Wulfsten watches from his ‘perch’ at the edge of a floor that ends far above the ground, suspended by hopes and dreams, alongside a little magic, and the designs of someone that, if a lowly mercenary believes his ears and his instincts, came from another world from their own.

Everyone has heard the myths and legends of summoned heroes, but a man like Wulfsten has come to live his life as a commoner who fights to put bread on his table. “Heroes” and “Divine Summons” are rumors and stories at most to him. 𝐟𝐫𝕖𝗲𝘄𝚎𝗯𝕟𝐨𝕧𝐞𝚕.𝕔𝕠𝐦

That is, until fate brought them to the Fievegal. Zuzia and Serrentuk sacrificed themselves to save Wulfsten and his team from Yaulander, and the next thing they knew, they were in the Fievegal’s ‘clutches’ being offered a job.

Halkadon agreed instantly. Shenwulves are loyal to a cause, and the Fievegal’s cause is that of the fearsome underdog, like a wolf-pup that is destined to become the alpha of the pack. This wolf-pup figured out armor and weapons the rest of the world couldn’t fathom, and as such, promises a pack that is unfathomably safe and secure as the peak of the world’s hunters.

Verbert was quick to agree as well. Even though gatonines can be finicky, their actual loyalty to something specific may actually be deeper than even a shenwulf’s. It’s harder to earn a gatonine’s loyalty, since they are guarded with their true thoughts, eccentric in their behavior, and whimsical at best when showing any loyalty they may have developed.

As for Wulfsten, he fancies himself a true mercenary. He likes to believe that the highest bidder wins out, but… that is, of course, a lie.

Wulfsten likes money. Money buys the best equipment, which makes his and his friends’ lives easier. He likes the freedom of travelling, and travelling means running into all sorts of people and cultures.

That said, Wulfsten still has plenty of his own beliefs. Before he puts his faith in any god or goddess, spirit or cultivation, Wulfsten puts his true faith and reliance on his closest companions, Halkadon and Verbert.

And, Wulfsten has started to feel that same sense of trust in Zuzia. She’s not from his world, but she accepts things as they are, and she fights valiantly with a clear sense of the objective at hand. Her Divine Summon strength is a nice bonus, but it’s Zuzia herself that defines the person Wulfsten would trust with his life, whether she could punch a mountain into pebbles or could barely lift a sword. She is honest, trustworthy, and ambitious in a “gentle” way.

The human mercenary watches the mountainous beast that Zuzia threw like one might sling a stone across a lake’s surface to see how big the splash will be.

I can’t even imagine what kind of strength something like this takes. Could a dragon throw something this big with such ease? Could that Hekate girl? They speak of a dragon requiring no fewer than seven thousand elite soldiers to defeat, but would seven thousand be enough to defeat Zuzia?

The mercenary scoffs at the thought. He knows Zuzia as an unparalleled monster slayer already. He wouldn’t ask her to take on a dragon, but if what the Fievegal said is true, she was winning against Neith, a higher-ranking dragon, one on one. Serrentuk, Wulfsten, and his men arrived in time to help Neith keep Zuzia at bay, but they were useless in the grand scheme of things. She’s wildly more powerful than her battle with the rakehorn or Yaulander’s capture-attempt would suggest.

If I were Emperor Daniel of the Fievegal, I wouldn’t let someone like Zuzia slip away… But, she does have the strength to preserve her own freedom. I wonder what path a woman like her will walk.

“Looks like a regular ol’ mountain,” remarks Halkadon as he looks out his own door from the ‘shuttle’ on the opposite side from Wulfsten. A goblin soldier mans one of the Fievegal’s special weapons. To call it a mere “demon staff” is an understatement. Wulfsten doesn’t have much of

any idea how the Fievegal’s rumored demon staves and demon wands work, other than they can kill a man at range with no warning, no spell preparation, and in certain cases, ignore magical and armored defenses.

Assuming those rumors are true, the handful of goblins belonging to ’Grendel Six’ present on this flying carriage alone could likely take on a kingdom’s army with the airship itself. The air superiority alone would cripple most defenses, but the weapons are the real game changer.

