The Fell Star’s Return

Seated outside on a small yet marvelously designed balcony, a radiantly beautiful woman bathes in the warm sunshine glimmering down upon her, the rays reflecting off her pristine white skin.

From her position on high, the sprawling streets and corners of a carefully crafted stone city are laid bare, their splendor entirely hers for viewing. Even on the lofty heights, the distant bustle of the crowds makes its way up, a constant reminder of the innumerable souls residing in her haven.

Despite this, she does not gaze down at the metropolis below, nor does the colossal grand cathedral in the distance with its heaven-piercing spires reflect in her vision.

Instead, the lovely maiden’s eyes seem far away as she takes in the puffy white clouds slowly drifting across the serene blue sky. Her thoughts hidden and undiscernible, time seems to flow by until a quiet and respectful voice from behind disturbs the contemplative silence.

“Forgive the intrusion milady but Sir Seteth has called for you.”

After a moment the woman responds in a soft and melodious voice, “Has he now?”

“Yes milady, he told me to relay that someone you were expecting has arrived.”

Uncrossing her legs, tantalizing even through the lengthy dress obscuring them, the apparent mistress lightly sucks in a breath of crisp air, as if to savor the moment of tranquility a single moment longer. Time, however, does not bend or stall according to her whims.

“I see, in that case, I ought to go and greet them. We wouldn’t want to keep our company waiting after all.”

Slowly standing to tend to her obligations, the mortal Aphrodite’s flowing emerald hair gently rustles in the wind as she takes elegant steps forward past the skyward-facing obelisk and other holy furnishings, as well as through the meticulously curated garden, and into the shadows of her chambers

The older nun waiting for her at the door of the opulent veranda bows low before rising and following in her wake, “As you say Lady Rhea.”

***

Taking a sip of tea from the fine porcelain cup in his refined grasp, a middle-aged gentleman with ash gray hair smiles appreciatively at the taste.

“Is it to your liking?”

He nods, carefully placing the cup back on the matching plate, “Yes, I’ve always counted cinnamon blends among my favorites. In spite of its simplicity, I rather enjoy the unique taste it leaves in your mouth.”

The individual across from him responds while reading from a document in his hand, “Yes well, the archbishop made sure to procure some of the blends she knew you would savor based on your shared letters. I suspect you’ll find that we have several you fancy.”

The ashen-haired man fiddles with his eyeglass, his steel blue eyes blinking in surprise.

“Is that so? I’ll have to express my gratitude to her holiness when she arrives then.”

“Express your gratitude for what?”

The two men look over simultaneously as an enchanting woman dressed in a simple white dress overlayed with an elaborate blue and gold mantle enters the room.

At her appearance, the monocled gentleman is quick to rise and give a precise bow, “Greetings Archbishop, I’m glad to see you in good health. Your aide was simply telling me how you imported various goods for my arrival, and I am honored by your generous hospitality.”

A gentle smile plays on her lips as she gazes at his bowed form, “Nonsense Hanneman, it was the least I could do. Now please, raise your head. There is no need to be so formal with me.”

“O-of course.”

Glancing at her trusted advisor, she similarly gives him a light smile, “Thank you for calling me Seteth. Have you had the opportunity to review the documents I gave you?”

“I have Lady Rhea. Seeing as we’re all present, shall we promptly discuss the exact terms of our agreement?”

Saying this is the aforementioned Seteth, aide to the archbishop and second in command of the Church of Seiros. He’s a youthful man with forest green hair and an immaculately well-kept appearance, standing with perfect posture and not a hair out of place on his beard or a single wrinkle in his clothing.

As everyone takes a seat at a finely carved glossy wooden table, they begin to negotiate the terms of the former noble’s employment.

Hanneman von Essar, known as the Father of Crestology, is a renowned scholastic researcher from the Adrestian Empire. For several weeks now he has been exchanging letters with the archbishop herself and slowly warmed up to the idea of becoming employed by the church. His presence in the monastery is currently thus to finalize the agreement.

