fics I read

"Do we really?" Arthur posed as he rested his hands upon the lavish armrests on either side of the opulent chair he found himself in.

This is even more lavish than the throne in Camelot's castle. Arthur noted internally as he watched Roswaal's face fill with mirth as if he had cracked a rather funny joke rather than posed a question.

"Of course, we do," Roswaal drawled still lacking the accent he had shown moments earlier, "It's not everyone that someone saves a royal candidate while being one themselves, even more so when you then take center stage during the largest attack on the capital since the demi-human war."

"I held no intent for the first, and I believed 'saved' is a little overblown, I was in more danger than anyone else, Emilia merely showed up at the end, Elsa didn't even make a singular strike towards her."

"That might be sooo, but you did manage to recover her insignia did you not? I wonder what would have happened had that not occurred…"

He… wasn't exactly sure how to respond to that, he wasn't naïve enough to believe that Emilia would have walked away unscathed had he not been there. Elsa had been targeting her insignia for whatever reason, and had she managed to locate it in time…

Lugunica would be down a candidate, while he did sense a large amount of mana within her spirit, much more than any cat should ever have, against an opponent like Elsa who only needed a single moment to cause a fatality, he didn't like her chances.

"Respectfully, Margrave Mathers, I have discovered during my life that it does not do to dwell of 'what-ifs' it serves only to blind you to the reality of what occurred, and the ramifications of it."

"Oh," The margrave leaned forward, his painted face turning what would appear on anyone else as mere interest into something sinister, "Sounds like quite a story."

"Perhaps," He drummed his fingers against the leather armrest of the chair, the repetitive action serving to ground him, "But some stories are better left untold, don't you agree."

To his surprise, Roswaal let out a laugh, not unlike a crying dog, seemingly finding humor in his words that he never intended.

"Oh, I agree," Roswaal choked, his eyes pulling something out of his own. "But enough of that, I must ask is my estate up to your standards?"

"Absolutely, from the little I've seen of the manor it seems like it has a storied past, your staff is the epitome of perfection as well, in our brief interactions they've given me nothing but courtesy."

"Is that so?" The margrave drawled, almost as if he had expected a different answer, "Well no sane man would ever complain about that, would he?"

He merely shook his head in response, unsure how to respond to the margrave, the conversation carrying none of the expectations he had when he walked into the room.

"Going back to my motivation for this visit, I must confess that I am perplexed at Emilia's lack of involvement in my reception."

The silver-haired half-elf wasn't involved in the slightest, besides a brief mention from the margrave, given the magnitude of the meeting, being the first 'official' contact between the two of them as candidates he expected Emilia to be present.

"She would have beeeeen, had you arrived at a moooore opportune time. It is neeeearly the middle of the night after aaaaall. It was raaaaather lucky even I was up."

Deferring the blame onto me? An interesting approach when I was invited here for a 'reward.'

If the situations were reversed, he wouldn't have even been able to force himself to sleep knowing Emilia could show up at any moment, not receiving her personally would be an immense slight, and he had a hard time Emilia meant it in that way.

She was naïve, even in their brief interaction with each other that much was clear, rushing into the alley as she had when they first met showed that that naivety bordered on suicidal.

She clearly had been tempered with the life that he, or any ordinary noble had, but given the information given to him by Reinhard that wasn't surprising, you couldn't pluck a random person out of a forest and expect them to behave by the book.

"While I had hoped to arrive before nightfall, surely the arrival of a rival candidate necessitates compromise from the ordinary?"

The words sounded haughty even to his ears, and stirred memories of a life he wished he could leave behind him, but the die had already been cast, and the only way he could lose was by failing to play this game to its conclusion.

Twilight blanketed the visage of the Juukulius manor, it's ravenous appetite even managing to swallow the majority of the rooms and hallways of the estate, as its occupants slumbered in peace.

Yet a small ember of light was visible in one of the rooms, an otherwise undistinguishable office who's only defining feature was a rather unobstructed view of the rest if the city below, its shining ruby opulence contrasted slightly by the amethyst hair of an individual that was diligently slaving away over a series of documents, her face nearly parallel to the desk itself, only raising to a comfortable position as a series of low, echoing knocks sounded from the dark hallway outside the door.

"Enter."

The door opened not a moment later, as the magically fueled light flowed into the hallway behind him, finally allowing him the luxury of sight, the faint amount of light from Ia notwithstanding.

He gingerly shut the doorway behind him, allowing Ia to fade away at the same time before his gaze traveled to the only other occupant of the room, offering her a curt bow.