It would be a lie if Wulfsten were to try to deny his subtle desire to earn the Fievegal’s weapons for his squad. He doesn’t mind pledging a sort of proprietary loyalty to the Fievegal if it means his and his comrades’ lives are made that much safer and easier with Feivegal special weapons.

“He’s big, but that’s a dragon undergoing some kind of monster mutation,” retorts Wulfsten. “I’m personally shocked that simply hurling him across the countryside was enough to kill him.”

“His mana’s not stirring, and there’s no sign of movement,” retorts the Shenwulf. “I don’t even hear a heartbeat. Though, I don’t remember, now that it’s in the past, whether or not I heard one earlier.”

“Given how that thing regenerates from the rock and dirt around us, I’d be surprised if we can still call it a living thing.”

The two glance at Verbert, who is doing his best to keep his head straight. He took some of the ginger offered by the elven mage Luna, but it has only alleviated the nausea. If he doesn’t brace himself against it, the nausea will still swiftly disorient him.

“I’m listening,” grumbles the gatonine. “But, when we get through this, I’m strangling that otherworlder bastard…”

The other two mercenaries chuckle.

“Want me to rub your tum-tum, Verbert?” asks Halkadon facetiously. “Maybe a good chin-scratch?”

“Piss off…” grumbles the feline man. “I’m not a literal cat…”

The shenwulf laughs boisterously. “Why not? I’ve been thinking of asking Zuzia to do that very thing for me.”

“Ahhh!” blurts out Wulfsten dryly. “You dirty old dog.”

Having listened in, Locke, the elite goblin soldier of Grendel Six, asks, “Zuzia came from Earth, yes? And, Rikuto as well?”

“As we understand it, yes,” replies Wulfsten.

“Then, why did Zuzia inherit such power? Even the dragons fear her.”

“If you believe in gods and goddesses, that should be an easy answer.”

Olk speaks up now. “Goblins fear Alkus Gristak. Gods and goddesses don’t dwell in the depths of the ground or the shadows of giants.”

Halkadon scoffs. “I used to pray to the three moons in times of doubt, but I never believed they were more than… some kind of big stars or shiny rocks in the sky. Then I met Zuzia, and I knew, the old tales weren’t just ‘mystique’ for the strange summons from ‘other worlds’. They actually are brought here from a world we can’t imagine, but given powers by some outside force. That outside force could split this world completely in half, and sent us three heroes to stop that from happening. I don’t know anything about Alkus Gristak, but I always believed the gods didn’t exist because they can’t act when it matters most. But… it’s not that they don’t care. Our struggles are meant to be carried by us, so that we grow stronger. Zuzia, Daniel, and that Rikuto fellow are “sleight of hand”, but all three of them can only do so much. His Majesty Daniel has made the greatest strides in bolstering and leading his own people, but Zuzia has the potential to be a mighty queen in her own right, rallying people to fight with her because she is willing to stand alongside her people.”

Olk and the other goblins nod agreeably. From what the mercenaries have heard, Daniel is often at the forefront as well. In fact, one of the biggest complaints within the Fievegal is that their leadership are too reckless with their own lives.

But, that’s well above the heads of everyone on the shuttle right now. Their money’s good, since it’s primarily actual gold, silver, jewels, and precious metals they pay with.

The shuttle approaches one of the spikes that was part of the enemy dragon’s torso, and Olk ties himself in while a younger goblin jogs up behind him with a secondary anchor looped through the back of the shuttle.

“What are you doing?” asks Wulfsten.

“High Goblin Ahok say samples help know our enemy. If we know our enemy, our Emperor can make sure it dies. Kernuules had to be killed three times before Emperor finish it off.” With that, Olk jumps out of the side of the shuttle, and both Wulfsten and Halkadon scramble over to look. Hap calls out, “Jumper out!”

“Jumper out, aye,” confirms the pilot, holding the shuttle’s position rather incredibly in the sky.

Goblins are diminutive, so it can be easy to understand why they would be chosen for such a mission. The shuttle’s motion has slowed over the large rock spear coming out of the titan, which glimmers in the light as if lined with diamonds across every inch like a princess’s wealthiest and most extravagant dress.

