#support:alm

     A stiff breeze rushes past them in the still of this waiting game. Mae plays with the ends of one of her pigtails, still trying to process it all. Where they were, what happened at the ruins of Garreg Mach, that man. She wanted to make light of the situation at hand, try to ease her partner or her own worries, but the image keeps replaying itself in her mind. 

     It was to no fault of her or her group’s own and there was nothing to be done about it now. She reminds herself of this again and again, but the echoes of his wailing ring in her ears, mimicking how they bounced off the walls of the empty remains.

     Focus, Mae. She closes her eyes and exhales loudly. To avoid as many casualties as possible, the defense team needed to be here and present. She opens her eyes to the sound of distant drumming—approaching soldiers. 

     There was something off about them. The rigid way they moved was the first clue, but embedded in the chest of each was a fragment, something that glistened in the light. She squints as they near. Brown eyes catch a small flicker of pink and she gasps. “Those pink shards...”

     “Celica...” The name slips from her lips barely above a whisper and her arm lowers. Oh, for the love of Mila, please say she did not have those with her still.

     The mage looks to Alm. “Any specific plan of action?”

     A peaceful slumber is interrupted by a familiar voice and a touch to the shoulder. Mae sits up and rubs her eyes. She blinks slowly, the green haired boy slowly coming into focus. With a yawn and wave of the hand, she answers, “Yeah, yeah... Got it, Alm.” 

     ...

     Fire. Alm. Her eyes widen and she frantically whips her head around. Something told her they weren’t in Garreg Mach anymore. 

     “Wait, where... How... What in Mila’s name is going on?!” She pinches the bridge of her nose. She could get an explanation from someone else later, she supposes, for now, she would do as he asked.

His uneasiness is not something that the Queen looks over. What was meant as a compliment takes a more...sour turn. 

“Forgive me, I may have opened a fresh wound. No matter, I shall not pry further.” She would be happy to listen, but the way he fell silent, something told her he was not so much the chatterbox Princess Anthiese was. Not for this subject anyway. Still, she adds, “If it’s any consolation, you wear it well, with honor and pride, that much I can tell.”

The conversation quiets down, but the air is still very much filled with the music of the ball as the dancers move in tune. Was her introduction as a queen what intimidated others? It was not without reason, but perhaps it would serve her well to let her guard down a bit. Present herself as more approachable, that was. 

“Hm? Oh, yes, I would be honored.” She takes his hand and follows him to the floor. Elincia continues to follow his lead, making careful movements as to not step on his toes or trip.