exhalted ⚔︎ blade

Never mind the constant calls of Professor Sanaki this and Professor Sanaki that, however. As much as it may be the point of the exercise, it's still all she can do to still the twitch of her shoulders each time the words carry through the room. Is she discomfited? Charmed? Some other sensation entirely? All she knows is that, though the title does not rest as heavily on her shoulders as her true ones, it's a responsibility all the same.

( That'll teach her not to taunt Soren with it next time she deigns to attend his lecture. She's almost feeling charitable enough to offer an apology. Almost )

But still, what to say to Professor Chrom? "...Practice of the dark arts is extremely taboo," she answers sternly, gesturing back at the board where the sketch of a dark flame still rests in a corner. "It's not taught in formal institutions, and the distribution of dark tomes is prohibited in all beorc nations---because, as far as I am aware, such magic always stems from a pact with an evil spirit."

A good teacher would make him regret asking, even if just a little. "A spirit of the dark go---the dark arts," she corrects herself, "can grant their host enormous power, in exchange for eventually devouring the host's soul, rendering them nothing but an empty husk." She meets his gaze evenly. "Most mages are not willing to make such a sacrifice... and therefore even I have only met one dark mage from Tellius."

   But, of course, as much as Chrom would otherwise drop the subject, he would be doing a disservice to this moment of practice if he didn’t continue to press with difficult questions. After all, though it was far less likely for him to be met with difficult questions such as those of dark magic as a swords instructor, Chrom still wished for Sanaki to understand what could befall her, were she to become a professor in the future. 

   Especially one of reason. 

   “You seem incredibly well learned in regard to dark magics…” Almost terrifyingly so, he silently thinks, “it is to my understanding that those who recommend against doing something have experience in that very thing themselves? Is that the case for you, Professor?” An innocent question, though prying it had been, as well. On one hand, it was a probing question; one that Sanaki was more than likely to receive from others in her cohort. “You’ve mentioned only meeting one dark mage within Tellius, however you did not mention whether you studied their craft. As a professor with as much prolific knowledge as you seem to have,” and knowledge she truly did hold, “I could only imagine that the knowledge of dark magics is… enticing, as it is taboo.”

   Of course, were Sanaki to express distinct discomfort at the probing question, Chrom would drop the subject altogether. In fact, part of him does feel rather guilty for continuing this line of thought. At the same time, it would be a valuable lesson to his student; perhaps such subtle teachings took precedence in his mind? Hopefully it wouldn’t come to bite him far later. 

"What?"  

But what he had not accounted for was the noise. When Sigurd looked up into the sky, he expected a great level of silence, of solitude, but Erinyes had never told him about the great roar of wind that came from all directions, no matter where they were. 

It would be fine. The young man assigned to scout with him seemed to have a good head on his shoulders, and though wobbly, kept his seat just fine. 

"We'll keep forward!" Sigurd had no idea if the young man could hear him, and gestured with fore and middle finger, and hoped that he would follow as his pegasus dipped downward past the cover of the clouds and into the bright open sky between the emptiness and the sea. 

Thwip! 

He shouts “Understood!” as he begins to press forward, following in the path of his comrade. And soon; Chrom’s worst fears would come to pass. First, Sigurd’s pegasus rears in response to something, though Chrom couldn’t immediately see what. Then, as Chrom tries to shift closer, his pegasus rears in response to some sort of impact; an arrow, a strike likely from the pirates, with several others that quickly follow. 

Despite his inexperience, Chrom holds on, a volley of arrows soon following suit as he does. He attempts to see out his comrade, trying to catch even a hint of blue amidst the skies, yet earnestly attempting to dodge arrows whilst looking for someone else proves harder than need be. And soon, several more arrows sink into Chrom’s pegasus, one after the other, until- 

Altitude is lost, and all Chrom could do is shout “damn, damn, damn!” as he and his pegasus came careening towards the seas, soon blacking out before impact.

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — 🗡 — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — 

When he next awakens, Chrom could feel sand caress his cheek. Awashed on unfamiliar shores, he groggily stands, trying to gain his bearings. He is far too disoriented to properly get a bead on where he could be. Still, Chrom is a man who carries far more care for his comrades than himself at times. Weakly, he calls out, “Sigurd…?!” An attempt to find someone who likely wasn’t there was a fruitless one, but who would Chrom be if he just gave up flatly? 

The young man pulls his partner to her feet, and Silque can tell, with years of experience, that the hand on her back is not placed just for show. So as soon as they step off stage, the cleric rushes to greet them, pulling Ninian along in her wake.

