Cantata In Progress

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!CANTATA ''//Definition: a medium-length narrative piece of music for voices with instrumental accompaniment, typically with solos, chorus, and orchestra; a poem, story, or play set to music to be sung by a chorus and soloists.//'' [[Begin|0.0]]

<div id="sidebar"> <div class="sidebar-header">  <div></div>  <h1 class="story-title" data-passage="gameTitle"></h1>  <div class="sidebar-toggle"> <span id="sidebar-toggle-icon" class="lnr lnr-menu-circle"></span> </div> </div>   <div class="sidebar-history-nav"> <span id="backwards-button" class="lnr lnr-arrow-left"></span> <span id="forwards-button" class="lnr lnr-arrow-right"></span> </div> <div id="sidebar-body">  <div class="story-logo" data-passage="storyLogo"></div>  <h2 class="story-author" data-passage="storyAuthor"></h2> <nav class="sidebar-nav"> <ul class="story-tools"> <li> <span id="restart-button" class="lnr lnr-redo"></span> <span class="tooltiptext">Restart</span> </li> <li> <span id="saves-button" class="lnr lnr-download"></span> <span class="tooltiptext">Saves</span> </li> <li> <span id="settings-button" class="lnr lnr-cog"></span> <span class="tooltiptext">Settings</span> </li> </ul> <ul class="story-menu" data-passage="storyMenu"> </ul> </nav> <nav id="social-media"> <ul data-passage="socialMedia"> </ul> </nav> </div>  </div>  <div id="mystory" role="main"> <div id="passages"> <div id="passage-start" data-passage="start" class="passage"> </div> </div> </div>

<<nobr>>  <li>[[Codex]]</li> <li>[[Character Stats]]</li> <li>[[Relationships]]</li> <li>[[Credits]]</li> <li>[[Content Warning]]</li> <</nobr>>

* List item 1 * List item 2 !!! Checkbox: <<checkbox "$checkboxVar1" false true autocheck>> Checkbox option 1 <<checkbox "$checkboxVar2" false true autocheck>> Checkbox option 2 <<checkbox "$checkboxVar3" false true autocheck>> Checkbox option 3 !!! Cycle: <<cycle "$cycleVar" autoselect>> <<option "Option 1">> <<option "Option 2">> <<option "Option 3">> <<option "Option 4">> <<option "Option 5">> <</cycle>> !!! Listbox: <<listbox "$listboxVar" autoselect>> <<option "Option 1">> <<option "Option 2">> <<option "Option 3">> <<option "Option 4">> <<option "Option 5">> <</listbox>> !!! Radiobutton: <<radiobutton "$radiobuttonVar" "option 1" autocheck>> Option 1 <<radiobutton "$radiobuttonVar" "option 2" autocheck>> Option 2 <<radiobutton "$radiobuttonVar" "option 3" autocheck>> Option 3 !!! Textarea: <<textarea "$textareaVar" "Type text here..">> !!! Textbox: <<textbox "$textboxVar" "Type answer here">> <<button "Next" "test 1">><</button>>

Cantata

[img[Images/musicnotes.png]]

by <a href="https://www.tumblr.com/fir-fireweed" target="_blank">Fir & Fireweed</a>

!Codex !!!The Iredicci The Iredicci (pronounced: eer-ah-DEE-chee) are as much a religion as they are a race—less like priests and more like monks or shamans. They can feel and affect the //cordis//, the harmonic pulse that connects all living things. The Iredicci are a peaceful people who value community, and don’t typically have warriors or any martial experience. They are a curiosity to many, a nuisance to some. Iredicci have excellent hearing, but their defining feature is their voice—they have an echo to their voice, a resonance of two pitches at once. The trait is natural and immediately recognizable. The double pitch and ability to affect the //cordis// are dominant traits, anyone born to an Iredicci parent automatically inherits these features. Most Iredicci stay together in accords, the term for their nomadic tribes. But a few choose to live apart in the cities as any other citizen of Saleste. A nomadic people, the Iredicci were traditionally welcome in all corners of the empire. But as steam technology progressed and the push for new resources grew, a prejudice developed against them. The regis spread propaganda against the Iredicci, painting them as an inferior, uncivilized people who leeched off the empire rather than aided it. Over the years they stopped being welcome. Eventually, their travel was restricted, and the Iredicci were forced to live in settlement camps. ''Dialect'' The Iredicci language incorporates musical instructions that you might find in sheet music. They’re used more as expressions than exact words. * Adagio: calm down, at ease * Affetto: with affect, with emotion, with love * Allegrezza: happiness, cheerfulness, joyfulness * Andante: at a walking pace * Assai: much, very much * Cesura: break, stop * Con amore: with love * Da capo: from the beginning * Dolore: with sadness, distress, sorrow, grief * Gioioso: with joy * Ma non troppo: but not too much * Obbligato: musical parts that are essential to a composition, not optional * Poco a poco: little by little ''//Duette//'' The Iredicci believe in the possibility of soulmates. They call them //duette//—the one whose pitch and rhythm matches your own, whose soul resonates in time with yours. Not everyone has a //duette//, and those that do don't always find them. !!!The //cordis// The //cordis// is the pulse of the earth, the harmonies of every living person, animal and plant. Imagine a thick rope, made up of many thinner strands, that connects all life. The Iredicci view themselves as caretakers of the //cordis//, protecting it and keeping the harmonies balanced. !!!Magic There is no magic in the traditional sense, but the Iredicci have the ability to see and affect the //cordis// in a way no one else can. Every Iredicci is attuned to a specific element. Through their song, and using their element as a focus, they can connect to and affect the //cordis//. ''Earth/Smell'' * You are attuned to natural stone, metals, wood, and soil, and your sense of smell is advanced. Your song is most prolific at manipulating the earth or helping plants to grow. You can feel the faintest vibrations in the ground, recognize and identify smells that others would never notice, and identify people by their footsteps or scent. Earth-attuned Iredicci are traditionally artisans. * Combat: As an earth-attuned Iredicci, your fighting style will utilize melee, muscle, and offense. You prefer strength over agility, force over finesse. It is a more conventional combat style—metallic arms and armor feel like a second skin to you. Your weapon is a disc shield, a unique metal gauntlet attached to a buckler and retractable sword blade. (Fun fact: this is based on a lantern shield, a very odd, very intimidating weapon that did actually exist in Renaissance Italy.) ''Air/Sight'' * You are attuned to wind, air, and sky, and your sense of sight is advanced. Your song is most prolific at quieting a wind or dust storm, or calling up a tornado. You can hold your breath for a significantly long time, useful for under water or stealth. You can feel a coming storm, recognize when a person enters the room by the way the air shifts, and sense actions (like a sword strike) before they happen. Air-attuned Iredicci are traditionally performers. * Combat: As an air-attuned Iredicci, your fighting style will utilize dexterity, perception, and grace. You prefer movement over muscle, finesse over force. It is a graceful combat style that more closely resembles a dance than a brawl. Your weapon is a battle fan with sharp cutting edges, which can also serve as a shield. ''Fire/Touch'' * You are attuned to fire and heat, and your sense of touch is advanced. Your song is most prolific at subduing a raging wildfire or making a flame grow. Fire-attuned Iredicci can heal through touch. This is not to say they can magically heal any wound; you simply speed up the body's natural healing process. You are hypersensitive to touch, for better or worse. You can feel the body heat of people and can sense when someone enters a room by the temperature change. Fire-attuned Iredicci are traditionally healers. * Combat: As a fire-attuned Iredicci, your fighting style will utilize speed, hand-to-hand, and nimbleness. You prefer evasion over attack, precision over strength. It is a martial arts-based fighting style that relies on agility and pressure-point attacks, rather than traditional weapons. Your weapon is a quill rope-dart with a retractable chain that can be used in melee or ranged combat. ''Water/Taste'' * You are attuned to water, sea, and rain, and your sense of taste is advanced. Water is also the element of emotions, so you are more attuned to people’s emotions. Your song is prolific at summoning rain or creating a monsoon, but also at soothing hearts and minds. You can sense deep emotions, identify a person’s emotional state, and read a room. Water-attuned Iredicci are traditionally diplomats. * Combat: As a water-attuned Iredicci, your fighting style will utilize range, resourcefulness, and stealth. You prefer defense over offense, cunning over brute force. It is a supportive combat style that is as much about controlling the battle as it is fighting it. Your weapon is a leather gauntlet equipped with pressure capsules that hold water (or any water-based liquid, such as poison), and shoot a high-pressure spray or cloud of steam. !!!The Empire With a long history of expansionism and colonization, the Saleste Empire (pronounced: sa-LES-tah) is the largest nation in this world. It is a collection of colonies and cultures assimilated together as a result of war and conquest. There are over-crowded and bustling cities, smaller villages, dense forests, and majestic mountains. It is a vast, wealthy empire, very much set in notions of classism and noble privilege. And its warmongering has only grown more brazen under the current regis (monarch). Saleste is currently at a stalemate with Tinebaille, a neighboring island nation the empire has repeatedly tried, and failed, to conquer. Ruled by a monarchy, the reigning Andreano family has been in power for generations. Gedeon Andreano is the current regis. While his father implemented many of Saleste’s expansionist policies, it was Gedeon who initiated the war with Tinebaille. He asked the Iredicci elders to use their unique powers to help him conquer Tinebaille, but as a peaceful people, they refused. Thus began their persecution. ''Class Structure'' Citizens of the empire are arranged according to class. The two main categories each have a hierarchy within themselves. The first is the aristocracy, composed of royalty, nobility, and the privilegiato. The privilegiato, or the privileged class, run in similar circles as nobility, the only difference being they are not titled. They earned preferential status by virtue of their contributions to society. The second category are commoners, consisting of merchants, tradespeople, city officials, laborers, farmers, and the unemployed poor. Merchants, tradespeople and city officials are held in higher regard due to their education and level of management. The lowest citizens are farmers, simple laborers, and the destitute. All commoners are drafted into military service at the age of 17 and serve a minimum three year term. Many serve longer for the regular pay and opportunity to achieve a higher rank. Nobility and privilegiato are exempt from the draft; however, they are not prohibited from joining if they so choose. Those who do are automatically granted officer rank. !!!Tinebaille Tinebaille (pronounced: TEE-nuh-buy-yee) is a neighboring island nation, one of the last independent nations in the world that Saleste has been unable to conquer. This is due to their unique geography as an archipelago, their swift naval ships, and their mastery of an ingenious explosive substance called yangin—a flammable liquid with the ability to burn on water, making it a highly destructive naval weapon that the empire has been unable to duplicate. Tinebaille is a matriarchal society and is led by an Aydem, who is more of an intellectual leader than a military or political one. The land is lush, rocky, and verdant, with waterways cutting through many of their cities. The Tinebaillese possess steam technology, as well, but progress is tempered by a slower pace of life.  <center><<link "Return to game" $return>><</link>></center>

!Character Stats !!!Features Name: $birthname Alias: $alias Sideris Pronouns: $pronoun1 Body Shape: $build Height: $height Hair Length: $hairlength Hair Color: $haircolor Hair Texture: $hairtexture Skin Color: $skincolor Eye Color: $eyecolor !!!Skills Attunement: $cordis <span class="evelyn"><div class="stat-bar-group">\ <div class="stat-bar-container">\ <div class="stat-bar-overlay-left">Cordis $magic%</div>\ <div class="stat-bar-overlay-right"></div>\ <div class="stat-bar" id="magic-stat"></div></div></div></span>\ <<if $magic eq 50>>\ You are strong in the //cordis// and capable of wielding it as any other Iredicci. <</if>>\ <<if $magic gte 80>>\ You have become exceedingly strong in the //cordis//. Your skill at wielding it is greater than most of your people. <</if>>\ <<if $magic gt 50 && $magic lt 80>> You are growing stronger in the //cordis//. Your skill at wielding it is marginally better than many of your people. <</if>>\ <<if $magic lt 50 && $magic gt 20>> You are losing your connection to the //cordis//. Your skill at wielding it is marginally weaker than many of your people. <</if>>\ <<if $magic lte 20>>\ You are losing your connection to the //cordis//. Your skill at wielding it is far weaker than most of your people. <</if>>\ !!!Personality <<if $social eq 50>>\ You are not particularly sociable nor reserved. <</if>>\ <<if $social gt 50>>\ You tend to be more social and energetic, at ease in the company of others. <</if>>\ <<if $social lt 50>>\ You tend to be quiet and more reserved, preferring to be alone. <</if>>\ <<if $cheer eq 50>>\ You are not particularly cheerful nor dour. <</if>>\ <<if $cheer gt 50>>\ You tend to be polite, friendly, and affable. <</if>>\ <<if $cheer lt 50>>\ You tend to be dour, sullen, and irritable. <</if>>\ <<if $mercy eq 50>>\ You have not yet formed an opinion on the empire and your place in it. <</if>>\ <<if $mercy gt 50>>\ You try to be forgiving, hopeful and optimistic, choosing kindness even when it is not shown to you. <</if>>\ <<if $mercy lt 50>>\ You are growing resentful and bitter. Your heart leans more toward vengeance than mercy. <</if>>\  <center><<link "Return to game" $return>><</link>></center>

The harmonies of the city have always fascinated you. It's not just the voices, though you can hear thousands of them. It's the vibrance of life, the energy, the erratic and obnoxious hum of bodies in motion. It reminds you there's a bigger world outside your small camp. <<include "1.4">>

