Echoes Renewed

No Skill Points

"Looking weak simply invites invasion. A country could have as many alliances and connections as they want. It is easy to forge such things in times of peace and plenty. Yet when war comes to their doorstep, it is just as likely that those allies may abandon them. Or simply not even be able to react in time, if the weak country can't even fend off it's conquerors." For a moment the thinks about it, looking through one of the text books. "A recent example of that, we could just look to one of the most recent conflicts. By all means, Brigid had a strong ally in Dagda. Yet as soon as the war turned, what happened? Dagda was forced out, and abandoned the island to be turned into a vassal state to the Empire. What good was that alliance?" A smirk crosses his face, though he gives slight sigh as he continues to look through the books.

Celica stops to consider, fighting the urge to rebuke his point on reflex. Choosing her words slowly, she continues, finding her best response.

"And if a nation is truly so militant as to hold a conquer without resistance and unpredictable as to launch a full-scale invasion without warning or provocation, then it can only serve as a sign to other nations to respond, be they allies or not."

She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear before continuing. "The alliance between Brigid and Dagda was not completely fruitless, either. The conquest of Brigid was famously due to the previous king's refusal to surrender, but while he led the war, Brigid managed to topple the noble houses of Ochs and Nuvelle, a feat they would be unable to do without Dagdan supplies and mercenaries. Even after the war was officially ended, Dagda's protest at Brigid's vassalage still heavily affects Adrestia today. No port in Adrestia receives Dagdan spices or steel, and merchants are forced to buy from Alliance merchants at massively inflated prices."

Still, Celica can sense a turning point in the conversation, and she listens attentively to his suggestion.

"961..." Celica thinks back. "A relatively recent event. A rare example of cooperation between the nations, as well. A signal to Fodlan that, despite their differences, their combined strength is still necessary to protect the entirety of the continent. The victories in battle were achieved through outstanding military tactics, but the war was only won through shrewd diplomacy and mutual understanding. Yes, that could work..."

In that moment, the hawk's shriek pierces the air again, and a sudden strike of headache prompts Tibarn to drop to his knees with a loud groan. Pain worse than a sledgehammer to the head, than a crossbow to the chest - pain that makes him realize, somewhere at the back of his mind, that that furious cry for blood came from within him.

"What... is—"

From the skies, something swoops at him like a hawk at its prey, and the previously fought back groan forces itself out of his chest as a full blown scream of pain as dark purple energy envelops its body and begins to burn away at him in what feels like a thousand bites.

The feathers of his outstretched wings grow longer and worn at the edges. As he clutches his head, trying anything to stop that pulsating headache threatening to tear through his temples, he leaves himself with a new long scratch across his face once his fingers morph halfway into talons, equally sharp and deadly as the full spectacle.

Kill.

No, don't—

Kill.

Inhale. Exhale.

Kill Kill Kill

Among the throbbing pain, he feels as though he's drowning.

KILL KILL KILL

He can't hear anything.

KILL

Every thought, every memory, everything he was, is and wants to be, warps itself into the flames of Serenes, the screams of his brethren, the twisted smiles of his enemies, and this one, singular word.

With a singular beat, his wings pull him off the ground. As Celica's voice calls to him, there he is - floating just above the dry grass, a dull red glow in his eyes as they finally force themselves open.

"Hmph."

She lowers her blade, lowering it to her side but not sheathing it just yet. "You squander your potential."

She walks slowly, circling the laguz, each step measured in a way that belied the frightening strength behind her sword hand. The dark flames around her surge, and eyes glow deeper red as a cruel smile stretches across her face.

"Why abide by these humans, these murderers, when you have the strength to slaughter them? Your strength is wasted on protecting, pretending you cannot do anything about it. The only way to use power is to hold it in your own hands, and use it to tear greater power from the flesh of your enemies. Do not deny your base desires."

She completes her circle, driving the tip of her blade into the ground before crossing her arms, posture squared towards the hawk king.

Mission Board: Infamous; Reason +1

She listened carefully to Celica’s words. Unlike Rose, she seemed to have a rather… hm, what was the word? Structured? Reliable? Well, Rose was rather reliable in healing! But not any of this. She flew up a bit higher rather than look above Celica’s shoulder. From above, it was easy to see the relief team. Hmmm, she could stick there but—

What if someone was left? They’d need healing. Immediate healing. And… and… Rose nodded. “I did see it from…” she turned around to point some ways away from herself, “that direction but I’m not quite sure about anywhere else. I’ve not scouted ahead before, but, I’d love to help! Will you be joining me in searching? Or is this more of a solo venture?”

