AceGreen
patreon
TRAS Chapter 121: Orphan
🕑 Added 2025-06-15 17:10:35 +0000 UTCThough Sigurd had yet to reach the city of Amière, he was well already deep within the hinterlands of the old Blanc domain.
It was not a place he would choose to be of his own accord. Yet he was drawn here by necessity—coerced by a threat uttered through the echo stone he now held in his hand.
A few days after Ailn had left for Calum, a strange box, carved from ash, was delivered to the Citadel. The messenger who delivered it was merely a knight ferrying an assortment of mail from Varant to those stationed at the northern wall. The junior knight on watch failed to grasp its significance and gave it little thought.
All the knight noticed was that it bore a noble crest, one which was rather disturbing—a chimera, with the head of a lion borne on the coiling body of a serpent. Unsure of what to do with it, he sent it back to the castle, to Sir Fontaine, who was most likely to recognize it.
It was the crest of the Blanc family.
The startled sergeant-prior immediately brought it to Sigurd, who wasted no time opening it. Inside, waiting for him, was an echo stone.
When he was still frequenting the capital, Sigurd had heard of this artifact. It had interested him, but as Varant itself lacked powerful mages, at best he would’ve been able to use it within the confines of the capital. That put it just beneath the threshold of utility for him to actively seek it out.
Less than a week prior, however, a powerful mage had arrived at the castle. This meant the echo stone would be usable—a stunning coincidence. Yet Sigurd felt neither anticipation nor gratitude.
“It would seem,” Sigurd said grimly, “our family is being watched.”
A piece of parchment bore a simple message: “Listen alone.”
Uncertain of how the device worked, and knowing he would need her talent, he found Safi—the mage—playing with Renea and her pup in the garden.
“Lady Fleuve,” Sigurd called out to her, causing her to flinch.
“Huh? Ow!” Safi winced, the pup biting her finger hard right that moment. She wheeled around to face Sigurd. “Am I getting kicked out? Is it because I tried talking to Sophie until she just told me to leave? I thought she liked hearing about all the stories where there’s a fake Saintess, but usually the fake Saintess is the real Saintess and the real Saintess is the bad guy, I mean the fake real one…”
“Sophie did that?” Renea asked, looking troubled. Then she cleared her throat, and looked away. “W-well, I can see how that story hits um… a lot of sore spots, actually…”
“I’m sorry, I just, you know, can’t tell the difference between her mad face and happy face!” Safi whined, her fingers fluttering together nervously. “Um, I’ll just assume she’s mad all the time from now on!”
“This has nothing to do with any of that,” Sigurd said, hiding his impatience. He held up the echo stone. “I merely need your assistance utilizing this artifact.”
“Oh?” Safi cautiously drew near, hesitating a beat before gingerly taking the echo stone from Sigurd’s hand. “Ohhhhhh? My dad wanted one of these?”
She pressed the button and the chime of a bell rang forth.
“This is…? Hmm…” Safi’s other hand held her chin in a thinking gesture. “Even with leylines I always wondered how they’d send a message so far…” Her gaze fell to the ground. “The artifact kinda helps me feel the flow through the mana veins…”
Then she paused, realizing something as she almost seemed to look into the artifact. “You already have a message, but…”
Safi pressed the dial, and a high-pitched scratching and screeching noise emitted from the stone. “It’s all garbled, right now.” Turning the stone over and around in her hands, she noticed a set of glyphs on the back. “Oh. It’s like a cipher. I can feel the texture of the glyphs… It identifies your stone uniquely kinda like a browser cache… Gimme a bit…”
“These are just, um, mage terms,” Renea said anxiously to Sigurd. Then she glanced at the glyphs Safi was examining. “Oh! I know those characters! That’s the ancestor script to the ancient language!”
“...I was not aware the ancient language derived from an even older script,” Sigurd said, flatly.
He couldn’t help but think Renea had an overabundance of free time since she’d relinquished her Saintess duties.
Perhaps she noticed, because she stammered as if she had to explain herself, a flicker of indignation in her eyes. “T-this is our world and history and it’s worth learning!”
While Safi continued to quietly examine the artifact, Renea pointed with her finger to the two glyphs, pressing on with her explanation—as if more elaboration might compel Sigurd to see her idle reading as a worthy use of time. “The first glyph is made of two primals: for ‘speaking’ and for ‘ignorance.’ But even base primals in the ancient language are dense with meaning, so the meaning’s closer to ‘willful ignorance.’ Together, the two primals of the first glyph can be read as: ‘It speaks, unheard.’”