You’ve heard the harmonies from the moment you were born, like all Iredicci. It's never bothered you; rather, it's something you've come to appreciate it. It’s familiar, like a constant friend. <<include "1.4">>

You've gotten used to the many sounds and voices that assault your ears, but they never stop. Like the elders when they drone on about “the old days.” Some days you simply don’t want to listen. <<include "1.4">>

You find it hard to think sometimes, with so many voices constantly assaulting your ears. Your own thoughts always seem to get lost in the racket. The elders say it's a good thing to listen to the harmonies, to know you're part of something greater. But sometimes it just makes you feel small. <<include "1.4">>

!Relationships <h3>Evelyn Sideris</h3> <span class="evelyn"><div class="stat-bar-group">\ <div class="stat-bar-container">\ <div class="stat-bar-overlay-left">Evelyn $eva%</div>\ <div class="stat-bar-overlay-right"></div>\ <div class="stat-bar" id="eva-stat"></div></div></div></span>\ ---- The meters for the ROs do not function the same as Evelyn’s. Think of the RO bar as an indication of “chemistry,” rather than of relationship. There is no good vs bad; it’s simply how many flirt options you’ve chosen. The higher the number, the more likely to trigger romantic interactions or flavor text. Some flirt options score better than others; different ROs respond better to different approaches. Some may prefer a bold and forward MC, while some prefer a slower pace. Alternatively, some ROs may not appreciate an MC who flirts indiscriminately with everyone. Casual flirting is fine, especially in earlier chapters; feel free to explore your options early on. However, once feelings come into play and flirt options include physical intimacy, your actions may have consequences. <h3>Calliope Cato</h3> <span class="calliope"><div class="stat-bar-group">\ <div class="stat-bar-container">\ <div class="stat-bar-overlay-left">Calliope $calli%</div>\ <div class="stat-bar-overlay-right"></div>\ <div class="stat-bar" id="calli-stat"></div></div></div></span>\ <h3>Corinne Xenakis</h3> <span class="corinne"><div class="stat-bar-group">\ <div class="stat-bar-container">\ <div class="stat-bar-overlay-left">Corinne $cori%</div>\ <div class="stat-bar-overlay-right"></div>\ <div class="stat-bar" id="cori-stat"></div></div></div></span>\ <h3>Vicente Aloi</h3> <span class="vicente"><div class="stat-bar-group">\ <div class="stat-bar-container">\ <div class="stat-bar-overlay-left">Vicente $vic%</div>\ <div class="stat-bar-overlay-right"></div>\ <div class="stat-bar" id="vic-stat"></div></div></div></span>\ <h3>Bayram Durmaz</h3> <span class="bayram"><div class="stat-bar-group">\ <div class="stat-bar-container">\ <div class="stat-bar-overlay-left">Bayram $bay%</div>\ <div class="stat-bar-overlay-right"></div>\ <div class="stat-bar" id="bay-stat"></div></div></div></span>\ <center><<link "Return to game" $return>><</link>></center>

You wipe your nose on your sleeve and grin eagerly at your mother. “Is practice over?” She laughs and shakes her head. “We’ve barely started..." <<listbox "$birthname" autoselect>> <<option "Eurus">> <<option "Ventus">> <<option "Terra">> <<option "Ignis">> <<option "Lumen">> <<option "Nox">> <<option "Lapis">> <<option "Divum">> <<option "Arbor">> <<option "Sidus">> <<option "Petra">> <<option "Vinea">> <<option "Astrum">> <<option "Aqua">> <<option "Calor">> <<option "Pontus">> <<option "Stella">> <<option "Nivis">> <<option "Aes">> <<option "Lux">> <<option "Vita">> <<option "Lunae">> <<option "Imber">> <</listbox>> You love hearing your name. Your mother said that when you were born, she listened to the //cordis// and the world spoke your name to her. To be fair, that’s how all Iredicci babies are named. But you’re certain yours is //extra// special. “Alright, let’s try again,” she says. “Do you remember everything I said?” “Uhh…” “Do you remember anything?” You scratch your nose and shift uncomfortably. “Something about strings?” Your mother sighs and gestures at the items around you. “Da capo, from the beginning then.” ---- [[Next|1.5]]

You are attuned to wind, air, and sky, and your sense of sight is advanced. Your song is most prolific at quieting a wind or dust storm, or calling up a tornado. You can hold your breath for a significantly long time, useful for under water or stealth. You can feel a coming storm, recognize when a person enters the room by the way the air shifts, and sense actions (like a sword strike) before they happen. Air-attuned Iredicci are traditionally performers. Your attunement also affects your fighting style and the type of weapon you will eventually specialize in. As an air-attuned Iredicci, your fighting style will utilize dexterity, perception, and grace. You prefer movement over muscle, finesse over force. It is a graceful combat style that more closely resembles a dance than a brawl. Is this correct? ---- [[Yes.|1.10][$cordis to "air"]] <<back "No, choose again.">>

You are attuned to water, sea, and rain, and your sense of taste is advanced. Water is also the element of emotions, so you are more attuned to people’s emotions. Your song is prolific at summoning rain or creating a monsoon, but also at soothing hearts and minds. You can sense deep emotions, identify a person’s emotional state, and read a room. Water-attuned Iredicci are traditionally diplomats. Your attunement also affects your fighting style and the type of weapon you will eventually specialize in. As a water-attuned Iredicci, your fighting style will utilize range, resourcefulness, and stealth. You prefer defense over offense, cunning over brute force. It is a supportive combat style that is as much about controlling the battle as it is fighting it. Is this correct? ---- [[Yes.|1.11][$cordis to "water"]] <<back "No, choose again.">>

You are attuned to natural stone, metals, wood, and soil, and your sense of smell is advanced. Your song is most prolific at manipulating the earth or helping plants to grow. You can feel the faintest vibrations in the ground, recognize and identify smells that others would never notice, and identify people by their footsteps or scent. Earth-attuned Iredicci are traditionally artisans. Your attunement also affects your fighting style and the type of weapon you will eventually specialize in. As an earth-attuned Iredicci, your fighting style will utilize melee, muscle, and offense. You prefer strength over agility, force over finesse. It is a more conventional combat style—metallic arms and armor feel like a second skin to you. Is this correct? ---- [[Yes.|1.12][$cordis to "earth"]] <<back "No, choose again.">>

You are attuned to fire and heat, and your sense of touch is advanced. Your song is most prolific at subduing a raging wildfire or making a flame grow. Fire-attuned Iredicci can heal through touch. This is not to say you can magically heal any wound; you simply speed up the body's natural healing process. You are hypersensitive to touch, for better or worse. You can feel the body heat of people and can sense when someone enters a room by the temperature change. Fire-attuned Iredicci are traditionally healers. Your attunement also affects your fighting style and the type of weapon you will eventually specialize in. As a fire-attuned Iredicci, your fighting style will utilize speed, hand-to-hand, and nimbleness. You prefer evasion over attack, precision over strength. It is a martial arts-based fighting style that relies on agility and pressure-point attacks, rather than conventional weapons. * Note: I did not write this story with touch-aversion in mind; however, this path allows for some sensory-related touch aversion. If you want to play an MC that is discomforted by touch, choose this attunement. This does not mean selecting this path automatically makes you touch-averse; you could lean the other way, and enjoy sensory contact. Is this correct? ---- [[Yes.|1.9a][$cordis to "fire"]] <<back "No, choose again.">>

You clench your fingers around the strings. A blustery wind slams into your face, throwing strands of hair into your eyes and nearly bowling you over. “Cesura, stop!” your mother laughs. She waves her hands in front of her as if to brush aside your attempt. “I said strum it, not strike it. But this is good, you discovered your attunement! Da capo, try once more. Gently this time.” You close your eyes and hum once again. It’s exciting, easier now that you’ve discovered your attunement. You focus on your newfound element and reach out your imaginary hand again. You can feel the vibrating waves undulating off the psaltery, hear the hum of a million voices—all singing a different pitch and rhythm yet somehow, surprisingly, in harmony. You imagine bending your little finger down, the tip barely brushing the string as you pluck it. The wind picks up, a gentle breeze tickling the ends of your hair about your face. It feels cool, refreshing, calming. <<include "1.14">>

You clench your fingers around the strings. The puddle between you and your mother bubbles, then a single spout shoots upward, splashing you in the face. You cough and sputter as you fend off the water. “Cesura, stop!” your mother laughs. She waves her hands in front of her as if to brush aside your attempt. “I said strum it, not strike it. But this is good, you discovered your attunement! Da capo, try once more. Gently this time.” You close your eyes and hum once again. It’s exciting, easier now that you’ve discovered your attunement. You focus on your newfound element and reach out your imaginary hand again. You can feel the vibrating waves undulating off the psaltery, hear the hum of a million voices—all singing a different pitch and rhythm yet somehow, surprisingly, in harmony. You imagine bending your little finger down, the tip barely brushing the string as you pluck it. A ripple breaks the surface of the puddle between you two. Then another, each shifting into the next like a gentle waltz. <<include "1.14">>

You clench your fingers around the strings. The ground shakes beneath you, causing your teeth to chatter, and it nearly unseats you. You throw your hands to the side to steady yourself. “Cesura, stop!” your mother laughs. She waves her hands in front of her as if to brush aside your attempt. “I said strum it, not strike it. But this is good, you discovered your attunement! Da capo, try once more. Gently this time.” You close your eyes and hum once again. It’s exciting, easier now that you’ve discovered your attunement. You focus on your newfound element and reach out your imaginary hand again. You can feel the vibrating waves undulating off the psaltery, hear the hum of a million voices—all singing a different pitch and rhythm yet somehow, surprisingly, in harmony. You imagine bending your little finger down, the tip barely brushing the string as you pluck it. The earth rumbles beneath you, a soft tremor that is more a massage than a shake. The vibration feels soothing, relaxing. <<include "1.14">>

You clench your fingers around the strings. There’s a sharp crackling of tinder, then the fire flares upward, the sudden heat forcing you to fall back. “Cesura, stop!” your mother laughs. She waves her hands in front of her as if to brush aside your attempt. “I said strum it, not strike it. But this is good, you discovered your attunement! Da capo, try once more. Gently this time.” You close your eyes and hum once again. It’s exciting, easier now that you’ve discovered your attunement. You focus on your newfound element and reach out your imaginary hand again. You can feel the vibrating waves undulating off the psaltery, hear the hum of a million voices—all singing a different pitch and rhythm yet somehow, surprisingly, in harmony. You imagine bending your little finger down, the tip barely brushing the string as you pluck it. The fire flares gently, its light brighter. The warmth of the flames pulses over you in gentle, reassuring waves. <<include "1.14">>

“Very good, $birthname!” your mother coos. “Your connection to the //cordis// is strong, especially for your age. Now that you’ve discovered your attunement, you can use it to direct your song to affect the world around you. But you must learn to control it, to know your limits.” Her eyes soften, her gaze listing to the side. “You have his strength.” You know she’s speaking of your father, though you never met him. He was killed when your people were first forced into the encampments, when you were still in your mother’s belly. He tried to assist an elder who was sickly and slow, and an impatient soldier killed them both. Or so the story goes. The little you know of him you learned from songs shared at the campfires at night, when the elders remember those lost. The songs describe him as a kind, selfless man. Your mother always looks so sad when she speaks about him, so you avoid bringing him up. The one thing you do remember her telling you was that they were //duette//, soulmates. She said it was a rare thing to have a //duette//, to find the one whose pitch and rhythm matches your own, whose soul resonates in time with yours. Not all Iredicci are lucky enough to find a //duette//. While your parents hadn't had much time together, they had that. And they had you. You reach out and touch your mother’s hand. Her skin is the same shade as yours: ''<<cycle "$skincolor" autoselect>> <<option "pale ivory">> <<option "rosy beige">> <<option "light brown">> <<option "olive">> <<option "tawny">> <<option "umber brown">> <<option "dark bronze">> <<option "ebony">> <</cycle>>''. She shifts her gaze to you, her brown eyes meeting your ''<<cycle "$eyecolor" autoselect>> <<option "black">> <<option "brown">> <<option "amber">> <<option "hazel">> <<option "green">> <<option "blue">> <<option "grey">> <<option "violet">> <</cycle>>'' ones, and she smiles. “Enough of that,” she says. “I suppose we’re done for today.” She hums a short tune, and the pit with the fire seals over, the dirt dousing the flames. You unfold your legs and bounce on your bottom, your foot splashing the puddle between you. “Can I go play with Tellus now? Please?” She laughs and waves her hand as she stands. “Yes, you may.” You squeal excitedly and scamper up, running back toward the center of camp as your mother trails leisurely behind you. Your sandals slap against the cobblestones as you run, and you nearly trip on your clothes in your eagerness. ---- [[Your long dress flutters about your legs, the thin material billowing behind you.|1.15][$attire to "dress"]] [[Your wide legged pants shift about your legs, your tunic riding up around your hips.|1.15][$attire to "pants"]] [[Your robe weaves about you, the thin material keeping you cool despite its length.|1.15][$attire to "robe"]]

