Pen in hand

either way, it seems safe to continue speaking.  “we've still got to find our maiden,” he says. “it seems like we've got a little time. did you see that just now? my crest went off.”

he says it like it's obvious what he means. it shouldn't have gone off for a warp spell; that's not what his crest does! but still, warp is a faith spell, and maybe…

Imagine fighting next to someone, only for the ground beneath your feet to suddenly split and disappear without warning…Mitama shivers at the thought.

"I assume you are implying that her presence may work as an amplifier of some sort?" That is an interesting idea. Why she would be capable of doing so, she had no idea. That sort of thing usually fell in the realm of dragons, did it not?

"Hmm…It is not the most elegant solution, but our alternative is checking behind every door we pass." It is also more likely to be the exhausting solution to their problem…but both the options she sees are exhausting, in their own ways.

Ephraim remains steadfast by her side as they make their way into the temple, keeping the shambling corpses at the edge of her light and striking them down as he's able.

"We can deal with him later, if he's still alive." He is not the concern right now.

The temple's shadows catch on corners and wind down dark hallways. Rot seeps from every crack of the temple. As they enter, Ephraim turns and barricades the door to give them some breathing room.

"If they all fall to your lance, why are there still some left to assault us?" Now is not the time for pedantics, but she cannot stop herself. The stars return once more to the grace the path before them with an equal amount of steady confidence, despite her misery.

She really, really does not want for fate to call her to her end here.

As Ephraim sets about preparing their barricade, Mitama in turns calls light to her hands once more in order to better examine the room. Nothing hides in wait for them in the shadows. A moment to breathe.

his voice trailed before he gathered it again, fingers tightening around the edge of his saucer. “well, I hope these recovery efforts mean something to them. it is difficult to describe what it was like speaking with commonfolk disillusioned by the collapse of their home—to hear them speak as though there were nothing left worth rebuilding.” Ferdinand clenched and unclenched his gloved hand, as though guilt itself had settled in the joints. perhaps pride in what his people could accomplish only sharpened the shame of arriving after they had needed him most.

Mitama’s admission pilfered him from that trail of thought entirely. “…huh?” he blinked several times, brows knitting as he attempted to follow her meaning. logically, there seemed only one explanation, and unfortunately, Ferdinand had never possessed the patience to approach alarming conclusions slowly.

Ah.

"The mere presence of one person is not sufficient to stave off doom." Her words are no insult. She speaks them matter-of-factly, as though she was discussing something that they had learned from their classes. "What will come will come. Torturing yourself with the possibility of what could have been does nothing but waste time that could be spent looking towards the future. They have faced something unfortunate. They will mourn. And then they will continue to live, for there is nothing in the world that can stop tomorrow's sun from rising."

That is not to say that it is not tragic what those people have faced and lost. But to think that Ferdinand's mere presence might have somehow prevented that? He might as well ask for someone else to take on the burden of torture he inflicts upon himself.

And then, as though hearing her very thoughts, his eyes turn towards her. Not with a polite acknowledgement, not with a well meaning gesture in allowing the conversation to end, but with such eagerness that she nearly balks at the expression upon his face. Mitama stares at him blankly until his flood of questions comes to an ebbing stop once more, only for her eyes to harden as her posture straightens.

"I woke up crawling out of a pile of rubble that was once the monastery at the end of the month, lacking a memory of how I had gotten there." Her words are stiff with the frost that chills her tone. "I am afraid that, other than that, I have no answers to give about how my time in that month was spent."

what flowers will look best in mitama's hair?

any of them, she wagers. there's no bloom that she would lose against, but to decide what? to decide how—that is the trouble of artists, and she's never thought herself one but she can't deny that there's a part of her that yearns for a song that won't leave her head or her heart. her humming continues. the winds whistle through the window.

whistle? maybe she can use that. she looks up, straining to hear but finds nothing. shakes her head. sets her pen to paper.

starts again.

once spring comes, she'll take her on a picnic. she'll take her on a walk. there was a river just a stone's throw away that she might love. she'd seen the empty arms of a tree days, no—weeks? hours before, which might be nice for her to sleep under once the season turns. only a refrain more, if she only pays attention and tries her hardest. the next part—she needs something more to offer than the tiniest blossom.

