Selena of the Six Generals

The viscount is dead, silenced by three wounds across his chest and a fourth that left a nondescript knife lodged between his ribs.

Amateur, she thinks, stepping over the blood that had spread far enough in a bright, slippery pool. An assassin—or a warrior, or a fighter, or someone otherwise so accustomed to taking life that their hands wouldn't shake with the first thrust of steel—would have left one wound, and two at most; clean lines to end things quickly and without argument, whether out of duty or mercy or perhaps a mix of both. Four, though—four tells a different story entirely.

Fear, maybe. Passion. Anger. There is often less difference between them than people realize.

"Most people," Zephia finally says, "would presume the obvious and draw their weapons first, Selena. Do you want to try again? Ask with a little more bite, perhaps?"

She turns, her smile patient and kind despite the circumstances—or perhaps exactly because of them. From the moment they'd met, it was evident enough that while Selena was willing to play nice, she wasn't at all eager to name Zephia among her allies. And isn't that simply hurtful, when all Zephia had done was dutifully trot along to protect the man who now lays between them, dead as can be?

At present, she is not doing that.

But if Selena took a step back when Zephia moved, she would like to hope that, at least, it wasn’t too obvious. (It’s hard to read the other woman—was it an admission of guilt or an intentional inflammation? She cannot know for certain.) ‘Do you want to try again?’ Zephia asks, and for a moment, Selena feels remarkably small.

“…”

(It’s hard to find the words, so she stands silent, half-sure; trying to make sense of the situation and the number one suspect—her partner—in twain.) Think rationally. Be just. Do not jump to conclusions.

“And how long ago was that?” (Still: unsharp, unsteady; with an attempt to muster courage and surety behind it.) It’s entirely possible that Zephia is telling the truth—they were only so many, and they were called for because the viscount’s number was lacking—but even still (even knowing that), she finds herself hesitating to look on her own. (Last time she was told that, it was a trap that led to her untimely demise.)

Well, Zephia wasn’t him, at least. (She seemed… kinder; she offered a warmth that starkly opposed Valter’s cold apathy.)

—even if they were both unsettling. (Even if they both seemed darker than most would like.)

Selena shakes the thought away, refocusing her mind on the task at end: the murder of the viscount. (The death of their charge.) He has four stab wounds with a knife still embedded; an uncleaned mess in the wake of carnage. (There had been no time, it seems, for the killer to clean up after themselves; or they were anxious enough to believe there hadn’t been.) They likely only had enough of a plan to pull it off—but not enough of one to have confidence in their escape thereafter.

In accordance with the new rules for June, Valter and Selena now have public thread trackers! Aside from the link here, there are a few ways to access them:

FOR VALTER.

On his homepage, the previous link to his SUBMIT page has been replaced with one titled THREADS, since we rarely get submissions anyway, and the link for them is consistent across blogs. This new link leads directly to his thread tracker.

The link to his tracker is also located in his pinned post and stats page in their respective link sections.

(The image for the second one is too thin for me to press the button to add my own alt text, but it's a screenshot of the top of his stats page, demonstrating a list of links, including one titled, "Thread Tracker".)

FOR SELENA.

Due to the way Selena's theme and pages are set up, being on my laptop (aka without a proper mouse/setup haha) means I cannot reveal them in the exact location I would like them to be. Therefore, while the links will remain in these general locations, I will probably be posting an update sometime later this month (after I get home lol) with updated instructions on how to find her thread tracker. If all else fails, she and Valter share a spreadsheet, so if you can't find it via her page, you can find it via Valter's!

Similar to Valter, Selena's navigation links on her theme contain a link to her thread tracker, literally titled "thread tracker". At present, it is the last in the line, but once I get back to my setup, I'll be moving it to be before her interview.

It is also accessible via her pinned post and stats page. Given that her stats page does not have a dedicated links section, this is the primary location that will be changed later this month. For now though, it is located at the top of her Class Mastery tab as a link labeled "Thread Tracker."

This is all the vital information I have to share! More specific details and musings underneath the cut.

Perhaps the Church had already anticipated it; perhaps it had hung over the minds of the clergy ever since the assassinations began—that one of their investigators may be at risk. (That one of their students may be at risk.)

Perhaps that is why, when word arrives that one of the Black Eagles had disappeared—and then was subsequently ransomed in the Leicester territories—Selena had been so available to immediately take up the task. (Because the risk of a charge vanishing clung to the Church’s mind, they left a knight—in function, if not name—available for retrieval.) Perhaps there was always that caution.

