"Ha... so you wore my team uniform? You're a clever little fox."
Relief rose in Medith like morning light; the once-timid fawn had become an oak of a woman.
"This time, I may not take you along; you're the Queen's personal guard now, duty over talk like iron over silk."
She petted her head with a breeze-soft hand, indulgent as spring.
Phiby looked pitiful, eyes wet like mist. "Medith... Sister Iling... are you both leaving? How long?"
"Silly girl, it'll be soon." Iling pressed her small head and rubbed, like smoothing a ruffled cat.
They say "soon," yet who can promise? Adventure is a road of storms; three to five years gone is common.
"Mm..." Phiby felt reluctance like heavy rain, yet she nodded, sensible as a settled lake.
"Then let's end here today. I'll head back to prepare; don't bother me unless it's urgent."
Medith patted Phiby's head, her tone calm like cool shade.
Sais still had words, swallowed them after a long silence like stones sinking.
She watched Medith's back recede like dusk, pain shadowing her face.
...
Medith returned to her room; the chamber was wide and ornate like a palace shell, yet empty save the crystal pendant chiming like rain.
A hollow rose in her chest like winter wind; this vast domain gave no safety like walls.
"Seems I've grown dependent on them; maybe I'm the most childlike one."
Her smile was bitter as tea.
Without their laughter, the house lacked the bell-like clamor of swallows.
Without their all-on-the-bed chatter, long legs no longer swayed like willows.
I never cherished it; only when it's gone do you ache.
When they were here, the hive was loud; without them, the snow of silence bites.
Thankfully, she hadn't lost everything.
A coal ember still glowed under ash.
"Medith, keep going." She tightened her heart like a drawn bow.
"One day you'll leap off the board, become the player, and shatter this sad fate."
Medith sat at her vanity; in the mirror her reflection rippled like water, a graceful figure, perfect lines, a face angelic and fair.
Only the smooth brow bore a black sun gear brand, eerie like an eclipse that gnaws.
She stroked it; there was no feeling, as if it had already fused with her like ink in a cup.
"A player... a board... a tragic fate?" Her thoughts fluttered like moths.
"If I'm a piece, if Nessos is a piece, even the so-called gods are pieces."
This whole thing is one game, with someone moving every piece like a hidden hand.
Who moves us? Who bends the world's path like a riverbed?
Why is my fate called tragic?
How do I leap the board and become the one who plays?
Her head throbbed like splitting ice; riddles multiplied while answers fell like sparse rain.
Just then, her skull hummed again; omens flickered like lightning behind her eyes.
"My dear, the night here is beautiful..."
"Yeah, though stars flood the sky like a river, they're not half as lovely as you..."
"You're too old-fashioned. Know this: if gods prove powerless, people will slay gods, take their place. Farewell, me... and..."
"May... guide you back from the maze..."
Medith pressed her head and rode out the pain like knives; sweat beaded on her brow like dew.
"This time... what does it mean? Which prophecy?"
She replayed the fragments and wrote them down, netting minnows out of fog.
"Gods... humans... replacing gods... what does that mean?"
Then, like thunder from a clear sky, a fragment flashed:
"Do you know, Medith.
A god is untouchable, unseeable, unkillable, uneraseable; a god is for fear alone.
But if a god is dragged off the throne, it becomes a man.
And a man can be killed."
As the slow, heavy door closed like a stone, Paris' kingly gaze filled the crack like a burning crown.
...
"Hope it draws their attention." She let loose the Queen's Emerald Hawk, a green arrow cutting the sun, to get the intel to Elyu fast.
She couldn't be blunt, and had no hard proof. Paris had a wildfire ambition, yet who doesn't harbor a spark?
She could only hint at her doubts and gently urge Elyu to watch; one misstep means bones ground to dust and no return.
If not for that bond with Elyu, she wouldn't dare send it; fear pooled around her ankles like cold water.
"A season of storms..." Medith sighed; the new year had begun, yet the world held to blazing summer, no New Year rites.
It left a faint sorrow, like old smoke.
Medith idly slid a drawer; she found her scuffed pocket watch, stroked its ring of metal like a small halo, eyes alight.
Then she found a headpiece: golden charms glittered like sunlight; at its center an upright greatsword in relief, with a small white gem inset.
Medith weighed it; it wasn't very heavy.
She wore it and played before the mirror; it suited her, the small pendants exotic and noble like desert stars.
The greatsword motif fit her aura, and, best of all, it blocked that glaring, eerie black sun gear brand.
Medith took it off and studied the back of the blade.
"Huh? What's this..."
On the back she noticed a row of tiny needles, aligned to the gem like hidden fangs.
The needles were minute; without her Elf Clan sight, sharp as hawk eyes, she'd never see them.
She pressed her palm; no pain came.
She pushed harder; a pinprick answered, and fine blood rose.
A notion flared.
She put it on and crushed the gem; a clean sting bit her brow, and when she removed it, the brand's black sun was punctured, dew-fine blood seeping.
"Good stuff! Was this tailored for me?"
Medith treasured it like a find from fate; it hid the brand and solved a hazard—if she were pinned, she could still trigger her change.
Medith wore it, joy bright as a bird; then she rummaged again.
"This... how can it be?!"
She stared at the lowest item for a long time, frozen like ice.
...
In an unworked tract of the Eastern Domain, dozens of remade buildings stood like a gray forest.
A middle-aged man of stern authority, in a red robe and crown, sat on a war chariot, drawn by several handlers, rolling toward the gate like thunder.
"The King arrives! Salute—"
The gate guards dropped to one knee, spears slanted like reeds in wind.
Erig and Manto knelt respectfully. "We present ourselves to King Segi! Glory of the Empire, everlasting."