Olk manages to land on the spike a few yards below the shuttle as it hovers skillfully, and he doesn’t hesitate to withdraw a hammer from his gear belt and smash the pointed tip off of the spike, dumping the shard into a pouch on his hip. He then tugs on the cable a couple of times, and Hap calls out, “Jumper up!”

“Jumper up!” calls out one of the other goblins in the back, and he activates a device that pulls the goblin back up as quickly as he went down, essentially. Hap keeps the slack on the backup cable pulled in, and Wulfsten and Halkadon both take hold of Olk to pull him into the troop bay.

“Damn, brother! You couldn’t pay me enough to do something like that,” jokes Halkadon.

Hap calls out, “Jumper secured!”

“Jumper secured, aye,” confirms the pilot, and the shuttle starts to move again.

“I’d go out,” states Verbert wearily. “But, I’m not coming back up.”

Locke replies, “It’s not as bad as you think. We used to use only one cable, but Kernuules knocked two goblins out of back. Cables held, but if everyone fall out, one cable worse than two.”

The mercenaries chuckle at the explanation. It’s pretty obvious, and truth be told, Verbert actually has done similar operations from castle walls when he was still in the Mattarglos military. Gatonines are light, agile, and strong for their size, meaning they are capable of and often willing to either climb up a wall to enter a window, or, in the case of wall defense, hang over the side to fire arrows down on enemies. Gatonine fortresses almost exclusively making use of this fact, designing their castle walls to “overhang” the exterior with a “horizontal battlement” allowing them to “stand” on the outer wall while mostly preventing the use of ladders and siege towers while also having a line of fire on the base of the wall and the gates. Granted, the gatonine defenders still have footing in their fortress design as opposed to what Olk just did, but Verbert probably could handle it well.

Ideally, they never have to find out. The feline man is still essentially incapacitated, doing everything in his power to stay ready to deploy, rather than be useful on the flying vessel itself.

Locke asks, “Any noticeable changes to target?”

“None,” replies Mosko, a much older goblin. Given how new the Fievegal is, it is impressive to see a goblin who appears to be a true elder, let alone one willing to fight in an elite combat unit. They don’t seem to “lose steps” like the elders of other races, though goblins are weak alone to begin with, so it may not make as much of a difference, given their hardy constitution.

“Nothing stands out to me,” adds Halkadon, whose sensitive wolven ears are undoubtedly still hurting from Sayrdarralouche’s initial appearance and subsequent roar, but he still has the best ears on hand.

“Monsters… sou-, no, north east…” speaks out Verbert, his voice weary, but ensuring that his words reach everyone.

“What?” asks Halkadon. He quickly scans, and Wulfsten looks as well.

“Three miles out,” adds Verbert.

“You’re sure they’re monsters?” asks Halkadon, pointing out a crowd of creatures in the direction and estimated distance the feline man is calling out.

“They’re killing each other,” replies Verbert as he leans his head back, eyes closed. “Probably livestock partially mutated. Or, steeds exposed to the same… thing as the dragon.”

The mercenaries are obviously not privy to all of the details of what the Fievegal knows about everything going on, but it’s clear Sayrdarralouche was no longer a sentient dragon, but instead, a giant monster. Many people fear strong mana, especially purported demons and demon-kin of strong mana, because it’s believed that it’s related to the creation of monsters. Whatever the case is, monsters do appear, both spontaneously ‘summoned’ in ways no one can yet explain, as well as mutations from existing animals.

Locke looks through a sight glass mounted to the top of his ‘demon staff’, which is longer than the goblin is tall. Regardless, he confirms, “Gatonine Verbert is right. Monster forms attacking normal food animals.”

“May I?” asks Wulfsten.

The goblin nods. While Wulfsten only has a passing understanding of how the ‘demon staves’ work, he understands a sight glass, and he holds the staff awkwardly with Locke’s permission, looking through the sightglass.

Surprisingly, it’s the most effective and high-end sight glass he has ever seen. The magnification makes the 3 mile distance look like it’s less than a quarter mile, which still leaves the figures somewhat small and a bit hazy with the distance and various glares, but Wulfsten, a regular old human of Zenkon, can easily tell that some sort of creature with the common glow of a monster gaining elemental magic is attacking several that are trying to flee. And, it’s far from the only one. Like Verbert said, even somehow spotting them from so far away while he can barely hold onto his stomach, it must have been a large group of animals that have either started mutating because of the mana fire, or have only narrowly escaped from the initial thing that also created the strange enemy dragon that Zuzia just narrowly defeated.