"la, la, la, la, la ... ♪" soleil repeats the same refrain again and again. ( only mad men do, knowing that the end will be the same. ) she promised her—keep at it, soleil.

The house feels dead without Soleil's usual laughter. Mitama moves from room to room, searching. When she drifts through the kitchen, her stomach growls. She does not bother to pause. She knows already that looking in the cupboards would only reveal them to be bare.

She walks, because that is all she can do. All she has ever done. And when no sunlight comes to greet her, her frown only grows. The clinking of coins in her pocket grows louder in the silence of the rooms, with the wind's howling stopped by solid walls and window panes.

Her stomach growls again, more demanding this time.

"Soleil!" She tries again. She tries again, because if Mitama strains her ears, she can still hear the sound of Soleil's singing, even if she cannot find her. She hears it always these days, more than the song of spring or the howls of fate. That simple tune, that melody, and the beautiful flowers that it brought in its wake.

Her stomach growls again, cutting through the melody until it fades away. Mitama's feet stop too on the carpet of their hall. Her ears strain, but all she can hear is the wind.

"Soleil?"

The humor vanished the moment the second creature’s tendril snapped around Mitama’s ankle. Nanna heard the hiss before she understood it, saw the fabric begin to smoke where the thing tightened against her skin, and then watched Mitama strike the earth hard enough to steal the air from anyone’s lungs. “...Mitama!” Her name tore free before thought could soften it. The monster dragged, its pupil narrowing with hideous focus as it tried to pull her farther into the open, but Nanna was already moving. The Earth Sword came up in both hands, its worn steel catching the first white fracture of lightning above. “Release her!”

Light rushed along the blade in answer. Nanna swung, and the beam tore across the field in a golden arc, striking the second eye directly through its quivering center. Its tendril recoiled at once, flinging loose from Mitama’s ankle as the creature convulsed in the air. She swung its weight backward, slamming it against its wounded companion in a splatter of violet and emerald ooze.

The rain arrived all at once. What had begun as a few cold drops became a heavy sheet, battering the field until ash dissolved into black rivulets and the creatures blurred behind a curtain of water. Nanna crossed the remaining distance before either could recover, sheathing her sword and dropping to one knee beside Mitama and reaching beneath her shoulders. 

“...Forgive me,” she warned, though she did not wait for permission. Nanna gathered Mitama into her arms and rose, one hand supporting her back while the other hooked securely beneath her knees. The Earth Sword’s healing warmth still thrummed faintly against her back, but there would be time for it beneath cover; standing exposed beneath monsters and lightning would help neither of them.

“Save your magic,” Nanna said, tightening her hold as she ran toward the nearest cluster of trees. Rain plastered her curls to her face and turned the ground treacherous beneath each step, yet she refused to slow until branches closed above them and the thickest part of the downpour broke against the canopy instead. Only then did she lower Mitama carefully against the shelter of an old trunk, keeping herself between her companion and the field beyond. “You covered me,” she said, already reaching for the injured ankle. Light spilled from her dripping gloves, less elegant than she had hoped. “Allow me to return the favor before either of us gives the gods anything more to gossip about.”

Another arc of light answers before her spell does, but this one is not her own. Her arm falls as she is thrown away by her would be capture. The bite against her flesh persists though, even freed from its grip.

She tries to push herself upright, only to be stopped by the feeling of something else grabbing at her. She flinches at first, but Nanna's voice quickly lulls her into settling. Forgive…Mitama braces for a hand on her leg, the kiss of a spell, some other sort of unpleasant first aid that hurts as much as the wound does. She does not expected to be lifted into Nanna's arms as though she weighs nothing. When her eyes open wide again, it is with clear surprise written all over her expression as she is cradled, too surprised to even move in protest or think of wielding another spell despite Nanna's urging.

