Echoes Renewed

    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.

🔥?

A dance that uses FIRE MAGIC? Oh he was BORN for this. And unlike some people he didn’t need help either. Fire danced at his fingertips as easily as breathing was for him, trails of white hot heat following along with each movement.

And when a pretty lady with red hair only a few tints lighter than his offers to dance alongside him? You’d be stupid to think if he wasn’t gonna take the opportunity to show off.

“Hey, Miss! Check this out!” He says confidently before the fire in his palms grows brighter. With the final swell of the music, Ewan throws his hands up, the flames rising above and swirling in a brilliant color, earning a few oohs from those watching.

….and a scream from a man who stood too close and got his toupee burnt off.

Still, she has to stifle a giggle as the man rushes off to douse his head in the punch bowl.

Graciously, she accepts the flower, inserting the rose into the center of her bouquet, its vermilion providing a splash of color in the midst of the white lilies.

Of course, not to be outdone, she plucks a blossom from the very same bouquet. Eyes closed in concentration, she does her best to recreate a trick she had seen Nomah use in years past, one that had had her younger self begging to be taught.

Flame rushes up the stem, engulfing the base of the flower until, in a rush, the white of the lily suddenly erupts, with vibrant yellows, oranges and scarlets dancing across the edges of the petals in a distinctly firey motif. Cutting the flow of magic, she quickly casts another spell to freeze the fire within the flower, handing it in out in return.

"For the dance, and for the rose. Very impressive." She gives him a wink and a small curtsy, before adding.

No Skill Points

Raven haired, with aristocratic features and a proud demeanor. He sat at the rear of the classroom, straight-backed despite the hard wooden bench. Unlike the other students, he sat alone at his table, although it didn’t seem to bother him much. But most of all, he looked… familiar. Looking up from her notes, she sneaks another look over her shoulder. She frowns slightly.

Where had she seen him before?

She could swear that she had met him before at the Academy. But that was impossible. He was a new transfer to the Eagles, rumored to be a prominent noble from a foreign land.

The professor’s voice drones over her internal musings. “For the remainder of class, you will partner up with someone, and together you must agree on a notable historical military strategy, which you will present to everyone else tomorrow. You may use your texts for reference. Proceed.”

With the assignment detailed in full, the classroom quickly devolves into a bustle of students seeking out their friends to work with. Stealing another glance towards the back, Celica makes a hasty decision. Muttering a quick explanation to her own friends, she gathers her materials, walking to meet the lone boy in the back of the room.

Smoothing out her skirt, she takes a seat on the bench next to him, tentatively offering a small smile. “I noticed you didn’t have a partner yet. Would you like to pair up? Oh! I’m Celica, by the way.”

Setting her books down, Celica flips open the thick textbook, and flicks through the pages. “I was thinking about this anecdote.”

She points to a line of text. “In Imperial Year 776, General Fontlaurey of the Adrestian Army was sent to quell an insurrection in the southern territories. But instead of routing the rebels like he was commanded, he appealed to their leader about the harm that a civil war would cause, and how the violence was against the teachings of the Goddess. The rebel leader, a pious man himself, was moved by the general’s speech, and agreed to surrender in exchange for clemency. Fontlaurey even agreed to represent the rebels’ case before the emperor.”

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.”

Wrenching her gaze from the blackened land, she turns and responds to her professor, grateful that another experienced mage was leading the group.

"I'd like to start with measurements, and making sure we understand the scope of the situation. We can try to set firebreaks downwind of the leading edge of the burn, and focus on controlling that edge of the field first. Our priority should be limiting its spread, then working from the outside in."

She nods at the specks in the distance, the only indication of the monastery across a sea of ash.

Mission Board: Infamous; Reason +1

She touches a finger to the charred grass, and lets the ember take to her finger, blossoming into a small flame, the heat familiar against her finger. She feeds it a trickle of her magic, trying to diagnose what made this fire so different to still be smoldering weeks after its fuel had ran out.

The flame grows, clinging unnaturally to her fingertip, hungrily lapping at her magic to feed itself, to find fuel in the flesh of her hand. The ember burns a sickly yellow, edges almost invisible in the heat haze still radiating from the charred ground. It is entirely unlike the quiet, almost tender warmth of the fire magic she is used to; this is a rabid animal, restless and ravenous.

