𝐈𝐍 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄, 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐋𝐄𝐒𝐒.

He pulled his feet off the table, the legs of his chair clapping loudly against the stone floor as the rest of his weight drove it down, and leaned forward with eyes bright for the promise of a reward.

So he kept going, digging deeper for any additional information he could think to give his master, in hopes that whatever reward she had planned to give him might be doubled, tripled even - or perhaps driven by the bizarre urge for reciprocity, gratitude toward the hand that delivered what he had already earned.

”I can take you to the Ashen Wolves classroom later. It’s one of those places you don’t just stumble across unless you know what you’re looking for. Then you and Lady Nel can have a nice, long chat.”

His smile faltered, turning into a display of teeth. Something nameless snagged his throat and made him hesitate again, the excitement cooling in his eyes as they flickered away toward the windows. A cloud passed over the sun outside.

”But I’ll warn ya: it doesn't sound like she agrees with her brother about Lord Sombron. Actually, that’s another thing—“

Back to Zephia his gaze went, then he recovered himself and stretched his arms over his head. He settled his hands behind his neck and leaned back again like their conversation held little more importance than the day’s weather forecast.

”When I first met Lord Rafal, he said the Four Winds were Lady Nel’s knights. As far as I know, they only got our faces,” he said with a non-committed shrug. “But Lady Nel made ‘em sound like they aren’t too different from us.” The conversation he’d had with her on the boat set for an illusion, as far away as a dream now, still sprung to mind. He could almost still see the glittering sea stretched out before them when he closed his eyes.

”A serious old knight. A light-haired girl in armor. The last living mage dragon.” His eyes blinked open again, finding the window first and its dim sunlight, then glancing back to Zephia. “Zelestia was her name… I think.”

This time he spent a good, long while staring at her face, not understanding what he saw but feeling it anyway. His eyebrows twitched together.

suddenly stiff, zephia nodded curtly and regarded him with little else until the window became his focus, just as he became hers. nothing had changed, but resurrection was a strange aspect of time and, with it, brought suspicion. she did not interrupt his displaced string of thought, even when a question arose within her on the fell successor's relationship with her lord. whether he was a piece of a shattered dragonstone, similar to veyle's resistance, or if the reluctance instead belonged to his sister.

thus, the subject of her knights, or rather, their copies, raised her gaze from podium to hound, unconsciously unaware of what dropped her stare in the first place; stunned, silently, when griss' words threatened a crack in her solid countenance.

last living mage dragon. . . it was not shock that steeled her glare and pursed her lips, but neither was it anything besides a shy, unspoken hope she couldn't tie sensibly together. after all, she had not imagined that an alternate her would have the luxury of absent tragedy, so the realization should be as damned as it was.

zephia was all that zelestia had been,

. . . and, thus, she should not, and will not, care.

the final stack of papers sat atop the podium. zephia inhaled through her nose and from her mouth came the sharp exhale of, "how curious." before she turned her attention to his question, clasping together her claws and resting her chin against her knuckles. "well, time is with us, darling. you will remain as you have been for the past moons and i will arrange a visit for both nel and rafal once the time is proper."

to introduce a successor to her lord brought forth a multitude of scenarios in which zephia's capacity for intent would be strained. lord sombron's agenda was as much hers as it was his, and the assessment of his children would fall unto her until he woke once again.

frivolous trust! she sighed, again. "if we are here, then lord sombron is not far behind. in order to prepare for his summoning, i expect us to become well-accustomed to this environment. thus, whatever occurred in the twins' world does not concern us until he arrives."

zelestia was all that zephia was, so the mere idea of her was poison to the fruit she so carefully picked from her garden.

it was unlikely for bloodlust to be confused with chivalry. still, with their fangs diminished from four to two, as they had been from the very beginning, corners were necessary to cut and curiosities were necessary to erase. routine was easy to follow once broken back into a body.

—then sucked right back into his lungs at a crackling step.