“Before we begin Hanneman, I would like to express my condolences for the loss of your dearly departed sister. I had the pleasure of meeting her once and she seemed a bright young lady. She left this world much too soon.”

Sliding her arm over, the holy woman grasps the gentleman’s hand with her own in a show of comfort.

Allowing a moment of weakness, the researcher’s eyes close tight as he clenches his fists, taking a second to stabilize himself, which the two religious authorities are more than willing to give.

Eventually, he comes to his senses and nods with a slightly pained smile, “Thank you for your kind words Lady Rhea, my sister was a devout follower of the church and its teachings. Meeting you was one of the highlights of her life, and that is by no means an exaggeration. To know that you too recall the encounter, well, it means a great deal to me.”

The archbishop only squeezes his hand slightly tighter and responds in a gentle yet sorrowful tone.

“I remember the faces of everyone I meet Hanneman, but your sister stands out in my mind even to this day. I know well the loss of family and so let me say now that you may take as much time as you require to properly grieve. We at Garreg Mach would feel horrible to put you under any stress during such a difficult period.”

Next to Rhea, Seteth hums in agreement, opting to stay silent yet display his support for the notion nonetheless.

The monocled man shakes his head, “Your kindness touches my heart but with all due respect, I am more than ready to dive into whatever tasks you would have me assigned. I came here in part to further myself and my studies, grieving for my sister will not help me accomplish those things.”

The archbishop nods and gives him another look of support before retracting her hand.

“Very well then, I’m glad you have managed to find such resolve to move forwards.”

Taking a breath to alleviate the chaotic emotions beginning to stir, Hanneman attempts to regain his decorum. With each rise and fall of his chest, the sadness, longing, and other sensitivities fade, leaving only his calm composure. The forest-haired aide, sensing the return to normalcy, opts to then begin his inquiry.

“An interesting point you’ve brought up Hanneman. From your letters and research, I understand you have an interest in crestology, but why accept an offer to work here at the monastery?”

Seteth cuts to the heart of the matter at hand as the air in the room fully regains its professionality.

The distinguished academic hums in acknowledgment, taking a sip of tea and clearing his throat prior to adopting a rather excited tone.

“I’m glad you asked. You see, the researcher that I am, I seek to further my knowledge of crests, and where better than here to learn of the supposed birth of crests themselves? Imag-”

“Supposed?”

The alluring ecclesiastic’s eyebrow raises at the word while folding her arms under her more than generous bust. Giving the intellectual an indecipherable look, she steadily awaits his response.

The man’s eyes widen as he shakily adjusts his monocle, realizing his blunder.

“Ah I-I meant no disrespect Lady Rhea, truly. I only meant-”

His words are cut off by a soft peal of laughter, akin to the tinkling of bells in the wind.

“Relax Hanneman, I jest. I understand that as a scholar you must question anything and everything, in fact, I openly embrace such a mindset. Whether you believe in our teachings or not matters little to me.”

“I-I see.”

Still seeming slightly disgruntled, the researcher takes another sip of the delicious tea to calm his nerves. What he fails to notice, however, is that the former tension brought up earlier has completely evaporated, his posture now wholly correcting itself, and any notion of dolour gone.

“That reasoning does make sense. I imagine you would also like access to our grand library and archives in your pursuit of knowledge.”

Ignoring his superior's interruption, Seteth crosses his arms while examining the scholar before him.

“However, Hanneman, my question was not simply dictated by what you may or may not learn within these walls. Not to pry, but what else is your motivation in coming to work for the church long-term? It’s to my understanding that you are quite established within the Empire, renounced peerage or not, and I would imagine that you would not find yourself lacking funds and research material there. So why apply to work here, away from your family and fame, when a simple request to access our archives would suffice?”

The academic seems unsure of how to respond, fidgeting under the aide’s steely gaze.

“What dear Seteth means to ask is if you are in any sort of trouble in the Empire. He merely wishes to avoid potential unknown conflicts.”

The stern young man nods in agreement as Hanneman gives Rhea a look of thanks.

