enduring legacy.

Or perhaps she was merely being nostalgic. Nostalgic for the time when it was commonplace to be surrounded by such strong hands, by the comfort of Holy Blood and those who bore it, where she might find herself welcome and amongst kindred spirits.

“I can’t suppose that was Edain who had said so. Perhaps little Oifey or Shannan, hm?” She wrinkled her nose with a little smile, looking up at him and finding his smile so achingly familiar to his father’s.

Her own smile brightened, dawning on her face like a rush of sunlight, at the mention of her children, of her nephew. “Yes, I’ve seen Nanna, and little Ares - he is not quite so little as I recall him, but his heart is the same, and he has grown so handsome. Are…are you in the same class as they are?”

It was too much to ask, that they all be wrapped so neatly in the little bow at the academy for her to find, all these children grown so much while she had been captured.

...Did he ever ask her? He doesn't remember if he had or if Princess Nanna had ever mentioned her 'allegiance' at the academy to him. She is certainly not in the Eagles. Maybe the Deer if he had to guess, since she always seemed close to his cousin during the war.

"Diarmuid?" Seliph is none the wiser to Lady Lachesis' hands slowing down, and thus, he doesn't see a reason to adjust his already steady pace. Yet, he can only imagine how much it means to her — to hear about her son after so long. "I haven't spoken to him in quite some time. I know he departed for Agustria with Ares... You should ask either him or Princess Nanna if they have heard from him."

With a glance at her, he offers an apologetic smile. "I am sorry I can't be of more help."

Mitama does note him trailing closer. While he has yet to make any effort to stop her, she does not know him well enough to be fully trusting just yet. She sidesteps around the professor's podium to make her way over to one of the cabinets lining the walls.

"Of course they would not work in the long-term. After all, we've yet to see what the effects of the potions when they run their course through the individuals. But that too is why studying and understanding them can be important, so that they can be used in appropriate dosages."

She reaches for the cabinet door, only for it to shudder against its other half and refuse to open. Locked too, hmm? An irritated sigh slips out of her as she places the paper down on a nearby desk. "What if the potions and what the students find themselves capable of doing while using them are the very motivator to pursue their studies harder? It is impossible to predict what people might do with opportunity."

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."

Though, of course, Seliph remains measured in his assessment, wise in the way Leif expects and cautious— the very traits he'd hoped to come out of this conversation discovering. He'd feared an explosive man, one who had led them astray to the point he'd been blinded from reality...

(He'd feared, in truth, a reflection of his own worst flaws, pushed onto the man he'd been revering.)

“Yes. You have my support, Lord Seliph!! Just as my father supported yours... For a better future, Thracia fights on!”

Free from that fear, Leif claps his hand against his cousin's offered one, giving it a hearty shake as he renews the vow they've made at two castles before.

he takes after me in the worst of ways, she thinks, but does not protest. another time she would ask of him what truly is the matter, but she couldn't bring herself to rush the issue.

"not at all. i made sure to finish everything for the day before i met up with you again." it was a little exhausting honestly, but anything for him.

"you'll have to pick something for me. i'm still not very familiar with their offerings."

Ephraim shakes his head. "It makes sense. My own family descends from one of Magvel's heroes, but our blood does not carry any significance in the same way, if I am understanding correctly. Who is Baldr? A hero? Some sort of...god?"

The name feels familiar... Wait, yes, he remembers now. Seliph had mentioned them before.

"Ah, you said before that I was dressed as the Crusader Baldr. Strange that the arena would choose me and not you or your father to represent your lineage."

"I suppose you could consider the twelve Crusaders, including Baldr, heroes of old. The scripture states that they were granted power and the holy weapons by the gods who descended at Dahna. We call it the Miracle of Dahna."

Hm. Why does Seliph have the feeling that he has talked about this before?

"That allowed them to fight against the dark god and oppression of an empire long ago... And as such, descendants of the Crusaders have a similar duty to fight against the darkness."

The duty some failed to uphold. He stares at Tyrfing's blade for a moment before sliding it back in its scabbard.

"I'd say your performance was far better than mine in Arena, though! You represented Baldr well enough in our stead." Seliph lets out a soft laugh, humbling himself instead of holding his head high. "Suffice to say, I don't make much of a marksman." On the other hand, his father excelled. A sword is a sword, after all, and that alone makes it an old friend to Baldr's blood.