Like all Iredicci, your clothes are a vibrant patchwork of colors and patterns, and you look like a be-speckled butterfly as you flit back to the center of camp. You don’t pay much attention to the camp as you run, the setting as familiar to you as your own name. The houses are short and cramped, butting up one against the other in dirty grey rows of wood and tin. The roads between are narrow and you dart nimbly between bodies as you run. The entirety is surrounded by a steel fence about eight feet high. In some places you can see white marble columns and intricately carved domes peaking above the fence line. The elders often complain about the crowded camp, but you don’t give it much thought. It just… is. “Unda!” A voice calls your mother’s name and you slow to look around. Off to the left you see elder Fulmen standing beside two strangers. One is a plump, smiling woman no taller than the elder, which is quite the feat considering he’s one of the shortest men in camp. Her eyes are the color of acorns, and they beam at you from beneath a wild mass of brown curls. A young girl about your age stands partly hidden behind her skirts, peering at you suspiciously. “Good day, Fulmen.” Your mother greets the elder and switches direction to join him. You study the girl as you follow behind your mother. Her hair is lighter than the woman’s - whom you assume to be her mother - and not as curly. It reminds you of the leaves that fall just before winter. Her eyes are the prettiest color you’ve ever seen—green like the clovers that poke through the hard dirt, and just as rare. “Unda, I’d like you to meet someone.” The elder gestures to the woman beside him. “This is Thaleia Sideris, the midwife who helped Pluvia, and her daughter, Evelyn. Thaleia, this is Unda and her…” ---- [[… daughter.”|1.16][$body to 'female', $pronoun1 to 'she', $pronoun2 to 'her', $pronoun3 to 'her', $pronoun4 to 'daughter', $pronoun5 to 'she’s', $pronoun6 to 'woman', $pronoun7 to 'girl']] [[… daughter.” You frown. You may have been born a girl, but something about that word makes you uncomfortable.|1.17][$body to 'female']] [[… son.”|1.18][$body to 'male', $pronoun1 to 'he', $pronoun2 to 'him', $pronoun3 to 'his', $pronoun4 to 'son', $pronoun5 to 'he’s', $pronoun6 to 'man', $pronoun7 to 'boy']] [[… son.” You frown. You may have been born a boy, but something about that word makes you uncomfortable.|1.19][$body to 'male']]

"...her daughter, $birthname," Fulmen finishes. You smile. Yep, that’s you. Your mother smiles at Thaleia and takes her offered hand. “Allegrezza, it’s nice to meet you. Pluvia had a difficult pregnancy, I’m glad you were able to help her.” “It was my pleasure,” Thaleia replies, her voice lilting. Then she turns to you and her smile grows. “And it’s a pleasure to meet you, $birthname. You look about my daughter’s age.” She gives the girl in question a nudge. “Stop hiding, little cub, and say hello.” You gawk at the woman. It always amazes you, hearing the voices of outsiders. They only have a single pitch, whereas you and everyone in the camp have two. It makes their voices sound weak, hollow. How does someone sing with such a voice? You force your attention to the girl. She scowls up at her mother, her nose scrunching like a caterpillar, then looks down at her feet. “Hello,” she mumbles. ---- [[You jump forward and wave your hand in her face. “Allegrezza! Nice to meet you!”|1.21][$cheer to Math.clamp($cheer + 10, 0, 100)]] [[You smile tentatively and wave. “Allegrezza,” you chirp, genuinely happy to meet her.|1.22][$cheer to Math.clamp($cheer + 5, 0, 100)]] [[You wave silently, holding your mother’s skirts in your other hand.|1.23][$cheer to Math.clamp($cheer - 5, 0, 100)]] [[You reply “hello” with the same enthusiasm. This grump interrupted your playtime with Tellus.|1.24][$cheer to Math.clamp($cheer - 10, 0, 100)]]

"...her son, $birthname," Fulmen finishes. You smile. Yep, that’s you. Your mother smiles at Thaleia and takes her offered hand. “Allegrezza, it’s nice to meet you. Pluvia had a difficult pregnancy, I’m glad you were able to help her.” “It was my pleasure,” Thaleia replies, her voice lilting. Then she turns to you and her smile grows. “And it’s a pleasure to meet you, $birthname. You look about my daughter’s age.” She gives the girl in question a nudge. “Stop hiding, little cub, and say hello.” You gawk at the woman. It always amazes you, hearing the voices of outsiders. They only have a single pitch, whereas you and everyone in the camp have two. It makes their voices sound weak, hollow. How does someone sing with such a voice? You force your attention to the girl. She scowls up at her mother, her nose scrunching like a caterpillar, then looks down at her feet. “Hello,” she mumbles. ---- [[You jump forward and wave your hand in her face. “Allegrezza! Nice to meet you!”|1.21][$cheer to Math.clamp($cheer + 10, 0, 100)]] [[You smile tentatively and wave. “Allegrezza,” you chirp, genuinely happy to meet her.|1.22][$cheer to Math.clamp($cheer + 5, 0, 100)]] [[You wave silently, holding your mother’s skirts in your other hand.|1.23][$cheer to Math.clamp($cheer - 5, 0, 100)]] [[You reply “hello” with the same enthusiasm. This grump interrupted your playtime with Tellus.|1.24][$cheer to Math.clamp($cheer - 10, 0, 100)]]

Your mother notices your expression. “$birthname, what’s wrong?” “I don’t know, I just… don’t want to be called that.” You scrunch your nose, finding it difficult to explain. “It’s okay, it’s important to use the words that feel right to you.” Your mother smiles encouragingly. “You can’t find harmony in the world if you can’t first find it in yourself. What would you like to be called?” ---- [[“Son.”|1.20][$pronoun1 to 'he', $pronoun2 to 'him', $pronoun3 to 'his', $pronoun4 to 'son', $pronoun5 to 'he’s', $pronoun6 to 'man', $pronoun7 to 'boy']] [[“Child.”|1.20][$pronoun1 to 'they', $pronoun2 to 'them', $pronoun3 to 'their', $pronoun4 to 'child', $pronoun5 to 'they’re', $pronoun6 to 'person', $pronoun7 to 'child']]

Your mother notices your expression. “$birthname, what’s wrong?” “I don’t know, I just… don’t want to be called that.” You scrunch your nose, finding it difficult to explain. “It’s okay, it’s important to use the words that feel right to you.” Your mother smiles encouragingly. “You can’t find harmony in the world if you can’t first find it in yourself. What would you like to be called?” ---- [[“Daughter.”|1.20][$pronoun1 to 'she', $pronoun2 to 'her', $pronoun3 to 'her', $pronoun4 to 'daughter', $pronoun5 to 'she’s', $pronoun6 to 'woman', $pronoun7 to 'girl']] [[“Child.”|1.20][$pronoun1 to 'they', $pronoun2 to 'them', $pronoun3 to 'their', $pronoun4 to 'child', $pronoun5 to 'they’re', $pronoun6 to 'person', $pronoun7 to 'child']]

“Very well.” Your mother smiles at Thaleia. “This is $birthname, my $pronoun4.” She reaches out and takes Thaleia’s offered hand. “Allegrezza, it’s nice to meet you. Pluvia had a difficult pregnancy, I’m glad you were able to help her.” “It was my pleasure,” Thaleia replies, her voice lilting. Then she turns to you and her smile grows. “And it’s a pleasure to meet you, $birthname. You look about my daughter’s age.” She gives the girl in question a nudge. “Stop hiding, little cub, and say hello.” You gawk at the woman. It always amazes you, hearing the voices of outsiders. They only have a single pitch, whereas you and everyone in the camp have two. It makes their voices sound weak, hollow. How does someone sing with such a voice? You force your attention to the girl. She scowls up at her mother, her nose scrunching like a caterpillar, then looks down at her feet. “Hello,” she mumbles. ---- [[You jump forward and wave your hand in her face. “Allegrezza! Nice to meet you!”|1.21][$cheer to Math.clamp($cheer + 10, 0, 100)]] [[You smile tentatively and wave. “Allegrezza,” you chirp, genuinely happy to meet her.|1.22][$cheer to Math.clamp($cheer + 5, 0, 100)]] [[You wave silently, holding your mother’s skirts in your other hand.|1.23][$cheer to Math.clamp($cheer - 5, 0, 100)]] [[You reply “hello” with the same enthusiasm. This grump interrupted your playtime with Tellus.|1.24][$cheer to Math.clamp($cheer - 10, 0, 100)]]

The girl balks and takes a step back, her green eyes wide. Thaleia laughs and shakes your hand in her stead. “I like this one! I’d ask to mentor you, if you weren’t forbidden to leave the camp.” “Mentor?” your mother asks, cocking her head to the side. “As my apprentice,” Thaleia explains. “I sometimes take in children for three to four months at a time, to study and assist me. Gives them work experience and I have another set of hands that I don’t have to bribe, like this cub.” She inclines her head toward her daughter, then winks at you. “I love your enthusiasm.” <<include "1.25">>

The girl looks at you beneath lowered lids, which somehow makes her scowl even more severe. Thaleia laughs and shakes her head. “What a friendly little one, you are! I’d ask to mentor you, if you weren’t forbidden to leave the camp.” “Mentor?” your mother asks, cocking her head to the side. “As my apprentice,” Thaleia explains. “I sometimes take in children for three to four months at a time, to study and assist me. Gives them work experience and I have another set of hands that I don’t have to bribe, like this cub.” She inclines her head toward her daughter, then winks at you. “I can tell you have a good bedside manner.” <<include "1.25">>

The girl stares intently at the gravel beneath her feet, stealing glances at you from beneath her lids. Thaleia laughs and shakes her head. “Shy and sweet like my daughter, though you wouldn’t know the sweetness with the way she’s behaving now. I’d ask to mentor you, if you weren’t forbidden to leave the camp.” “Mentor?” your mother asks, cocking her head to the side. “As my apprentice,” Thaleia explains. “I sometimes take in children for three to four months at a time, to study and assist me. Gives them work experience and I have another set of hands that I don’t have to bribe, like this cub.” She inclines her head toward her daughter, then winks at you. “The quiet ones are usually the quickest learners.” <<include "1.25">>

The girl shuffles her feet and you do the same. Thaleia laughs and shakes her head. “Right couple of twins, these two are! I’d ask to mentor you, if you weren’t forbidden to leave the camp.” “Mentor?” your mother asks, cocking her head to the side. “As my apprentice,” Thaleia explains. “I sometimes take in children for three to four months at a time, to study and assist me. Gives them work experience and I have another set of hands that I don’t have to bribe, like this cub.” She inclines her head toward her daughter, then winks at you. “I imagine the two of you would work hard just to stay out of each other’s way.” <<include "1.25">>

“And how is your training going, $birthname?” Fulmen’s kindly eyes regard you. “Are you learning your harmony?” “Poco a poco,” your mother replies, patting your back. “$birthname is improving every day. I believe $pronoun1 will surpass me in no time.” You stand a little taller and thrust your shoulders back. Everyone knows your mother is the most talented earth-attuned Iredicci in the camp, so to surpass her would be quite the accomplishment. “I have no doubts,” Fulmen replies, then shifts his attention back to your mother. “Thaleia has expressed an interest in learning more about our healing arts. I thought perhaps you could help her.” “Obviously I can’t use the //cordis// to heal,” Thaleia chimes in, “but Fulmen tells me you’re an expert on local plants. My family just moved here from the western province, and the flora is very different here. I’d love to learn more about it.” “Of course, I’d be happy to help.” Unda turns to you. “$birthname, why don’t you show Evelyn around? The two of you can play down by the stream.” ---- [[“Okay!” You can’t wait to share your favorite spot with her. You bounce on your toes and gesture wildly with both hands. “Andante, let’s go!”|1.26][$cheer to Math.clamp($cheer + 10, 0, 100)]] [[You’re not sure what to make of this girl, but you decide to be nice. You take a step away from your mother’s side and tip your head back in the direction you came from. “Andante, this way,” you say calmly.|1.27][$cheer to Math.clamp($cheer + 5, 0, 100)]] [[You look at the girl, then look up at your mother. You don't want to refuse her, but you hope she can read the reluctance on your face.|1.28][$cheer to Math.clamp($cheer - 5, 0, 100)]] [[“Mommaaaa.” You throw your head back and heave an annoyed sigh. This sounds like the most un-fun thing you could possibly do. “Do I have to?”|1.29][$cheer to Math.clamp($cheer - 10, 0, 100)]]

Your mother chose the dirt patch you’re sitting on for two reasons. One, the dirt was not tightly packed, loose enough for you to sift it through your fingers. To your left she dug a shallow pit, in which a small fire now burned. And two, there was a small puddle between the two of you, left over from rain the night before. Add to that the air around you, and you are surrounded by all four elements. “You are attuned to one of these elements. We need to discover which one it is,” your mother explains. “Your attunement is what breathes life into your song, making it something more than mere notes and rhythm. It is what brings you into harmony with the //cordis//.” “And the strings?” “The strings are the //cordis// itself. They bind all living things together, and connect us to the natural world.” She sits up straighter, her eyes alighting in thought. “You know the psalteries that the elders play?” You picture one of the rectangular, stringed instruments—strands of horse hair strung over a flat, painted soundboard, which the elders hold in their laps as they pluck the strings. “Close your eyes and picture a psaltery in your lap.” You do as instructed while your mother continues to speak. “Some of the strings are thick, some thin, some short, some long, some pulled tight and some loose. Our role as Iredicci is to adjust and tune those strings. That is what brings the //cordis// into balance. That is what brings the world into balance.” The psaltery appears in your mind’s eye. The strings seem to pulse with light, and you can hear the hum of a distant melody. “Now, imagine yourself reaching out to the psaltery,” your mother instructs. “The strings will brighten as you draw close. Hold your hand over the instrument, but don’t touch it yet. Think about the elements. One of them should be clearer in your mind than the others; you should feel it pulsing from the psaltery. Once you identify that element, I want you to strum the psaltery. And don’t forget to sing,” she adds, almost as an afterthought. You begin to hum, a wordless, soothing tune you’ve often heard the elders sing. You reach out an imaginary hand, hovering just above the instrument in your mind’s eye. The melody becomes clearer and you realize it’s voices, many voices. You also feel… something. Your attunement? ---- [[A cold wind billows around the psaltery, pushing against your hand. Your attunement is air.|1.6]] [[The psaltery is wet, drops of condensation form on the surface. Your attunement is water.|1.7]] [[The psaltery hardens beneath your hand, the surface shifting from wood to stone. Your attunement is earth.|1.8]] [[The psaltery feels warm, heat coming off the strings. Your attunement is fire.|1.9]]

