#fe_aspec_week_2026

Lukas had battled demons and witches and dragons, he had charged a mad god head-on with his lance, and yet, this black parchment on his desk bested him in a matter of minutes. Forsyth was taking revenge for days of lance drills with Lukas as his lieutenant; he now paced behind the writing desk, forbidding Lukas a moment of respite from the task at hand.

It was the first beautiful day all season – the Rigelian spring had proven nearly as cold as it’s winter. Lukas wished he could enjoy the warm breeze that finally drifted through the open window instead of feeling the childish itches of avoidance that prickled at every inch of him. He was reminded of his days studying under a tutor, yearning to join the children outside instead of burying himself in more penmanship.

“I did not say I’d lie to her,” he explained. “I simply plan on offering a limited, and gentler version of the truth.”

Forsyth remained unimpressed. Though Lukas was often the best spoken in an argument, his opponent had a lifetime of arguing with the smoothest talker in Valentia. He tried again. “This method is efficient and spares her undue heartache.”

“Your goal isn’t to find some efficient trick! This is an expression of your revelations. You said yourself how much you respected this woman. You trusted her to agree to the betrothal in the first place. Shouldn’t you trust her with your honest thoughts?”

“I do respect her, so I do not wish to break her heart by convincing her she’s undesirable. If she believes I’ve found partnership with men, she may think her only shortcoming is her sex. She will have far more doubts if I try to explain… this.”

“This is who you are!”

“Precisely.” He slumped his chin into his hand. “My family has never been very receptive to that…”

Forsyth grew quiet. The faint sound of the birds outside was the only stirring in the room. For a moment, Lukas wondered if he had won after all.

Then, he felt a firm grip on his shoulder. He was turned gently, so that Forsyth could grasp both his shoulders. His eyes were burning with intensity, but there was melancholy in them, too.

“Listen to me. I am aware you survived your upbringing with secrets and – and those limited, gentler truths. As did I. As did Python. Many adolescents must hide, in some sense of the word.”

He inhaled.

“But you are not a child anymore. You have nothing to fear from anyone. You must hold your head high. You must not think of yourself as something to be hidden. You must raise your voice,” he took his own advice, “and speak boldly of yourself! Because if you do not speak of your own legacy, how shall anyone write ballads of you?”

Lukas knew he’d lost his title of the most eloquent long ago.

He nodded. Though his expression remained subtle, he picked up his pen with a new vigor in the motion.

Python entered, reliably summoned by Forsyth’s volume. (Whether the habit stemmed from his constant nosiness or it was a protective measure, Lukas could never be sure.)

He strolled to where the two leaned over the desk. “Whatcha working on?”

“Don’t you bother him.”

“I only asked what you were up to, sheesh!”

“Lukas is writing a letter to break off his engagement.”

“Ooh~” He peered over the man’s shoulder. “You should totally lie and say you died all heroic-like in the war, that’ll do the trick.”

Kliff’s whine went unheard to Faye, who was already draping the sheet over her head as a veil.

She passed out props to the other kids who agreed to play knights and princesses. Kliff looked down at the paper flowers in his hands. He thought these sorts of stories ended with a wedding instead of starting with one, but more than that, he knew that no amount of complaints could stop Faye once she had her sights set on something.

“You’ll change, and one day you will! But not to me,” she lowered the sheet with a flourish. “I’m going to marry Alm.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he said, unable to keep the bitter comment from escaping him. “We all know you’ll marry Alm, and you’ll forget all about me.”

“What?”

She flung the sheet away from her face to gape at him. “Of course not! We’re going to be friends forever, okay? All of us!”

“You just said we’ll change…”

“Not like that! Nothing’s going to change. We’ll all stay friends, just the same, okay?”

He clutched the flowers tighter. He studied her eyes. “That… sounds nice.”

“Good! Now, straighten those clothes! It’s our wedding day, after all.”

“Faye…”

---

Silque’s knuckles paled white, she was clasping them so tightly together.

Her whole life, she thanked Mila for shielding her from the temptations of the mortal world. Thanks to Her, Silque had never been overcome with greed, and her temper remained a soft one. She praised the goddess for the peace to reject grudges, and the strength to withstand the desires of the body. But something stirred within her as the head priestess continued her sermon.

She went on and on. Why was she so insistent on bracing oneself against a situation that never arose? Why did she plead for purity as if it were something out of their control? Why did the other clerics nod and mutter to themselves as she spoke?

Seeing this agreement from her sisters – from those far more blessed than she – Silque wondered if it really was the Holy Mother who protected her from sin. Did that make her more pure, or less so?

She prayed for forgiveness, regardless.

---

Rinea’s engagement ring gleamed in the candlelight, brighter than any of the shimmering ice that blanketed the castle.

“We are to be wed as soon as the war ends,” she wrote.

The capital was full of businesslike agreement to the proposal. She wondered if a letter to her parents could pull her out of her strange apathy. As well as earning their enthusiasm, she also hoped to reassure her parents that this was more than a political arrangement. The way Berkut treated her, it was obvious they shared a mature, romantic love.

“He understands me well, and I him. We often fill our time with dance. Such an activity draws me immensely close to him. We are of the rhythm, he and I. It brings me all the joy and peace a woman could want to feel in a man’s arms. Every step is sensitive to my own.”

Her pen hovered over the next line. She wanted to speak more of their dancing, but surely she could provide other evidence to their match – something off of the ballroom floor.

She stared at the blank half of the page in the dim light.

---

Python flopped down beside his bedmate. He understood what all the adults said about a youth’s energy – he certainly felt like he could go on all night like this.

His partner leaned into his side, a hand trailing across his chest to pull him in.