Her expression faltered, and she seemed to be losing energy. “Though the more succinct translation of the first glyph is ‘isolation…’”
A prickle of unease crept down Sigurd’s spine. Considering the extraordinary—and unmistakably insidious—nature of the echo stone’s delivery, even a detail as banal as this could be a hidden message.
“...Go on,” Sigurd said.
“The second glyph together means ‘future.’ The fullest translation is, ‘tomorrow with hope,’ because the primals are ‘the child’ and ‘the heavens.’ It’s a child next to all the celestial objects, implying the full passage of a day.”
“Then the two full glyphs together mean ‘a lonesome future,’” Sigurd said.
Disquieting, to be sure, but perhaps not as malevolent as he feared.
“Well, together…” Renea wilted. She sounded upset. “They mean… ‘orphan.’”
_______________
After speaking with Ailn at the fountain, Dame Alera summoned one of her fellow White Knights to a tavern just a short walk from the ark-Chelon estate.
“Flattered as I am to be courted, Alera,” Sir Voltus began, “I should be frank from the start: I have a lady who waits for me in the town of my raising. Yes, we swore to each other eternally at the tender age of five, so while I amply respect your sword I must decline—”
“Voltus, cease your boasting for two seconds, I’ve called you for something serious,” Alera said firmly.
A barmaid arrived with their pints, and Alera very nearly drained hers in one gulp. “This… concerns the Argent Guard.”
The expression on Voltus’s face, for once, turned serious. “We both agreed to never speak of our past ties…” He glanced over his shoulder nervously. “Certainly not right here within Calum. What could possibly warrant it?”
“I am sure you’re aware many of our old comrades-in-arms became sellswords after the fall of Amière,” Alera said grimly. “Few were so lucky as us to remain knights.”
“Well, the Argent Guard was hardly a knight order,” Voltus said with a chagrined smile, taking a sip of his lager. “Our reputations were terrible. To say nothing of whether we had the skills befitting.”
“Have you… been contacted, Voltus?” Alera asked carefully. “Have you had dealings with any of the others?”
“Hardly anything noteworthy,” Voltus said with a frown. “I’ve not entirely loosed my associations. Why?”
“I have a terrible premonition,” Alera muttered. “That many of our former comrades are about to do something very foolish.” Then her voice quieted down, and she firmly met his gaze. “I’ve heard from a credible source that one of the surviving scions may be attempting to revenge themselves upon Varant.”
Voltus’s frown fell further into a grimace. He once again checked his surroundings—this time furtively, moving only his eyes.
“How ‘credible’ can this source possibly be?” Voltus asked, in a hushed tone. “Just what manner of drunken ramble have you been privy to?”
“The words were sober, and they came from a duke,” Alera whispered. Then she drew her face nearer the other knight’s. “I know you resent the Azure Knights for the humiliation of our defeat seven years ago, Voltus. I am not telling you to let go of your anger.”
Pulling away, Alera sighed, swirling her pint around, letting the mead slosh around at its bottom. “I am merely advising you: to escape our past, we need but stay perfectly still.” Alera gestured to the crest of the White Knights, embroidered onto the sleeve of her gambeson. “We’ve made it, already, Voltus.”
“You seem convinced I wish to throw myself under a galloping horse,” Voltus said with a laugh.
“...I am convinced that recreational duels fail to provide the fulfillment you seek,” Alera said bluntly. “But we are true knights, part of a legitimate order. We will see our day.”
Then, finishing her drink, and giving him an imploring look she spoke with all the sincerity she could muster. “There will be battles worth fighting.”
And yet, her fellow knight’s expression only grew more opaque. Dame Alera failed to realize she had just given away information which was critical.
_______________
‘Sigurd, please… I—I am in Amière. They’re… They demand you come alone. I beg of you—heed their words.’
Once Safi had managed to render the echo stone’s message intelligible, Sigurd withdrew to an empty guardroom to listen. And what he’d heard was the last thing he expected.
That was Ciel’s voice.
His breath caught in his throat, and a coldness settled in his chest as if he’d swallowed ice. The meaning of the echo stone’s glyphs flashed through his mind.
Orphan.
The box which the echo stone arrived in had borne the crest of the Blancs. The word orphan, then, was loaded with meaning. With Celine’s death, Sigurd and his siblings had been orphaned—and Sophie, with Aldous’s execution.