"I wasn't at Garreg Mach for the battle of the monastery itself. Every once in a while, I return to my homeland to check on things, and I just so happened to be on my way back to Fodlan when that disaster broke out. I made my way to some surrounding territories and helped wherever I could, then returned to the monastery and assisted with repairs."

With the amount of fighting he had seen back home, the sight of ruins was one he was well accustomed to at that point. Even then, to regard Fodlan's architectural pearl as it barely remained standing in places was... depressing, to say the least.

"Still, you're not wrong about the experience part," is all he says out loud to sum up those dark thoughts, before finally smiling again. "Ah. A young king, aren't you? That does make us equals. On that note, you may call me either of those, and just Tibarn is fine as well. I'm not a stickler for formalities. On that note, you'll have to let me reflect the question back at you."

The last mention prompts a light head tilt, and finally a shake. "That I seem to unfortunately have missed. What's it like?" He regards Seliph's figure and the sword in his hand, his curiosity genuine, albeit his smile is now a shade faded. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but so far you give me the impression of someone who has experience with the kinda warfare you speak of."

He appreciates the lack of strict formalities and hierarchy at Garreg Mach. Most people here don't bat an eye at a foreign royal or expect greatness in him. Furthermore, it is almost refreshing to find a royal who doesn't care for the formalities. Is Tellius more relaxed in that aspect?

His smile fades when they move onto the topic of warfare. "Yes, you aren't wrong, Tibarn... It wasn't that long ago that I led a liberation army against an empire's oppressive rule. Our march began after they found the village we were hiding in." Explaining the history of Jugdral and every little detail would take far too long, so Seliph settles on a short version.

"There were also other conflicts on a... smaller scale, though I wasn't personally involved in them. Stabilizing the situation in Grannvale was my priority as newly crowned king... And unfortunately, peace is still shaky across Jugdral; we encountered our fair share of trouble on the field trip I mentioned."

The wyvern knights' siege, an ambush in the middle of the sandstorm, and an assassination attempt in Isaach of all places... Later, he received word that even Grannvale wasn't spared from a disturbance.

Well, she supposes that it is not the first time that has happened, but Ephraim had always been quick to correct. People always listened to him.

And so here she is, magically tethered to another student for 'bad behavior' for the crime of 'dueling at the ball.'

She will have several stern words for Ephraim.

When Seliph turns his kind gaze upon her and asks for her side of the story, Eirika sighs in relief.

He doesn't recall being much of a troublemaker as a child in Tirnanog. Even in the halls of the monastery, he imagines his record is spotless. But blaming one's misdeeds on their twin... Doesn't that sound like it belongs on the list of classic excuses?

"Should we try to find your brother and have him corroborate your story to the priest?" he suggests, then thinks of a better solution. "No, actually, perhaps an unrelated witness at the ball would be more believable..."

“I think the faculty confiscated them due to being an outlier they were not in control. But regardless of what their motivation was, the conclusion is ridiculous. Rather than confiscating and banning them, it would be better to be spending time understanding them.”

She taps her finger on one of the pages. Here we are, this looks like what she was hunting for. She slides the sheet out of the pile.

“Drinking unknown potions is, of course, incredibly stupid and dangerous of the students to do. However, have you ever tried telling a child that they cannot have something that they desperately want?” Like a visit that will never happen? “You cannot put the lid back on the jar once it has been broken, so it would be better to develop a proper understanding of what these potions are rather than forbidding them outright.”

The analogy about a child and a cookie jar makes far more sense. Substitute that with potions and students, and he can picture one particularly desperate student breaking into this very classroom — and likely face harsh repercussions.

Her last question strikes a chord with Seliph. For what feels like several long moments, silence falls over the room.

"...I suppose I am hardly the one to talk about fairness since I was born with one such advantage due to my bloodline," he concedes on that point. If he were to argue otherwise, he would be a hypocrite. In Jugdral, few were born with holy blood, while the vast majority of the population wasn't — and Seliph would have to be truly ignorant not to realize that. "I am aware it isn't something anyone can control or change about themselves."

He trails closer to the teacher's desk.