"My my, if it isn't my wayward knight, I was beginning to wonder if I'd ever see ya again."

"My apologies, Lady Anastasia, I've been…. Busy."

"Too busy to even show your face?" She drawled, her biting words causing him to move to interject but she continued before he could, "It's said that time is money, and you've been displaced for quite some time, but I know you better then to believe you were out chasing the butterflies."

"So," She leaned forward, her hands knotted together while her elbows sat comfortably on the desk, "What conclusion have you come to as you've scoured across the capital."

"You're-"

"Of course, I'm aware." She tutted, pulling the unspoken question from his parted lips, "You're much too important to me to simply let ya wander around in a haze, at least without me knowing."

He paused, shuttering his lips, his mind whirling at his lady's words, of course she had him tailed after he disappeared without so much as a sound, his lady had never been one to allow loose ends to walk around without her knowledge, even more so when it concerned someone she cared about.

"The Bowel Hunter has an extensive history across Lugunica, hundreds of murders have been attributed to her, but that's it, nothing more has been attributed to her."

"It could have just been a hit gone wrong." Anastasia offered, her sharp amethyst eyes seeming to pierce into him, analyzing him for any hint of uncertainty.

"I find that unlikely," he sighed, shifting his stance under the weight of his lady's gaze, "While the list of individuals is small, there have been cases where her plans have been thwarted, either through a third party or shear dumb luck, but never once before now has it ever resulted in something like this."

He didn't mention his encounter with the child at the makeshift morgue, or the dead child he carried, how the boy had assured him that she was saved how she couldn't have died.

He didn't mention that he believed him.

"It's not every day you have a monster like the Sword Saint chasing you." Anastasia countered as she tilted her head to the side, "It would explain why she took such drastic action, no one else could invoke such a primordial sense of fear I'd assume.

He wasn't so sure of that as the image of a certain fifth candidate snaked into his mind.

It's more like two monsters. He commented internally, growing even further disappointed with himself when only a flash of discomfort flashed through his heart as he attached that label to Reinhard.

"Actually, this isn't the first time she's encountered Reinhard." He admitted, taking no satisfaction at witnessing his lady entirely flabbergasted, a rarity in the entire time he knew her.

"And she's still alive?" Anastasia sputtered, not a trace of the refined front she typically put up, yet her eyes remained as sharp as ever, "Where and when, Julius, I don't recall hearing anything about this."

"Recently if you can believe it, less than a handful of weeks ago if Reinhard's own report is to be believed, apparently the encounter happened in the capital itself, deep in the slums."

A soft click echoed through the room, accompanied shortly after by a ruffle of paper as Anastasia withdrew several individual papers, both well-written reports and hastily scribbled whispers, from a locked drawer in her desk, a wave of her hand commanding him to continue as he combed through the reports.

"Evidently, he was helping an unidentified woman retrieve a stolen possession, he managed to track the thief to the slums but instead of encountering the thief, he discovered the bowel hunter fighting an unnamed man. Eventually, she retreated as soon as Reinhard made an appearance, and he decided it was pertinent to let her retreat instead of risking more destruction."

His lady didn't respond, instead flipping through the reports like a woman possessed, her eyes skimming across the pages faster than he could ever hope to achieve before abruptly coming to a standstill, her finger deftly plucking a singular page from the sea of paper, before extending it to him.

His eyes widened as he read the report, "Surely you don't-"

"I don't believe in coincidences, someone manages to spot the Sword Saint and the still undiscovered fifth candidate leaving the slums during the same time period, it's enough to make a girl suspicious isn't it."

He agreed it was highly suspicious, but the most damning part of the report was the fact that the man accompanying the Sword Saint was carrying a golden-haired girl.

"If my hypothesis is correct that makes it twice, she's gone after this girl." Anastasia's voice lulled him from the report, his gaze passing through his fringe to Anastasia who returned the report to its original position as soon as he handed it to her. "But that still doesn't explain why she resorted to such drastic measures for this one case."

He shuffled, the sudden movement causing her eyes to snap to him, "I don't believe this was a typical job in any sense of the word," he admitted, directing his gaze out of the window above his lady's head, his mind still capable of seeing a haunting red if he stared into the darkness long enough.

"You don't believe she was working alone, do you?"

"I don't"

Wood creaked as Anastasia leaned back in her chair, her entire body going limp as she slumped further into her padded chair.

"There's only one group that would do something so brazen." She softly intoned, speaking as if the walls themselves were attempting to listen in on their conversation.

