seen her fair share of bloodied battle, one who strode across a battlefield littered with corpses as far as the eye could see. One who, perhaps if the situation called for it, would grasp the authority of Law betwixt those very same ichthyoid fingers. 

Cerydra smirks. ‘This should prove interesting.’

Watching the unfamiliar opponent make her move, Cerydra listens to the words that escape from her. There is intrigue to be found in both, each for individual reasons. For one, the choice to push a knight initially might be indicative of her attempt at control. Central control of the board early on could spell for an early victory, were the player smart and (more importantly) confident enough. Whoever this person was, she was clearly knowledgeable of the game, that much was obvious at an initial play.

Then, there is intrigue to be found in her suggestion and subsequent question. For one, to ask a question after each piece was… Cerydra’s eyes widen, as though coming to a realization, and soon her smirk widens even further. “Interesting question. I’d say… a ‘relay race’ across time may be the most ridiculous. It shouldn’t have worked, by all means, but it won us a great victory.” 

It still irritates her, sometimes, that she hadn't been able to lead her people to victory by outwitting the Shogun on her own terms, but the practical part of her can acknowledge that a victory is a victory, however it's achieved. And now, the Archon's finally paying attention to her own nation, to what she'd done; in the end, it had been a less-bloody victory than she'd feared it would be.

"It was an intriguing puzzle to solve," Kokomi continues, as the game advances a few more moves. She trades a bishop for a knight, a pawn for two more pawns, and still the board remains mired in stalemate. Her grin sharpens; she hasn't had a challenge like this in quite some time. "I had a smaller army with poorer training and equipment, fewer resources, outdated technology, and a famine to contend with, up against a nation ruled by a millennia-old warrior god...and still, we not only became quite the thorn in the Shogunate's side, we pushed them back."

Sometimes she wonders if her people will remember her for that; how they'll remember Sangonomiya Kokomi, the woman who challenged an Archon and humbled her followers. The Traveler may be a hero in every nation they visit, but they were never the one who saw the bloodiest days of the war, or had to live with its consequences. Would they judge her, as the descendants of her people might?

The warrior-queen sitting across the board from her looks like she's never cared a day in her life for how people might judge her. On her good days, Kokomi knows exactly what that feels like; knows that unshakable confidence she'd worn like a second skin when she led her troops in the field. Against her foe - an enemy she'd fought across time, somehow - Cerydra would have needed that confidence every step of the way.

And like all with kindred spirits, Cerydra wonders ‘how would I have reacted, were I dealt a similar hand?’ She chuckles, softly, as she ponders over a question she had no plans of answering. “You seem like quite the leader – one who had been dealt far too many unknown and difficult variables, yet still coming out victorious,” there lays a viciousness in her emphasis that causes the surrounding crowd to wince somewhat, and the host grows ever uncomfortable. “I would hate to be the God that opposed you.”

The returning question that soon follows almost makes Cerydra laugh, instead her expression gleans an eagerness to speak of this tale. She picks up a chess piece – the King – and begins to toy with it between her fingers as the verbiage for her story tries to come to mind. “A man who was vainglorious, yet simultaneously self-critical. He wished to awaken a… mechanical beast of sorts, in order to destroy a God of his own creation. In a way, I understand him.” After all, she was someone who stole Law’s authority, and the journey of the Flame-Chase was borne from deicide. “In another, who would I be to allow someone to use my people for his wanton plans? So I made a sacrifice, to give my future warriors an advantage that I would not have seen the immediate results of. Five hundred lives, with my own as the five hundred and first. A bloody campaign, necessary in order to gain the authority to rewrite that which was already set in stone.” There is a pride in her tone, as she tells of this victory. 

The deaths of five hundred Chrysos Heirs was something that would weigh heavy on the souls of those weaker than she had been. Yet it was something she knew was necessary – a part in her trial that remained the same across millions of cycles, one that she would always deliver. It worked out, of course, that this sacrifice of five hundred lives would ultimately be for the greater good of Amphoreus, and the cosmos by extension. Cerydra knew that her own life, and the five hundred she gave to become the Demigod of Law, had been a pittance compared to what had been at stake. 

Honestly, it didn’t much matter if it was a good deal or not. It was a good excuse, and that’s what matters. “I’m not picky. As long as there’s enough of it, I’m happy. If this backwater has anything, it’s on me, alright?” Nikola hoped she was doing this right.