"Are either of you badly hurt?" White magic flickers in her hands as she worries, crouching to examine the girl's injury. "Goodness, that's red. It's sure to bruise, unless we---"

With those murmured words, Silque presses her palm firmly to the girl's shoulders, closing her eyes on the exhale. The earth mother's grace drains from her fingers, stitching the tissue whole once more.

Before she has a chance to answer, though, there's a warmth and a soothing feeling that spreads throughout sore muscles; it coaxes Alear to look up and glance over her shoulder in search of the redness that she knew would bruise... only to find nothing. Impressive healing magic, and done so quickly, too. "I'm okay now, thanks to you." Alear flashes a smile, albeit a sheepish one. "I'm Alear, and this is Chrom- it's nice to meet you, um...?" She certainly doesn't recognize this woman, and she knows for sure she'd recall someone as beautiful as her. A lovely pair, was it? She does giggle at that, her hand resting lightly against Chrom's shoulder. "Well, you may be the only one who thinks that after THAT display. But I appreciate it! The two of you paint a gorgeous picture of a couple- your dresses are stunning! And I think it's very cute that your blues complement each other." They seem happy, and if they had to lose in such a humiliating way, at least it was to a couple that embodied the romance of everything the ball offered.

"Congratulations on this round. I'll be rooting for you both on the next one, okay?"

   Yet his embarrassment doesn’t dwindle, especially when the Cleric refers to he and Alear as a ‘lovely pair’. It is a genuine compliment, yet one that feeds into Chrom’s bashfulness at the moment. So much so that he is left unable to speak; lucky is it that Alear handled introductions on their shared behalf. He nods along when he is introduced, and offers a light bow. 

   As Alear goes to compliment the two dancers, he nods in agreement. “She is correct, you both were in wondrous sync. I still have much to learn yet,” Chrom smiles, a warmth radiant as he does. “And I believe that I still need to work on my memorization of Ylisse’s waltz as well…” As the ruling exalt, Chrom is embarrassed that he still has not mastered the dance of his countrymen, yet he was never as strong of a dancer as he would wish to be. “All the same, I too will continue to wish for your victory in the rounds to come. It would be nice to see as dashing of a couple as the two of you claim victory, after all.”

   And, following their own incident, Chrom can’t help but nervously laugh in turn as he gives warning to the two ladies in tow. “Please, though, be careful. Neither Alear nor myself are capable healers… but I’m sure I speak correctly for the both of us in saying that we will jump to your aid if the situation permits.”

also, this isn't about her.

"hehe." she giggles, placing her hands back on her hips. it feels nice to give others some confidence in themselves. (did her sister feel like this when she helped her keep going? she wonders briefly. ) "you uh.. you got this, yeah!" then she pauses and looks around for a familiar face.

it's not hard to spot red and blue hair at all— she sees alear talking to someone she doesn't know pretty quickly.

   But he can admit, it felt nice, seeing someone so similar to his own little sister seem almost proud of herself. Despite the embarrassment of the present situation, it was almost worth having his feelings dredged up through his gritted teeth. “Understood, I’ll… wait. Though perhaps I will wander, a bit? I must admit, staying still is a lot…” Especially when so much was riding on an interaction that he wouldn’t even be present for. 

   So he bows, with that in mind. Of course, it is painfully likely that he would run into Veyle again after this; for how large this Ball is, it is rather easy to stumble into people you know without question. Especially if they sought you out with purpose. Chrom knows that it wouldn’t be hard to find him, and vice versa, and something about that is as comforting as it is terrifying. 

   “Thank you once again and… perhaps, regardless of what happens, we could chat once more? I would love to be able to speak of my own little sister, I believe she would be endeared by you.” And she likely would be standing at Veyle’s side, woefully trying to push Chrom towards his feelings just as she had in this moment. 

   “Best of luck. Or should I be the one trying to channel in luck?”

It all makes Silque feel a little silly. Still, now, in her mind, the stakes are set. She hardly minds looking the fool, not if it settles Ninian's shoulders, brings that alluring, sharp focus to the girl's gaze --- and there is a power to it, is there not, for Ninian? A joy that frees her.

So the pilgrim who has walked a thousand steps will dance a thousand more, to bring that joy to where everyone can see. Silque's feet do not tire; it is no burden at all.

Even when her partner's confidence begins to waver again, carmine gaze fluttering to and fro their competitors, Silque only squeezes the girl's hand tighter. See that girl over there with the two-toned hair, perfectly mirrored in her partner's vest?

But we match, too, Silque thinks, as she presses shoulder to shoulder and waits for the starting notes to sweep through the hall. As you are looking at me, and I am smiling back at you.