"Who is there? Show yourself!" He shot upright with a start, sharp and angular - every tendon poised to act from head to toe. And they did; an intruder with a mawkishly sweet smile and all too familiar face would surface; a Wind. Bewilderment stoked the confusion behind his eyes, trust unfurling elsewhere like the slow rousing of a flower. Shoulders unloosening, guard evaporating, both in modicums ever so slight. "Zelestia. You were at the academy this entire time and did not breathe a word? Such irreverence is rare and unbecoming of your likes. You—"

Rafal paused; Zelestia, he'd said, uttered before reconsidered or revoked, before he realized that this could not be exactly right. 'Felled to this extent?' There existed something off about the verbiage as if she were not the original, not even a perfect reflection, but a product of light passed through multiple prisms. The final fruit warped into something bitter and more mocking, differences infinitesimal, but magnified to those inured to Zelestia's harmless ways. Was it truly the leader of the Four Winds? Or an analogue in the vein of Griss, an existence totally disparate?

One set of fingers pressed to his stomach, another twitched at his thigh with an invisible crackle of tension, around the phantom weight of his axe, or perhaps readying for violence all by themselves. Where Nil had struggled to meet his dreams with Revanche in hand, the newly awakened Rafal did not require any weapon to make ends come true. "No matter, I will forgive it. Your transgressions do not interest me, and I do not require assistance at the moment. If Griss has told you that story of me, then I trust he has informed you of what a. . .generous lord I am."

Generous; that's right. In the true absence of this shining virtue there would be no warning from Rafal at all. Face tipped to track the slow-moving clouds, he did not look at her. Zelestia. Not-Zelestia.

irreverence; rare, not easily missed by the dragon who wore her face in the plains of his world. understood from a knight's one - sided lifestyle, though whether the other mage dragon sat at rafal's feet, comfortable to crane her neck upon meeting his gaze, like she did with lord sombron before fate split the ties of their physical trust, was not known. she could not risk the pitch of loyalty, taut and feverishly stagnant, lest more revealed itself.

the mage dragon smiled, eyes crinkling at the corners as she worked to seep genuine concern into the curl of her lips, not an easy feat as it had once been in the face of lord sombron's other defect heir, "hehe, i'd hope so! my silence was anything but purposeful. hm - hm, i was startled even upon awaking here, no cause nor reasoning. so to see you this injured in my absence. . . i should have been there to help you." zephia stepped closer, but not impatiently, leaving a hand outstretched to mimic a worry to reach him in light of his injuries. "are you sure? the infirmary tent is quite a ways from here. really, helping you comes at no cost to myself."

but the subject shifted unto her hound, to which she blinked back an owlish gaze before forcing her expression to falter, breaking apart to delight as she giggled, urging serenity in the twitch of her eye at the word; generous. "uhm, he didn't say anything about generosity, but why would i not know of that? however, he is quite a strange man. he seemed nearly overcome with pride when retelling the memory. unlike how. . . well, he reminded me of. . ."

the statement drawled off into a mutter, where she cast her gaze to the side in faux contemplation and shook her head to mimic ache. damn her impatience! not considering the importance of naming which man took griss' face, too overcome by inescapable grief shared between the shattered pieces of a mirror she and zelestia were fated to be. but, despite this, she allowed her attention to falter until rafal looked elsewhere, his indescribable reaction flattened into a warning; an order this dragon had to swallow before her smile twisted itself into a scowl.

she ought to wait out those ten seconds, if only she would forget whose body she was trying to fit into.

"you're studying reason, correct?" the monk says, and for the first time hortensia's attention is properly snapped up.

she folds her hands in front of her and inclines her head with that so-perfect smile, fluffing her petticoats as she does so.

"indeed i am! although i would say i'm already quite knowledgeable, i suppose i can always learn more."

humility is a skill she is learning, too. a difficult one, that nearly tastes bitter enough to make her smile fall - nearly, but not quite. the monk doesn't acknowledge her save for a nod - has she lost her charm, somehow, or does this ascetic simply subscribe to the same school of thought as alear?