"I know, and I can only think of one reason they'd risk such a brazen strike on the capital now."

The last time the capital had such a massive influx of weapons and personnel into its walls, a Sword Saint took the first step of her final journey, now her successor would be forced to stay while another group took his place.

"It's long been suspected that the witch's cult was controlling the White Whale behind the scenes, but why now? There hasn't been a single whisper of the Sword Saint joining the expedition, it's purely Crusch's own personnel."

"Likely the risk was too great, perhaps the sudden appearance of the final candidate, and Reinhard's subsequent vow to him was deemed to be too large of an unknown variable, so it was nipped in the bud before it could become an issue."

"And they suddenly have the bowl hunter working for working for them? She's left a trail of bodies hundreds long and never once has the idea that she's working with the witch's cult come up, so why now?"

"I don't know," Julius huffed, nothing made sense, and for one of the few times in his life, he felt completely lost, every potential lead was another dead end, and all they had to rely on was a rampant string of theories and guesswork.

"Pendragon has to be the key; he just has to be." Anastasia muttered, her fingers expertly combing through the wad of reports.

"You think he is the reason for this attack?!"

"Of course," she scoffed, "A mystery man shows up just before these major attacks, who coincidently just so happens to be the final candidate for the royal selection, and a gal isn't supposed to find it strange? I wouldn't be surprised if he Cultist himself, that's the only reason I can think of for him appearing out of thin air.'"

"Surely witnessing him attempting to apprehend the bowel hunter would have dissuaded that idea?" It might have been the first time he had ever directly opposed his lady in such a blatant manner but the theory that she was proposing was one he couldn't even begin to entertain. "If he were truly behind this why would the dragon have selected him as the final candidate?"

"Perhaps the dragon isn't as all-powerful as the kingdom believes."

Her words were sacrilege of the highest order, words that if spoken in public would doom her campaign to an early grave.

He wanted to refute her, but he couldn't suppress the tiny sliver of agreement that burrowed in the back of his mind, why hadn't the dragon intervened when the Cult attacked? Only once had it responded to an attack by the Cult, hundreds of times it hadn't. The contract had been in force for hundreds of years alongside the cult attacks, so why?

He chose not to respond; he couldn't trust himself to.

"Besides, I'm of the mind that if she hadn't been chased the destruction plaguing the capital would have never taken place…" She spoke absentmindedly as she continued to fiddle with the reports, trailing off as her words caught up to her mind.

She didn't see his eyes when he entrusted that girl to me.

"Pendragons eliminated the singular largest piece on the chessboard against them," Anastasia realized, her eyes closed to the world, "Even if Reinhard's presence wasn't guaranteed in Karsten's expedition, they've removed any hope he'll be there now, the sage's can't let him leave the capital without inciting a panic."

"While simultaneously forcing the expedition to continue," he added gravely, a sigh escaping his lips, "No doubt the Dutchess will want to use the death of one of the three great mabeasts as a rallying cry, not to mention doing so would widen her already considerable lead."

He still refused to believe his lady's theory, but he knew better than to argue with her, no words would sway her now, he didn't have enough evidence.

Anastasia blinked, once, twice, before her eyes seemed to regain their typical spark, the light reigniting in her eyes with enough strength to make to believe it never disappeared in the first place.

He found himself leaning closer towards her, hoping for the first time to learn her plan not to assist her but to actively conspire against her.

It wasn't that the golden-haired candidate had magically gained his trust, but Reinhard had, and while he recognized he hadn't been a great friend to Reinhard in the past, he found himself unable to look away again.

He was done running away.

"First rule of business," she stated, a smirk appearing on her face, "If the board is stacked against you, all you have to do is play a different game."

For what had to be the millionth time, he shuffled in the plush mattress the margrave was so graciously loaning him.

Hours earlier his meeting with Roswaal, leaving with the promise of a true meeting the following day, this one including Emilia herself, leaving himself, as well as Otto, with nothing more to do than rest.

For some like the still unconscious Felt, that was easy, a mere continuation of what she had already been doing, for Otto it seemed as if the instant he disappeared into his room, adjacent to his own, any sense of life had vanished.

He was having just the opposite, unfortunately, sleep seemed to elude him, and no matter how much he tossed and turned he remained aware of the waking world around him, the feathery touch of the rich blankets he was draped in, the biting briskness of the air, the soft, almost imperceptible sounds of his own breathing.