With a final reproachful look at her mother, Evelyn follows you wordlessly. You shrug it off, she’s probably just shy. It doesn’t bother you; some of the other children in camp are shy, too. They tend to warm up to you when you keep up a positive attitude, and you’re determined to win this girl over, too. You prattle away as you walk, pointing out different aspects of the camp: the broken piece of cobblestone where Tellus fell and skinned his knee; the weaver who made your favorite $attire; the section of fence where the city guards like to spend their time. You warn Evelyn away from that spot—it always smells of pee, sweat, and rotted meat. Her manner relaxes as you talk, her head swiveling to take in everything. She looks with genuine interest at your clothes when you point out the weaver, even though she’s wearing one of the fanciest dresses you’ve ever seen—the embroidery on her sleeves is a duller shade of blue than your clothes, but the material is fine and thick. “Why do you sound like that?” she asks suddenly, interrupting your tour. “Like what?” “Like there’s two of you talking at the same time. It’s weird.” You laugh. “How can there be two of me?” you ask in reply. “It’s just the way we sound. I mean, your voice sounds weird to me. It’s lonely.” <<include "1.30">>

With a final reproachful look at her mother, Evelyn follows you wordlessly. Neither of you say much at first. You point out different aspects of the camp as you walk, your words polite, but brief. There’s the broken piece of cobblestone where Tellus fell and skinned his knee; the weaver who made your favorite $attire; the section of fence where the city guards like to spend their time. You warn Evelyn away from that spot—it always smells of pee, sweat, and rotted meat. Her manner relaxes as you talk, her head swiveling to take in everything. She looks with genuine interest at your clothes when you point out the weaver, even though she’s wearing one of the fanciest dresses you’ve ever seen—the embroidery on her sleeves is a duller shade of blue than your clothes, but the material is fine and thick. “Why do you sound like that?” she asks suddenly, interrupting your tour. “Like what?” “Like there’s two of you talking at the same time. It’s weird.” “It’s just the way we sound,” you answer with a shrug. “I mean, your voice sounds weird to me. It’s lonely.” <<include "1.30">>

But your dramatics don’t work on your mother and you end up leading your unwilling new acquaintance back toward the forested edge of camp. Your mother had asked you to show Evelyn around, but you really don’t want to. It’s your home. There’s houses. And people. Same as the rest of the city. There. Tour done. But as you continue in silence, you begin to wonder if perhaps it’s not so similar after all. The girl relaxes as you walk, the tread of her feet slows and softens. She swivels her head around to take in the camp, her expression curious and perplexed. You’ve never met a kid from outside the camp before. She’s wearing one of the fanciest dresses you’ve ever seen—the embroidery on her sleeves is a duller shade of blue than your clothes, but the material is fine and thick. She steps carefully over the broken cobblestones, taking extra care to keep her pretty little grey shoes out of the dirt. Noting the care she takes in her appearance, you warn her away from a section of fence where the city guards like to spend their time—it always smells of pee, sweat, and rotted meat. “Why do you sound like that?” she asks suddenly, interrupting your warning. “Like what?” “Like there’s two of you talking at the same time. It’s weird.” “//You’re// weird,” you snap back. “I didn’t mean-” She sighs and crosses her arms over her chest, mumbling something that sounds vaguely like “sorry.” You rub the back of your neck. “I mean, your voice sounds weird to me, too. It’s lonely.” <<include "1.30">>

She snickers and her lip quirks up. It’s not exactly a smile, but it softens her features. “How can a voice be lonely?” You don’t answer, you’re not even sure you understand it yourself. Her voice, every city-dweller’s voice for that matter, is flat and blunt. Like a single, short note plucked on a psaltery. No harmony, no accompaniment. Lonely. You continue past the spot where you sat with your mother earlier, eventually coming to a narrow, swiftly flowing stream. The steel fence crosses over a bend in the stream here, locking a small span within the confines of the camp. It’s only about 50 yards long, certainly nothing like the rivers in the elders’ stories. But it makes this small section feel worlds apart. “Momma says your voice is how you do your magic,” Evelyn says, looking at you from the corner of her eye. “Is that true?” “It’s not really magic.” You try to recall your mother’s words as you struggle to explain. “It’s more like… like listening. To the earth. And then we sing back to it. To keep it in balance.” Evelyn tilts her head at you, her brows drawn together. “What happens if it’s out of balance?” Huh. You’d never thought to ask that. “Can I see it?” she asks. “Or listen to it? Your song, I mean.” You nod. It would be good to get some practice in. <<nobr>> <<if $cordis is "air">> You raise your gaze to the clouds overhead, reaching out with your mind as your mother taught you earlier. As you do, you start to sing—no words, nothing complicated, just a merry little tune. A breeze picks up around you, tousling your clothes and lifting a handful of dead leaves from the ground and swirling them about. But the effort makes you drowsy. Your voice falters and the wind dissipates, dropping the leaves. <</if>> <<if $cordis is "water">> You focus your gaze on the stream, reaching out with your mind as your mother taught you earlier. As you do, you start to sing—no words, nothing complicated, just a merry little tune. The currents at the center of the stream shift and change direction. A small whirlpool takes shape, pulling a brightly colored fish into its wake. But the effort makes you drowsy. Your voice falters and the waters settle back to their original flow. <</if>> <<if $cordis is "earth">> You focus your gaze on the dirt beneath your feet, reaching out with your mind as your mother taught you earlier. As you do, you start to sing—no words, nothing complicated, just a merry little tune. The ground between you and Evelyn shakes mildly, enough to cause several small pebbles to roll into the stream. But the effort makes you drowsy. Your voice falters and the ground settles, the rocks rolling to a stop. <</if>> <<if $cordis is "fire">> <<if $averse is false>> You glance around, unsure how to proceed. There’s no fire to manipulate here. You suppose you can warm your hands and touch her. You wiggle your fingers and start to sing—no words, nothing complicated, just a merry little tune. Your hand warms, a pleasant, comforting sensation that you’re eager to share. You clamp your hand around Evelyn’s wrist, partially over the cuff of her sleeve—you can feel her pulse jump, feel every imperfection in the stitched lace of her sleeve. Her eyes widen as your warmth spreads to her. But the effort makes you drowsy. Your voice falters and you drop your hand, the warmth gone. <</if>> <<if $averse is true>> You glance around, unsure how to proceed. There’s no fire to manipulate here. You suppose you could warm your hands and touch her. Skin on skin contact has always felt uncomfortable, but you can avoid it in this case. You close your hand into a fist and start to sing—no words, nothing complicated, just a merry little tune. Your hand warms, a pleasant, comforting sensation that eases your dread somewhat. You gulp down your discomfort and touch your knuckles to Evelyn’s arm. Her eyes widen as she feels the warmth even through the thick folds of her gown. But the effort makes you drowsy. Your voice falters and you drop your hand, the warmth gone. <</if>> <</if>> <</nobr>> “Whoa,” Evelyn breathes. Her eyes are brighter back here near the trees, wide and innocent when she regards you. She looks younger and kindlier than she did before. “Neat!” She crouches down by a clump of purple irises at the water’s edge, taking care to keep her gown dry. “I like it over here. The rest of your camp is dirty and smells funny.” “Does it?” You never gave it much thought. You scrunch your nose and look back in the direction of camp. “Of course it does, it-” She looks up at you and stops, her expression shifting from disgust to confusion. “You really never noticed?” You shake your head. She stands, her gaze roving from you to the flowers to the camp behind you. “You’ve never been outside the camp, have you?” she asks. ---- [[You shake your head. “No, but I’ve always wanted to. I want to see the rest of the city, and all the places the elders talk about. Big cities with lots of people and machines.”|1.31][$social to Math.clamp($social + 5, 0, 100)]] [[You shake your head. “No, but I’ve always wanted to. I want to see all the places the elders talk about, like the mountains and the ocean. And all kinds of plants and animals.”|1.32]] [[You shake your head. “No, I can’t, but I don’t want to anyway. The city is too loud and too… big.”|1.33][$social to Math.clamp($social - 5, 0, 100)]] [[You shake your head. “No, why would I? Momma and my friends and the elders are all here.”|1.34]]

But she doesn’t react to your silent plea, or it simply doesn’t work on her. Either way, you end up leading your unwilling new acquaintance back toward the forested edge of camp. Your mother had asked you to show her around, but you’re not sure what a girl like this would find interesting. So you walk in silence. Her manner begins to relax, the tread of her feet softening. She swivels her head around to take in the camp, her expression curious and perplexed. You’ve never met a kid from outside the camp before. She’s wearing one of the fanciest dresses you’ve ever seen—the embroidery on her sleeves is a duller shade of blue than your clothes, but the material is fine and thick. She steps carefully over the broken cobblestones, taking extra care to keep her pretty little grey shoes out of the dirt. Noting the care she takes in her appearance, you warn her away from a section of fence where the city guards like to spend their time—it always smells of pee, sweat, and rotted meat. “Why do you sound like that?” she asks suddenly, interrupting your warning. “Like what?” “Like there’s two of you talking at the same time. It’s weird.” “I’m not weird,” you mumble, looking down. “I didn’t say-” She sighs and crosses her arms over her chest, mumbling something that sounds vaguely like “sorry.” You rub the back of your neck. “I mean, your voice sounds weird to me, too. It’s lonely.” <<include "1.30">>

[[You’ve always been hypersensitive to touch, welcoming close contact with others. You enjoy distinguishing the textures of objects, the warmth of a living body. Knowing now that you’re fire-attuned, it makes sense.|1.13][$averse = false]] [[You’ve always been hypersensitive to touch, flinching from prolonged contact with others. Tactile sensations often feel grating and chafing. Knowing now that you’re fire-attuned, it makes sense.|1.13][$averse = true]] * Note: This option enables some sensory-related touch-aversion. It does not automatically preclude you from intimate encounters. You will always have a choice.

Evelyn’s eyes light up at your admission and she smiles for the first time since you’ve met her. “We used to live near the ocean. From our hill you could see the navy ships coming in and out. Oh, but Acamera is much nicer than my old city! I live in the Caelian Quarter and the houses there are so pretty. And I go to tea parties and the theater and there’s dancing…” Her voice trails off and she sighs wistfully. “I would love to show you.” “But I’m not allowed to leave camp,” you sigh. <<include "1.35">>

Evelyn offers a tentative smile, the first such gesture you’ve seen since meeting her. “Oh, but there’s so much you can do in Acamera, it’s a lovely city! I live in the Caelian Quarter and the houses there are so pretty. And I go to tea parties and the theater and there’s dancing…” Her voice trails off and she sighs wistfully. “I would love to show you.” You shrug absently. “Even if I wanted to go, I can’t leave the camp.” <<include "1.35">>

Evelyn offers a tentative smile, the first such gesture you’ve seen since meeting her. “Oh, but there’s so much you can do in Acamera, it’s a lovely city! I live in the Caelian Quarter and the houses there are so big and pretty. And I go to tea parties and the theater and there’s dancing…” Her voice trails off and she sighs wistfully. “I would love to show you.” You shrug absently. “Even if I wanted to go, I can’t leave the camp.” <<include "1.35">>

Evelyn’s eyes light up at your admission and she smiles for the first time since you’ve met her. “Oh, Acamera is lovely! It’s much bigger than the last city we lived in. I live in the Caelian Quarter and the houses there are so pretty. And I go to tea parties and the theater and there’s dancing…” Her voice trails off and she sighs wistfully. “I would love to show you.” “But I’m not allowed to leave camp,” you sigh. <<include "1.35">>

