SUMMONER

perfectionist-prince​:

Feh used to try to nip at his fingers. Now that only happens… sometimes. 

Kiran’s hesitation doesn’t strike him as odd. He knew there was a possibility that it was a seriously loaded question—or an insanely easy one. But with that much pause, and that for an answer… 

Siegbert throws an eyebrow up. Yeah, they were holding back. But he won’t press for more—Kiran actually had the capacity to get angry if he dug too deep, unlike the villagers downstairs. 

“There’s not many uncle is openly kind to, so don’t feel singled out,” he laughs. Uncle Leo didn’t much care for anyone that pushed his authority. (So, just about anyone at the academy, since he was so easy to fluster.) Though he couldn’t be so sure how he felt about Kiran in particular. 

“I personally think five times is more than enough to consider you a friend, but—” he flops down on the bed, now, leaning his weight back on his hands.

“—perhaps being friends with a teacher isn’t quite appropriate. And perhaps having a teacher barge into your room isn’t, either.” 

He’s grinning, now, head lolled back to gaze up at the cieling. “But demanding a book report is fine. I’ll be sure to give you a nice ten-page essay on the monotony of this little town.”

Legs cross over each other, and they pull themselves a smidge to the right to make room for the giant that decided to flop on the bed. If it were not for their grip on the duvet, he would have sent them flying. With an arm resting across their lap, Kiran observes the prince as he stares at nothing above him. 

The Siegbert in Askr is not as openly friendly. He is more rigid, tough—the melting pot of this dimension must affect each country more than they originally thought. Never would Askr’s Siegbert so candidly flop on a bed. Why is this one so nonchalant? Or has he always been like that, and they’ve just failed to truly get to know him?

Ugh. The thought of them being a shitty leader never sits well with them, but it’s inevitable.... sometimes.

“Uh, no.” Eyebrows flick up when she laughs lightheartedly. “Ten pages is too much. Five, at the most. Every word over, I’ll deduct five points from your grade.” They might not depending on the quality.

“Besides, barging in for a report on an investigation versus barging in to cop a feel are completely different.” They don’t like him that way. Student and teacher and all that. 

Also they’re busy. No time for relationships, if it was even an option.

Another sigh as Kiran holds out their hand for Feh, who lands in their palm and settles in with a sigh of his own. Kiran hums thoughtfully, tracing Feh’s chin. “I wonder if we’d be able to leave if we finished the story. Maybe whoever isn’t originally part of the story will be ejected into their original dimension.”

In the end, she decides to forego the formalities. And gives Kiran an arms-wide-open, feet-almost-sprinting, body-basically-tackling hug… 

"KIRAAAAN!" she buries her smiling face in their shoulders, her arms wrapped tight around their form, "I'm so so happy to see you again! How was the trip here? Are you well? Hungry? We can go eat if you want!"

…and hopes it will be enough. Strangely, she thinks it just might be.

They would not admit it aloud to either sibling or anyone, for that matter, but the siblings were the first people Kiran looked for when they returned to the academy. Alfonse worries too much. Sharena also worries too much but positively.

They're also her best friends. Her only friends, really.

Sharena knocks the wind out of her, but Kiran still wraps her arms around the princess without losing her balance. She's used to it. Sharena's always been like this.

When Kiran exhales, their shoulder relax. "Long. Too quiet. Could go for a snack. I wouldn't mind gettin' a lil something." They pull away and stare at her for a long moment, before pulling Sharena into one more tight hug.

The siblings were always so bright and warm. Sharena and Alfonse are the only ones who could ever love them.

perfectionist-prince​:

“So, to confirm, you and everyone you know here were born in this village?”

“Yessir.”

“And you’ve never met any travelers until my group arrived?” 

“Eeeeyessir.”

“And do you find it at all strange that most of our party lacks the unique features many of the townsfolk share, including yourself?”

That was met with a blank stare. It was nothing unlike what he’d found yesterday or the day before that. Fingers prod at his temples as the beginning of a headache came on, something becoming more common by the day. Siegbert musters the strength to bow politely out of the conversation, but by the droop of his shoulders or his heavy sigh upon turning around, he wasn’t happy.

Was it so hard to write a town with just a little bit more life? Although Siegbert didn’t consider himself an author by any means, he was no stranger to dabbling in the world of fantasy. The stories he spun as a child had far better color than this quiet little village. At least his worlds were interesting. But this, this? It was nearly enough to make him want to pick up a pen for the first time in years.