His eyes strayed towards the door, lingering for a moment more than he should before he violently tore the encroaching thought from his mind, shaking his head before returning it to the otherworldly softness of his pillow.

Yet as more time passed, he found himself glancing at the door again and again, each time slowly increasing the willpower it took to remove the thought from his head, eventually, like clockwork his eyes strayed towards the door, yet this time he slowly removed himself from the bed, swinging his legs over the edge to the chilly floor below, the white nightclothes provided to him by Reinhard doing little to confront the cold.

It pales in comparison to England's… he mused internally, only feeling a faint amount of shame as he grabbed the door handle, it was disrespectful for him to wander the estate of someone housing him, but he couldn't think of another way to clear his weary mind.

As he slipped into the hall, devoid of life except for him, he slowly began to walk down the unfamiliar halls, aimlessly wandering the winding halls of the estate, stopping occasionally to peer out the various windows that dotted the hallways, each one offering an unparalleled view of the entrance of the manor below.

The Margraves estate was nothing if not impressive, both with regards to the estate itself, as well as the artifacts displayed within, with each hallway being more akin to an exhibit in a museum than a mere corridor.

Ornate armor was displayed proudly on mannequins, and display cases dotted the various halls and vestibules, each one boastfully devoid of even a speck of dust or rust, each inch of steel, each displayed weapon promised a story hidden within itself, of the very course of history being destroyed and rewritten by its edge.

At least, he mused that what anyone else would think, and no doubt it was exactly what the margrave would hope for. Yet he was more than aware of the cost of dictating fate, no mortal armament, however storied could ever hope to escape from conflict as unscathed as what was proudly being displayed here, the history of any great blade or armor could be told by its indents and fractures alone, with only the few armaments so wrapped in mystery, so inexplicably beholden to itself could ever hope to remain unmarred even as it's mere existence distorted the world around it.

Excalibur was one of a mere handful of objects that fell into this category, and he remained without a single doubt that not a single item in his mansion could ever hope to be compared to it, even many of the armaments used by other heroic spirits didn't remain unscathed.

He stopped, a reflection of himself staring back at him from the glistening glass of the display case, how long had it been since had sat down and thought of his situation? Of the new lease on life, he suddenly found himself with, of those he left behind.

Images flashed before his eyes like a mirage on the edge of a blade, of the knights who served him faithfully, of Lancelot whose betrayal stung even as he distanced himself from personal relationships, of Mordred, his son, a life that he had taken with his own hands, a relation he never allowed to be. Of Merlin, a constant in his life from the day she had left him with Ector, her face alight with emotions she claimed to never understand, their relationship never changing even as he became burdened with a weight unlike any other.

He wasn't ashamed to admit he missed her the most, but how could he be sure of their answer?

What would they think of their king attempting to turn his back on the kingdom they slaved away for? Would they resent him as much as he had resented himself? While he may have come to terms with the downfall of Camelot, the question remained, what would they of him if they could see him now, playing king in another world, would they still pledge their swords to him?

It wasn't the first time such thoughts ingrained themselves into his head attempting to poison his mind.

Leaves crunched underneath his boot as he and his companion steadily walked through the forest, each crunch breaking the silence he was so carefully trying to craft.

Eventually, he could not hold in his thoughts anymore as he turned to his companion, her snow-white hair breaking the collage of greens and browns around them, "How come I'm not hearing any sounds from you, I can't be that bad can I?"

She laughed, "Magic my dear," her light soft chuckles blending with the quiet symphony of the forest, for a moment he had half a mind to scold her for the extra noise but that would only cause her to laugh more.

Merlin was odd like that.

Not to say he disliked her, if anything the opposite was true, he was glad that out of all of the round table she had chosen to accompany him, even if she insisted, she didn't deserve a seat at their table.

Perhaps it was because he knew she was the only one who could choose to accompany him without obligation.

"And you couldn't spare any for me, some court mage you are."

"Now where would the fun be in that? You're out here on a hunt are you not?"

"We're out here on a hunt." He corrected, avoiding a precariously placed branch, one that Merlin simply trotted on without a care in the world, not a sound accompanying her actions.

"We both know I'm not here for that." She tutted, spinning on her heel, her flowing dress almost catching on the bow he held to his side.

It didn't feel nearly as comfortable in his hands as Excalibur did, and more than once he wished it was more practical to hunt with a blade, but even he wasn't dense enough to voice such a wish in his present company, lest he never hears the end of it.

"Then what are you here for?"

"To spend time with you, of course."