Tamping down at the magic sustaining the flame, she makes to extinguish it; but even without a source to sustain itself, it instead leaps to her finger, eager in its newfound freedom. Celica yelps, fighting the urge to smother the flame in her cloak, and instead conjures another flame, her own fire. The familiar orange of the Fire spell flares up and engulfs the smaller yellow flame, suffocating it. Slowly, defiantly, the yellow fades from the core of the orange, and Celica extinguishes her own flame.

Examining her finger, she can see the tip is already starting to blister. She frowns. How long had it last been since she had feared a fire like this?

Though her heart ached, that was not the priority right now. Most would consider this land lost. None would blame another if they did. The silence rang through her ears, pierced only by her hurried flying, it would be more than enough to leave this place behind. Yet Rose could not. She could fly, so she would. Blue eyes searched and searched and searched until—a person!

Any injuries… ah, good. Just her finger blistering. Nothing serious…

“Pardon me! But this isn’t a very safe place to be. I can heal you but I’d advise against staying here, it would be awful if you got any more hurt!”

After this, she could return to her search around the area. The tents perched would save her from exerting too much magic but still…

"Rose, was it? Thank you for the healing. I'm Celica. I'm actually with the team from the monastery."

Celica shifts slightly, and the charcoaled remains of the grass beneath her crack ominously.

"I'm afraid I can't leave just yet. We're here for an investigation into the fire, to see if it's burned out and to try and quell any remaining flare-ups. There's also a team for relief, and I'm sure they would gladly welcome the help.

She gestures out into the distance, towards the tent faintly marked with the icon of a vulnerary.

Mission Board: Infamous; No Skill Points

These were Camilla’s clothes.

She sighs. Her own wardrobe was empty, and there wasn’t much choice. It would be best to get this over with before it became hard to explain, or worse, Camilla came looking for whomever had presumably stolen her clothes. And hopefully, she would be able to find her own laundry by finding Camilla. Staring at the pile of fabric and metal arranged on the bed, she resolves herself to putting it on.

Celica looks into the mirror and winces. The black and purple of the ensemble clashes heavily with her orange hair, and it is immediately clear that every piece is fitted for a much taller woman. The knee-high boots swallow her legs to mid-thigh, and the cuirass hangs awkwardly from smaller shoulders. Arms are similarly engulfed in ill-fitting gloves, and the fabric bunches awkwardly over her arms. She looks ridiculous. Glancing back at the remaining accessories on the bed, she fastens the capelet with the strap over her chest, just as she remembers Camilla wearing it, and hopes that it will be enough to keep everything from falling completely off her. The black hornlike diadem slips into her hair to complete the set.

She takes a few experimental steps, wobbling slightly at the unfamiliar weight of the metal plates across her torso. The metal clinks softly as she walks, and every click of her heels feels like an auditory beacon, drawing the attention of passers-by. Opening her door, she peeks around the corners of the dormitory block for anyone nearby, before hurrying as best she can across the colonnade before anyone can see her.

Ducking into one of Garreg Mach’s many wall-enclosed gardens, she breathes a sigh of relief. The route to Camilla’s office was not far from the other side, and the quicker she could make it there without stumbling across anyone, the quicker she could sort out this whole debacle. Cutting a course across the grass, Celica scarcely makes it one step before the pointed heel sinks fully into the soft loam. Right, she had forgotten about that.

Arms flailing comically for a moment, she falls hard backwards, landing hard on her butt before the cuirass hits the cobblestones with a thunderous clang.

“Ow…”

Mission Board: Infamous; Reason +1

She touches a finger to the charred grass, and lets the ember take to her finger, blossoming into a small flame, the heat familiar against her finger. She feeds it a trickle of her magic, trying to diagnose what made this fire so different to still be smoldering weeks after its fuel had ran out.

The flame grows, clinging unnaturally to her fingertip, hungrily lapping at her magic to feed itself, to find fuel in the flesh of her hand. The ember burns a sickly yellow, edges almost invisible in the heat haze still radiating from the charred ground. It is entirely unlike the quiet, almost tender warmth of the fire magic she is used to; this is a rabid animal, restless and ravenous.

Tamping down at the magic sustaining the flame, she makes to extinguish it; but even without a source to sustain itself, it instead leaps to her finger, eager in its newfound freedom. Celica yelps, fighting the urge to smother the flame in her cloak, and instead conjures another flame, her own fire. The familiar orange of the Fire spell flares up and engulfs the smaller yellow flame, suffocating it. Slowly, defiantly, the yellow fades from the core of the orange, and Celica extinguishes her own flame.

Examining her finger, she can see the tip is already starting to blister. She frowns. How long had it last been since she had feared a fire like this?