Or maybe it was a coincidence—in function, not in name, was Selena a knight—and though she was a capable mage, that she was the only one to arrive has her wonder. (Had the Church such faith in her ability or were there simply no others set to the task? There was too much at stake for the latter to be the case, but for Selena to be the only one to arrive–)

The scene unfolds as this: the grand, open gardens in the center of the Riegan territories; the sun on the horizon, slowly falling further and further; the mechanical whir of something dangerous coming alive—the sort that reminds her of the catacombs beneath Garreg Mach, where, once upon a time, she had found herself seeking to protect and escort a charge. The machine that stands before her now is not the same—ominous in a different way—but she finds the student, bound out of her reach, and she recognizes that she is being tested. (A crowd makes itself apparent, and someone shouts that the killer has been caught.)

“Are you injured?” she calls out—because he is far more important than the hackling of presumptuous strangers. “Ignoring your binds, are you still able to move about?” (The automaton shuffles between them, announcing itself a wordless challenge.)

Selena grits her teeth and stares it down. “Just hold tight—I’ll try and make this quick!”

Whilst taking photos of herself and friends was always a lovely activity, it is always nice to take a moment and photograph the scenes playing out naturally during the ball. People making memories, partaking in merriment, some arguing, some messing about, some standing awkwardly in the corners.

It is a nice reminder of the peace she fought for, and the one she will continue to fight for as she slays monsters left and right with grace.

Moving around to take a photo from a different angle, she almost takes the photo, before a woman in frame catches her eye.

Looking at her more carefully, L'Arachel's brow furrows. She looks so familiar, but it cannot be her, right?

And yet last year, Valter revealed himself to her at this ball.

And she had heard of a Selena in the academy.

But... surely not, right?

Yet another one of Grado's generals, very much alive and living life in Garreg Mach?

Next you shall tell her the prince of Grado himself is also alive and active somewhere in the academy!

She shakes her head; no time for silly thoughts like that. More importantly, she needs to figure this out, and what better way than just walking up and asking? Not like anything bad shall come out of it, if it never did out of Valter.

She swiftly makes her way towards Selena, and with a point of the finger, she gets straight to the point.

She does not do this now either, not just out of a respect for Church property, but also because she does not find the largest need to do so. Anyone could borrow one. Anyone could watch and learn. The researching and questions could come later—when things slowed down and there was experience to back each inquiry.

…Still, she is shifting through the crowds, largely keeping to herself, when she finds another approaching: sudden; precise. She stops and turns to face them as the question arrives—to face L’Arachel as the query is voiced:

Ah. (Of course she would be wondering.) Had the two of them not properly met?

Perhaps; probably; for somehow, it was only now that L’Arachel was asking, and the professor finds her initial response dies where it starts: that she is not the Fluorspar (and she cannot be, given her gemstone was lost with the fall of the monastery), and that any and all respects to her were undeserved in the face of that loss.

(But again, that is unvoiced. Selena stands there, knowing, practically, that the answer was, Yes. I am Selena Fluorspar, the formerly deceased general of the Grado Imperial Army. We haven’t had the opportunity to speak yet, and I apologize if this comes as an unpleasant surprise to you.)

She blinks, and her expression threatens to fall, weighed down by all that chips and shatters and struggles with the cracking of quaking earth, and then she realizes that perhaps a minute has passed and she has not said a word.

After all, what is she meant to do and say? Comfort a former enemy, say it is not unpleasant at all? Be cruel and dismissive and say "Yes, it is unpleasant to me that you are here and not buried deep under dirt?" Lament out loud that it seems all their enemies get to come back and return just fine, and yet the same curtesy does not get extended to the Warrior King Fado, or the Great Dragon Morva, or L'Arachel's own damn parents?

She realizes that she is staring silently just as much as the Fluorspar has been; perhaps then they are both going through turmoil due to this fateful meeting.

With a slightly theatrical sigh, she takes the rose after all, locking her gaze firmly with the former general of Grado.

"I shall not sweeten my words and say this is a joyous meeting; I believe we both know quite better than that." She shakes her head.

"That being said. I had, incredibly foolishly, given the Moonstone a chance to redeem himself in my eyes, well, as well as someone like him can redeem himself. He spat all over that, of course, but to extend it to him and not to you would be an insult too grave." She lets out a slightly bitter laugh, as she puts the rose in her bouquet and in turn takes out one of her lilies for Selena to keep.

"I overheard earlier that one of the meanings of lilies is rebirth. I do not know how it is that you are standing here alive, but I... I hope that however you got this second chance, you are utilizing it well." Ultimately, what choice does L'Arachel have other than try and accept Selena's existance? She could hold a grudge, throw a tantrum, be red in the face about it; she has the right to be.

But who does that help? If she is to become Rausten's ruler one day, if she is to make sure monsters are eradicated all over and never rise up again, what good would it do to turn the Fluorspar away like this?

An eye for an eye makes the world overrun by Mogalls, after all.

Still, she is allowed at least a bit of emotion. She crosses her arms and looks at Selena with a pout on her face. "You better not make me regret this decision, or I shall be very cross!"