Well, the animal features were compelling. It certainly put a new spin on kitsune and wolfskin. (Siegbert had become quite fond of a little fox boy that trailed him whenever he ventured by the cobbler’s place.)

“G’day! Hot one today, ain’t it?” Shiela chimes and Siegbert sighs. “Same as yesterday,” he manages, and in retrospect would be quite disappointed in his quickly-falling care for manners.

Kiran handled all their money. At least he didn’t have to worry about his room. It was, perhaps, the only comfort he had in this drab world—Kiran at his side, that is. And the beds were decent. Beats sleeping on the ground.

For what it was worth, Siegbert was decent by the time Kiran barged in. He turns from his spot standing in front of a small vanity, shirt unbuttoned just enough to cool down and hair haphazardly pulled back with a tie that he was only now in the process of redoing.

“In all fairness, I think everyone might appear a novice when put against you for chess.” Fingers run through curls—tangles—and work his hair into something a little more presentable.

“I talked to the seamstress’s husband—the one who lives on the edge of town. No one’s ever heard a thing about anyone coming or going, and everyone around here has lived here their whole lives, even the elders. Don’t you find it curious how none of them are afraid of us?” Ribbon follows through, finally tying a neat bow at the nape of Siegbert’s neck. He’ll brush it after he next bathes; for now, in front of Kiran, he couldn’t be bothered. They didn’t care. “You’d think they’d be scared of outsiders.”

Days passed like this. The same routine, the same useless information. The same meeting at the end of the day before they finally trudged downstairs for dinner and drinks before retiring for the night. Rinse and repeat.

And yet he hadn’t the gall to ask until now.

Prince extends a hand towards beloved owl, waiting for approval before reaching to give well-deserved scratchies. Feh’s hoo peters through the air a few moments before Siegbert speaks once more.

“I’d like to learn something useful today, you know. Kiran, why did you leave so suddenly?” I was worried. But now wasn’t the time.

They snort quietly, turning to stare at the ceiling. Everyone only seems like a novice to them, because chess is all they know. Strategy is their only skill and talent, simultaneously a way to relax and the reason for their stress. It is the key to escaping this tale. Somehow, there’s a way. There is a way. There is always a way. Have hope; not because it will get better, but because they will find the answer.

Besides, it’s not like it’s their first time traveling realms or worlds or dimensions. Whatever it was.

Heavy footsteps approach the bed. Kiran turns back to Siegbert—they hold their breath as he pets Feh—shout out to when Siegbert was super uncomfortable around him. LOL. 

They snort again, this time in amusement. Siegbert used to fucking glare daggers at Feh. Look at him now. 

All warmth drains from Kiran’s body when he asks outright why they had left. Expressionless, their eyes catch his own, before they look away, lips in a thin line. That’s fucking uncomfortable. What do they say to that? “grievin srry lmao!!!”? “😝 gap year”? “I just wanted to find myself”? 

Or... tell the truth?

Another glance at Siegbert.

Nnnnnnaaaaaaaaaaaah. No. They can’t. He’ll worry. He’ll hover. They don’t need that. It’s none of his business anyway.

In the end, Kiran shrugs, lips pursed together nonchalantly. “Had to do some stuff back home. And I didn’t want to take another magic class and have your uncle glaring at me all the time.” Possibly exaggerated, but the man just did not smile often (around them). Also they’re pretty sure he doesn’t like them. Like, at all. 

“We also spoke, like, maybe five times. I think you’re cool and all, Charming, but I don’t know if we’re friends. Acquaintances maybe.” Kiran sits up, smiling when they point between the two of them. (Feh reacts instinctively and moves with Kiran, sitting instead in their lap).

open for anyone!

Feh rustles his feathers, nipping at Kiran's ear gently as he settles back down again. Though he makes no sound, Kiran already knows what's bothering him. They're just sitting there with their head propped up on their hand as they watch students and faculty alike train. In their spare time, they've noticed one particular individual training in the same hours each and almost every day.

Kiran presses their fingers to Feh, quietly indicating that they'll leave in a moment. The progress of improvement is something that cannot be cultivated on its own, at least, not well. They've learned those outside the Order don't always appreciate them commenting on their training regiment, their strengths and weaknesses.

Okay. Fine. They already knew that, but sometimes it was so painful to watch Chad de Buule think strength was the only thing that mattered in combat. Can you blame them? It was satisfying knocking him down a peg or two. He could probably do with another lesson. Too bad they don't have time or care about him enough.