In the end, it's a perfect ten for style, because love is given so freely it was never merely a portrayal; a surprising seven in technique, because all of Ninian's critiques still amounted to something; and, well, a meagre two for choreography, because even Silque knows, for the middle set of steps, she had completely forgotten to let go of Ninian's hand.

   It only teased out further nervousness within Chrom’s heart. 

   And perhaps such thoughts influenced Chrom as he brought Alear into the dance to follow. His steps were focused, though each step taken failed to stand out. His technique was practiced, indicative of someone who spent time, and time again, yet they are middling still. While their opponents garnered rapturous cheer, hardly a peep could be heard among those watching Chrom and Alear’s each step.

   And… perhaps those thoughts were infectious still. Alear had been stiff their entire way through, perhaps the nervousness of performance in tandem with the many eyes that had been on her far longer than just this moment alone were consuming her. And perhaps that, by proxy, began to consume Chrom in tow. 

   For all it took was a singular misstep,

   And everything, like a house of cards, came crashing before all those unwitting souls who bear witness. 

   Chrom is unable to catch himself, though his partner cushions his fall as she pulls them both to the ground. Thus, nary physical pain stems from the collision. Yet, when he is able to sit up, and able to realize how he had fallen. 

   “Oh in Naga’s name- I AM SO SORRY! Are you okay?!” He shoots upright, face flushed brilliant crimson from embarrassment. He scrambles to help Alear to her feet, though perhaps the present humiliation added to his fumbling. 

   And the scores teased by the judges hardly helped either. As Chrom so awkwardly helps Alear to her feet, he is graded; a six for his technique, clear as day of someone practiced in a noble waltz, a five for his style, for it left much to be desired, though the skill he possessed was clear as day regardless.

   And a measly one for his choreography, fitting, as two bumbling idiots tumbling to the ground following a sort of romantic display was hardly something to be considered as choreography at all. 

   “Fuck,” he quietly curses under his breath, opting to take his partner's hand once they both are finally standing upright. 

   His face shines that of brilliant crimson as he looks away; their loss was embarrassing, sure, but the way in said loss came to be was far more embarrassing to Chrom than he could put to words. Even now, as they steadily dance together, all he can muster is a quiet “I’m sorry…”

   As he is pulled closer, Chrom’s eyes train to the ground, admiring the grass they stood on. One deep breath followed by another, before he can find the confidence to properly focus on Alear. “We… yeah. I did have fun, I’m sorry I was not of much use as a partner.” He laughs awkwardly at his self-deprecating comment. 

   Yet, as much as Chrom felt the heat of embarrassment lingering through his body, it was hard for him to deny how happy he was to have been close with Alear in this present moment. To that, a smile forms on his blushed face, and consideration crosses the mind. Perhaps she was right, and what they needed to perform well was to be alone. “In that case,”

   “Shall we dance, partner?” 

   Without waiting for a response, Chrom begins to guide the two in a waltz; and as he does he chastises himself mentally once more. ‘Where was this when we needed it for the competition?’ 

   “Hah…” Perhaps the intimacy of the moment causes Chrom to show a more vulnerable part of himself. “I’m really glad I am not merely an Emblem attached to a ring, or bracelet.” He muses, words reminiscent of the ones Alear had spoken to him many times before, “after all, how could-!” but he quickly shuts up, uncertain if what he wishes to say is right to say. 

Chrom stares at Rafal awkwardly, as a light seems to suddenly fall onto them without explanation. He's unsure of what to do, whether or not this should be a sign of ill omen, but what he is sure of is the eyes that fall on them as a result.

Clearing his throat, Chrom whispers, hyacinth in hand. "What should we do...?"

All Chrom wanted to do was give Rafal a flower as an apology for his behavior at the last Ethereal Ball...

Fateful, was it not? How two souls utterly unlike might gravitate toward one another in spite of their many differences. Just as Chrom had been looking for him, so, too, had Rafal been seeking the other - albeit for his own reasons. The strong desire to keep watch once more over the shadow of an Emblem he once failed, the original he would treat differently, given this second chance to do so.

And: tragic, was it not?

". . .!!" In the center of an unwanted spotlight, they alone stood: the Fell Dragon and the Emblem, the hero and the villain, Rafal and Chrom, all their images and selves superimposed, overlapping, surging, across a single moment. Whatever their intentions toward one another, whatever their plans, all must be waylaid by the ambush of a stage. An audience which awaited their performance with bated breath.

What should we do? Silent, Rafal stared at Chrom long and hard. They could not depart without first applying an effort. They could not simply leave without evoking the judgment of the crowd, which mattered little to Rafal, but did greater for a human susceptible to ostracization by his own peers. For Chrom, this dereliction of duty may as well amount to his social downfall. How was it, then, that they might be saved?