The silence that follows is deafening—a heavy weight in her chest that threatens to sink her under, pulling her down as she wonders, Am I unforgivable? Have I not sacrificed enough?

Perhaps her death was enough; perhaps what came next wasn’t.

(For why was she given another chance if all she could do was squander it? King Ephraim has made space for her. Princess Eirika seeks her tutelage. Valter is a stinging reminder of all she is trying—and failing—to move on from.)

Princess L’Arachel does not reply, and Selena feels she has committed a grave error. (Would it have been better then if she had simply remained in the ground?)

And then, finally, L’Arachel speaks, and Selena’s heart is still heavy—she still feels a rawness in her chest—but there is a flicker of amnesty; a dove in flower form, extended to her as it had been once to another of the generals. L’Arachel wishes she has been making the most of her second life, and Selena isn’t certain she has; but she does know she’s been trying.

“Thank you,” is what finally emerges, barely loud enough to be heard; the lily is taken, tucked safe into her own bouquet—a thank you for a chance that she would be wiser than Valter not to squander. Louder now, with a tinge more confidence, “I will do my best, Princess L’Arachel, to do right by all those who have fallen before me.”

Whilst taking photos of herself and friends was always a lovely activity, it is always nice to take a moment and photograph the scenes playing out naturally during the ball. People making memories, partaking in merriment, some arguing, some messing about, some standing awkwardly in the corners.

It is a nice reminder of the peace she fought for, and the one she will continue to fight for as she slays monsters left and right with grace.

Moving around to take a photo from a different angle, she almost takes the photo, before a woman in frame catches her eye.

Looking at her more carefully, L'Arachel's brow furrows. She looks so familiar, but it cannot be her, right?

And yet last year, Valter revealed himself to her at this ball.

And she had heard of a Selena in the academy.

But... surely not, right?

Yet another one of Grado's generals, very much alive and living life in Garreg Mach?

Next you shall tell her the prince of Grado himself is also alive and active somewhere in the academy!

She shakes her head; no time for silly thoughts like that. More importantly, she needs to figure this out, and what better way than just walking up and asking? Not like anything bad shall come out of it, if it never did out of Valter.

She swiftly makes her way towards Selena, and with a point of the finger, she gets straight to the point.

She does not do this now either, not just out of a respect for Church property, but also because she does not find the largest need to do so. Anyone could borrow one. Anyone could watch and learn. The researching and questions could come later—when things slowed down and there was experience to back each inquiry.

…Still, she is shifting through the crowds, largely keeping to herself, when she finds another approaching: sudden; precise. She stops and turns to face them as the question arrives—to face L’Arachel as the query is voiced:

Ah. (Of course she would be wondering.) Had the two of them not properly met?

Perhaps; probably; for somehow, it was only now that L’Arachel was asking, and the professor finds her initial response dies where it starts: that she is not the Fluorspar (and she cannot be, given her gemstone was lost with the fall of the monastery), and that any and all respects to her were undeserved in the face of that loss.

(But again, that is unvoiced. Selena stands there, knowing, practically, that the answer was, Yes. I am Selena Fluorspar, the formerly deceased general of the Grado Imperial Army. We haven’t had the opportunity to speak yet, and I apologize if this comes as an unpleasant surprise to you.)

She blinks, and her expression threatens to fall, weighed down by all that chips and shatters and struggles with the cracking of quaking earth, and then she realizes that perhaps a minute has passed and she has not said a word.

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.”

There was no confirmation that Selena knew exactly what the cause of the flames had been, but the chance she had the answer wasn’t very low either.

Though she herself had not been on the field of Gronder, being a part of the faculty (and feeling a sense of duty towards the student body), the professor had joined the staff responsible for managing the infirmary and overseeing the battle—to aid the injured and to make certain all went well. (She had not borne witness to the sparks that sourced the flames, but at the recognition; or rather, or at the announcement of the damages and investigation thereafter, her mind had wandered to the anecdote of one student in particular, and while she had, no doubt, no reason to be blamed…)

Well, no one had asked the professor’s input on the matter, and Selena would not interpose where she was not due. (Instead, she would opt to assist by quelling the remainder of the flames.)

…And, well, it appeared that there were quite a few of them. Selena would not consider herself an expert on fire—more so just an accomplished mage—but it was also for that reason that she was able to recognize the spell. (It was of her own repertoire, though her own was back at the monastery, kept safe in her office.) Sea Fire does not feast on nothing. (She thought the fires would’ve died.)

Perhaps the casting had gone awry, not bound by the rules that traditionally governed it; perhaps the caster had intentionally made it so, such that the havoc wreaked would remain throughout the entire day; perhaps Selena had just not done enough study of the tome—but all the same, it roared, and it offered no promise of reprieve.