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“Pilot, can you inform the Fievegal and take us north? We have monsters on site and moving towards the command center.”

“Affirmative,” calls back the golem piloting the shuttle. “Keep in mind, even if you engage, you must mind your own exposure to the mana fire’s influence. It manifests similarly to heat sickness.”

“Understood,” replies Wulfsten. “Please set us down with enough time to spread out.”

“Affirmative. Stand by for ‘go’.”

“Get ready, boys!” calls out Wulfsten.

Halkadon fastens his sword belt back down while Verbert groans and sits forward, doing his best to loosen up a bit.

Locke says as the shuttle lowers to the ground, “We can handle monsters from range.”

“There’s a lot of them,” replies Wulfsten. “And, we have some experience with them. If you can keep them corralled away from the rest to try to minimize more monsters, that would be helpful.”

Locke thinks for a moment, and he looks to Olk. Olk nods without needing to say anything. It is good logic.

“If you can, avoid killing the non-mutated livestock. Ideally, they will be reclaimed by Ahmpur’s people.”

“Will do.”

Once the shuttle reaches the ground, Wulfsten, Halkadon, and Verbert disembark, drawing their weapons.

“We’ll stay in visual range. If the formation breaks in a charge, we’ll come retrieve.”

“Understood. I’ll use a blue flare spell if we can’t handle our situation and need to escape.”

“Good luck, Human Wulfsten.”

“You too, Goblin Locke.”

The goblin scoffs. Wulfsten isn’t sure if that was the right answer, since the goblins don’t seem to address the race they’re talking to when speaking to each other. But, they frequently use it for everyone else. But, Locke dips his head with a respectful nod, and he signals for the shuttle to take off.

“How are you doing, Verbert?” asks Wulfsten as their shenwulf companion steps a few yards away to draw his heavy ‘skull breaker’ morningstar, which he only brings with him for certain missions because of how heavy it is. It has a very simplistic magical enhancement that can cause a surged impact force that exceeds a full force swing when he ‘spears’ it forward, allowing him to charge down an enemy and score lethal hits against heavily armored opponents and some monsters before they have the time to stop him. The smith who forged the weapon applied it only to the ‘top’ spikes because the recoil can be powerful enough to slam the weapon back into its wielder, applying that same effect against him. Halkadon asked about having the enchantment only on one swinging face, and a grip that forces him to hold it as such, but that weapon will still take some time to prepare.

Verbert, for his part, manages to check his belt and armor for proper fitting and fastening to make sure they don’t slide and interfere with his acrobatics. “I feel like I’m in the prime of my life already,” jokes the feline man. “Those demon boats belong on the moon.”

The other two chuckle, and Halkadon says, “I see and hear four distinct monsters, I think. If you can pull them out one at a time, Verbert, we should have an easy time.”

“Shalmas, right?” asks Wulfsten. The view through the scope at extreme range, and the popularity of shalmas in the Empire make it the most likely species.

“Definitely. We’ll be eating good tonight,” retorts the shenwulf with a literally-wolfy grin.

“Our official report needs to say we’re leaving them where they fell,” replies Verbert as he steps up and draws his hook-back hand-spear, which is a short spear a little longer than the gatonine’s arm, but with a pair of ‘finger’ hooks that curl just past the ninety-degree mark back towards the grip several inches below the blade tip, allowing the weapon to serve as a stabbing and slicing weapon, while also a climbing tool, and in an emergency, can function as a grapnel by tying a rope off to the ring-shaped hand guard.

The gatonine continues his thought, “Ahmpur isn’t the Empire, and as far as I know, Centerhold doesn’t have a permanent population.”

“You’re right. Unfortunately, there is a magic fire that obviously did it.”