Thinking for a second, she points to the distant horizon Rose had indicated, smudged with a grey haze. "We can start from that direction, since the edge of the burn is that way. If you could find any parts that are spreading and relay them to me, it would be a huge help. Once we find an area that is still burning, we can work on extinguishing them together. And if we come across any civilians in that area we must evacuate them or heal them if they need it."

She gives a slight smile. "Truly, thank you for your assistance. There's just so much area burned, and it's difficult to traverse. Our team is spread thin, and your help is invaluable."

She gestures towards the blackened earth.

“Got it. I’ll be sure to heal any I see.” Her words held her usual softness but stood firmer in her gaze. With others in mind, healing could be as easy as breathing to Rose. A fact she would have to use well here lest the fog of fire cloud her mind entirely. She curtsied as quick as she could at the gratitude, just before Celica moved forward. 

“Yes. Do let me know if the smoke or flames bring you any harm, Celica. I have more than enough energy to heal you and any others in need of evacuation.”

With a soft smile, she began flying. Only a bit ahead of Celica, her shoes reaching just above the other’s head. 

“Are you familiar with this sort of thing, Celica? You’re very composed.”

At Rose's compliment, however, she takes pause. "Familiar? In truth, although I fight with fire magic, rarely am I left to consider the consequence if control slips away." She pauses, gaze wistful. "But composure is easier found off the battlefield, where scenes like this are far less frequently seen."

She begins picking her way through the scorched field, occasionally stopping to inspect the smoldering ground. When she finds an ember, still smoldering away furiously, she channels her own fire to smother it of air. It is slow, exhausting work, but it is what must be done to prevent the fire from reigniting.

All that's to say, he doesn't mind a little chaos born from attempts to be open and welcoming, every once in a while. So when news breaks about some Zenith-born "orb" or whatever, his first thought is simple. Just don't touch and play with things you don't know. Easy as that.

Right?

Well, as it turns out, the rumor left out one crucial detail: that the orb can actually absorb you if you get a bit too close.

So it is, that on one calm day, while Tibarn is busy patrolling the monastery grounds and greeting a student from the Black Eagles he happened to pass by - a red-haired girl with a regal aura somewhat reminiscent of Micaiah - the thing just so happens to materialize right in front of him, blinding him with a flash of white that forces him to shield his face with his arm. It takes a moment before his eyes can open and adjust again, but once they do, he quickly realizes he is no longer at Garreg Mach.

And also that the student is also here.

"Oh, now what," he begins before abruptly pausing, interrupted by a hawk cry echoing through the air. A furious one.

She squints up at the sky, looking for the source of the cry, when a sense of sudden malice surges behind her. She doesn't even have a chance to turn before the rogue orb slips into her back, and she falls to her knees.

Celica's eyes widen and her pupils constrict, the soft orange fading to a harsh red, skin draining in color. Wordlessly, her right hand finds her sword, jerkily pulling it from its sheath. With inhuman strength, she plunges her blade deep into the solid rock beneath her, burying the blade deep into the cracked earth to push herself up. Despite the strength which had pierced the ground, she rises slowly, unnaturally, as if pulled from above. As she stands, her head lolls forward, only to snap backwards abruptly, and gouts of purple flame sputter to life, softly wrapping around their new host.

"Hee hee. Hee hee hee hee. Lord Duma's power has returned to its fated vessel. In time, all will be his — mine."

Mission Board: Herald — Any +1

The clang of the sword rings out like the crack of a whip, and the cleric is powerless to watch as some foreign power takes hold of her friend. But, oh, Silque had had her reservations, isn't that right? Celica, who always dreamed bigger than any of them, whose shoulders were constantly weighed down with countless what-ifs. Of course she would jump at the opportunity to —

Silque blinks, and the person that stands before her now sports a different posture. Steadier, straighter, like that of a girl — a woman — who had grown stronger under the strain.

"Celica, is that you?" Still you, the mild uncertainty in Silque's voice seems to ask. "Wow, I like your new outfit! You look like..."

Eventually, she finds a teasing smile, tilting her head in appraisal. "Like a princess who swash-buckled a dozen pirates." It suits her, even if Silque hadn't been there to see it.

The compliment, however, catches her off guard, and Celica smiles sheepishly. "It's Queen now, actually. This battle armor was modeled after Zofia's. The Zofia, I mean. Zofia the First."