Feh hoots quietly in their ear, and they blow air in his face from the side of their mouth. They got the message: don't waste your energy on that guy. There were plenty more interesting and capable than him.

Head tilts as they continue to watch the individual.

Screw it. They're main job as a faculty member and tactician is to help others. Even the Chads.

The town itself seems welcoming enough and not too different from what you know in Fódlan - clearly the author was adept at writing what they know. The villagers, however, all possess a variety of animal features, and you learn quickly that the elderly goat-headed man is their leader. While they’re polite to you, they are quite confused about who you are and where you say you come from. Talking with them reveals that they hardly know how to respond to anything that isn’t simple smalltalk.

Kiran expressionlessly gazes at their opponent. With a flick, they send wooden trinket rolling in a halfhearted circle across the table. "Checkmate," they say without any inflection before plucking up the piece and setting it back on the board when they reset the pieces. Their opponent, a woman with a bear head, practically roars when she throws her head back, somewhere between a mix of frustration and laughter.

They return the king to his throne. Here it comes. Their mouth follows along silently with her outburst.

"I'll be, Keeran! Whatuh game. Yer bite is worse than yer bark. Here, take it. Ya deserve it!" With a big claw, she pushes several gold coins across the table.

"Always a pleasure, Ursula." No use counting. It's 10 pieces exactly.

"10 gold pieces! Heh. Thar goes my treasure of the week," Ursula raises a claw to scratch her nose. As she calls out for another drink and a warm brisket, Kiran slides the gold into their satchel and leaves the tavern.

The town is bland and predictable. Shop names are unoriginal or nonexistent. Every place is referred to as what it is. And the people — they stop a young fawnn from running into a hawk carrying his merchandise and only turn her around in the direction she came from — are straight out of a fairy tale. Not even. Probably closer to a small budget rip off of a popular movie. They wouldn't judge it so harshly if they weren't sucked into this world.

They've gambled with Ursula three other times before this. It's like the day resets with minor differences between each one. Ursula's always got money, and she likes a good game. Challenging her to a game of chess is the fastest way to make money.

"G'day! Hot one today, ain't it?" Sheila the innkeeper greets Kiran as she walks through the door.

"Sure." Kiran tosses two gold pieces on the counter. "For our rooms. Know anything about a way out of a book that can suck people in yet?"

The innkeeper stares at her. Kiran stares back.

"Staying another night?"

They sigh quietly. "Seems like it," they call back to her as they trot up the stairs.

Kiran knocks on the door at the end of the hallway and calls to Siegbert on the other side. "Hope you're decent. I'm coming in." The handle clicks, and they push the door open.

"Ursula uses different moves, but they're all basic. Probably a novice incorporating chess into her character." As she talks, she briefly holds up the satchel of gold and drops it unceremoniously on the desk, before flopping on his bed with a long sigh. Feh, their trusty companion, flies from the desk to sit on their chest with a quiet hoo.

If only they had Breidablik. They might've been able to summon Alfonse or Sharena to get them out of this mess. And then Veronica to close it up.

"Any progress on your end?"

I CARE NOT FOR HOW YOU ARE DRESSED.

Nor whether your name is base or brave nor for the fashion of your behavior. [AUDIO]

PART [ 1 ] [ 2 ] [ 3 ]

tw // suicidal thoughts mention. please read with caution.

You don’t quite know where you are, but you have a good idea of what had been here. What remains of the houses that were built here bear old scorch marks, evidence of a violent demise for the little village that was. You walk past ovens that haven’t baked bread in centuries, the skulls of sheep that provided meat and wool for their shepherds, even stone tops and bone dice that you could imagine children playing with. It’s clear that something happened here…

Hooking their foot under the branch, Kiran tosses it to the side of their intended path. It disappears into the undergrowth. Their frown twists when they mutter a comment towards the blond prince. "Hasn't you family lived in this land for hundreds of years? Why haven't you explored all of it?" Why wouldn't you explore all of it, is a better question. "It's your kingdom after all." A pause when they glance at him. Something something land is not technically his yet because he hasn't been crowned. "Well.... it will be." They still slip up when it comes to the rules of a monarchy. And they all vary between kingdoms.

Cool! But frustrating.