The three mercenaries make one last stretch of their arms and legs to loosen up. Regular shalmas have large, lumbering gaits with almost ‘gelatinous’ padded feet that help them climb the steep slopes and cliffs of the southern fjords, heavy, straight wool that has a water-repellant oil that makes them buoyant, moderately long necks for grazing, and a spiked tail that they’ll use for balance, as well as raking the ground for roots and trees for fruits and branches. They can use this spiked tail for defense, but their slow speed and relative docility makes them pretty easy for human-kin to handle.

The problem is created by their monstrous counterparts. All of the shalmas in question should have turned within the last couple of days, so they won’t have a massive mana pool or much mastery over their newfound power. But, monstrous shalmas, often referred to as ‘Celyenaris shalmas’, have a relatively ‘safe’ magic power in the weight-shifting magic they can apply to themselves or their targets. Their tail spikes become more like a serrated spear, leaving horribly maiming wounds that often require amputation for even small gashes or punctures due to the shards that flake off with every strike. And, if that’s not enough, even a grazing blow with the tail spikes can apply the void magic being wielded by the monster at the time.

Since they can make themselves far lighter or far heavier at will, they can rapidly force a need for shifting tactics.

Tactics that Wulfsten and his men are well-tempered at, since monster culling in affected herds can be a very lucrative small-time gig for mercenaries at the right place at the right time, since the monsters are usually small in number, born of pets or livestock, and as long as they aren’t too old, can be easy to overcome before they become even more problematic.

The rabid Celyenaris shalmas are bounding unnaturally like overweight rabbits bounding in mind-bendingly ‘graceful’ hops to quickly chase down their lumbering, slow domesticated counterparts. A human can outrun a domesticated shalma, and from the looks of it, these Celyenaris shalmas are about that fast, so Wulfsten is in the most danger. His shenwulf and gatonine companions should be able to keep out of reach, since shalmas are one of the few creatures where the front is the relative safest place to be.

“Mind the tails,” calls out Verbert, and he breaks into a run towards the nearest one.

“If they get me, I’m cashing in all of my favors for the Fievegal to heal me!” jokes Halkadon as he breaks towards the same shalma’s head.

Wulfsten, wielding a bracer and a sturdy magic-enhanced two-handed axe with a wide blade, takes a breath and sighs. “Let’s hope Zuzia actually is made a noble lady.”

Celyenaris shalmas are a delicacy because the mana “purifies” their meat or is otherwise believed to cleanse the residual ‘gaminess’ in a shalma’s meat, which is already better than any wild animal due to the centuries of selective breeding. But, every piece of a monstrous version of any of Zenkon’s fauna tend to sell for much higher than their natural counterparts.

The human mercenary jogs towards his role in this formation. Verbert skillfully pounces onto the back of the monstrous shalma as it attacks one of its former kin, and the wounded shalma lows pathetically as it tries to limp away, saved by the gatonine startling the monster. It tries to shift its weight and undoubtedly use its magic, but it’s now use. Verbert is far from a champion, but he has participated in rush-jousting and another gatonine-heavy sport called the ‘topple gauntlet’ where their footing and balance are challenged by rough terrain as they stand atop a precariously-placed shield on a simple two-wheeled cart pulled by their team with ropes, all while swinging bags are flying all around them, accelerated by a crowd along with the staff. The first gatonine dodger to cross a finish line or the last one standing wins.

A thrashing animal is hardly a challenge for a weathered gatonine like Verbert. And, if he can take it down himself, he will, but his primary role is to draw its gaze to Halkadon. Once Halkadon has its attention, if it tries to pounce him or charge him down, his morningstar has a high chance of finishing it immediately. If he doesn’t, Wulfsten simply has to intercept its tail before it can use it against the shenwulf or gatonine.

He and his brothers in arms have plenty of practice fighting the odd small-time monster in the east, wandering from place to place to make money as they have.

It’s painfully clear that they can do little about the mana fire, and they were essentially useless against Sayrdarralouche.

But, for small monsters that the Fievegal has no business being distracted by, let the titans fight the titans and the apocalypse. Out of control livestock only require a glorified butcher’s touch.

And, Wulfsten and his fellow meat-mongers have four lucrative heads ready to take to market.

***

Zuzia is led to the ‘Fievegal’ tent, where a lot of seemingly random people are scattered about the large fairground-like tent. Bellphine, who avoids speaking due to a stammer, gestures Zuzia inside.