“Hmm,” Evelyn hums and turns back to the flowers. She tilts her head to the side, then gasps. “I bet you could fit under there!” She points to the section of fence that crosses the stream. There are no fence posts on this span, leaving the water to flow unhindered through a gap below the fence line. The stream isn’t deep, but she’s right; you could probably squeeze under it. If you wanted to. “I could take you to one of the socials,” she continues excitedly. “Teach you how to dance.” “I know how to dance. We have dances here,” you reply. <<if $cordis is "air">>\ You’re an excellent dancer and you know it. Your mother used to joke that you learned to dance before you learned to walk. You’ve always been able to keep up at the evening dances, your movements as quick and graceful as any adult’s. Knowing now that you’re air-attuned, it makes sense. <<else>>\ Well, half of that is true. Your people do enjoy dances around the bonfire most nights, but you’re not as skilled at dancing as the air-attuned Iredicci. You enjoy watching them, their movements quick and graceful. You’re happy enough just bouncing around them, no matter how many times you stumble. <</if>>\ “Do you?” she asks, her voice eager. “I’d love to see them.” The two of you spend the rest of the late afternoon talking, comparing everything from dances to meals to friends. Everything in her life sounds fancy. She says it’s because her mother is very important and good at her job, and that she and her family were invited to Acamera because of it. Evelyn is more at ease when she speaks of the city, and it’s obvious how much she likes it here. The sun is low in the sky when your mothers find you. Evelyn happily waves good-bye, her demeanor much friendlier than when you first met. “It seems like you were able to get along after all,” your mother notes as you walk home. “How do you like Evelyn?” ---- [[“Assai, I like her very much!” you answer excitedly. You really did have fun today.|1.36][$eva to Math.clamp($eva + 10, 0, 100)]] [[“She’s nice,” you answer casually. You wouldn’t mind spending more time with her.|1.37][$eva to Math.clamp($eva + 5, 0, 100)]] [[“She’s okay, I guess,” you answer with a shrug. Today was weird, but you suppose you had a little fun.|1.38][$eva to Math.clamp($eva - 5, 0, 100)]] [[“I don’t like her,” you answer sharply. “She’s bossy and pushy.” You have no desire to see her again.|1.39][$eva to Math.clamp($eva - 10, 0, 100)]]

“I’m glad to hear it ,” your mother replies. “Her mother and I will be working together in the future, and I’m sure she’ll bring Evelyn with her again. It’s good for you to speak to someone from outside the camp.” You return to the center of camp just as the sun sets, the darkness broken by several gas lamps hung precariously from tin roofs and street posts. There’s no bonfire or dancing tonight, and the camp is quiet as everyone retires to their homes. ---- [[Next|1.40]]

“I’m glad to hear it,” your mother replies. “Her mother and I will be working together in the future, and I’m sure she’ll bring Evelyn with her again. It’s good for you to speak to someone from outside the camp.” You return to the center of camp just as the sun sets, the darkness broken by several gas lamps hung precariously from tin roofs and street posts. There’s no bonfire or dancing tonight, and the camp is quiet as everyone retires to their homes. ---- [[Next|1.40]]

“Well, that’s a start,” your mother replies. “Her mother and I will be working together in the future, and I’m sure she’ll bring Evelyn with her again. Hopefully, you’ll get to know each other a little better.” You return to the center of camp just as the sun sets, the darkness broken by several gas lamps hung precariously from tin roofs and street posts. There’s no bonfire or dancing tonight, and the camp is quiet as everyone retires to their homes. ---- [[Next|1.40]]

“I’m sorry to hear that,” your mother replies. “Her mother and I will be working together in the future, and I’m sure she’ll bring Evelyn with her again. You don’t have to be best friends, but you’ll need to be civil toward her. Can you do that for me, $birthname?” You grumble a begrudging response. You return to the center of camp just as the sun sets, the darkness broken by several gas lamps hung precariously from tin roofs and street posts. There’s no bonfire or dancing tonight, and the camp is quiet as everyone retires to their homes. ---- [[Next|1.40]]

Evelyn returned several times in the months after, sometimes with her mother and sometimes with her father—a tall, bearded, red-haired bear of a man named Jonah. The first time you met him you were shocked silent, your mouth hanging open like a gaping fish. He was easily the largest man you had ever seen; his wife looked like a toy doll beside him. A jagged scar crossed the bridge of his nose, and another trailed from his chin halfway down his neck, cutting a thin swathe through his beard where the hair no longer grew. He looked like a fearsome warrior out of one of the elders’ tales, the kind that didn’t exist in real life. But then he crouched down and smiled at you, the corners of his mouth creasing beneath his beard, his green eyes dancing. “You must be $birthname,” he had said. His voice was like hot cider, warming you from the inside, and it resonated despite only having a single pitch. “I’m very glad to meet you.” You liked him immediately. You learned he was a hunter, one of the best, if Evelyn was to be believed. He would be away from home for days at a time, scouting or hunting game in the outlying territories. Every time he returned he would share stories of his adventures and the places he visited. Evelyn always seemed bored of his tales, but you enjoyed listening to him speak. He would also bring back cured and dried meat for you and your mother. ---- [[You loved it! You would often walk around the camp with a stick or two in your pocket or hanging from your lips.|1.41][$food to "meat"]] [[You didn’t really like meat, but it was a kind gesture nonetheless, and your mother appreciated it.|1.41][$food to "veggie"]]

<<audio "iredicci" volume 0.2 loop play>> !Chapter 1 “Focus on the element in front of you,” a voice tells you. “Do you feel the heat from the flame? The breath of the wind? The solid cushion of the ground or the chill of the water?” Your nose itches. “Which of the elements calls to you, little one? Focus on that.” Your mother told you not to move your hands so you wiggle your lips back and forth in a vain attempt to ease the itch, but it only makes it worse. “Now, imagine there’s a string that connects you to your element. That’s the //cordis//.” Now your foot is falling asleep. “The //cordis// connects all of us—from the stones in the ground to the animals in the forest, to the sky, to me, and to you. It pulses, hums with the harmonies of all life. Can you hear it?” You can hear Tellus and the other kids playing nearby. They sound like they’re having fun. “Now, imagine your hand reaching out to the string. Can you feel it vibrate? Does it brighten as your hand draws near? Can you-” //Achoo!// Your head bobs forward as you let out a sneeze. You move your hands from your knees to the ground in front to keep from falling over. You blink and look up at your mother sitting cross-legged across from you. She lifts a thin eyebrow and smiles at you. “Bless you.” You and your mother are sitting on a small patch of dirt at the far northern edge of the camp. The forest wraps around the northeastern borders, while the sprawling city of Acamera stretches past the southern gates. This is one of the few areas not covered in cobblestone pavement and ramshackle houses. Your mother said it was easier to find your harmonies back here, your connection to the //cordis//, away from the noise of the city. And she was right—the clamorous din of voices is only a murmur here, the pounding rhythm of life merely a hum. ---- [[You miss the noise. The rowdy din of the city is exciting and fun.|1.0][$social to Math.clamp($social + 10, 0, 100)]] [[You like the noise. It’s a steady rhythm, grounding and soothing.|1.1][$social to Math.clamp($social + 5, 0, 100)]] [[You don’t mind the noise, but it’s nice to turn it off sometimes.|1.2][$social to Math.clamp($social - 5, 0, 100)]] [[You prefer the quiet out here, closer to the woods.|1.3][$social to Math.clamp($social - 10, 0, 100)]]

This morning you wait anxiously just inside the camp gate for Evelyn and her father. He had just returned from another hunting trip and you were certain he had more stories to tell. ---- [[But you are most anxious to see Evelyn again. The two of you have grown quite close.|1.42][$eva to Math.clamp($eva + 10, 0, 100)]] [[You want to see Evelyn, too, of course. Things had been a little awkward between you at first, but you now consider her a friend.|1.42][$eva to Math.clamp($eva + 5, 0, 100)]] [[If you’re being honest, you want to see Jonah almost as much as Evelyn. Okay, maybe more. Just a little. Like a smidge.|1.42][$eva to Math.clamp($eva - 5, 0, 100)]] [[You have no desire to see Evelyn again. How can a girl be such a brat with a father like Jonah?|1.42][$eva to Math.clamp($eva - 10, 0, 100)]]

As you wait, a scuffle to your right catches your attention. You see a man hunched over, his back to you. He weaves unsteadily on his feet and loses his balance, one knee dropping to the cobblestone. You take a step toward him but then he curses loudly and drops the flask he had been carrying. A brown, pungent liquid spills onto the street. Oh. Lorenzo. Lorenzo is Iredicci, but not like you. He never belonged to an accord, the wandering tribes; he was a city-dweller, born and raised in Acamera. There were a few others like him in the camp—Iredicci who changed their names and chose to live and work in the cities apart from the accords. They sounded just like you, but their song no longer touched the //cordis//. Your mother said it was like a tool, your song, and if it wasn’t constantly sharpened, it would grow blunt and useless. Some Iredicci chose not to sing anymore. She said it was always important to choose your own path, and it was brave of them to do so. But Lorenzo… he doesn’t look very brave. He looks angry and cross, always ranting about the regis and spitting out bad words you aren’t supposed to repeat. And he smells like that bitter liquid he always drinks. Tellus said he was angry because he used to be an important shopkeeper in the city. But then the soldiers took his shop and his money and everything, and made him come here. Lorenzo curses again and swipes up his bottle as he stands. He tilts it back and takes a long swig, rivulets streaming down his chin. He lowers the bottle and wipes the dirty sleeve of his tunic across his face. His bloodshot eyes scan the street and you quickly avert your gaze. He spies a cluster of three soldiers standing outside the gates, and his scowl deepens. He shuffles toward them and a feeling of dread creeps into your gut, making you queasy. You want to say something, to warn him away, but your feet remain firmly rooted to the spot. “$birthname!” Evelyn comes running through the gate toward you, her father loping calmly behind her. “Were you waiting for me? I wanted to show you my new dress! Papa bought it for me.” She twirls, the heavy, layered skirt barely rising above her ankles. “He bought it in Darissi. It’s a big city, but not as big as Acamera-” As she talks you look over her shoulder. Lorenzo is yelling at the three soldiers now, his voice slurred, the words caught on his tongue. You can’t make them out. But whatever he’s saying the soldiers don’t like it. They start to circle him, gesturing back toward camp. One soldier lays his hand on the sword at his side. “$birthname?” Jonah’s voice, low and concerned, grabs your attention. “What’s wrong?” You point over Evelyn’s shoulder and she and her father turn around. “It’s Lorenzo,” you say. “I think he’s in trouble.” Just then one of the soldiers punches Lorenzo in the stomach, and he doubles over coughing. Jonah turns to you, blocking your view of the scene with his large frame. “Kids, go to Unda’s house. Now.” “Papa, no, come with us!” Evelyn entreats. “It will be alright. I’m just going to help Lorenzo.” You hear muffled thumping followed by a pained cry, and a loud clatter as of something big hitting the ground. <<nobr>> <<if $cordis is "earth">> There’s a scraping sound, metal on metal, then an acrid metallic smell, like copper or rust. <<else>> There’s a sharp scraping sound, like metal on metal. <</if>> <</nobr>> Jonah fixes his gaze on you. <<nobr>> <<if $cordis is "water">> “$birthname, take Evelyn and go to your mother’s. Please, go now.” His mood, usually relaxed and gentle, is now urgent and grim. You sense fear in him—for Lorenzo, but for you and Evelyn, too. <<else>> “$birthname, take Evelyn and go to your mother’s. Please, go now.” His eyes, usually warm and kind, are now hard and grim. It’s an expression you never thought the gentle man capable of. <</if>> <</nobr>> Without a word <<nobr>> <<if $averse is true>> you grab Evelyn’s skirt, tugging her along as you race toward home. She protests as she struggles to run beside you, but she doesn’t pull away. <<else>> you grab Evelyn’s hand, tugging her along as you race toward home. She protests as she struggles to keep up with you, but she doesn’t pull away. <</if>> <</nobr>> ---- [[Next|1.43]]

You sit at your table, your hands clasped around a tin mug of ''<<cycle "$drink" autoselect>> <<option "mint tea with honey">> <<option "light wine">> <<option "grape juice">> <<option "apple cider">> <</cycle>>''. You swirl the mug around, watching the liquid slosh about but not really seeing it. “We should have stayed,” Evelyn snaps, glaring at you above the rim of her mug. Her voice is angry but the scowl on her face wavers, her hands shaking as she grips her mug. ---- [[You know she’s mad at you, and you feel guilty for pulling her away from her father. “I’m sorry, Evelyn.”|1.44][$eva to Math.clamp($eva + 5, 0, 100)]] [[You know she’s not really mad at you, she’s just concerned for her father. “He’ll be alright, Evelyn.”|1.45]] [[You know she’s not really mad at you, she’s just concerned for her father, but her attitude still rankles. “He told us to go. Stop being a brat about it.”|1.46][$eva to Math.clamp($eva - 5, 0, 100)]]

She bites her lip and lowers the mug, her eyes shifting uneasily from you to the table. “It’s okay. I’m not mad, I just…I’m scared.” She swallows down the last word as if it is difficult to speak. “Your father will be fine,” your mother soothes, her calm voice silencing the room. She lays her hand on Evelyn’s shoulder. “Didn’t you tell us he’s the best hunter in the city? Trust in that, little one. He will join us soon, I’m certain.” <<include "1.47">>

“You don’t know that!” she exclaims, her voice trembling. “What if he’s hurt? What if-“ “Adagio, calm yourself. Your father will be fine,” your mother soothes, her calm voice silencing the room. She lays her hand on Evelyn’s shoulder. “Didn’t you tell us he’s the best hunter in the city? Trust in that, little one. He will join us soon, I’m certain.” <<include "1.47">>

She slams her mug down on the table, spilling her juice. “I’m not-“ “Cesura, enough.” Your mother’s calm voice silences the room. She lays her hand on Evelyn’s shoulder. “Your father will be fine. Didn’t you tell us he’s the best hunter in the city? Trust in that, little one. He will join us soon, I’m certain.” <<include "1.47">>