"one of our reason instructors' classes just let out," the monk continues, his words as dry as sand. "i'll take you to meet her. you'll likely have her as your teacher."

her? hortensia wonders if she'll be cute. her head is full of the ideas of pretty girls and fluffy bows, and she stays in those dreamy thoughts until the door to a classroom is opened with a creak.

what a dreary noise.

the figure in the room is familiar. too familiar. too familiar. she can't breathe, all of a sudden - but no, she is a princess, and she smiles. smiles bright and harsh. when she turns her head away, ever-so-briefly, the monk has left.

alone, alone, alone. her hands bunch in her skirts.

"this is not funny!"

she stomps a foot on the ground like an indignant child - like the child she is, even though it hurts.

(she will not cry. she is a princess. still, her cheeks flush red.)

a student's gaze lingers elsewhere and her claws poise to snag at their shoulder, rather than the tender skin of their neck, following the tilt of her head, softly whispering, "your tome is on the desk, not on your seating partner's face. focus, dear. . ."

and they focus for the entirety of the lecture after any scolding, if outlying factors were to be ignored for the general impression; surprisingly stiff in their obstinate rowdiness despite the thin - lipped, too - kind smile she offers them once she catches their tome closed and attention directed at silent, under table conversations.

yet they are the quickest to leave when the bell echoes through the hallways and corridors. the tome in her hand is shut. arms laid across the podium's flat. the door to her room opens just as silence finds her, tilting her head down to gather a few breaths and flex the joints of her claws.

"what is it?" comes the snap of the mage dragon's tone, curtly low to the extent of edging the rumble of both a growl and purr. but there is only the click of a shut door that answers her, though swiftly followed by a faint stomp and the shrill voice of. . .

sangria eyes narrow and fall to the pathetic sight of elusia's second princess, clutching her skirts and making a fuss, alike the little girl she has always been. annoyance softens into the dull warmth of amusement, accompanied by the click of her tongue piercing against her top teeth before mage dragon straightens her posture. fangs unsheath themselves behind her smile when she croons, "no? hm - hm, i find this quite humorous."

quickly, zephia pulls herself from the podium, always satisfied with making the first step in closing distance between herself and those who gaze upon her as if a ghost. but her steps round where hortensia stands, until she is between the door and the reddening princess; not at all a stranger to herding people away from possible retreats.

The dark is his first home, whose edges and contours he knows intimately. The shadows had been his friends, ones he'd played with in his boyhood, twisting shapes into monsters, gods, kings! The limitless imagination of a child— when, indeed, he imagines he had still been one— who had little else for company.

Now, it hides them like an old friend. No one can see him there. They cannot witness the way he twitches slightly at a scar pulled at with every step, a reminder that his existence is now to haunt, a miracle he does not believe in and never asked for. And so is the misstep a betrayal, another vicious reminder:

It is not his darkness; this is not his home. Foreign land betrays him. Kleine hadn't missed the whistle of wind, the glint of silver in the dark. One foot shifts behind the other without thinking, body twisted smoothly out of its path. TRAP! his mind screams, a second delayed. But he is not fast enough— never GOOD ENOUGH.

The cut that slashes across their cheek is not deep; the blade hadn't even been particularly sharp. But he feels the damned rope snare around an ankle— the real trap, one he should have known was there, had missed anyway— arms flailing to snag an arrow from those spilling from his quiver as he is yanked away into the air.

Body curls upward as soon as his momentum slows, arrow's metal tip touched the rope holding him aloft. Kleine knows as well as any what manner of beast might stalk the shadows. He'll not wait for one to find him—

The faintest of sounds splits the silence of the night and he stills.

—unless one already has.

THUNK! goes the arrowhead into the spine of a tree, mere yards away.