That salvation began with a hard slap of Chrom's hand.

"Watch out!!" As if instead a heinous hemlock flower, the innocent hyacinth drifted to the floor: a victim of its circumstances. A villainous plot. The dragon let out a nervous and fluttering breath as it touched to the ground - yes, nervous and fluttering. Innocent and glistering of eye, alongside. "Phew~ that was a close one! Someone really has it out for you, huh? First it was that snake you found in your shoe yesterday, then that runaway horse that almost ran you over this morning, and now this. . ."

The kind young man straightened and shook his head. 'The kind young man', because whoever this was was certainly not Rafal. He smiled gently, cushioning—cradling—Chrom's smacked fingers between his own. Soft. Too damn soft.

   The way in which Rafal swats the flower from Chrom’s hand like a poison causes the Exalt to stand in stunned silence. The warning offered does little to suffuse the shock, and everything to confuse Chrom. It’s clear that this is some sort of plot, a means to feign their escape from present embarrassment, and this marks yet another interaction where such a distraction is necessary...

   But the way he breathes feels… familiar, and the way he lies so easily before the crowd is in itself reminiscence. In that moment Chrom wonders if Rafal had always been this cunning; whether or not he had been a Tactician in his own right. Each action Rafal takes is itself a mirage in Chrom’s eyes, steadily tracing the shadow of another with close precision. 

   And when Rafal reaches for Chrom’s hand, perhaps it is instinct driven by recognition of that selfsame shadow, that causes Chrom’s hand to tighten around Rafal’s own. Even the way he calls him ‘partner’ feels so eerily familiar. 

   “Right… Right! I suppose someone must’ve mixed hemlocks amidst my hyacinths… Let’s be off, Ro-” He clears his throat, “-friend.” And before anyone could call to question Chrom’s hesitation, he pulls Rafal away, as if taking him to find the individual that had given away bouquets to begin with. Instead, he quickly finds a random room, out of sight from the prying eyes of the others, and with buried steps Chrom rushes inside, and shuts the door behind him just as quickly. 

"Ah, I remember you; we made use of the photo-artifex together at the last Ball!" Chrom eagerly greets the familiar man, though he doesn't seem to remember his name, or if such pleasantries were ever even exchanged. This time, Chrom wasn't in a suit of armor, but rather a proper suit (with a missing jacket now, to boot). Less embarrassing, at least.

Laughing a bit awkwardly, Chrom holds out a hyacinth. "Call it keeping tradition, but would you like to take a brief photo in motion together? I'm interested in seeing how this fancy contraption works..." Perhaps to show his little sister as well, as he wished to in the year prior.

"Oh?" It wasn't the photo that Sephiran remembered him by most prominently- though who could blame him? It would be difficult to overcome the sight of the two women screaming in silence in the ballroom. Fighting over him, as per Sanaki's words.

But who was to say?

"I'd be honored to, of course." He saves his commentary for when they're in the booth, picking through the flamboyant props with an air of quiet ease. He starts with something simple, innocent even.

"You're missing your jacket. Care to replace it with one of these?" He isn't taking no for an answer, dropping a few mismatched props into the other's arms. Then, "I see you've picked your side in the conflict from earlier."

"Though as interesting as this is, I'm afraid any souvenir wouldn't match the story you have to tell, wouldn't it?"

(Oh, but he's never been the direct sort in this form of teasing.)

   And then all of the various trinkets fall to the ground, and Chrom’s face flushes a sublime crimson as the man so subtly teases him over something that Chrom would take recognition in rather well. “HEY!” But it is far too late. Chrom is scrambling to pick up everything he dropped, while this unfamiliar man had already moved over to the machine instead. And in a moment, a simple sound escapes his lips, “bah!” as he drops everything once more, clambering over to the man, his face a canvas painted expertly with embarrassment. 

   “Wh-What do you mean I picked a side!?! What stories about me did you hear?! Did Sanaki say something to you????” She had been with Chrom when the events earlier unfolded; did she move to spreading salacious rumors about her own professor behind his back?

   Alear is in better spirits, evidenced by her final sniffle; it wasn’t indicative of a greater mood overall, but it meant that she was, for all intents and purposes, better now than she had been moments prior. That’s really all he wanted in the moment. 

   But then he is met with surprise, and even more so embarrassment.