Zuzia doesn’t know everyone, but the only bed in the tent is occupied by Hekate and Jeavana as they sleep, showing obvious exhaustion in their expressions, with the vulgar-seeming dragon sleeping face down on the edge of the large bed, as opposed to Hekate’s more obvious, hospital-patient-like unconsciousness in a “normal” position on the other half of the bed.

On the floor is the real surprise; Veiranoei is gingerly looking after Daniel, though she seems to have fallen asleep while sitting on her calves near him, having laid her head down on his chest. Yaulwembor is curled up like a reptilian cat next to Daniel, Sundenelle is sleeping on Daniel’s other side with one of her own knights standing guard behind her, Queen Heralesse is sleeping away from them near the bed on a hastily assembled ‘futon’, and a brunette woman is seated at a simple table as she eats. The mature woman notices her and waves her over, which Zuzia feels rather safe obeying. She quietly tiptoes past the other bodies she doesn’t know off hand, taking a seat across from the mature woman.

The elder woman speaks at a near whisper, saying, “Lady Zuzia Spolskia of Earth, yes?”

Zuzia scoffs, but minds her volume, since she’ll be joining this group very soon. And, the Fievegal’s tent is the safest place to be due to the dragons standing watch, not least of which is avoiding the gazes of Imperials who may leak Zuzia’s escape from Yaulander to the Grand Psycho himself.

“Yes, though… Nevermind. We’ll say it’s my ‘friendly name’.”

“I see,” replies the woman respectfully with a smile. Her own face is scratched and bandaged, and she seems to be some sort of wealthy aristocrat before anything else, in spite of her riding-uniform that makes her look like a military commander. “I am Grand Duchess Senior Aramellianna kos Phenglegorn, formerly of the Stalvaltan family. For all intents and purposes, you can call me Daniel’s mother-in-law, as well as financial backer and aristocratic advisor.”

“He seems to need it,” jokes the Polish woman as she glances at her American counterpart. “‘Emperor’. Pah!”

Aramellianna giggles softly, but she defends Daniel with a gentle tone, “He’s honest and hard-working. I am certainly no fan of the idea of a harem myself, but he makes my eldest daughter happy, and he promises a future where my children and grandchildren will thrive. As do you, Zuzia.”

The Polish brunette blushes, shocked to hear this. But, it also refreshes what she just barely came to grips with. She looks at Hekate, wanting to wake the teen and ask her what happened, but by the sounds of it, not everyone has been accounted for. Regardless, Hekate saved dozens or hundreds of lives. “You’re wrong. U-Uh, M-Madame? Your… highness?”

Aramellianna smiles a little more sympathetically. “Sayrdarralouche is slain. All that happened in his wake is a tragedy, but we would have suffered far worse were it not for you.”

Aramellianna looks at Hekate as well, and she adds, “I know I can say this more readily because I lost little in my personal circle, life is full of ‘what if’ and ‘whose fault’, but more important is ‘where do we stand now’. Only the living have the luxury of mourning the dead. And, we are facing calamity. The more people alive at the end, the better, but we can’t possibly hope to have such good fortune as to save everyone. Not even Hekate is so powerful.”

Zuzia is quiet for a moment. Logically, it’s an easy conclusion to come to, just as placing the blame ultimately on Yaulander’s shoulders could be. Or even Amalaskae’s. Or, for that matter, God himself.

But, Zuzia knows from the footprints that she was meant to see what she saw. Hekate saved most of the soldiers. Those that weren’t may have already perished before Zuzia’s involvement. Regardless, she can’t dwell on it while the existential threat remains.

The question right now, though, is…

“What can we do? What can I do to help stop this thing? I’m… I’m just literal muscle, at this point. If I could blow it out like a candle, I would. But…”

“We all would,” replies Aramellianna, pouring some obvious rum for Zuzia and offering her the small glass.

Zuzia is surprised, but she accepts it. Aramellianna seems to be trying to soften her own sobriety, but is hiding her stress behind a mask of composure.

The two silently toast and drink the rum. It’s obviously far stronger than the beer Zuzia always liked, but she does feel a sense of comfort in the simple act of sharing a drink with someone.