"We see each other all the time at the castle," Arthur noted, lifting a low-hanging branch with his free hand, allowing the sorceress to continue to walk unabated.

"Would we ever have a talk like this in that dreary building? When I'm in Camelot I see the king, not Arthur Pendragon."

"Is there a difference?"

"There should be," Merlin sighed, averting her eyes from him, "There should be."

With her words, a weight settled on his heart, and each subsequent step seemed harder to take than the previous, as soon as they returned to Camelot the conversation was quickly forgotten, but the weight remained.

He died less than a month later, remembering the conversation with the enchantress only in his final moments, and only the pressing importance of instructing Bedivere where to return Excalibur had stopped him from letting out a raspy, bloody, laugh.

He averted his gaze from his reflection, his throat suddenly dry, staring at his hands for a brief moment before they moved to look down the hallway, his feet moved before his mind did, and before he knew it, he found himself standing before the doorway to his temporary bedroom.

It seemed even his body acknowledged his only peaceful moments were spent in a dreamless oblivion. Yet as his hand wrapped around the door handle, softly pushing it inwards, his entire body was wracked by a pervasive sense of wrongness.

But before he could question it, his eyes were assailed by a blinding light, and instead of being greeted by the sight of a place to rest, his eyes were instead attacked by the sight of a library that seemed as large as Camelot's throne room itself, perhaps even larger.

"Oh, and who are you to strut so confidently into Betty's multipurpose room?"

A haughty voice ran out from behind one of the many shelves, a soft series of footsteps following until a lock of blond hair jumped out from behind the shelves quickly being followed by the rest of a small girl, a set of drill-like twin-tails bouncing alongside her as she made her way towards him.

His already parched throat seemed to somehow dry further, and the hairs on his body seemed to stand on their ends, something deep within him roaring at the girl's presence.

The girl didn't seem to notice him bristle, as she stepped closer to him, "Who gave you permission to enter here, I wonder?"

"I wasn't aware one needed permission to enter what should have been their room." He retorted, perhaps a bit too sharply judging by the way her brows furrowed and her eyes seemed to sharpen.

"Hmph, you seem rather confident for a human." The girl huffed, her words confirming the suspicion his instincts had already told him, the girl certainly wasn't human.

The presence that the girl generated was closer to a phantasmal beast, and every instant in his chest was roaring at him to fight. He had already caught his right hand flexing in the now familiar motion to draw Excalibur from its ethereal sheath.

Control yourself, he reminded himself, this had to still be Roswaal's estate, he was the kingdom's court mage after all, magic of this caliber was to be expected, right? A murder wouldn't be a great icebreaker, would it?

He remained still as the girl took the final step to stand a hair's width away from him, one of her tiny hands reaching up, undoubtedly, to do something unsightly.

The palm of her hand settled on his chest, and a sinful thought crossed his mind, what did it matter if the girl wasn't human, he wasn't either.

Whatever he had been expecting never came to fruition, as after a few seconds of awkward contact the girl withdrew her hand, staring at her palm before her eyes moved to focus on him.

"What are you, I wonder."

So do I, he replied in his mind, outwardly he merely stared at the small girl in front of him, the seconds threatening to tick by into minutes.

"An anomaly I suppose," she continued, her butterfly iris's drilling holes through his head, "I believe it best if you leave."

He didn't argue, why would he? But he wasn't naïve enough to turn his back on her, whatever she attempted to do earlier, his body had resisted, only a small flicker of a foreign presence revealing her attempt.

He was glad that even here, in an unknown world, he seemed to possess the same innate resistance to magic that he possessed on earth, yet would that always be the case?

"Is it a local custom to greet another by attempting to cast a spell on them?" His tone was lighter now, even flippant.

The girl scoffed, her iris's narrowing when she realized he intended to stay, if only a little longer, "How ignorant I suppose, Beatty didn't realize Roswaal's ilk fell so low to surround himself in individuals of your standing."

"Would it not be prudent for the Court Mage of Lugunica to investigate a so-called 'Anomaly?'"

"A witty one I suppose, Beatty believes it's best for you to leave before you turn into her latest test subject."

As she spoke, she raised a petite hand towards him, the surrounding air seeming to warp at the edge as if the very space around it seemed to coalesce.

He raised his hands in mock surrender, taking a step backward towards the door. Truthfully, he wasn't too concerned with the spell she was preparing, he was rather confident in his ability to withstand it, or if need be, dodge it, but even he, as dense as he was, could tell there was nothing more to gain from pressing this conversation, not to mention the ever-present fatigue he still felt across his body.