She adjusts the skirt of the dress, taking Silque's hand. "In truth, it's a lot to live up to. Zofia, Rigel — it's the first time ever that the continent has been unified like this. Since the before days of the Earth Mother and War Father, even."

The stone walls of the monastery open to verdant courtyards as Celica follows Silque to an open table. She finds an open seat across from Silque, giving the area an appreciative scan before turning her attention back to the sister's question.

"Well, to start... there are no pirates anymore." She gives a cheerful smile. "The people of the coast, and of Novis, can rest easily. The Brotherhood has done more than the old knights ever could."

"As for the Kingdom..." She tilts her head pensively. "I can't deny it's been rough at points. I'm not sure anyone was really ready for the unification. Many Zofians held me in the same regard as my father, and I can't blame them. The Rigelians saw only a Zofian and a witch."

She spreads her hands. "But that was in the past. None of what we have now would be possible without Alm. He's been working tirelessly right alongside the common folk to rebuild the land. You play no small part too." She nods. "At times I can tell his heart still yearns for the battlefield, but he has a way of rallying people, a gift for leadership that shines so brightly. I don't know what the Kingdom could do without him." She gives a wistful smile.

"Oh! We also figured out how to farm the land again." Celica leans in. "The soil and water were restored only a few short years ago. Sage Halcyon said that the fighting, the madness, was the cause of Zofia's drought. But the clerics at the Temple of Mila working with Halcyon as the new head of the Duma Faithful found a way to cleanse the land, and each year our harvests only grow. It seems to have been the Earth Mother's last gift to her children. Alongside some knowledge from Archanea."

In return, a scream, a howl- the beast nearly down from the student’s assault alone. In its wake, Sephiran finds himself hesitating. It is not as though he were concerned that he may fail to finish it off- no, even if it missed, it was already on its last legs, swaying as if caught in a particularly powerful wind- the two hunters, leisurely preparing themselves behind him, would easily make up for what he lacks.

But rather, it felt as though something were incomplete- that the story he had been told had not been said in its entirety- or worse, that it had not been true at all. Large eyes shine as if coated in tears, though he knew it were only a trick of the light. Yet, he could not quite ignore the low wail that seemed to be building in its throat.

Her footsteps are surprisingly muted in the blanket of snow, masking her rush forward as she squares her stance and begins casting.

The glow at her fingertips is all the warning the beast would get before a bolt of thunder magic lances through the air, leaving a crackling white afterimage that hissed when it met the beast's black coat. It yowls, a disturbing, human like scream of pain. Closing the distance alarmingly fast, it bounds at her, paws outstretched.

The beast was bigger than she imagined, and with a speed that belied its massive size. Without time to properly dodge, she lowers her shoulder to meet the incoming paw. On instinct, she lets the paw take her shoulder, converting the momentum into a forward roll under the beast before slamming her palms upward, into the creature's chest.

The undiluted thunder spell strikes true, and she watches as the oversized feline flies bodily overhead, screaming again with pain as it slams into a tree. Keeping one eye on the creature, Celica stands, unable to shake the sense that something is fundamentally wrong about the situation, but unable to place it.

It is only once the expected healing spell from her allies has been cast — its glow not at her unmarred shoulder but at the beast's side — does she realize.

Its claws had been sheathed. The attack that had hit her had been pulled, its blow meant to be a mere warning, a distraction.

She looks back at the beast's eyes, wide with oh-so-human emotion. Fear. Hopelessness. Betrayal.

She glances back at the hunting party, so many things running through her mind as fiery hair whips up, back fully turned to the animal as she waves her arms in the air, body between them and its prone form.

"Wait! I think—"

The old hunter's voice cuts through her epiphany, voice bitter and cold. "It would have all been so much easier if you had just finished it off, and not thought about things too hard."

He stops in front of her, raising his own hands, glowing with magic. "It will be so very tragic when we tell the Church how we were too late to save the poor young girl from the beast."

The hot cocoa in her stomach turns to ice. Eyes wide with sudden fear, Celica stumbles back, ready to defend herself from the new monster in front of her.

Her guard is down, there is no escape from the scalding light as it burns the skin from her exposed hands. But in the mix of swirling emotions, the raw fear of survival seizes her, one not-so-unlike what she had seen shining in the creature's eyes just seconds before. In an almost exact imitation of her previous actions, she drives both palms into her attacker's soft paunch, magic fueled more by instinct than rational thought.