━━━the prey within it, has yet to be determined. after all, this mage dragon is simply a guest beneath the canopy of branches and leaves above the forest ground. but it seems as though the same can be said for the student, caught beneath the taut hook of a rope which, despite the dragon's preference for more self - sufficient teachings, could not be snared with jutted - out, cut glass.

brushes bristle when it stalks closer, claws snagging the dagger sheathed beneath the shadow of its skirts. past the spines of the forest, where trees have begun to loom their branches overhead, dangles the still, poised body of strung - up prey. and this dragon, as gracious as it is yearnful for the thrill of the chase, does not seek the importance of lunging now. instead, it kneels to cover itself behind the wealth of bushes before rearing its claws back.

to bleed is to become receptive to pain, and pain, darling pain, is the greatest motivator to send any animal into a sprint.

the dagger flies from its hand when it abruptly flicks its wrist forward, yet it does not lie to wait there to see where the blade cuts. its claws break the bark of wood as it rises, slow and patient. and, off, again does it stalk, rounding the clearing and waiting once if only to snap a fallen stick between its claws; as much a warning as it is a statement.

But whether fury or indifference, the woman does not seem affected. Words themselves will not have the desired role. No, they can condone and scathe but words do not have a will and a sickle.

But Lachesis reminds herself that she is here to check on the safety of others - starting a battle on such a low basis will not resolve the issue at hand. She must check her will at the door.

"Must you mock humans so much?" Lachesis asks, brow quirked, hand near her blade but not at it. "Does it give you pleasure to make fun of 'lower' beings? To watch them squirm at the chaos and attempt to define what is right? Do you find yourself sitting above and deigning delight?"

The lioness does not avert her gaze. If she cannot stand up for what is right now, then when can she?

"Perhaps you ought to ask yourself what you are lacking. No being is born perfect, be them a god or a mortal."

Her eyes turn to the fallen raffle tickets. There is no way in Hodr's name that she will lower herself to this woman.

shoulders trembled with a twisted mirth that too garnered the incredulous shake of her head, jewelry clinking together with each swing and sway from where they accessorized the curves of her crescent horns. all golden, all from efforts that were cherished by gifts of luxury. and that, in its simplest form, in all she stood to be, was what humored her the most from the girl's insistent barking.

to imply that zephia━━━she who had lived more lives within a single existence than any snarky girl could hope to breathe━━━knew not of the humanity she surrounded herself with. thus, came the soft sigh, drawing two - toned eyes to gaze almost disappointed at the armed girl. "i do not need to sit above your pathetic kind to delight myself with witnessing all that occurs. besides," another laugh, sharper than before, "even standing beside you humans allows quite the spectacle."

because such a pedestal, above both dragon and mortal beneath it, belonged to her lord and none other.

she arched a brow, pursing her lips in time with the hum rumbling her throat. "lacking? me? oh, you know not who you speak to, girl. but! i forgive your ignorance; i had not introduced myself before your temper arose unprovoked."

sangria eyes flit down to where the girl laid a hand on the hilt of her blade. and, of course, as if to splay the red paint of a target upon her chest, she shrugged and stepped forward; once, twice, before moving to meet both her gaze and body. "oh dear. . . how immature of you. threatening to attack a clergywoman who poses no danger." drawled past unsheathed fangs in an all too mocking tone, accompanied by the condescending tilt of her head, "especially when i promised to help before you became too great for the likes of myself."

breathe - muse a holds muse b closely to help them wind down after a stressful day/event

stop - muse a holds muse b back from walking back out into the fray

melt - muse a holds muse b’s face gently, drawing circles into their cheeks with their thumbs

acceptance - muse a kisses muse b’s forehead and lingers

redemption - muse a holds muse b’s face together and rests their forehead against them

home - muse a pulls muse b closer until muse b’s face rests in the crook of muse a’s neck

finale - muse a wraps themself around muse b to keep them from harm

classics - muse a tends to muse b’s wounds with more care than necessary

honesty - muse a wipes muse b’s tears away from under their eyes

recovery - muse a rubs muse b’s back repeatedly to help work tension out their body

anxiety - muse a intertwines their fingers with muse b’s to ground themself

repose - muse a languidly slips into muse b’s arms while muse b is lying somewhere

subtlety - muse a gently brushes their hand over folds and wrinkles on muse b’s clothing

intimacy - muse a braids/brushes/works knots out of muse b’s hair

domesticity - muse a rests chin on muse b’s shoulder to read/see what they’re holding