This uncharted part of Faerghus has a shitload of undergrowth. Probably hasn't seen another living bipedal soul for some time. Head tilts. The forest is quiet. Actually, maybe not even a living creature.

A huff. They and Dimitri are tracking some bandits in uncharted territory. This is definitely what they wanted. But—golden irises sweep towards him in another passing but intense glance—at least they can learn more about this Dimitri. He's different from the Order; and there's only one of him.

Kiran sniffs. Something smells. Then again. Smells real fucking nasty. Bile rushes up their throat, but they quickly cover their mouth and nose before anything can escape. "Holy shit! OooooOOOh! That's GROSS!" Their pitch rises when they pinch their nose to stop the smell from violating their senses.

It does little to help, especially when they already know what it belongs to. It follows Hel around; once even Eir.

"Dimitri, do you smell that!? Tell me you smell that!"

It's the smell of death.

PRODIGY, THAT YOU ARE FAIR OR WISE IS VAIN.

You must have also the untaught strain that sheds beauty on the rose.

I care not how you are dressed, nor whether your name is base or brave; nor for the fashion of your behavior.

One thing is forever good; that one thing is SUCCESS.

"Awe, don't pout... You upset you got beaten in chess on a romantic holiday? What? This wasn't what you had in mind when I invited you to tea? C'mon, you know you had fun! Listen, if it's a date you want, just say so. Don't wait until you're cornered!"

Perfect Tea Time!

(art by clarifioris)

"Ah, Kiran."

Bruno greets, pace quickening as he goes to meet them. His smile is small, awkward— a courtesy, really. Still, he endeavors to hide his nerves with it anyway. Best not to let it show, especially in front of the summoner. He cannot owe them too much.

"I apologize for my abruptness. I promise I won't take long." A sigh follows his words. There's no time for hesitation now. "I simply wanted to thank you. While I was gone, you took care of my friends. "

His head lowers, and a hand rubs his nape sheepishly. The Askrans are not difficult to love, gods know that, but he cannot help but feel as though he's imparted some burden onto Kiran. A responsibility in response to his shortcomings.

He has to rectify that, now. He wants to.

"Please, take this as a token of my gratitude." Bruno extends the box towards them, a small jangling sounding out from it as he does. A silver brooch rests inside it, with a gleaming blue stone embedded in its center. "It's supposed to ward you from all sorts of evils, but if it doesn't… well, it still makes for a good accessory, aesthetically speaking." He smiles again, just a bit wider this time. "Feel free to seek me out, whether for help or otherwise. Now that I'm here, I don't plan on letting my debts go unpaid."

There is only a toss of a greeting thrown his way. Barely a sound as they stand at the end of a table, hovering over a chess game against themselves. Their thoughts are occupied, only to be brought out of it, when the owner of the voice registers. It's a deeper voice of a man who lost his boyhood too quickly long ago. It reaches each corner of the classroom, even piercing through the thoughts that occupy them.

It's getting dark. How long have they been here? Kiran turns. Head tilts up to look at him. Damn. Always built like a tree.

As Bruno passes them the box and uses too many words to explain one simple expression of gratitude, they take a peek inside. A very nice brooch. Not flashy to draw attention either. They’ve never really worn a brooch before. (Seemed like a rich person thing back on Earth).

Golden irises flitter up to catch that wider smile. When he’s done, they thoughtfully say, “You’re welcome... but... ” Then they frown, more out of frustration, and dropping the box gently on the table, they take hold of his face and pull him down closer to them, so they see eye to eye. They squish his cheeks. “Listen here, Bruno. I’ve got several issues with what you just said. First: our friends. OUR friends. Second, even if I gave you one of my kidneys, you wouldn’t owe me shit.”

“Third...!” Tears well up. Oh no. Not this. They’d rather get caught with their pants down than be seen crying!

Spurred on by embarrassment—featuring genuine love and frustration for Bruno’s tendency to think so little of their relationship—Kiran releases his face and quickly wraps their arms around him tightly, burying their face in his clothes.

Though muffled, they still say, “We’re friends, you dillweed! We’ve been friends for years. Stop treating this like it’s some bullshit transactional thing!”

Kiran stays there for several moments as they take a few breaths to stop the tears. (Really not helping). Eventually, they peel off of him with hands going to wipe under their eyes. (They’re still crying kind of. Which god invented crying?) 

amnesiac-pawn​:

Look. Harmless magic wasn’t exactly his forte. Almost all magic—at least, magic at his disposal, instead of that of a healer—had some sort of damage associated with it. But that was an argument for another time. Until then, Kiran whisks away and Morgan is left with countless pairs of eyes glaring down at him expectantly.