“I love you.” Their breath came hot and chilling into his ear.

He blinked at them.

Her lover always handled his ale better than she and settled calmly beside the bed. His doubtful expression was his show of compassion.  

“And what, pray tell, makes you think so this time?”

“Morgan…”

“Did he say something to you?”

“No.” The woman sniffled, keeping her face buried in the blankets. “But the boy is going to have a lonely, lonely childhood. Or, he did have it. Or both! And it’s all my fault!”

 “I know he is a bit of an odd duck, but I assure you, that is none of your doing.”

“No, no.” She went to brush the comment aside but froze. “Well, yes, but this is a different fear altogether!”

“I see. Then, what troubles you?”

“I watch Lucina and Cynthia sharing the love of sisters. They grew up with Owain as a cousin so close he may as well be a brother. I hear them speak of their other relatives, the plans for other children.” She angled her body just enough to peer at Frederick through wet eyes. “Am I denying Morgan something important? You and I have no siblings of our own, so he will have no blood relatives if I provide none.”

“You are aware that, even if we had an army’s worth of our own children, none would be his blood siblings…?”

Robin grumbled in reply. Rather than take the chance to boast over her uncharacteristic lack of common sense, his voice softened. “My dear… when have familial lines ever mattered to you?”

She suddenly rolled over on the bed, hands reaching towards the sky in exasperated gesticulation. “We are a family of wild animals, Frederick!”

He frowned. “…Pardon?”

“You found me on the ground, in a field, with no memory. You picked me up like a stray and decided to keep me. I found Morgan in the same manner – adopting him out of the ruins like some lost pet. We are no more a family than we are feral animals that you decided to keep!”

Tears streaked down the side of her face as she continued staring distantly at the roof of the tent. “What if he feels himself an outcast because of our unorthodox origins as a family? What if he despises the disconnect? What if he resents us for never–”

“–What if he is fine?”

Frederick placed a hand on her shoulder. He leaned over, forcing her to meet his eyes. “What if the boy is perfectly content with the family he has?”

“B-but…”

“I know for certain Lady Lissa is going to call herself his aunt.” He rolled his eyes. “I believe she already has. The other Shepherds have made it clear they’d remain in the city with us, if fate allows it this time. Morgan shall have plenty of relatives surrounding him.”

His fingers interlocked with hers, pulling her into a seated position. He hardly needed to draw her in, the way she tucked herself into the embrace.

“Crucially, it is not up to you either way. You have built up a beautiful family from the ashes of your bloodline – nothing more is asked of you. Do not forget that I am your sworn knight – I will protect your honor for all your life, if you desire it.”

“Even from yourself?” She asked, a smile playing on her lips. It was a familiar and reassuring jest. The hiccupy breaths in her chest slowed.

“Indeed!”

“You are too kind to me, Frederick.”

The evidence appeared early, as soon as Lukas learned to speak. The thing is, he didn’t. He’d walk along with servants on their trips to the marketplace, or stand aside his parents at festivals, and offer nothing but those round, silent eyes that betrayed no emotion. The townsfolk wasted all their charms and chatter on him, as he refused any reply.

Some offered the baroness accounts on changelings and faeries, but it was impossible to say if she followed their advice. None pressed or pried, of course. That would have been rude. They were patient enough to see what she would do on her own.

This absence of his continued into his youth, even after he began speaking regularly. He shied away from the activities of his household. He didn’t train as hard as his brother, nor did he participate in the annual tournaments and games. The city didn’t judge him for any laziness – they were smart and sympathetic enough to identify the true problem. They knew this was merely a distraction with childish hobbies. Although slower than most, he’d outgrow his storybooks and schoolhouse lessons someday.

The obliviousness towards his suitors met the same reaction. Each guest of his reported an immediate change of subject when hinting at their true purpose. All whispers of the fae ceased, as they were more than happy to take human lovers. The city didn’t quite know what to make of the young man, now, so they remained politely quiet. Lukas would outgrow this phase, too. As with socializing, as with training, he was simply a late bloomer when it came to love. And the people were patient.

Their patience certainly paid off in a few more years. Lukas did indeed take a suitor, a woman from another prominent house of the borderlands. It was the perfect match: their stations were aligned, they were both close in age, and they looked absolutely darling together.

That’s why it came as a shock when such a perfect pair was separated for the sake of a war. Thankfully, the baron made a speech in the plaza, about his heir rising to accept his duties at the same time his youngest found his knightly courage to defend their country. It eased all minds, knowing what a beautiful sacrifice was taking place.

The rest of the women swooned at the thought of their betrothed standing up to those monsters in Rigel. It was a shame to delay such a wedding, but the reasoning more than justified the wait.

But then, the worst shock arrived. As the fighting came to end, just as the city readied themselves for a homecoming and wedding celebrations, correspondence arrived from the army. Lukas’s letter opened with the best of news for his fiancé – that he’d risen in the ranks and was now the King’s right-hand man – only to crush her with the following line, that he would need to break off their engagement to focus on his new position.

The way both households agonized over the news, it would have been better to have received a letter detailing the noble sacrifice of his life in battle. Months passed before he returned again to explain himself. The city waited.

At last, Lukas arrived. He rode by the King’s side, earning a lavish parade in their honor. Although, after a betrayal like that, one would expect him to come crawling back home with apologies and public statements. Perhaps even taking back the woman who had been betrayed.

Instead, he strolled through the city with two strange men on his arm. There wasn’t a single announcement of marriage proposals, or plans for an heir, or anything at all. It was as if he didn’t care for an ounce for his family name, for the way of the world.

“I do not understand,” they say his father blurted as they readied Lukas’s departure for the capital once again.