Mission Board: Infamous; Reason +1

She listened carefully to Celica’s words. Unlike Rose, she seemed to have a rather… hm, what was the word? Structured? Reliable? Well, Rose was rather reliable in healing! But not any of this. She flew up a bit higher rather than look above Celica’s shoulder. From above, it was easy to see the relief team. Hmmm, she could stick there but—

What if someone was left? They’d need healing. Immediate healing. And… and… Rose nodded. “I did see it from…” she turned around to point some ways away from herself, “that direction but I’m not quite sure about anywhere else. I’ve not scouted ahead before, but, I’d love to help! Will you be joining me in searching? Or is this more of a solo venture?”

Thinking for a second, she points to the distant horizon Rose had indicated, smudged with a grey haze. "We can start from that direction, since the edge of the burn is that way. If you could find any parts that are spreading and relay them to me, it would be a huge help. Once we find an area that is still burning, we can work on extinguishing them together. And if we come across any civilians in that area we must evacuate them or heal them if they need it."

She gives a slight smile. "Truly, thank you for your assistance. There's just so much area burned, and it's difficult to traverse. Our team is spread thin, and your help is invaluable."

She gestures towards the blackened earth.

Mission Board: Herald — Any +1

The telltale crackle of magic echoes off the stone walls of the monastery, accompanied by a burst of prismatic light.

Immediately Celica is on guard, one hand reaching back for Silque while the other finds her sword, but as the source of the disturbance reveals itself, her eyes widen. Almost immediately, all sense of wariness evaporates as her grip slackens on the sword, standing up straighter.

Step.

Slowly, as if pulled along, Celica steps closer and closer to the orb, seemingly entranced by a vision only she could see.

Step.

"It's... beautiful... Is such a future really...?"

Step.

Her sword clatters to the ground, dropped from limp fingers.

Step.

She pauses reverently just in front of the orb, hands clasped in front of her in prayer. As if responding to her call, the orb floats towards her, sinking into her chest. There is a brief moment where the world hangs frozen in white.

As the light fades, there is a swish of fabric and light clink of metal as a different, slightly older-looking Celica comes into view, clad in red and gold.

The familiar (if unexpected) partner for the unfamiliar dance immediately sets her on the back foot, stumbling slightly as the music settles into a rousing gallop.

The sharp, stuttering steps of the dance were as chaotic as the fiercest battles she had experienced, and yet the wild, insistent rhythm behind it all could not be ignored. It pounded like a heartbeat as the intensity of the dance stepped up, and any words she could muster had to be forgotten to keep up.

The tempo increases again, and she is hard-pressed to keep up with his footwork, winding through each position over and around his arms, trusting in him to lead. Quickly she is forced to discard any thought of composure, relying on instinct to guide her own steps as she spins apart, then whirls back towards him just as quickly, almost crashing against his chest before stopping. Each required movement seemed to be more difficult than the last, contracting and elongating in ways that felt unnaturally freeing, as if her being was coming apart.

The number ends with her in a low dip, and Celica hangs for a moment in the silence, hair askew and breathing heavily.

"Goodness...", she pants. "That was... exhausting... But also strangely... thrilling. I could barely keep up."

Faith backed up by competence, backed up by a willingness to go along with Leif's calls and not to go against him.

“If you want to train your stamina, you might find the dance even more fun with the next person you do it with.” Somewhat indelicate but earnest all the same, this is what Leif tells her as he pulls one of his lilies to offer to her as is customary for these dances once they've concluded. “My flower for yours. Are you still good to walk, or do you want some help getting out of here?”

He's exhausted others before, and if she herself says she's fatigued, he supposes he ought to take responsibility.

Celica gives a small smile, accepting his flower. In return, she finds her own bouquet, offering one of her own lilies in return.

"Thank you for your concern, but I think I've already mostly recovered."

Still, she accepts his offer, following him to receive a glass of water from a nearby waiter.

    With new continents of students comes new culture, and the Ethereal Ball provides a stage for those who might not know. Though dancing might not be one of Leif's loves, it enters his repertoire like any weapon— a tool, like any other, to bring him to the future he believes he must walk.

All over again, when he thinks he knows so much, he is humbled, taught there shall be something new to learn. To learn the steps, to falter and renew one's focus—

How many times has Leif gone through this song and dance?

“Celica! You caught me at a weird time...”