As if summoned by her words, the front door creaks open <<nobr>> <<if $cordis is "earth">> and the metallic smell from earlier wafts over the room. You glance around, trying to identify the source, as Jonah steps through the doorway. His head is bowed, but with his impressive height he still manages to look down upon you all. His eyes are weary and his shoulders sag. There’s a swatch of dark red across the front of his green tunic that had not been there previously. Your hands tremble when you realize it’s the source of the smell. <<else>> and Jonah steps through the doorway. His head is bowed, but with his impressive height he still manages to look down upon you all. His eyes are weary and his shoulders sag. There’s a swatch of dark red across the front of his green tunic that had not been there previously. <</if>> <</nobr>> “Papa!” Evelyn exclaims. She jumps out of her seat and rushes to him, stopping abruptly when she sees his shirt. “I’m fine, my dear,” he says. He moves to pat her head but pauses, his stained hand hovering above her head before he lowers it back to his side. He swallows and meets your mother’s eyes. “The blood isn’t mine.” “Lorenzo?” she asks softly. Jonah silently shakes his head. Unda touches her fingers to her lips, then to her heart. You’ve seen her and others make the gesture when singing a dirge. “Dolore, he will be remembered in our songs,” she murmurs. “I’m sorry.” Jonah’s voice is a low rumble. Your mother smiles at him, but it’s strained at the edges. “It’s not your responsibility to apologize, Jonah.” She nods toward the window. “There’s a well around the side, if you need to wash.” Jonah thanks your mother and retreats outside. Unda pours herself a mug of mint tea, then another for Jonah. After his return the four of you settle into an awkward conversation. Jonah shares stories of his latest travels, but his voice is stilted, the tales less engaging than usual. Through it all Evelyn continuously interrupts her father, poking at his arm and asking to return home. When your drinks are finally finished, he relents. Evelyn scampers out the door with a quick wave to you, but Jonah pauses in the doorway. He studies you, his eyes somber and thoughtful, then he crouches down in front of you. “I was very proud of you today,” he says. <<nobr>> <<if $averse is true>> He lays a hand on your shoulder, lightly, but the weight of it is unbearable, vice-like. You can’t help but flinch. He removes it quickly and nods toward you. “My apologies. You are very brave, $birthname, in many ways.” <<else>> He lays a hand on your shoulder and squeezes gently. “I know you wanted to help. You are very brave, $birthname, in many ways.” <</if>> <</nobr>> He stands, and with a final farewell to you and your mother, walks out the door and closes it behind him. ---- [[Next|1.48]]

The night sky seems particularly dark tonight. Outside, the voices of your fellow camp members are raised in the dirge. You listen to the somber cadence—as some voices fade others take up the song, the tune drifting from house to house. There was no funeral or ceremony, not since the Iredicci had been forced into the camps. Your people used to bury their dead, their bodies returned to the earth, but that was not possible within the camp. Now when someone dies the soldiers take the body away, and your people sing the dirge from within their homes. You lie on your side on the thin mattress you share with your mother. You’re curled in a ball, your back to her. You try to steady your breathing, but your thoughts keep you awake. It isn’t the first time a member of the camp has died, nor is Lorenzo the first lost to violence. But his is the first death you witnessed personally. ---- [[It scared you.|1.49]] [[It angered you.|1.50]] [[It made you sad.|1.51]]

Even now, hours later, your heart still thumps wildly in your chest. The sounds, the cold expressions of the soldiers, the image of Lorenzo falling to his knees, all replay in your mind. The camp feels different now—the feeling of wholeness is broken, fraying like the threads of an old blanket. It leaves you confused, frightened, anxious. “I can tell you’re bothered, little one.” Your mother’s voice startles you. You roll over and find her watching you, her brown eyes creased in concern. You fiddle with the woven blanket covering you both, trying to give voice to your thoughts. “Why do the others hate us, momma?” She frowns <<nobr>> <<if $averse is true>> and sets her hand beside yours, close but not touching, and the nearness soothes you. <<else>> and closes her hand over yours, the familiar touch soothing. <</if>> <</nobr>> “Some people dislike what they don’t understand,” she tries to explain. “They like to place people into categories. It helps them make sense of the world, to feel safe and in control. When someone doesn’t fit into a category, it challenges their security, and they react without thinking.” She smiles at you and scoots closer. “But not everyone is like that, little one. There are people in this world who don’t hate, who accept all differences. People like Thaleia and Jonah. The world outside this camp is so vast, so complex, with all kinds of different people—kind ones, brave ones, creative ones. I hope one day you will get to see it.” You still can’t fully understand the hatred against you, but the knowledge that not everyone outside is like that is reassuring. It’s a nice thought, one that quiets your mind and allows you to fall into a restful slumber. ---- [[Next|1.52]]

You don’t even know who you’re mad at—the soldiers for killing him, Lorenzo himself for instigating them, or yourself for being too scared to do anything but run. What you do know is that the camp feels different now—the feeling of wholeness is broken, fraying like the threads of an old blanket. It leaves you confused, frustrated, leery. “I can tell you’re bothered, little one.” Your mother’s voice startles you. You roll over and find her watching you, her brown eyes creased in concern. You fiddle with the woven blanket covering you both, trying to give voice to your thoughts. “Why do the others hate us, momma?” She frowns <<nobr>> <<if $averse is true>> and sets her hand beside yours, close but not touching, and the nearness soothes you. <<else>> and closes her hand over yours, the familiar touch soothing. <</if>> <</nobr>> “Some people dislike what they don’t understand,” she tries to explain. “They like to place people into categories. It helps them make sense of the world, to feel safe and in control. When someone doesn’t fit into a category, it challenges their security, and they react without thinking.” She smiles at you and scoots closer. “But not everyone is like that, little one. There are people in this world who don’t hate, who accept all differences. People like Thaleia and Jonah. The world outside this camp is so vast, so complex, with all kinds of different people—kind ones, brave ones, creative ones. I hope one day you will get to see it.” You still can’t fully understand the hatred against you, but the knowledge that not everyone outside is like that is reassuring. It’s a nice thought, one that quiets your mind and allows you to fall into a restful slumber. ---- [[Next|1.52]]

You don’t know exactly why you’re sad. Lorenzo’s death was horrible, of course, but this anguish feels bigger than that, like something else died that day along with him. What you do know is that the camp feels different now—the feeling of wholeness is broken, fraying like the threads of an old blanket. It leaves you confused, heartbroken, empty. “I can tell you’re bothered, little one.” Your mother’s voice startles you. You roll over and find her watching you, her brown eyes creased in concern. You fiddle with the woven blanket covering you both, trying to give voice to your thoughts. “Why do the others hate us, momma?” She frowns <<nobr>> <<if $averse is true>> and sets her hand beside yours, close but not touching, and the nearness soothes you. <<else>> and closes her hand over yours, the familiar touch soothing. <</if>> <</nobr>> “Some people dislike what they don’t understand,” she tries to explain. “They like to place people into categories. It helps them make sense of the world, to feel safe and in control. When someone doesn’t fit into a category, it challenges their security, and they react without thinking.” She smiles at you and scoots closer. “But not everyone is like that, little one. There are people in this world who don’t hate, who accept all differences. People like Thaleia and Jonah. The world outside this camp is so vast, so complex, with all kinds of different people—kind ones, brave ones, creative ones. I hope one day you will get to see it.” You still can’t fully understand the hatred against you, but the knowledge that not everyone outside is like that is reassuring. It’s a nice thought, one that quiets your mind and allows you to fall into a restful slumber. ---- [[Next|1.52]]

//Five years later.// Evelyn and her family became regular staples in the camp. Most people in the city tended to shy away from the camp borders, so it was always a treat to see the Sideris family. Thaleia would bring tonics and herbal remedies she crafted to share with your mother, or oftentimes to get her opinion on them. Jonah often brought meat, fruits, candies, any food that could be easily smuggled away from the prying eyes of the city guards. Now 13, Evelyn was becoming a very pretty young lady. She always dressed immaculately, her gown and shoes out of place in the dingy camp. Her dark auburn hair had grown long past her shoulders, though she usually wore it pinned up with beads and lace. She liked sharing the latest news and gossip from her social circles with you, whether or not you cared to listen. From her you learned that the people in Acamera, and the empire as a whole, placed a great deal of importance on a citizen’s birth and background. Evelyn and her family are considered privilegiato, or the privileged class. They are respected citizens of the empire and apparently run in similar circles as the nobility, though without the fancy titles. Below them are merchants and tradespeople, the skilled workforce that produce or procure goods. It always struck you as odd that this class wasn’t more highly regarded, considering the need for their services. At the bottom is the working class: commoners and the poor. And below that is you, the Iredicci. You never gave it much thought. The classes within the city had little effect on life in the camp. Here, everyone had to pull their weight equally. Air-attuned Iredicci worked alongside earth-attuned to grow food in the small patches of farmable land you were allowed. Water-attuned worked alongside fire-attuned to weave textiles and clothes. With only a couple hundred of you, the camp was too small for anyone to be idle. When you weren’t helping with camp duties, you trained with the //cordis//. You became more familiar with your element, your senses more fine-tuned. Your mother encouraged you to meditate often; she said it would keep your mind focused and your body in harmony with the world around you. That isn’t to say it was all work and training. In your free time you dedicated yourself to your new hobby. ---- [[You enjoy drawing. Ink and quill are hard to come by in the camp, but you learned how to make paints with the dye the weavers use. The cobblestone streets are your personal canvas, much to the delight of all the children.|1.53][$hobby to "art"]] [[You learned to play chess. Jonah brought back a small wooden chess set from one of his trips and taught you to play. You realized quickly that you had a knack for the strategy of the game. Jonah was an excellent and patient teacher—you managed to beat him once, but you suspect he let you have that win.|1.54][$hobby to "chess"]] [[You love cooking; your mother is happy to let you take over the meals. Granted, the variety of food stuffs available to you is limited, but you become very creative with spices, cooking up gourmet meals with the most common of ingredients.|1.55][$hobby to "cook"]] [[You find solace in writing. If there’s no ink or quill, you use chalk, any tool you can write with. You started out writing song lyrics, then poetry. Eventually you were writing short fantastical stories that could rival even the most epic songs of the elders.|1.56][$hobby to "write"]] [[You can’t sit still for long, and prefer more physical activities. It’s not uncommon to see you running circles around the camp a dozen times a day, eliciting waves from the amused elders when you pass by yet again.|1.57][$hobby to "run"]]

One late afternoon you’re sitting cross-legged on the street in the center of camp, surrounded by a colorful variety of paint-filled jars. A wiggly gaggle of children about half your age clamor excitedly around you, watching you paint. They throw out suggestions and requests, and you happily comply. The atmosphere in the camp is exceptionally bright today. There’s to be a bonfire and dance tonight, the first in many months. The soldiers have taken to patrolling the camp streets in the evenings, more so than usual. They don’t seem to do much other than knock on doors, ask a few questions, and peer around homes. But the mood is noticeably different, tense. The dance tonight will be a welcome distraction. Plus, Evelyn and her parents have promised to attend tonight. While Evelyn has attended a few dances with you already, it will be the first for her folks, and you’re excited to see what they think. You put the finishing touches on the elongated feathers of a swallow’s tail and a bright laugh trills to your left. You look up to find Sylva, a young girl with springy blonde ringlets, staring at the picture in awe. “So pretty!” she coos. The girl looks up at you, her blue eyes wide with admiration. The gaggle of small heads around her nod in agreement. ---- [[“Thanks!” you exclaim proudly. You love hearing praise for your artwork, even if it’s from five-year olds.|1.53a][$social to Math.clamp($social + 5, 0, 100)]] [[“Thank you,” you murmur. The compliment is nice, but you’re simply happy making the art.|1.53a]] [[You smile and look down. You never know how to respond when someone compliments your work.|1.53a][$social to Math.clamp($social - 5, 0, 100)]]