second-nature - muse a runs their hand through muse b’s hair who’s leaning into them from behind

casual - muse a slinks their arms around muse b’s to sit closer

wounded - muse a sways muse b and themself back and forth as a soothing mechanism

care-taking - muse a rubs muse b’s arms repeatedly to get some warm into them

excuses - muse a brushes their thumb lightly against muse b’s rub some dirt/dust/etc away

courting - muse a rests one hand on muse b’s back and holds out the other for muse b to hold to help them climb up/down something

finding rafal was not the concern, as it would be completed through any means necessary, whether through the threat of another or the sabotage of battle, but the true misfortune showed itself in the lack of spectacle he made. from those she found, standing or sitting along the edges of the fields to await assistance, they provided little aid with their words. to the extent of twitching her two-toned eye and nearly snapping the thin thread of self - control she prided herself to contain.

what was she to do when there wasn't a great deal of impressions on him besides the disdain of overbearing lectures and sharp tongues? should she provoke the blade of his curt antagonisms with the prodding of her own? should she prompt an approach by offering her hand at tending magic? to tame a soul, you must give it reason to run to you first; rafal was older than veyle had been when the latter first met the kind smile zephia could once wear.

hm, but perhaps she was pondering this to the point of exhausting the reality. first impressions were only gates to the person's vulnerability; thus, mage dragon caught the fell dragon amidst his retreat, ignoring both student and affiliate alike as she stalked swiftly after him. similar to the attentiveness of her own hound, retracing his steps was easy enough, as he seemed nearly overcome with a sulking demeanor upon leaving his prior battle. however, her strides stretched too long, awkwardly spread in light of unrecognized anticipation and his suddenly - realized limp that the distance between them grew shorter and shorter before she had a moment to discern whichever dreadful feeling continued to claw at her throat.

"the last living mage dragon." griss' gaze had flickered from the window to the dragon, herself. "zelestia was her name, i think. . ."

"lord rafal?" came her call, abrupt despite herself, made the very moment they were far enough from conflict and meddling attendants. claws retract to clasp her hands together and fangs sheath themselves behind her smile. though not a measure of her kindness met her eyes, which searched restlessly for a dent or crack in his countenance.

mage dragon canted her head slightly to the side, clinking together the jewelry she proudly wore, accessorized similarly to the open yet stagnant wounds that tore the fabric of her robes. but unlike rafal, zephia had not suffered the heavier brunt of her opponents; a note she stored in her throat to articulate properly later. for now, as long as he would allow her, she smiled and offered a meager look of worry.

"hm. you seem to be on your last legs." a thoughtful pause. sangria eyes fell to where his hand curled around his waist. "do you require a hand to the nearest tent, milord? i'd hate to watch you limp your way there when i could lend my help."

and softly, along the narrow of her gaze. ". . . griss has shared quite the story of you with me; nearly breaking his jaw and all. so to be felled to this extent. . ."

thus, she stalked from tent to tent, unsheathing claws behind her back when a medic's gaze fell worryingly on her untended figure for a beat too long.

in the eye of her church; thou who bears thy wounds farther than thy peers becomes deserving of lord sombron's pride for but a night. to draw out the touch of suffering, even if light, remarked the existence of self - sacrifice. so, shamelessly, she smeared crimson across her forearm without much thought, focused not on the pain searing beneath the split skin, but on the back of her lord's defect.

it had not missed her sight that the defect wore a lack of wounds and, with a disappointing croon rasping the back of her throat, the mage dragon spoke the subtle act of treason into the air, "you have forgotten your origins that easily, lady veyle? and so shamelessly too, hm? you nearly have me impressed."

claws curl from where they remained interlocked behind her back. by the time veyle had turned, zephia already closed the distance between them, smiling softly at the sight of a faint reflection within the defect's eyes. "had the battlefield frightened you? hm? did you run away? again? is that why you hurried to rid yourself of any signs of failure?"

each question was rapid - fire, delivered without a beat or pause; the ghost of a finger prodding at the girl to amuse herself with a reaction or bite, in the absence of favor to tame or break.