She brought her free hand to her jacket pocket and pulled out her bright blue wallet, holding it up like a trophy. “I got my money entirely above-board, alright?” She tried to put it back in her pocket, but her fingers, frozen stiff, didn’t have a good grip on the smooth material it was made of, and it went sailing as she dropped her arm. Right into the fire.

“Well, crap! I need my ID!” Nikola reached her armored hand into the fire after it, yelling expletives as the fire licked the fabric of her coat. “It’s okay! Dovraga! Hot!” Mophead’s chiding expression flashed through her mind. Nikola would have to face that when she came home with holes in her clothing. Better make it worth it.

   A chuckle escapes Cerydra’s lips, watching onward as the Doctor flashes her wallet, presumably full of Credits (or whatever similar for her), then her chuckle grows to a steady (yet calm) laughter, watching as the Doctor began to flounder around, a search for identification – ‘a form of permission to purchase alcohol? The Imperator is above such trivialities.’ – and when Nikola successfully pulls out her identification (after shouting obscenities in an unfamiliar language), Cerydra offers light applause. “Then let us be off. Shall we?” 

   A short walk towards the city gates, feet crunching beneath the snow as the cloak that Cerydra kept herself wrapped beneath offers its warmth from the cold. She is uncharacteristically silent, unable to find words to break the moment as the two individuals make their way back to Belobog. The crunch of the snow offers more than what mere words could do, at least that’s what Cerydra thought ever briefly. 

   But she can’t remain silent forever – especially when they draw closer to the city gate. “Where should we go about purchasing ale? I don’t presume a sort of tavern would be far beyond our expectations? I don’t suppose there are shops around the city that sell ale on the go- at least not ones doing so openly?” She scoffs, and places a hand on her other hip. It isn’t mocking, rather it is a sort of idle stance – one taken as her steps come to a stop, now standing before the city gate with her new friend. Then, she presumes a new idle stance, one where her arms are crossed awaiting steps to follow. 

He chuckles softly before continuing to speak, “I would like to watch this performance though. Surely you’ve heard some of those names of mine; right Imperator? The Great Performer and the like. Let’s all this… a study of like minded individuals; why don’t we?”

The scholar glances at the king, studying her small visage with a curious one-eyed stare. As surely he was an enigma to her, she too was an enigma to him. Every iteration separated them by time. In all of his memories, they had never once met until the end of Amphoreus’ fate had finally come. And of course, the here and now.

Still, he can appreciate Okhema’s once tyrant, for all that she is and has been. For one, she too is a lover of Dromas, and he cannot bring himself to hate her on the basis of that alone. Furthermore, she is bold enough to defy the very stars themselves, something he can hold nothing but respect for. For he too is one who refuses to be held down by the chains of their world.

   Such “what if’s” mattered little in the face of the present. What was done was done, and Cerydra wasn’t against that. “Very well, Anaxagoras. In that same vein, simply call me Cerydra, rather than by my title.” A look of pride adorns her expression, as though she found a kindred spirit within the lonely scholar. “A man who seeks to let his memory be preserved as simply as possible is a man to be respected. Unfortunate that we never crossed paths at the same time, Anaxagoras,” the Imperator’s face focused back onto the stage, as this production began to sprout with life, and the surrounding crowd quieted. Now, her voice is a whisper, “I would’ve loved to see just how you celebrated. That Deliverer from beyond the sky and Dux Gladiorum seemed to paint you as quite the reveler.” 

   The play began, and much to the Imperator’s lack of a surprise, it does not seem to be special in its plot. Despite that, there is a clear display of passion to be found in the performance of each actor. Because of that, the Imperator is somewhat moved, and her gaze seemed to indicate that she was paying a lot more attention than she would’ve otherwise. Neverwinterland was a play that seemed to be particularly important to the people of Belobog, and mayhaps that was why Cerydra found it so intriguing despite its lacking originality – after all, Belobog’s history shared far more similarities to Amphoreus’, if her walk through the Deliverer’s memories served any point. 

   Maybe her focus on the show was how she caught the intricate details of the accident that soon followed. The actors were moving fluidly, nary a misstep in their performance, yet the centerpiece – a geomarrow, as she heard others refer to it – came crashing center stage, and while gasps reverberated through the crowd, a figure cloaked in shadow found their escape. “Hm.” Cerydra’s hum didn’t indicate any sort of meaningful concern, though her expression was one of clear annoyance.