—without intention to stop it, of course.

“It seems we have our work cut out for us,” Selena says—this, to her ally: a student from the Black Eagles house by the name of Celica. “We can begin by taking a measurement of the extant flames, or we can attempt to start smothering the fire now—it’s up to you.”

Selena had known to be wary of her companion.

(…Well, that wasn’t being very fair, was it?)

Selena’s first introduction to the mission had come through her briefing—to accommodate one of the Alliance nobles in a time of unrest, rife; to serve as a guard against whatever may come to befall him—and that had seemed simple enough. The threat they were facing was yet to be understood, but she had acted as a knight in full capacity in the past. (She knew what she needed to do, and she knew how she was supposed to do it.)

And then she met her companion: faculty of the Black Eagles house; a woman by the name of Zephia. That alone would not have meant very much—did not mean very much when she’d first heard the information—but then the two of them met, and in her gut, Selena felt something was wrong.

(Senselessly; after all, it was impractical to believe one person could’ve arranged this all—especially given the far reaches of the assassinations. To even consider that Zephia may have a hand in it all was fundamentally unfair.) Selena swallowed that feeling.

The third morning of their stay, however, Selena enters the kitchen, and she finds two people: Viscount Burgundy, dead on the floor, and Zephia. Just Zephia. (It is fundamentally unfair.)

And what would be the motive? Of course one of them would be the first accused—there would be no easy escape. (If Zephia truly had wanted to kill him, why would she accept the task? Why not do this silently, such that no one would point to her?)

It was an unfair judgement; an unfounded feeling; Selena summons a calmness, bites down on her sickness, and instead, opens up to a more sensible turn of phrase:

“What happened here?”

Katarina looks to her with an apology on the tip of her tongue. I should have warned you, she thinks; I should have thought ahead better. It is naturally her fault, her insufficiency, that leads to each unhappy outcome regardless of its import. Yet instead of the annoyance she expects to find, the Altean is greeted with a quiet smile, as if the thought of resentment had not even crossed the professor's mind.

"I-I'm glad!" It isn't quite a smile of her own, but her expression is a bit brighter as she readies herself to meet a challenge of her own. The first to fly at her is an orange, mangled and bruised, cut cleanly through despite its many ragged edges. The next fruit -- or fruits, really -- are not as easy; of the handful of mushy raspberries, all but one simply bounce off of her sword, losing pieces of themselves along the way, while the last seems more like it has burst from the force than suffered any sort of cut.

Having seen the way the apple of all fruits rebelled against Selena's sword, when Katarina recognizes it in her hand, she readies herself. Pushing forward a bit, the additional force creates a split through which she drives the simple blade. It feels like it takes a lifetime for it to make it through, though in reality it is but a matter of seconds. By contrast the second orange cuts easily, and the last fruit -- a too-soft cluster of grapes -- simply... flops over the edge of her blade, as if too tired to even indulge the idea.

"...hehe." Well, it is a bit funny. Shaking it off of her sword, she takes a few steps closer to the professor, though a swath of culinary carnage bars her path. "That was... more interesting than I expected, Professor. Thank you for indulging me..."

A pause; her brows take on a penitent lilt.

—or perhaps she was simply already good with blades. (It was not for the Fluorspar to know.) The people of the Academy did come from all walks of life, and she understood that her own journey was not one which most people would entirely expect. (The mage general from a far off place; who rose from commonhood to one of Grado’s most distinguished.) There could’ve been any number of explanations behind the other’s demonstration.

What she did know was that the mage was able to make light work of the various fruits; even as she was not perfect, she was still able to do an excellent job. (The various discarded produce pieces were clear enough proof of that.)

And so, Selena would relay such. (She smiles as she speaks, a warm thing written with quiet pride.) “Well done. You did well to cut through them—especially the apple at the end.” (A quick learner indeed, professor supposes, because the toughness was not intuitive but well-adapted to.)

“Of course.” (This: in response to assisting with Katarina’s request.) “This ended up proving rather interesting for me as well, so I think it was a well-worth endeavor in the end.” It also served to prove just how much more I can grow. “Thank you for asking me.”

But at the end of her statement, there is one additional point: her gloves. (Not spoken of directly, just implied—‘I’ll bring you some good soap for the stains later.’) It’s a tad embarrassing, if she were to be honest, but it does not linger; Katarina was one who was quietly well-meaning.

“You don’t have to worry yourself with that,” Selena replies all the same. (It was a minor thing, hardly worth noting, and she would rather not task another with assisting her if she could help it.) “For now,” she goes on instead, eyes drifting to the mess that still remained, “we should probably get around to cleaning this up, shouldn’t we? I’ll go and fetch a bag to collect the trash in.”

(It was the least they could do for the cafeteria staff, picking up what was left behind.)

So with a solid nod, she does just that.