And so, locked in blades as they were, Raven pushed forward.

Raven 1.5/6HP hits Lapis 4.5/6HP with Armorslayer [Roll: 13; -1.5HP; Lapis 3/6HP]

He hoped their mage would understand that he would be a boon here, and the opponent's second opponent seemed on her last legs also.

If they were lucky, they could clean up in the next couple hits.

They were perfectly set up to end this -- possibly without even losing any of their teammates.

"Apologies, but I think it's time you were tended to properly," Lloyd mused, eyeing the nearly downed woman in front of him. "The healers can set you right, but I shall try to keep this as painless as I can." As she was distracted by another burst of magic from Chrom's beads, Lloyd rushes in to finish her off; he didn't need to do much, using the flat of his blade to disarm her without doing too much damage.

Lloyd 5/5HP hits Zephia 0.5/6HP with Iron Sword [Roll: 17, -1.5HP; Zephia 0/6HP] Zephia has been defeated!

LLOYD 5/5HP hits ZEPHIA 0.5/6HP with iron sword. [ roll: d20 = 17; -1.5HP ] ZEPHIA 0/6HP

embarrassment. it brings heat to her face and sours the back of her throat, a sharper pain than that of the man's blade striking curtly at her hand━━━unable to do much but watch as exhaustion weakens her grip into completely giving out, releasing the hilt of her sword without struggle. claws close around air and sangria eyes narrow to slits, but she does not raise a hand to retaliate.

instead, with a twitching eye and plastered smile, she bows her head. "fine. . . it seems that aiming to disarm is harder than that to kill. . . hmph, a pity." and, with a shrug of one shoulder, she turns to leave before a meddling medic can witness her defeat and rush to her side; an irritation she had little hope for. a dismissing hand is waved back in farewell, "but oh well! have fun with the girl! she's a difficult one."

unsurprisingly, there is no harm nor guilt in leaving lapis to deal with the faces of three opponents. at the very least, it is an escape to avoid any awkward chatter the girl may offer in the happenstance of them winning.

ZEPHIA HAS BEEN DEFEATED! and is pretending she forfeited for the better of the world!

ah, how embarrassing.

The petty things that dug underneath the skin.

This boy, his purported classmate, would have had no way of knowing that this form of address would set Raven's teeth on edge, in the same way that the Saints forsaken Reed did.

Focus. An issue for another time, for the shift in the tide gave him the opportunity he'd chased a few scant moments ago, before the girl had run from him.

His head tipped to the side as he met her eyes - part greeting, part assessment, part acknowledgement - and drove the weighted tip of his heavy sword forward.

Raven 3/6HP hits Lapis 6/6HP with Armorslayer [Roll: 17, -1.5HP; Lapis 4.5/6HP]

"No running now?"

It could happen again, and she's not looking so tough from her peripheral vision— a sight she couldn't spare much more than that little glance as the redheaded man's blade dug into her space. She moves her shield up to meet it, but it does little, and she grimaces, planting her feet firmly in the ground to meet that force.

“ Hrrrngh.... ”  But even if she had to take the weight of his sword, she still had her own. As metal digs into her shield, she swings that large blade of hers up to knock his back, sparks flying as she makes her opening,  “ Can't see how I could! ” 

And then she capitalizes on it, swinging back down shortly after.

Lapis 4.5/6HP hits Raven 3/6HP with Armorslayer [Roll: 7, -1.5HP; Raven 1.5/6HP]

“ I can take you though! ”

A Brodian is strong. A Brodian faces their fights head on. And if there was something Lapis did not want anyone to deny, it was where she came from and who she fought for!

a click of her tongue. "that girl. . ." is muttered through a clenched jaw, bland in its curious fondness, not unlike the instinctive pull between foreign forces, before zephia proudly regains her stance, trusting the curl of her claws to maintain her grip if all else fails. each breath is both strangled━━━

CHROM 2/5HP hits ZEPHIA 2.5/6HP with red beads. [ roll: d20 = 11; -2HP ] ZEPHIA 0.5/6HP

━━━and second on priority to the snap of a bead. this time, somehow, it is tossed with acute accuracy, easily finding a target against her arm just as it unfurls itself into a burst of magic. hissing, mage dragon stumbles back for but a moment, strictly righting herself the very second she notices the stutter in footstep.

nearly in retaliation, claws raise to dissolve the false emblem, pulling not just from the tome at her hip, but herself as half of the formula.