Soon enough, the rain that had hammered against her skin fades away, and all she can see is green broken by shades of wheat. When Nanna sets her to her place against the tree the surprise has finally ebbed. In its place, Mitama clears her throat, and hopes the warmth of her surprise that paints her face now can be explained away by the rain.

"I did not know you had such strength about you." The descriptions she had heard of Nanna had been surprisingly lacking in that detail. The back of her head rests against the tree as she does her best to properly extender her leg for her. "I would have let you take the lead more had I known."

But there is no blame in her tone. It comes out as most of her words do; simple, factual. She watches silently as Nanna attempts to work. The light of the spell splutters and dances against the greener around them, much like it does when conjured by younger hands, against the canvas of an infirmary tent.

the count is warped back to their starting point in the parlor, and the blinding light of linhardt's crest illuminates the hall.  their eyes go wide, but they say nothing, instead quickly closing the distance between themself and mitama in order to place a hand on her shoulder and guide her into the first unlocked door.

thankfully, it's the one beside her.

In reality, it is probably best that the spell came from a fellow noble and not the commoner girl from another continent. Less fallout that way. So when she is abruptly herded into a nearby room, Mitama does little more than blink slowly at the change in light before humming slowly in response.

"Fine by me. And better too. I was growing tired of the buzzing in my ears." She sighs and rests her back against the door. Obviously, once free of their supervision, they will still need to track down where the maiden is within the manor, but they will at least have some time before they begin to need to make excuses again.

He assumes that rings aren't common in Mitama's homeland, wherever that is.

"You wouldn't be able to haul heavy crates like it's nothing or without tiring — unless you were already that strong, of course. As far as I know, wearing two Power Rings won't give you double the strength."

"But wait, why wouldn't the faculty study the potions?" he asks in turn. She doesn't seem to believe that they will. "I do agree with you that understanding them is important in preventing worse outcomes."

"Dismiss the idea of the rings then. Another example; if it were possible to find a way to safely equalize the playing field between those who are born blessed by the gods and those who are not, is it wrong and unfair to make an effort to do so?"

Mitama has never particularly wanted the ability to change the material world around her like those she care about can, but if they lived in a world where that ability did not immediately tie them to a life of responsibility as a result? What a gift it would be to grant them that freedom.

As for Seliph's question…Mitama shrugs as she turns back to her search. "Who could say except the Archbishop herself? I assume you have been here long enough to have personally witnessed at least one of the Church's questionable judgements that it asks of us to deal out? Who could say why they do any of what they do?"

But for as fervently as he tries to deny her claim, he's not quite sure if it was necessary or not. The mask she wears dupes him well enough, enough to pull the wool over his eyes. Sheep's lies produce overly honest truths out of him.

But even if her role overlapped with the two he alludes to, it would hardly matter. A boy wishes to hear a hundred voices for the hundreds he's lost. A world without people to live it with, to learn from, is hardly a world at all.

“Well, I can't really tell you what to enjoy or not, Mitama,” he says simply enough before he continues on, rolling one of his shoulders in the process. “But I don't think there's anything wrong with liking things as they are now. It's good to like today more than yesterday, isn't it? It means things are better now.”

He makes to rise, holding a hand out to Mitama who'd been leaning on him in offering.

"Lingering in the past means to avoid living in the moment, you are correct." She feels unsatisfied in her own question, but that is alright. She will ponder this moment later, when perfectly prescribing it to poem, and see what conclusion she reaches then. That is the purest way to experience things, after all, devoid of the touch of the opinion of others.

When Leif rises, it requires her to straighten up before she falls over. In doing so, she lifts her head again, finally feeling as though her expression is under control again, if a bit warmer than before. "Please. The feast afterwards is the only part of this experience that makes it worth bearing, even if all the house spirit can be exhausting."

But every year, more and more of the faces become familiar. Not all of them stay, but that is alright. The place becomes a little more comfortable every time, even if it takes a whole year to realize.

If it is nice to see Leif a little bit happier, than it will be nicer still to see that sentiment grow.

Mitama takes his hand and pulls herself up to her feet. "But yes. I will follow you. Since you asked so nicely."