Not yet a master, the hand he takes in the trade of random partners on the dance floor is one who he recognizes, causing him to be sheepish as his feet strike the tile beneath them. It creates a sharp noise, developing the rhythm to something more on time as the song progresses; the off-beats that once had Leif making odd faces are instead performed cleanly.

The familiar (if unexpected) partner for the unfamiliar dance immediately sets her on the back foot, stumbling slightly as the music settles into a rousing gallop.

The sharp, stuttering steps of the dance were as chaotic as the fiercest battles she had experienced, and yet the wild, insistent rhythm behind it all could not be ignored. It pounded like a heartbeat as the intensity of the dance stepped up, and any words she could muster had to be forgotten to keep up.

The tempo increases again, and she is hard-pressed to keep up with his footwork, winding through each position over and around his arms, trusting in him to lead. Quickly she is forced to discard any thought of composure, relying on instinct to guide her own steps as she spins apart, then whirls back towards him just as quickly, almost crashing against his chest before stopping. Each required movement seemed to be more difficult than the last, contracting and elongating in ways that felt unnaturally freeing, as if her being was coming apart.

The number ends with her in a low dip, and Celica hangs for a moment in the silence, hair askew and breathing heavily.

"Goodness...", she pants. "That was... exhausting... But also strangely... thrilling. I could barely keep up."

"Silque! Is that you?!" So focused is Celica on the sudden appearance of a familiar face that she missteps, and the goblet in her hand goes flying.

"Oh no!"

"Ah! Sister Celica, I---"

And that's as far as Silque gets, eyes wide with joy, before that joy is suddenly dampened by a splash of some unidentifiable liquid down her front.

"… Celica," she sighs, exasperation and fondness all in one. "Look, it spilled all over my flowers! What am I meant to do with these," she sniffs at her bouquet, "champagne-soaked tulips?"

Laughing despite the blunder, Silque presses the flowers into Celica's hands, smiling at the priestess. It has been so long since they both left the priory, and both of them, Silque knows, have grown kind and strong.

Despite the situation, Celica can't help but stifle a smile at Silque's miffed expression. Stepping forward more carefully this time, she ignores the liquid dripping down the cleric and wraps her in a deep hug.

"Even after the war, we never really had the time to catch up with each other, did we? It was the castle for me, and back to the road again for you."

Pulling away, she shares a laugh with Silque over the wet splotches that now adorned both of their dresses. Taking Silque's hand, she clasps it in between her own.

No Skill Points

At the assignment, a part of him had rolled his eyes. Any presentation he would give would be better without a partner, no one to risk dragging him down. Still perhaps there would be someone of note in this class at least, maybe worthwhile to-

The voice made him freeze. Turning to look at the girl that had sat beside him, for a moment Berkut pondered if this was yet another ploy to accuse him of something. Yet apparently she wanted to work together. A scoff nearly escaped him as she introduced herself yet again. As if she needed an introduction. While he hadn't realized it last year, he had figured out who she was.

Celica. The Queen of the One Kingdom. Berkut had never seen her, but did know her name. At least the fake one she had used to escape from Jedah's grip. Wasn't her true name supposedly Anthiese? At least whenever that wretch had complained about her killing some faithful member or another, that was the name he had used.

As much as he wanted to reject her as a partner in this assignment, he doubted he would find any other options. Though he couldn't help but roll his eyes at the anecdote she had chosen. "If you recall, we are suppose to talk about a military strategy. While this Fontlaurey did put an end to this, it wasn't through a military campaign or on the battlefield."

"The independence of the Holy Kingdom was largely mediated by the Church, which received significant popular support due to the actions of the previous emperor, who sought to consolidate the northern church's power under direct control of the Empire. The backlash from the people against that was one of the major factors in Faerghus being able to raise enough support to rebel in the first place, as well as the direct support of the Church."

"Besides," she continues. "The lack of force used in the 776 Insurrection delayed the Leicester Rebellion, not caused it. The loss of troops that would have been needed to quell the insurrection and preoccupation of the military would have incentivised an earlier rebellion from Leicester, not prevented it.

"And is there anything wrong with looking weak to the world? Harsh use of force only makes a nation look cold and hostile, discouraging trade and diplomacy. A so-called 'weak' country may have much more power through alliances and diplomatic connections than would otherwise seem."

Realizing her overpassionate manner, she flushes slightly, leaning back and smoothing out her skirt. Taking a breath to steady herself, she looks back at his smug face.