One late afternoon you’re sitting at the dining room table, playing a game of chess with Tellus. He was eager to learn and is always open to a match with you. It doesn’t even seem to bother him when you beat him resoundingly every time. <<if $cordis is "water">>\ Not for the first time that afternoon you look up to find his eyes on you, rather than the game. Tellus smiles at you, that odd, wide-eyed, hopeful smile he’s been giving you a lot lately. You’ve always been friends but lately he’s been following you around more, giving you compliments at random moments. Yesterday he complimented the way you dug up potatoes. His emotions have been all over the place, too. You sense joy, anxiousness, embarrassment, and affection, all tangled together in a messy knot that’s been difficult to make sense of. <<else>>\ Not for the first time that afternoon you look up to find his eyes on you, rather than the game. Tellus smiles at you, that odd, wide-eyed, hopeful smile he’s been giving you a lot lately. You’ve always been friends but lately he’s been following you around more, giving you compliments at random moments. Yesterday he complimented the way you dug up potatoes. <</if>>\ It’s weird. “You’re never going to win if you don’t pay attention to the game,” you point out. You slide your bishop diagonally down the board and claim his knight. “I don’t mind,” he assures you, his grey eyes creasing as his smile widens. “I like spending time with you, $birthname.” You don’t really pay attention to his words and try to focus on the game. It’s difficult with the ruckus happening outside. The atmosphere in the camp is exceptionally bright today. There’s to be a bonfire and dance tonight, the first in many months. The soldiers have taken to patrolling the camp streets in the evenings, more so than usual. They don’t seem to do much other than knock on doors, ask a few questions, and peer around homes. But the mood is noticeably different, tense. The dance tonight will be a welcome distraction. Plus, Evelyn and her parents have promised to attend tonight. While Evelyn has attended a few dances with you already, it will be the first for her folks, and you’re excited to see what they think. But your excitement for the evening, plus the noises, make it difficult to concentrate. You hear elder Fulmen telling a group of children to hurry home for supper or they’ll miss the dance, followed by the excited squeal of young voices. It’s probably time for you to be getting ready, too. You smile and quickly hop your knight over Tellus’s few remaining pieces and claim his king, ending the game. “You win again,” he sighs, though it doesn’t sound like he’s sad. “You’re amazing. At chess, I mean.” You and Tellus stand and your friend helps you gather up the chess pieces. The board folds up neatly into a little box to hold them all, and you latch it closed. As he’s leaving, Tellus pauses in the open doorway, his hands burrowing in his pockets. He looks at you, his cheeks flushing beneath a scattering of freckles. “$birthname, I… um, I made you something.” He pulls out his fist and opens his palm. Inside is a long twine cord adorned with painted clay beads in vibrant hues of orange, yellow and red. The beadwork is a favored craft among your people. While this piece may not be as polished as that of a master’s work, you can tell that Tellus put a lot of time and care into its construction. ---- [[“Thank you, Tellus!” you chirp, slipping the beads around your neck.|1.58][$beads to "necklace"]] [[“Thank you, Tellus!” you chirp, slipping the beads around your wrist. The cord is long, so you have to double it up.|1.58][$beads to "bracelet"]] [[“Thank you, Tellus!” you chirp, slipping the beads around your ankle. The cord is long, so you have to double it up.|1.58][$beads to "anklet"]] [[“Uh, thanks?” You hesitantly accept the gift, slipping the beads around your neck.|1.58][$beads to "necklace"]] [[“Uh, thanks?” You hesitantly accept the gift, slipping the beads around your wrist. The cord is long, so you have to double it up.|1.58][$beads to "bracelet"]] [[“Uh, thanks?” You hesitantly accept the gift, slipping the beads around your ankle. The cord is long, so you have to double it up.|1.58][$beads to "anklet"]] [[You shake your head. “No, thank you.”|1.58][$beads to "none"]]

It’s late afternoon and you’re crouched over a plot of land in the community garden, helping to harvest and replant the crops. As you work you think about the meals you could make with these vegetables—roasted carrots with garlic and onion, turnip and leek soup… “I hate turnips.” You blink and look at the child beside you, a six-year old girl named Sylva. She scowls, her blue eyes narrowing to azure slits. You hold back a smile, not realizing you were speaking aloud. “Oh, but turnip soup is so good!” you encourage, nudging her shoulder. “Add some sweet onions, leeks, and green apples… delicious!” “That does sound delicious,” Tellus speaks up. He’s seated beside a raised bed across from you, his long legs folded awkwardly beneath him. “But everything you make is delicious, $birthname.” <<if $cordis is "water">>\ Tellus smiles at you, that odd, wide-eyed, hopeful smile he’s been giving you a lot lately. You’ve always been friends but lately he’s been following you around more, giving you compliments at random moments. Yesterday he complimented the way you dug up potatoes. His emotions have been all over the place, too. You sense joy, anxiousness, embarrassment, and affection, all tangled together in a messy knot that’s been difficult to make sense of. <<else>>\ Tellus smiles at you, that odd, wide-eyed, hopeful smile he’s been giving you a lot lately. You’ve always been friends but lately he’s been following you around more, giving you compliments at random moments. Yesterday he complimented the way you dug up potatoes. <</if>>\ It’s weird. “Oh, yes, the sweet breads you make are so good!” Sylva claps her hands together, her blonde ringlets bouncing around her face. The small gaggle of children around the other beds voice their agreement. “Can you make them again?” “Well, butter and eggs are hard to get, but I’ll see what I can do.” You bop her on the nose, leaving a small brown smudge on the tip. She doesn’t notice, and returns to happily playing in the dirt. Technically she and the other children are supposed to be learning to tend the crops, but they seem more interested in making soil sculptures. The atmosphere in the camp is exceptionally bright today. There’s to be a bonfire and dance tonight, the first in many months. The soldiers have taken to patrolling the camp streets in the evenings, more so than usual. They don’t seem to do much other than knock on doors, ask a few questions, and peer around homes. But the mood is noticeably different, tense. The dance tonight will be a welcome distraction. Plus, Evelyn and her parents have promised to attend tonight. While Evelyn has attended a few dances with you already, it will be the first for her folks, and you’re excited to see what they think. “We all appreciate your cooking, $birthname,” says elder Fulmen, striding up behind the children. “Your dishes bring much needed comfort to our little home. But shouldn’t you children be getting home for supper? It will be time for the bonfire soon.” He stands with his hands on his hips in what is probably meant to be a commanding stance. But when he has to crane his neck back to see Tellus, it doesn’t quite have the effect. Even so, the children scamper up and wave briefly to you before racing to their homes. You and Tellus finish your tasks before leaving. He insists on walking you back to your house, even though you assure him you’ll be fine alone. As he’s leaving, Tellus pauses in the open doorway, his hands burrowing in his pockets. He looks at you, his cheeks flushing beneath a scattering of freckles. “$birthname, I… um, I made you something.” He pulls out his fist and opens his palm. Inside is a long twine cord adorned with painted clay beads in vibrant hues of orange, yellow and red. The beadwork is a favored craft among your people. While this piece may not be as polished as that of a master’s work, you can tell that Tellus put a lot of time and care into its construction. ---- [[“Thank you, Tellus!” you chirp, slipping the beads around your neck.|1.58][$beads to "necklace"]] [[“Thank you, Tellus!” you chirp, slipping the beads around your wrist. The cord is long, so you have to double it up.|1.58][$beads to "bracelet"]] [[“Thank you, Tellus!” you chirp, slipping the beads around your ankle. The cord is long, so you have to double it up.|1.58][$beads to "anklet"]] [[“Uh, thanks?” You hesitantly accept the gift, slipping the beads around your neck.|1.58][$beads to "necklace"]] [[“Uh, thanks?” You hesitantly accept the gift, slipping the beads around your wrist. The cord is long, so you have to double it up.|1.58][$beads to "bracelet"]] [[“Uh, thanks?” You hesitantly accept the gift, slipping the beads around your ankle. The cord is long, so you have to double it up.|1.58][$beads to "anklet"]] [[You shake your head. “No, thank you.”|1.58][$beads to "none"]]

It’s late in the afternoon and you sit with your back against the fence line on the eastern edge of camp. Your legs are bent in front of you and your journal sits precariously balanced on your knees. A small bottle of ink sits on the ground beside you. You dab the tip of your quill into it and write furiously, your thoughts engrossed in your latest story. “Did you know you stick your tongue out when you write?” You glance over at Tellus sitting beside you and he quickly raises his hands. “Not that it’s a bad thing. It’s cute. I mean, you’re cute. No, wait, I mean it’s a cute thing to do…” He trails off and smiles at you—that odd, wide-eyed, hopeful smile he’s been giving you a lot lately. <<if $cordis is "water">>\ You’ve always been friends but lately he’s been following you around more, giving you compliments at random moments. Yesterday he complimented the way you dug up potatoes. His emotions have been all over the place, too. You sense joy, anxiousness, embarrassment, and affection, all tangled together in a messy knot that’s been difficult to make sense of. <<else>>\ You’ve always been friends but lately he’s been following you around more, giving you compliments at random moments. Yesterday he complimented the way you dug up potatoes. <</if>>\ It’s weird. You shrug. “I’m concentrating. I didn’t know I was doing it. Tellus rubs the back of his neck and turns his nervous gaze toward camp, where a few people are clearing a circular patch of land a few yards from you. The atmosphere in the camp is exceptionally bright today. There’s to be a bonfire and dance tonight, the first in many months. The soldiers have taken to patrolling the camp streets in the evenings, more so than usual. They don’t seem to do much other than knock on doors, ask a few questions, and peer around homes. But the mood is noticeably different, tense. The dance tonight will be a welcome distraction. Plus, Evelyn and her parents have promised to attend tonight. While Evelyn has attended a few dances with you already, it will be the first for her folks, and you’re excited to see what they think. Elder Fulmen is among the workers, and when he sees the two of you he smiles and waves. “Are you children excited for the dance?” he calls. You nod eagerly and clamp your journal shut. If they’re clearing the way, the dance will be starting soon, and you should probably be getting home. Besides that, the sun has begun to set and it’s difficult to see the words on the page. Tellus walks you home, even though you insist it’s not necessary. As he’s leaving, Tellus pauses in the open doorway, his hands burrowing in his pockets. He looks at you, his cheeks flushing beneath a scattering of freckles. “$birthname, I… um, I made you something.” He pulls out his fist and opens his palm. Inside is a long twine cord adorned with painted clay beads in vibrant hues of orange, yellow and red. The beadwork is a favored craft among your people. While this piece may not be as polished as that of a master’s work, you can tell that Tellus put a lot of time and care into its construction. ---- [[“Thank you, Tellus!” you chirp, slipping the beads around your neck.|1.58][$beads to "necklace"]] [[“Thank you, Tellus!” you chirp, slipping the beads around your wrist. The cord is long, so you have to double it up.|1.58][$beads to "bracelet"]] [[“Thank you, Tellus!” you chirp, slipping the beads around your ankle. The cord is long, so you have to double it up.|1.58][$beads to "anklet"]] [[“Uh, thanks?” You hesitantly accept the gift, slipping the beads around your neck.|1.58][$beads to "necklace"]] [[“Uh, thanks?” You hesitantly accept the gift, slipping the beads around your wrist. The cord is long, so you have to double it up.|1.58][$beads to "bracelet"]] [[“Uh, thanks?” You hesitantly accept the gift, slipping the beads around your ankle. The cord is long, so you have to double it up.|1.58][$beads to "anklet"]] [[You shake your head. “No, thank you.”|1.58][$beads to "none"]]

One late afternoon you’re finishing another run around the camp, Tellus at your side. Well, not entirely at your side—more like straggling a few steps behind you. He started running with you recently, and even with his long legs he has trouble keeping up. You assured him he didn’t need to come with you every time, but he always insisted. You glance over your shoulder and give him a quick thumbs up, trying to rally him for this last lap. His head bobs as he nods at you, trying to smile through his heavy breathing. <<if $cordis is "water">>\ You’ve always been friends but lately he’s been following you around more, giving you compliments at random moments. Yesterday he complimented the way you dug up potatoes. His emotions have been all over the place, too. You sense joy, anxiousness, embarrassment, and affection, all tangled together in a messy knot that’s been difficult to make sense of. <<else>>\ You’ve always been friends but lately he’s been following you around more, giving you compliments at random moments. Yesterday he complimented the way you dug up potatoes. <</if>>\ It’s weird. Behind Tellus trails a small gaggle of children about half your age. They joined on the last lap and are still sprightly and in high spirits. They laugh and bounce into each other as they try to follow you through the narrow streets. The atmosphere in the camp is exceptionally bright today. There’s to be a bonfire and dance tonight, the first in many months. The soldiers have taken to patrolling the camp streets in the evenings, more so than usual. They don’t seem to do much other than knock on doors, ask a few questions, and peer around homes. But the mood is noticeably different, tense. The dance tonight will be a welcome distraction. Plus, Evelyn and her parents have promised to attend tonight. While Evelyn has attended a few dances with you already, it will be the first for her folks, and you’re excited to see what they think. Elder Fulmen crosses the street in front of you and you slow your pace. “I see you’ve got yourself some shadows, $birthname,” he calls out cheerfully. You come to a stop, pressing your hand against your chest as you try to catch your breath. Beside you, Tellus bends over and plants his hands on his knees. You glance behind at your little following and grin. “They’ll be passing me in no time.” A few of the bigger kids in front puff out their chests. Elder Fulmen chuckles. “Well, you can’t grow big and strong without a proper meal. Shouldn’t you children be getting home for supper? It will be time for the bonfire soon.” He stands with his hands on his hips in what is probably meant to be a commanding stance. But when he has to crane his neck back to see Tellus, it doesn’t quite have the effect. Even so, the children wave briefly to you before racing to their respective homes. Tellus walks you home the rest of the way, even though you urge him to get some rest. As he’s leaving, Tellus pauses in the open doorway, his hands burrowing in his pockets. He looks at you, his cheeks flushing beneath a scattering of freckles. “$birthname, I… um, I made you something.” He pulls out his fist and opens his palm. Inside is a long twine cord adorned with painted clay beads in vibrant hues of orange, yellow and red. The beadwork is a favored craft among your people. While this piece may not be as polished as that of a master’s work, you can tell that Tellus put a lot of time and care into its construction. ---- [[“Thank you, Tellus!” you chirp, slipping the beads around your neck.|1.58][$beads to "necklace"]] [[“Thank you, Tellus!” you chirp, slipping the beads around your wrist. The cord is long, so you have to double it up.|1.58][$beads to "bracelet"]] [[“Thank you, Tellus!” you chirp, slipping the beads around your ankle. The cord is long, so you have to double it up.|1.58][$beads to "anklet"]] [[“Uh, thanks?” You hesitantly accept the gift, slipping the beads around your neck.|1.58][$beads to "necklace"]] [[“Uh, thanks?” You hesitantly accept the gift, slipping the beads around your wrist. The cord is long, so you have to double it up.|1.58][$beads to "bracelet"]] [[“Uh, thanks?” You hesitantly accept the gift, slipping the beads around your ankle. The cord is long, so you have to double it up.|1.58][$beads to "anklet"]] [[You shake your head. “No, thank you.”|1.58][$beads to "none"]]