The Grand Duchess Senior then continues her thought, “The hand that casts magic cannot complete somatic motions without muscle. Obstacles sometimes need a physical touch as to not waste the magic where hands alone will do. Just as with Sayrdarralouche. If I knew what steps we need to take to avoid D- his final solution…” She nods towards Daniel to avoid saying his name and waking him. “I wouldn’t be here sipping rum to try to ease my nerves enough to nap while we’re collectively stuck for the moment. All of our power-houses are drained, and my airship is destroyed, with my daughter thankfully having been evacuated.” Aramellianna looks to the side and adds with a coldly thankful edge to her tone, “And, stalled from putting herself back in danger…”

Zuzia’s eyes widen, and Aramellianna clears her throat as softly as she can. “Please forget I said that part. She is not a warrior, so…” The senior brunette seems like an absolute powerhouse of charisma with her stern and hushed-but-heavy voice, like someone who could seat a parliament or senate with a single sonorous word, even without yelling.

“Regardless, I agree with the current sentiment. Since we’re at a stall, it is a reasonable time for us to get some rest. Some who need it more than most…” This time she looks to Daniel, who seems to have something some boys only dream of, but he has taken a beating fumbling his way through this world.

Not unlike Zuzia.

She touches her chest, where a magic contract mark that bears Daniel’s name formed itself in exchange for removing the slave collar. Even if she disagrees with Daniel’s way of life here on Zenkon, she is thankful that he treats her with respect and dignity, as if the enslavement doesn’t exist.

“If you had to kill a thousand innocent people to save ten thousand, could you do it?” asks Zuzia softly.

“I haven’t had to, but I do fear I wouldn’t be able to make that choice…” murmurs Aramellianna. “My late husband had to make a similar choice only once, and it weighed on him for the rest of his life.”

“It… There has to be another way, right?”

Aramellianna’s smile shrinks, and she takes a more motherly-kind of expression in spite of being strangers moments ago. That said, she did mention at least one adult daughter, so she obviously knows at least something about raising them.

“That is a question that, if true, could save everyone. But, in the moment, if it is not true, it could kill everyone. That is why I had nothing but words of sympathy for my Yandrestarr, when I knew I could only ease the heart of the man who had to do so.”

“My mother killed an Emperor to save a dying, sickly child,” murmurs a young female voice from the floor nearby. The two look to see Sundenelle looking up at the ceiling, awake as if she hasn’t gotten a wink of sleep yet. She turns her ruby-red gaze to them, adding softly, “It’s not the same. The fate of the world wasn’t on the table. But, it was a choice he made.”

Zuzia is quiet. It’s becoming pretty obvious even to the stranger of the group who the child in question was, and it doesn’t feel right to even speak it out loud.

“We can point fingers and debate ethics when the mana fire is extinguished. We don’t have the luxury of doing anything but finding that alternative until it becomes unavoidable.” She rolls away from them, adding quietly, “So… please get some rest while we can and try to think or dream or pray a solution comes to us in time.”

Aramellianna and Zuzia share one more glance. The Grand Duchess Senior’s eyes are a little watery, but she finishes her drink and nods. “She’s right. If you require anything, Miss Bellphine can get you virtually anything you need. If you wish, you may use the bed next to her Greatness.”

Zuzia shakes her head. “No. Please, take it, your Highness. I actually spent a lot of time sleeping on the ground when I was camping with my Grandpa.”

Aramellianna cocks her head with a slight smirk at this term. “‘Grandpa’? Is this your Grandfather?”

Zuzia nods.

The brunette’s smile widens a little in an adoring tone, as if detecting Zuzia’s love for her beloved mentor and grandfather. “I see. And, is there a matching term for a Grandmother?”

Zuzia scoffs. “Well, in this language, I… think it would be ‘Grandma’. Amala acts as my buffer between my language and this one.”

“‘Grandma’. Yes. A title more elegant even than ‘Grandmother’ itself.”

Zuzia scoffs lightly as she finishes her own rum, bracing herself against the sharp burn of the alcohol. She sighs, smiling at the senior brunette. “I wish you a speedy path to your new and deserved title, your Highness.”

Aramellianna grins, whispering affectionately, “Thank you.”

***