When a priest from the Church pulled him aside with a request, Seliph found it simple enough. He was assured that it wouldn't affect his daily schedule too much, especially since it was only for a week. However, he didn't ask for more details or read the fine print.

The priest failed to mention that magically enforced hand-holding was involved. So, here he is, with a hand clasped around a Golden Deer student's.

"I was told you got into a fight at the ball." Seliph's tone is conversational as he casts a curious look Eirika's way. It might be just him, but she doesn't seem like the type who would start one — or really, someone who would fall in the Church's bad graces.

But who knows, she might prove him wrong at any minute now.

"How did that happen if you don't mind me asking?"

Understanding the root of the issue should be helpful, he thinks.

It is there where Seliph finds her, looking up briefly from her search to acknowledge him. "Oh, hello Seliph." What an odd place to run into someone. Well, that is not entirely true. She only knows him from their brief introduction during the ball, after all. She had no idea what his hobbies were, or how much he enjoyed spending his time exploring dark and unpopulated places.

She returns her attention to the desk, flipping through the piles of paper there. It would be easier if she had a light, but she is reluctant to cast one. If Seliph found her so easily, who was to say what actual light would invite.

"Stealing is a bit harsh. I was intending on borrowing one or two of the potions, however." Maybe it would be more efficient to just start digging through cabinets? But then how will she know there are not normal potions mixed in there as well? Hmm. "Of course, the faculty would deny such a request after their decision, so I simply thought it best to take the initiative myself to gather up what I would need."

"That depends," comes his response as he passes the rows of desks to come closer. He isn't so completely unwilling to hear Mitama out that he would drag her out of the classroom at the first chance.

"Why do you want to 'borrow' them despite the consequences if you were caught?"

First, however, he should ascertain why she wants to take them in the first place.

"And don't you think the faculty confiscated them for a reason?" A pointed look, a hand gesturing at... nothing, really, so it lands on a desk in the front row. "Those students cheated to achieve results they wouldn't achieve without working for it..."

He understands some may have an advantage over others due to their bloodline or, in Fódlan, their crest. Despite the blood of Baldr in his veins, even he had to study under Shannan's tutelage before he wielded a blade so seamlessly.

But back to the matter at hand. “No blacksmith necessary for me, I come equipped with a weapon by default.” He extends his right, sleeveless arm, and channels some shiftpower into it; within moments, rough skin covers his hand, his fingers and nails turning into talons, complete with the deadly claws the length of his thumbs.

“… Just for a little show. I can turn into a full Hawk form, of course, but the people of this town are already scared of me as I am now,” he clarifies, the second part of the sentence turning more and more into a grumble before he dismisses the transformation. “Naturally, talons also require care and maintenance, but not quite like this,” he adds, gesturing with his head towards Seliph’s whetstone; though in that moment, a thought seems to strike him, and he pauses, frowning, before he shrugs with a newfound look of amusement on his face.

“… Actually, I stand corrected. Thinking about it now, I suppose I also sharpen them on rocks and hard surfaces.” He huffs, eyeing Seliph’s sword. “Your ancestors would probably roll in their graves if you tried to sharpen your special sword on the first random rock you found, though.”

Would that even work? Ah well. Who is he to know that?

His gaze moves back to the man's face, having lingered on the hand a little longer after it resembles a human's again. He lets out a soft chuckle at the comment about any random rock being used for Tyrfing's maintenance. Another Jugdrali might have fainted at it. Should he ask Father for his opinion on the matter? No, Seliph dismisses that thought just as quickly. He shouldn't even think of handling Tyrfing with anything less than the respect it deserves.

"As much as I prefer peace and wish to see it prosper, their thinking is certainly a little... shortsighted in that regard." Seliph chooses his words with care. While he doesn't fault the people for that line of thinking, that desire not to rock the boat, it can come back to haunt them later. "Even a remote village may find war at its doors one day — and the safest places may not be as secure as we'd like to believe... I don't know if you were present for it, but last year, the monastery fell to a sudden attack."

Chaos and uncertainty were left in the cities across Fódlan. The supply runs offered Seliph a glimpse of it.

"What am I saying?" He rubs the back of his neck with his free hand. "While I am unfamiliar with Tellius and its affairs, it sounds like you are also speaking from experience... Ah, do you prefer Professor Tibarn or King Tibarn?" He realizes he should ask. "If it's the latter, I suppose we are on equal footing in that regard; I took the throne of Grannvale after the war ended in Jugdral."