On the other hand, all the young scions of the Blancs who Sigurd spared—he’d rendered every single one of them an orphan as well. Even Ciel.
Was it a statement of mockery? Or anger—or both?
Or was it a warning… that his and Ciel’s child, Béatrice, would soon be orphaned?
Amière. They waited for him at the Blancs’ old seat of power. Was it truly one of the young Blancs he spared that day? Would they threaten their own cousin, Ciel?
Had they already hurt her?
…Was it because Ciel had borne Sigurd’s child? Did they consider that unforgivable?
Her voice… sounded airier. Similar to when they’d first met, when she was still being abused by Marcella.
Even worse, he hadn’t heard Béatrice’s voice at all.
If he rode alone, he could easily reach ark-Chelon in two days.
No. He needed to be circumspect. He didn’t even know the abductor’s identity, or what forces he was reckoning with. And depending on which of the Blancs was conspiring against him, what waited for him in Amière would change dramatically.
His hand trembled, as he held the stone.
Could he trust Mirek? Perhaps with the mage’s help, he could send a dispatch through the echo stone.
And yet—if Mirek truly were the mastermind, then this could be a deliberate gambit. He could act as if he were aiding Sigurd, only to lead him to his death.
Whoever had sent the echo stone was clearly aware that Safi had arrived in Varant, or else Sigurd could never have listened to the message. How closely was he being watched? Could it be one of the knights within the castle?
The more knights he brought, the greater the chance that a turncloak could find their way into Sigurd’s retinue. Then his every movement would surely be tracked.
Sigurd’s mind swirled with possibilities, the sheer complications of which threatened to paralyze him into inaction.
He made a decision.
That night, Varant’s knight commander set off for Amière alone.
_______________
In the present, Ailn, who was about to head out to Amière himself, was debating what to do with Bea.
They were still loitering around in the market, but it was just Ailn and Bea for the moment. He’d made something up about how Bea was severely dehydrated and in danger of heat stroke to get Camille away for a moment, and give him a chance to talk to Bea alone.
“We’re not taking you,” Ailn said firmly. “It’s too dangerous.”
“But… but my eyes can help,” Bea said, sounding hurt. “Papa—papa needs me…”
“Bea. Try and look into the future. Tell me if you still see your dad’s funeral,” Ailn said.
As they always did when Bea looked into the future, her eyes went out of focus. Her pupils drifted aimlessly, searching for something beyond Ailn’s sight.
A slight glimmer entered her eyes, which seemed to widen. “I can’t… find it, I don’t think…” Bea said. “Everything’s too fuzzy to tell… There are too many… pictures?”
Ailn frowned. Did that mean everything was still up in the air?
To be honest, he was feeling less confident than he let show. They could very well be facing a small army. Given the decently sized knight retinue he’d brought, and the fact that these were the same foes they’d embarrassed seven years ago, he should feel better about the whole thing, but…
He still had a bad feeling. And if the future Bea saw was in flux, that just about confirmed it. This could come down to the wire.
“But the good future…” Bea tugged at Ailn’s sleeve. “Might still need me…”
Sighing, Ailn decided to at least engage with her. “Bea, what do you see if you come with us?”
After a few moments, she gave just about the worst answer she could. “Dark… Darkness. I can’t see… anything.”
A heavy, sickening feeling curled in Ailn’s stomach, realizing just what that darkness might mean. But he didn’t let the dread slip into his voice.
“You’re staying, Bea,” Ailn said emotionlessly. “End of discussion.”
“I have—I have a cup of water,” Camille gasped, out of breath, having run who knows where to retrieve it. “Are you feeling faint?”
“Um…” Bea mumbled, shifting guiltily as she took the cup from Camille. “Bent Ham… says you made him happy. His throat was dry.”
Bea gave Ailn a miffed look for pulling her into his white lie. But he just picked her up.
“We’re gonna save your dad, okay? We just gotta figure out who’s gonna watch you,” Ailn said softly.
Then, a voice came from behind them. Ailn and Bea both recognized it, but neither had expected it.
“Bea…? Bea!” A woman’s choked up voice called out.
Immediately turning to the voice, Bea’s eyes started to water, and her voice immediately began to rasp and crack. “Ma… Mama!”
Ciel rushed toward her daughter, pulling her into her arms.
Comments
Arthefom
Thank you