ZEPHIA 0.5/6HP misses CHROM 2/5HP with miasma. [ roll: d20 = 1; -0HP ] CHROM 2/5HP

but the magic, seeping from the pages of her tome as viciously thick steam, merely thins once beckoned by her hand. mage dragon does not stumble nor stagger, only swaying on her feet as is; incredulous before she is ever wrong. still, incorrigibly embarrassed at the happenstance of her undeserved misery being witnessed, she bares her teeth in a smile (?) and hisses at chrom, despite her gaze hardly leaving the swordsman standing afront, "i expected a blade instead of tossing jewelry, emblem. . . hm! i'm almost disappointed."

“ Can you come to? C'mon, a little reaction if you can... ”

But things don't look too good. Even if they can, they don't look like they're in any condition to keep fighting without risking their health.

“ Medic! We've got one little guy that needs help over here! ”

She calls out to one of the clergy members she knows is on standby on the Field's perimeter, rising to her feet and drawing her blade again as she waits. She stands protectively in front of the thief's battered body, partly to shield them from any potential haywire spells from this battle or any other skirmishes going on around them but also to help discourage them from rising up again just like her and taking further part in this state.

“ Zephia! ”  She still can't believe she's saying this.  “ I'm still in this if you are! ”

Vision falters. Honed instinct tells Chad to struggle to their feet and fight til they fall anyways: That's how it is in war, noone's gonna go easy on them just because they're young. But this isn't war, this is a mock battle, and there's a protective shadow looming over them, taking their shoulder, stopping them from scrambling back to their feet. Their eyes flash open, but...

Wait, little guy?!

Their face flushes hot, but she's distracted enough shielding them as is for any angry quips. Eyes dart to where they last saw Raymond, then to the position they would have to vacate on the field with a sinking feeling... But she's right. Any further and they'll hurt themself for real.

"Fine, I'll go." They concede, taking the approaching medic's hand as they stumble back upright.

"Focus on the fight, and... Do your best!!"

chad has been defeated!

before the faces of those not well met, mage dragon remains dismissive in light of wariness; regarding lapis with all but a heavy sigh before a shadow shifts above the stained grass before her. steel sings through the air━━━

RAVEN 6/6HP misses ZEPHIA 2.5/6HP with armorslayer. [ roll: 4; -0HP ] ZEPHIA 2.5/6HP

━━━and ends its note in the air, not stuck within flesh or fabric. dragon slinks out of the swords' path and maneuvers elsewhere, until decent space makes up the gap between mortal and beast. through the heat and unquelled tension, the natural apprehension melding with the itch to return to what she knows, it is easy to ignore the pain throbbing between her eyes.

the same cannot be said for the body that hits the ground, in the wake of their fall. sangria eyes recognize them only after a moment has passed; that, yes, that is, or was, her ally, and yes, they have been bested. thus, their relevance swiftly leaves her. all until lapis is the one to reach them, calling both them and a medic to rise while at the ready. the child was an asset, unfortunately, as to who should zephia assist now with her fake smiles and sheathed fangs, herself or the brodian retainer?

no matter, since the happenstance of them requiring aid proves fruitful in terms of shifting focus. a fault of the prey that she meets with stained claws.

ZEPHIA 2.5/6HP hits RAVEN 6/6HP with steel sword. [ roll: d20 = 20; -3HP ] RAVEN 3/6HP

a nod to the child's retreating form, and the beginnings of a scoff in her following, "of course," before mage dragon is left at lapis' side. an unrecognized, simmering emotion in the back of her throat reveals itself as a burning incredulity, still, but she offers the girl a smile, "hm-hm, it will take more than this to crack me, girl. surely, you would know this by now. . .?"