The corners of his mouth turn upwards. Seliph inclines his head.

The academy claims itself to be an institution that prepares its students for the unforeseen futures ahead of them. Why then, she wonders, would it choose to stifle potential growth at the first opportunity by completely hiding new discoveries from the grasp of said students?

Was it incredibly stupid to ingest an unfamiliar potion or tonic? Yes. Had doing so produced the exact results promised, in a manner completely unseen before? Also yes!

Even if they do not want students to continue taking these potions, they could still study them to see what was possible. If they were so effective if their unknown state, imagine what could be possible with a bit more investment!

There is no harm in curiosity, and Mitama has never been one to give up on something when it managed to catch her picky attention span.

The staff had not been subtle about what room they were storing the potions in, so it only becomes a matter of waiting before Mitama is able to move forward with her investigation. The punishment will likely be severe if she is caught…so she simply will not be.

Her quiet footsteps feel quite loud in the silent hallway, marking her approach. The door handle stays stubbornly in place when she attempts to open it. Mitama sighs heavily, then gives a quick glance down both ends of the hallway before pulling out a pin. After all, any sensible professor would praise her for practicing what she has learned her.

The door opens easily enough, allowing Mitama to slip inside the room with a proud grin. "Alright, now where are they?"

It is by a mere coincidence that he rounds the corner in time to see a head of pink hair slip into a classroom. It is the very same classroom that one of his professors made clear was off-limits on no uncertain terms. Most students present, including Seliph, could guess why.

Otherwise, he didn't give it much thought. Not until now.

Isn't that...?

Despite knowing he probably shouldn't — no, he absolutely shouldn't — that hint of familiarity and concern furrowing his brow gets his feet moving.

"Mitama?" Seliph has enough sense to keep his voice low once he is inside the room. He nudges the door behind him so it isn't so conspicuous to anyone passing by. "What are you doing here? The faculty members said no one should enter..." Blue eyes look around. While there are no potions in sight, the classroom has enough cabinets to store them in, not to mention the teacher's desk.

If he had been any other man in the world, even slightly less skilled, Sigurd would have missed what a true terror his son must be on the battlefield. Swift and precise, as the true swordmastery from Isaach had trained him to be, with the vibrancy and the familiar power of their shared Baldr Holy Blood.

There was a rush of adrenaline as he could not help but wonder - if he were not so infirm, if the conditions were ideal and they were both at their peak, who would have emerged triumphant?

Would there ever be a circumstance that he could match his son, blade for blade, to determine which of them was truly the better warrior?

It was pride beyond pride that swelled in his chest, that dizzy, heady rush that he understood to be the bloodlust that any soldier need have, crucial to conducting war but upon the firm leash of discipline - his ego was not so fragile to undermine his son’s strength.

More, it was that he wanted to see it unfettered, alongside and in contest with his own.

Against the full and unmitigated might of Baldr, the stick snapped in his hand, and Sigurd forced himself to pivot, grin breaking into something intense and focused.

Yet, it is real. Blue eyes linger on the broken stick before snapping back to Father's face. The man laughs, and only then does Seliph ease into a smile.

"The victory may be mine, but you didn't make it easy," Seliph responds — not by bouncing on his feet or bumping his fist high into the air, but with a layer of humility. However, his eyes shine just as brightly as his father's.

He brushes stray locks of hair from his eyes.

"One day, I hope you will get to see me with a sword instead, Father. We could even have a rematch!" How would he fare? Would he see pride in the man's eyes again? "But for now, we should start heading back to the monastery."

On the way back, Seliph considers letting go of the stick and has a myriad of opportunities to do so. The duel is over; it no longer has a purpose.

In the end, the stick finds a new home on his desk.

"… Broom."

It does not help that he's not getting paid to deal with this. All of this.

He'd gambled on the chance of encountering old foes during the expedition, and promptly lost, but somehow this feels much more humiliating. Travant picks the broom off the assortment and gets right to work, sweeping off stray petals to the side. The sooner this is over, the sooner he can go.

… But if his assumption is correct, in that his current partner would be as curious as that Leonster boy was, then the topic is going to come up eventually whether he likes it or not. The silence in between is just the bridge leading to the inevitable.