“I understand your concerns, I suppose it is slightly suspect for a high-profile figure such as myself to seemingly give up such a thing, however, let me assure you that I am in no trouble with any other noble house or party. My reasons for wanting to leave the lands of Adrestia are far more… personal.”

The viridian orbs of the archbishop’s counsel closely study the scholar’s face, but he soon relents with a small smile.

“I see, please do not feel pressured to discuss the topic. I merely wanted to ascertain the full scope of your involvement with us.”

“No, it’s quite all right. I understand completely.”

After the seemingly tense moment is over, the three return to hashing out the details of their arrangement.

Ultimately, von Essar agrees to sign a five-year contract with the church in which he will work as a professor. His free time can of course be used to research as he desires and after this period is ended, he is free to renegotiate his terms of employment.

All parties satisfied with the outcome, even the ever-vigilant Seteth, they adjourn their meeting and rise to depart.

“I will return in a few weeks. I have some matters to attend to at my estate in the meantime.”

The archbishop smiles in acknowledgment, “Very well Hanneman, I look forward to working with you during these coming years.”

Bowing to the religious leader, he then turns and nods his head to her chief aide, “Seteth.”

“Farewell.”

As the scholar is about to exit the room guided by a Knight of Seiros, the second in command’s voice rings behind him.

“One more thing before you go. How by chance did you come to hear of potential employment here?”

The former nobleman turns around, “Hmm? Oh yes, I heard about the opening from an associate by the name of Cornelia Arnim. She was set to come and apply for a position herself but was instead fortunate enough to receive an offer by the King of Faerghus.”

Rhea lets out a thoughtful hum at the name, “Cornelia… ah yes, I’ve heard the name, a talented young girl of extraordinary ability. I pray that she finds success in the harsh conditions of the north, the people there can certainly use additional aid even beyond what we can offer ourselves.”

Hanneman adjusts his monocle, “Yes I agree wholeheartedly, however rest assured. If it’s her I have no doubt that the situation will soon be resolved. Now then, I will take my leave.”

With one final bow he exits the room, set to return in two weeks’ time to begin his position as a professor of Garreg Mach Officers Academy.

In the meeting room, silence reigns for a few moments before the religious leader opens her mouth, “So Seteth, what do you think of him?”

The forest-haired advisor takes a moment to dwell on the question, Rhea waiting patiently for his answer as a comfortable silence descends upon them.

Eventually, he opens his mouth, turning to look at the woman’s back, “He seems to be a bright man, he’ll be a useful addition to our staff. However, his… fascination… with crests will need to be properly scrutinized. His work so far seems innocent enough, but his dream to ‘make crests easily accessible to all who desire one’ may prove to be problematic. In any case, it is much better to keep a man like that close by where he can be properly monitored.”

The judicious confidant gives his full opinion with a critical eye.

Rhea nods sagely while looking out an open window and at an exquisitely arranged flower bed full of a variety of different colors. Under her watchful gaze, a small fuzzy bee buzzes by as it lands on a jade-petaled flower and begins eagerly collecting the sweet pollen stored within.

“I agree, he seems to be a wonderful man full of bright ideas. Our students will no doubt be able to learn much from him. I only pray then, that he is not blinded by the hubris of man, for men mustn’t meddle with the divine,” she turns from the window and looks at Seteth with a cold glint in her normally charming emerald eyes, “lest they be struck down by the goddess herself in retribution.”

A snow-white feather drifts onto the open windowsill and in the sky a large bird flies away with spread wings, an insectile leg poking out from its beak.

***

In the southern reaches of Faerghus, in a decently sized town on the border with Adrestia, a lone woman shuffles down a poorly constructed road in the early evening light.

Slowly making her way along, she pulls her rugged patched-up cloak over her shoulders, shuddering from the cold seeping through her revealing dress underneath.

Despite it not yet being winter, and despite being in the south of the Kingdom, the weather is already fierce enough to pierce right through her, eliminating any semblance of warmth to be found. At least that’s how she feels, glancing around it’s clear that many others don’t share that sentiment as they nonchalantly strut about, ignorant of her plight.