   Chrom is caught unawares as lips suddenly press against his cheek, and as they do he feels an eternity pass in a second. It is an effervescent gesture that etches itself into Chrom’s brain forevermore. And in that moment he feels a heat flush in his face, for everything sinks in. It is a shock, a leap into the waters on a winter's day, yet it is comforting like a campfire’s flame that very same wintery night. It’s something Chrom would rather die before forgetting, regardless of how small the gesture may seem. 

   And when that eternity finally passes, he blinks twice. A clearing of the throat, a gaze that drops to the ground. He’s sure that he’s smiling involuntarily, but prays in Naga’s name that the darkness conceals it. “I-I suppose I can see why that would be a bonus, huh…” He mentally kicks himself for the silly reply, unable to think of something far better to say. But how could he? Instead, he whispers, barely audible, “I’m glad you chose me, too.”

   A lily is offered, one that’s ruined beyond recognition. Yet in his eyes it was something to be cherished. In fact, Chrom wordlessly takes the lily, pinning it to his shirt. “Don’t. I think it’s perfect as is. Thank you, Alear.” And, before he could psyche himself out of it, Chrom takes a deep breath…

   And returns his confidant’s kiss. On the cheek, similarly as she had to him. He may linger on a second or so longer, but he pulls away before it becomes something that can’t be taken back. Or perhaps it already couldn’t be? Standing up, Chrom holds out a hand. “Let’s get you a new bouquet then? And don’t worry about my jacket. I would be happier if you kept it for the night.”

Laslow needs a snack. Definitely more water, if the slight pounding at his temples is anything to go by.

He'd had enough champagne to feel pleasantly buzzed, the world just a little fuzzy around the edges, and he's been dancing long enough to earn a burn in his calves.

Blinking, he stares at the table, waiting for all the treats spread along it to come back into focus. Water. Right. He's here for water, first and foremost. There's a pitcher near his left hand; his movements are a little uncoordinated, a far cry from his usual grace. But he manages well enough, only spilling a few droplets onto the tablecloth below as he pours a glass.

The first sip calms some of the ache. Soothes the scratchy feeling at the back of his throat. Laslow feels a little less off balance, at least, some of the fuzziness fading from his vision.

Movement catches in his periphery moments before a plate of sweet buns enters his line of sight. He follows the arm holding them and nearly blames the alcohol for making him see things. How did he not know Chrom is at the Academy?

   And confusion after assuming that he hadn’t been here to begin with?

   “As I live and breathe… I never thought I’d see you again!” Something about the young man before Chrom now still felt like the same Inigo that traveled backwards in time; a capable combatant, though far more interested in chasing skirts than one should reasonably be. Yet there was still something… new when looking at him. As though Chrom is able to find something resembling a deepened maturity in his (slightly drunken) gaze. Chrom feels a pride tugging at him in that moment.

   “Ylisse is well, I’ve… done my best to maintain it as Exalt, though my responsibilities here have definitely made it a little more difficult.” He laughs, “You disappeared! You, Owain and Severa all, frankly I was worried, though I assumed you all had your reasons… It’s really good to see that you’re okay…” It takes a lot in that moment for Chrom to not pull Inigo into a hug. But he already looked out of sorts; such a sudden action would surely cause him needless vertigo.

[ CORN ] - A new strain of corn has been bred in Bergliez with a curious trait—it pops when exposed to heat, becoming light and fluffy! Help yourself to a bag; it's a little bland on its own, but you get the feeling you could find something to spice it up.

"Joachim! Greetings! Would you like to share some of this popped corn? It's rather tasty for how simple it is..."

Smiling, Chrom gestures to his popped corn, and then to his bouquet. "I'll also throw in a free flower for your troubles as well." ( ethereal ball — first half. )

    “Chrom!” Joachim greets in return, curiosity sparked at the term the man uses. 'Popped' corn? The wolf looks to the food item in question, snug securely in a bag in Chrom's possession, but it's far from any corn he's ever seen before.

“Troubles? I can't imagine what troubles I'm having if you're saying it's tasty... But I won't say no to a flower.” Joachim laughs it off. Of course, a part of him is aware this is likely mostly just a weak pretense.

But he hopes when he takes one of the hyacinths from his bouquet and exchanges it with one of Chrom's, it's clear he needed no pretenses at all. “A flower for you too. It feels more joyous when we both give and take, doesn't it?

“Now, let's see what this popped corn is all about... This really IS corn? You're sure?”

   “Mhm!” He answers, scooping a few for himself. He takes the moment to chew, before properly speaking again. “I was watching a few people pop them earlier; they were using flame to cause the little corns to inflate like this. I even saw a few people covering them in what I could only assume was some sort of boiled sugar? Innovative stuff, I’d give them a try if I had a stronger sweet tooth.”