He is determined to take care of the puddle first.

The mop meets some resistance when he drags it over it. There must be some syrup in the mix.

"Hm?" As focused as he is, he almost misses Travant's question. "That's what I am here for. Studying, I mean. I didn't exactly have the opportunity to attend Belhalla Academy."

The syrup has hardened somewhat overnight, but a good scrub should fix it. He brings the mop over the spot in vigorous circles.

"And you? Why are you here?" Seliph is unable to contain his curiosity once he realizes they aren't working in silence. "...Do my cousins know?"

He finds himself at a loss for how to take this. It's a sweet victory, the relief felt to finally let the bowstring release after what must have been over a decade of keeping it drawn tight. Even before Leif has met Seliph, such lessons were drilled in as important.

A prince keeps his cool. It is around Seliph he thought this lesson one of the most important, but...

(Did Seliph have moments like these when Leif didn't see?)

Perhaps with someone different, Leif concludes. Though whom, he's unsure after his conversation with Deimne earlier that night. Umber eyes watch his cousin shift, all of a sudden overly interested and intrigued yet tongue-tied; the thing to let his tongue go is the direct question aimed his way.

“Ah, we agreed to compete again this year. But now that you mention it, I haven't seen him since either...” Perhaps owed to Leif's own fixation of these new displays of technology. But if Seliph hasn't seen Ares much either, could Leif still be in the race...? A seed of hope blooms, reigniting Leif's competitive side to make up for things in the second half of the night, but at the same time, this new mystery compels Leif to want to think on the why— why might Ares be hard to find?

“Hm... Is it possible he found one person he's speaking a long time to? They might've gone to the Goddess Tower. That'd give them reason to not be here in the main floor.”

Leif presumes Seliph, in Leif's straitlaced image of him, would never break a rule. Ares on the other hand...

The Goddess Tower.... Although Seliph hasn't had a reason to sneak in there, he has been at the academy long enough to be aware of the 'tradition' among students. Haven't there been whispers of a famous love story?

Ares is disciplined and doesn't entertain nonsense, so he doesn't immediately strike Seliph as the type to break into the Tower for the fun of it. On the other hand, maybe it isn't so impossible to consider? He did see Lene before the lights went out...

"Any time," he nods with a warm smile. "If you do see him, I appreciate it — and even if you don't, don't worry too much about it." The smile grows around the edges. "I think he might just have to go without my support this year."

With a wave over his shoulder, he parts ways with Leif and follows the glow of butterflies.

There is always next year.

"You did this!" a young woman that Altena recognizes as a student from the Academy waves an accusing finger at her. "My whole pack is ruined! Ruined!" The pack is tossed at Altena's feet and it is very clearly as ruined as she claims.

Altena has no idea, however what could have possibly happened to it. She's never spoken to this woman. She is pretty certain she flies a pegasus but she isn't even sure which house she's part of. Why she so aggressively thinks the Thracian is the one to have messed with her things is completely beyond Altena.

"What are you talking about?" Altena's scowl deepens. She doesn't like being accused like this. Going behind someone's back is dishonest and cowardly. She's better than that.

"Don't play innocent!" the other woman hisses. "You wyvern riders are all the same!"

The pegasus knight doesn't seem entirely convinced. She narrows her eyes at him. For a split second, Seliph worries that his interjection will only escalate the situation. "Well, clearly someone did." She huffs and storms off without an apology.

"Are you all right?" Seliph turns towards his cousin. If the circumstances were different, he would have offered a different greeting. "She shouldn't have accused you like—"

"Hey, who took my rations?!"

A loud bellow not only interrupts him but also turns many heads. This time, it's a young man from the cavalry unit.

"It was obviously one of those wyvern riders," a pegasus knight — a different one, as her hair is styled into a high ponytail — grumbles. She levies a pointed look at the wyvern rider unit. "They are assholes."

"You keep pointing your finger at us," one of the wyvern riders in question steps forward with a scowl. "Isn't that what the guilty would say?"

From there, the conversation devolves into bickering, and Seliph may only watch it happen in abject disbelief. There is no sense of camaraderie between cavaliers, pegasus knights, and wyvern riders as they are too busy suspecting each other.