“Um…”

At the very least, Morgan is able to appease the naysayers with a few select fire tricks, creating imagery and telling stories with his flame—even if most of them are adamant that it’s just some sort of crazy flint and steel making the fire and not his clearly right-there-in-your-face magic. The idea that Kiran had abandoned him and that he was doing this whole show for nothing had slithered into his mind before, like a shining light in the darkness, they appeared.

But, of course, with their arrival comes an immediate dissatisfaction. Morgan instinctively reaches for one of the cookies, but Kiran swoops the plate away from him and allows themselves to be swarmed by the crowd.

“Aw, what? Kiran! Not fair!”

The crowd seems delighted at Morgan’s dilemma, some even waving their treats in his face. Taunting him. Humiliating him. A frown etches itself upon his face—until a look of confusion, and then dawning realization, replaces it as the first victim voices their concern.

Never in his eighteen years had Morgan witnessed herbs so effective. Turning slowly to face them, he concedes.

“You are an evil, evil person, Kiran.”

The smile doesn’t fade. They simply shrug their shoulders. He really acts like he just killed them all. And, yeah, too much of it could kill someone, but they aren’t evil. A menace, on purpose, sometimes, but only that. They’ll shit themselves uncontrollably, but they made sure it wouldn’t be for more than a day at the most. 

Again, a menace. Not evil.

Kiran starts walking towards the bridge. The tray used to transport the goodies hitting the back of their leg as they just hold it behind their back nonchalantly. “I didn’t do anything, Morgan. The cookies just must not have agreed with them, that’s all.” 

A glance over their shoulder at him. “And good job demonstrating your magic.” Their smile swaps to a frown. They turn to face him. “I was serious about what I said, though. Magic can be dangerous. I know you can control yours; there’s no doubt about it. But you’ve always pushed your magic to be bigger and more powerful.” 

Kiran steps backward. “My challenge for you is to make it smaller and less powerful.” They lightly shrug. “A true mage is able to control, not just the spell, but how powerful it is, wouldn’t you say?”

constanzea​:

The pegasus beats its wings in a steady rhythm, keeping them aloft just below the clouds. Their prey races forwards, unaware they are being hunted like rabbits. She feels Kiran moving behind her, probably drawing their bow. Constance leans forward, encouraging their steed forwards and into a wide turn towards the river.

“Brilliant plan, I knew you were the right person to call upon!” Constance grins as they inch closer. Their own cavalry are also making chase, closing in upon these rotten brutes in a pincer formation. “Are your arrows knocked and ready to fly?”

The wind bites against her exposed skin, whipping blonde and lilac curls across her face. The pegasus is dutiful, performing the aerial manoeuvre just as planned. It’s exhilarating, speeding through the air like this. An aching familiarity in the feeling of the reins beneath her hands. Something Constance hadn’t realised she had been longing for, all these years. Giving chase like this is a thrill and her heartbeat increases it’s pace as they close in.

Closer and closer they approach, from the right hand side as the other riders close in from behind. They push the thieves towards the river - no way out. Magical arrowheads are summoned into her right palm. The spell already forming before it’s on her lips. Prepared to strike, to fire at will. The pegasus swoops lower, granting the pair of them a better vantage of the thieves.

“Ready at your order, Kiran!”

Jeez, it’s cold. Nifl was colder though—so were some of the winters back in their world—so they ignore the sting in pricking at their cheeks and the stinging in their eyes, as they pull the arrow back. 

(Note to self: get a nice warm jacket. Hood. Something.)

Below them, the thieves push through undergrowth only to scramble to a stop when they reach the edge of the river. (It’s a fast current. There’s a waterfall farther down the stream). A set of fliers circles around the right. Good. They’ll be able to wrap this up in no time. Meanwhile, Constance’s praise does flutter around in their chest a bit. It’s nice to be complimented by another inventor.

“Steadyyyy...” she holds out the word when she shifts the bow. Down a bit. Left. Down more. No, up. “Fire!”

The arrow flies. They’ll definitely miss. Kiran is already looking away to think about how best to round them up quickly and efficiently when there’s a cry of pain below. Kiran looks down. 

One of the thieves had an arrow in his shoulder. Their arrow.

He stumbles back into the river. Uh oh.