Gritting her teeth, the pale-faced woman bears through it, undeterred even with the newfound aches throughout her body making themselves known with every step, as well as the perpetual pain between her legs and lower back. She’s long gotten used to the afflictions associated with her profession as well as the constant subjection to the whims of her customers.

Her thin arms brush up against her sizeable breasts as she tries to keep herself warm, wincing from the various raw marks hiding under the thin cloth.

It’s always the walk home that makes her feel the worst, that makes her feel like she is drowning with no way out. The pure amount of shame, disgust, and hate she feels for herself in these moments is almost enough for her to want to end it all, but she never does and she never could, perhaps too afraid to go through with it.

Her name is Marcia and her future used to be reasonably bright as far as poor commoners go.

Born a daughter of extremely hard-working parents, most days she was lucky enough to have at least some food in her stomach as well as warm clothes for the seemingly everlasting cold as her father worked dawn till dusk in the fields while her mother made money sewing clothes for their community.

However, being the foolish young girl that dreamt of grandeur she was, this peaceful and respectable existence was thrown away as a certain lower noble came into her life when she had but thirteen winters to her name.

He was nothing special, barely even qualifying to call himself a part of the nobility, but his tales of high society and the way he seemed to hold himself above others were deeply attractive to her naïve self of the past. He would often boast how his second cousin was blessed with a minor crest, that his bloodline was descended from one of the elites, the legendary Daphnel.

Blinded by his charms and boundless promises, a young Marcia ended up leaving with him in the dead of night as he moved on from the rural village she called home.

She had always been a deeply pretty girl and was quick to develop, blessed with fair skin, exotic lavender hair and eyes, as well as pleasing and charming curves in all the right places. She was thus a perfect target for the silvery tongue of the passing aristocrat who didn’t hesitate to whisper sweet nothings in her innocent ears.

Caught up in her fantasies, she dreamt of marrying him, of going to grand balls and drinking wine as she wore the finest dresses and sent money home to support her family and siblings left behind.

Instead, the man whom she thought she loved, whom she had devotedly given her purity and attended to his wants and needs for weeks on end, left her behind in an inn with a debt so large to drive many a man bankrupt.

The story from then on is fairly straightforward.

Stranded and alone with not a penny to her name, the clueless and illiterate young beauty was forced into the local brothel as her former lover’s debtors came calling, holding her liable for his credit.

This took place nearly ten years ago and although Marcia thought about ending her life more times than she cares to admit, she persevered through it all, living day to day dreaming that eventually she might repay the large and cruel encumbrance hanging over her and make it back to that small hamlet she should have never been foolish enough to leave.

Hollow eyes glancing up from the now dirt road, she takes in her surroundings. Gone is the semblance of the well-built town where she labors, instead, she currently walks through a neighborhood of rotten and debilitated wooden homes cramped together as close as they can possibly be.

Filthy beggars lie on the streets, pleading for even a single coin as their wiry bodies struggle to stand, instead resting against the many rotten and foul-smelling heaps of waste piled on the sides.

Keeping her head down she picks up her pace, unwilling to meet the desperate stares of those sitting on the dirt road while closing her ears to their calls. Normally she might spare a coin here and there, but times have been tough lately, and she no longer has the affordance of charity.

Before long she comes to her house, more of a shack really. Nothing about it makes it stand out from the rest, the damaged walls and poorly thatched roof looking just as run-down as all the others, yet even this is a luxury that she can barely afford.

Opening the thin wooden door with a rusting key, she sneaks quietly into the house, the sound of a child laughing immediately gracing her ears as for the first time that day she feels remotely happy, the sound seeming to expunge some of the dark thoughts from her mind.

In the past when she was finally acknowledging the folly of hoping that she might escape the hellish nightmare she stumbled into, Marcia found out she was with child.

Although the blends the owner of the brothel would offer every night are highly effective at preventing pregnancy, they are not absolutely perfect. For six years she managed to avoid the dilemma, a miracle in the eyes of the other women as the mixtures are not expected to work for half that time, alas her luck eventually ran out.