The instant his body crossed the threshold of the door it slammed shut with enough force to rattle the surrounding doorways.

He waited a moment, unsure of his next actions, after all his room was supposed to be on the other side of this very door, before finally regaining his resolve, pushing the door open with a gentle nudge, this time finally be graced with the room he was looking for.

As he returned to bed, he could only ruminate on the strange events of the evening for a few short minutes before the world around him finally faded to black.

Breakfast was a sordid affair, and despite the hours of rest he got, he was tired, almost inexplicably so.

Emilia finally made her grand appearance, walking into the room and giving him a small smile and a few hushed words of greeting, it was an official introduction that would have caused nobles to fall over foaming at the mouth.

Perhaps it was leftover exhaustion from the prior night, but he found himself falling into an old rhythm, offering merely inconsequential small talk with Emilia.

He had nothing of note to say, and surprisingly neither did she, she asked about Felt, growing surprised when he mentioned her presence in the manor, and she even inquired about Reinhard, but not a mention of the reason for his appearance exited her lips, and if he had to stake the many years of experience reading the many courtiers of his realm, he would wager she was just as oblivious as he was.

Surprisingly the next to join wasn't the margrave, whose appearance he considered long overdue, instead an outfit of forest green mechanically walked into the dining room, offering a bow to Emilia.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Lady Emilia." The merchant spoke, his tone inflexible, and perhaps most surprisingly, without so much of a hint of hatred, something he had begun to expect was commonplace for those she interacted with.

Emilia must have thought the same, as it took her a moment to look past the sincere respect in Otto's words before she frantically waved her hands while telling him to take a seat.

Unsurprisingly, or perhaps surprisingly given the typical goals of a merchant, the ashen-haired young man took a seat next to him, offering a hushed greeting before the blue-haired twin maid, Rem he believed, sat a heaping plate in front of him.

Only a handful of minutes later, the Margrave finally made his grand appearance, Ram diligently following behind him.

"It seeeeeeeems I'm a bit late my sinceeeeeerest apologies." The margrave drawled as he sat down at the head of the table, before being offered a plate himself.

"Nonsense," Arthur spoke, even if privately he agreed with the margrave's words, "I cannot fault you for enjoying your rest."

"You're too kind, but I supooooose that makes sense, we are after all missing your seeeecond guest."

Second guest… Is he talking about Felt? He took a moment before voicing his thoughts.

"Assuming that this Feeeelt is the golden-haired girl upstairs then yes."

"You don't have to wait for her, she's still in a Coma from the injuries she sustained during the attack on the capital, it's highly unlikely she will wake anytime soon." He spoke, turning his gaze away from the margrave before he could see how his face twisted and contorted.

"She isn't awake yet! why bring her then?" Roswaal asked, a smile once again adorned his face by the time Arthur's gaze returned to him, but his deftly trained ears were able to hear the faintest traces of a snarl in the man's voice.

"Me and Reinhard both thought it would be best that she came along, just so if she did wake, she would at least have a familiar face with her, we figured her reaction to Reinhard alone…. Wouldn't be favorable."

"I seeeeeeee…." The Margrave sighed; his eyes closed; "I suppose that is an understandable position to take."

For some reason, he didn't believe that the margrave truly thought that, but from there the conversation went onto more mundane matters, with the seemingly largely uninterested in the way the conversation progressed, speaking only if directly spoken to, and even then, his responses were bland and kept to a handful of words.

Yet not a single word related to why he had been dragged here, and right before he finally grew irritated enough of the meaningless small talk and endless platitudes to bring it up, the margrave seemed to snap back to reality, his dual-colored eyes jumping to look at the door.

He didn't have to ask why, as only moments later, he could ever so faintly hear the soft pitter-patter of footfalls, whoever it was didn't weigh much as they barely made a sound as they approached the door. It wasn't hard to guess who it was.

So the little girl from the library decides to make her appearance… Strange, I figured with her Aura that I would feel her approaching fir-

His mind came to a halt as the door was thrust open, and while the figure had a similar shade of blonde hair, its shade was much closer to that of his own and her eyes were an all-encompassing shade of crimson red, her iris's a simple black circle.

"Oh deeeeeeeeeeeeeeeear, how very interesting." Drawled the margrave, amusement lacing his voice, "What are the odds?"

He barely heard the margrave's words as the rest of the dining room seemed to fade around him, yet if it wasn't for another's acknowledgment, he might have believed it to be an illusion.

"Felt?"