Unfortunately for her, the pregnancy did not make things any better. At first, it only made everything increasingly worse.

Aside from the obvious mental ramifications of knowing that she was now carrying the child of one of the many unknown men she was forced to cater to, her condition also made her tremendously appealing to… certain buyers.

Her popularity reached levels it had only previously been at when she first started as a young girl, especially in the later terms of her pregnancy. Regardless of this, however, she was unwilling to give up on both herself and her unborn child, holding to the sanctity of life that had taken root inside her.

Up until then, her identity as a devout believer in the faith was the sole remaining light in her meager existence, the kind priests and nuns of her local temple never looking at her as if she was any less even though in her heart, she knew she was.

Their compassionate smiles and whispered words of support may be cruel to some as they extended her suffering but looking back she’s glad that she held on and continues to do so to this day. This is because the first time she held her son and saw that familiar-colored tuft of hair, she knew. She knew that her life had value, that she mattered.

He’s akin to a guiding light sent by the goddess herself, a bright star that burns in her blackened sky, and for him, she will do most anything. She now understands how her parents could work themselves to the brink of exhaustion each and every day, all for the sake of her and her many siblings.

Stealthily creeping through her tiny abode, she manages to make it to one of the two partitioned side rooms unnoticed and swiftly removes her thin low-cut dress.

She trembles in the darkened bedroom, both due to the cool air and in shame at the sight of her blemished skin. Luckily, the den of iniquity she labors in contains its own baths to keep the girls fresh, so she doesn’t have to worry about her son having to be contaminated by her beyond filthy body after hours.

Despite being ‘clean’ she feels anything but, tracing the remains of several bruises and bites across her form and intimate areas. A woman of twenty-three, she is still beautiful, but much of that beauty has suffered over the harsh last ten years, her skin no longer holding the glow of youth it once had while her stressful lifestyle is evident based upon her weary lilac eyes and faintly gaunt features. She’s not unlike a radiant flower that was trampled upon before being allowed to fully bloom.

Releasing an exhausted sigh full of complex emotions, she reaches for a simple and modest thick brown dress with a trembling hand. As her fingers brush against the rough fabric though, she suddenly gasps in surprise as a tiny pair of arms wrap themselves around her bare behind, a tiny face rubbing against her lower back.

“Mommy you’re home!”

Freezing at the touch, the fairly-young mother doesn’t know what to say as her body stiffens.

Feeling the change, the child is quick to pull away and speak in a meek tone, “S-sorry mommy.”

He swiftly apologizes for surprising her, knowing that his mother doesn’t like him touching her bare skin. His words of regret, however, only make her feel even worse.

Biting her lip to an almost painful degree while her nails dig into her palm, she admonishes herself before turning around and crouching low. Grasping the back of his lowered head, she pulls him into a loving embrace, cradling him against her bare breasts as she strokes his hair.

“I’m sorry sweetie, you just surprised me is all. How are you?” she says in a warm voice.

Her breath halts as he looks up into her eyes with a happy expression full of love, and she finds herself holding him tighter, his small hands similarly rubbing her lithe waist in a hug.

“Good! Mr. Albus has been teaching and playing with me all day. I can even write my name now!”

A soft chuckle leaves her lips, a gentle smile naturally finding its way to her face.

“Really? You’ll need to show mommy later. Have you been being nice to our guest?”

“Yup, I have!”

“Good I’m glad. Now run along, I need to finish dressing and then I’ll make something to eat.”

Saying so she lightly kisses his cheek before releasing him from her arms. In the dim light she can vaguely notice a toothy grin on his face as he quickly leans in and gives her a peck on the lips, a mischievous squeal of laughter echoing from him as he runs away.

With a tender look in her eyes, she watches him disappear behind the door as she shakily stands and grabs her dress, longing for some warmth as her senses cry out at the loss of the shared embrace. Quickly garbing the thick garment, she makes her way to the ashen hearth.

Humming a light tune as she prepares the ingredients for a hopefully filling meal, a warm feeling settles in her chest as she finds herself at home with her beautiful child, no longer feeling so alone or distraught.