<<if $beads is "bracelet">>\ Tellus’s grey eyes track your movements as the bracelet slides along your wrist. “You’re welcome,” he says, his voice cracking around the words. “I can’t wait to see you tonight, $birthname. I always look forward to seeing you.” His face reddens further and he turns quickly, tripping over his own feet as he rushes off. <</if>>\ <<if $beads is "necklace">>\ Tellus’s grey eyes track your movements as the necklace settles over your collarbone. “You’re welcome,” he says, his voice cracking around the words. “I can’t wait to see you tonight, $birthname. I always look forward to seeing you.” His face reddens further and he turns quickly, tripping over his own feet as he rushes off. <</if>>\ <<if $beads is "anklet">>\ Tellus’s grey eyes track your movements as you roll your foot, watching as the beads settle around your ankle. “You’re welcome,” he says, his voice cracking around the words. “I can’t wait to see you tonight, $birthname. I always look forward to seeing you.” His face reddens further and he turns quickly, tripping over his own feet as he rushes off. <</if>>\ <<if $beads is "none">>\ His expression falls. He turns away and rubs his nose with his sleeve. “Oh, okay. I’ll uh… I’ll see you tonight, $birthname,” he says, avoiding your gaze. He turns quickly, tripping over his own feet as he rushes off. <</if>>\ So weird. <<if $hobby is "cook">>\ You wash the soil from your hands at the well outside your house. You squint your eyes, searching for any errant dirt, and only then realize that the sun is beginning to set. You quickly dry your hands on your $attire and head inside, your excitement growing. Not five minutes later your front door opens and Evelyn pokes her head in. <</if>>\ <<if $hobby is "write">>\ You’ve just finished putting away your writing tools when the front door opens and Evelyn pokes her head in. <</if>>\ <<if $hobby is "chess">>\ You’ve just finished putting away your chess set when the front door opens and Evelyn pokes her head in. <</if>>\ <<if $hobby is "art">>\ You wash the paint from your hands at the well outside your house. You squint your eyes, searching for any errant stains, and only then realize that the sun is beginning to set. You quickly dry your hands on your $attire and head inside, your excitement growing. You’ve just finished putting your paints away when your front door opens and Evelyn pokes her head in. <</if>>\ <<if $hobby is "run">>\ You drag your feet through your front door and collapse in a chair. You’ve just finished catching your breath when the door opens and Evelyn pokes her head in. <</if>>\ <<if $eva gte 35>>\ “Eva!” you exclaim happily. “Hi, $birthname!” She skips into the room and sits down at the table with you. “Where are your parents?” you ask. “They stopped to talk to someone at the gates,” she says, waving her hand absently. “I just couldn’t wait to see you! I’ve been needing to talk to someone fun. I had to put up with Greta forever.” Greta is Thaleia’s latest apprentice, the daughter of servants for a noble house. You glance at the door. “Oh, is she coming tonight?” “No, thankfully, she went back home today. She always smelled like a chimney.” You sigh and level your gaze at Evelyn. While you can forgive many of her faults, her attitude toward her mother’s apprenticeship is frustrating. “Eva, your mother is doing a good thing. With the skills she learned, Greta can advance her class and improve her parents’ lives. //You// told me how important that is.” She averts her gaze and taps her fingers on the table. “I know, I know. It’s just… momma never has time for me when she’s with them.” Her voice grows softer with her final words, till it’s just a whisper. “Look, we’re going to have plenty of time together tonight, okay?” you urge, trying to cheer her up. Evelyn perks up immediately. “Then you can come with me to one of my socials next time!” You shake your head. “I can’t leave the camp, remember?” “So, we sneak out. Please? Pretty please?” She bats her eyes at you theatrically. You laugh and wave her off. “Fine, fine, I promise.” “Yes!” She exclaims, jumping out of her seat. “You can’t take it back!” <<else>>\ You glance at her, then glance away. “Hey, Eva. Where are your parents?” “They stopped to talk to someone on the way in,” she says, waving her hand absently. “I just couldn’t wait to see your welcoming face.” “Likewise.” She rolls her eyes at you. “At least you’re not dull. And you don’t smell like a chimney.” You look at her sideways. “Thanks?” “I’m talking about Greta.” Greta was Thaleia’s latest apprentice, the daughter of servants for a noble house. You glance back at the door. “Oh, is she coming tonight?” “No, thankfully, she went back home today.” Evelyn drops into a chair beside you. “I couldn’t stand her, she stole all of momma’s attention.” You cross your arms and level your gaze at Evelyn. You can’t stand her on a good day, but when she starts railing against her mother’s apprenticeship you lose your patience. “Eva, you’re acting like an entitled brat.” “I’m not-” “You are,” you cut in. “Your mother is doing a good thing. With the skills she learned, Greta can advance her class and improve her parents’ lives. //You// told me how important that is.” She averts her gaze and taps her fingers on the table. “I know, I know. It’s just… she never has time for me when she’s with them.” Her voice grows softer with her final words, till it’s just a whisper. “Maybe I should just go home.” “Uh uh, nope. Don’t drag your parents back home just because you’re feeling sorry for yourself.” Evelyn looks like she’s about to protest, but then a gleam alights in her eyes and you’re instantly on guard. “Alright,” she drawls. “I’ll stay, if you promise to come with me to one of my dances.” “I can’t leave the camp, remember?” “Then what have you got to lose by promising me?” she asks. She props her chin in her hands and narrows her eyes at you. “Okay, fine, whatever.” You roll your eyes at her theatrics. “I promise.” “Yes!” She exclaims, jumping out of her seat. “You can’t take it back!” <</if>>\ “Kids, come!” your mother’s voice calls from outside the house. “The dance is starting soon!” You and Evelyn scramble over each other as you race from the house. You find Evelyn's parents waiting with your mother, and together the five of you head for the eastern edge of camp. The homes here are more spread out, and there’s a wide circular expanse of broken pavement and dirt. Your mother and a few of the other earth-attuned step forward and begin to sing. <<nobr>> <<if $cordis is "earth">> You join them, the strength of your voice uplifting their song. A cleft begins to form in the ground. The dirt ripples, broken cobblestones roll out of the way, till a shallow pit remains. <<else>> A cleft begins to form in the ground. The dirt ripples, broken cobblestones roll out of the way, till a shallow pit remains. <</if>> <</nobr>> Dry wood and kindling are set inside the pit, and a young man comes forward with flint and steel to light the bonfire. None of the Iredicci in your camp are skilled enough to call a flame from thin air, but the elders have told you that it is possible. However, once the timber is lit, the fire-attuned help the flames grow more quickly. The fiery tendrils twist and flare higher, casting a warm, golden haze over the camp, beckoning all like moths to a flame. Your mother helps craft a dirt barricade around the bonfire to make sure the enormous blaze is safely contained. Jonah leaves with the elders to help them gather their instruments. Thaleia settles down on a soft patch of dirt a safe distance from the pit, soaking in the warmth. Evelyn twirls in place nearby, going through the steps of one of her fancy dances. The music will begin soon. You have time to speak to one or two people before it starts, but not everyone. Who do you wish to speak to? ---- <div class="choice">[[Evelyn.|VisitEva]]</div> <div class="choice">[[Thaleia.|VisitThal]]</div> <div class="choice">[[Jonah.|VisitJon]]</div> <div class="choice">[[Your mother.|VisitUnda]]</div>

<<set $visitedfriends to $visitedfriends + 1>>\ Evelyn twirls in place, her arms locked in front of her as if she were carrying something. She comes to a stop as you approach. “You don’t mind dancing without music?” you ask her. “Not at all!” she beams, spinning on the toes of her feet once more. “It’s so easy in your camp, nothing’s important here.” <<if $eva gte 35>>\ She stops abruptly and fixes her green eyes on you. “Wait, I’m sorry. That sounded bad. The stuff that should be important, well, that’s still important. But the other stuff isn’t, you know?” You lift an eyebrow and she huffs. She purses her lips and glances to the south, toward the city. “I mean, your people don’t care that my mom is friends with the contessa. Or that she can introduce them to the duca. Or how big our sala is.” You have no idea what a sala is but Evelyn is speaking faster now and you can’t interrupt. “You don’t care where I grew up and you don’t care where I dined last night. You really don’t.” She turns to you on a shaky laugh. “It’s annoying. Because the dances and the socials would be more fun with you there. Because you don’t care. Because the names and the houses aren't important to you. And we can just have fun.” She bites her lip. “Does that makes sense? I feel like I’m not making any sense.” <<if $averse is true>>\ You don’t answer her, but instead hold your arms up in front of you the same way Evelyn had earlier. Then you twirl, and her quizzical frown morphs into a grin. She laughs and copies you. “It makes sense,” you tell her when you both come to a stop. “Thanks, $birthname.” <<else>>\ You smile and hold your hand out to her. She looks at you quizzically but slips her hand into yours. You raise your arm and spin her about, and she laughs as she twirls. “It makes sense,” you tell her as she comes to a stop. Evelyn squeezes your hand before releasing it. “Thanks, $birthname.” <</if>>\ <<else>>\ You cross your arms and step back. “We’re not important?” She stops abruptly and fixes her green eyes on you. “No, wait. I didn’t mean it like that. I mean, the stuff that should be important, well, that’s still important. But the other stuff isn’t, you know?” You lift an eyebrow and she huffs. She purses her lips and glances to the south, toward the city. “I mean, your people don’t care that my mom is friends with the contessa. Or that she can introduce them to the duca. Or how big our sala is.” You have no idea what a sala is but Evelyn is speaking faster now and you can’t interrupt. “You don’t care where I grew up and you don’t care where I dined last night. You really don’t.” She turns to you on a shaky laugh. “But that’s why I like spending time you. Because you don’t care. Because the names and the houses aren't important to you. You don’t hang out with me just to get close to momma. You don’t pretend to be my best friend. It’s not important, not like that.” She bites her lip. “Does that makes sense? I feel like I’m not making any sense.” You blink. You had always thought Evelyn to be a spoiled brat. And maybe she is. But maybe that's not all. You don’t answer her, but instead hold your arms up in front of you the same way Evelyn had earlier. Then you twirl, and her quizzical frown morphs into a grin. She laughs and copies you. “It makes sense,” you tell her when you both come to a stop. “Thanks, $birthname.” <</if>>\ ---- <<if $visitedfriends < 2>>\ <div class="choice">[[Speak to Thaleia.|VisitThal]]</div> <div class="choice">[[Speak to Jonah.|VisitJon]]</div> <div class="choice">[[Speak to your mother.|VisitUnda]]</div> <<else>>\ [[Continue|1.59]] <<endif>>\

<<set $visitedfriends to $visitedfriends + 1>>\ “Good evening, $birthname!” she calls out happily as you approach. “You’re not dancing with cub?” You glance over at Evelyn. She’s managed to pull Tellus to his feet and is attempting to teach him the waltz. <<if $cordis is "air">>\ She had tried it on you once, up until the point you mastered the movements and danced the steps better than she did. That seemed to take away the appeal for her. <<else>>\ She had tried it on you once, but the movements felt mechanical and sluggish, as if you were dancing in water. Eventually she grew tired of your clumsiness and blessedly gave up. <</if>>\ “Why do you call her that?” you ask. “Ah, well. Seems I’m excellent at bringing other women’s babies into the world, but I’m rubbish at my own.” Thaleia smiles, though it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “Jonah and I tried for years to have children, but I could never carry to term. Eva was born too early—she was so small and frail, the doctors didn’t think she would make it.” Thaleia grins, her expression shifting back to its usual mirth. “But my little cub has a stubborn streak, and she was determined. Bear cubs are quite small compared to their parents, and often born premature. So, she’s my little cub, small but fierce.” “I always thought it was because Jonah looks like a bear.” Thaleia throws her head back and laughs, her entire body shaking with release. “He does look like one, doesn’t he?” She wipes a tear from her eye and gazes affectionately at her husband. “My big grizzly.” She turns to you, the firelight reflected in her brown eyes. “I know Eva can be difficult at times. It’s our fault, we spoiled her greatly. But I do believe you’re a good influence on her, $birthname. I’m glad you’re friends.” <<if $eva gte 40>>\ “Me, too,” you answer with a smile. <<else>>\ You wouldn’t call yourself “friends,” but you decide not to tell Thaleia that. You simply smile in response. <</if>>\ ---- <<if $visitedfriends < 2>>\ <div class="choice">[[Speak to Evelyn.|VisitEva]]</div> <div class="choice">[[Speak to Jonah.|VisitJon]]</div> <div class="choice">[[Speak to your mother.|VisitUnda]]</div> <<else>>\ [[Continue|1.59]] <<endif>>\

<<set $visitedfriends to $visitedfriends + 1>>\ Your mother nods as you approach, signaling her awareness of you. You listen to her as she finishes the last notes of her song. You’ve always enjoyed hearing her voice. It’s serene, weighted, like a familiar blanket. Your mother clenches her fist and the earthen barricade hardens, and her song trails off. “Excited for the dance?” she asks, turning to you. “I believe this is the first time Evelyn’s parents have joined us.” “Yeah, I hope they like it.” You glance over at Evelyn’s parents in time to see them share a pointed look. Jonah’s eyes crease as he smiles, and Thaleia’s eyes dance with the light of the flames. You turn away, feeling like you’re intruding upon something. Your mother follows your gaze and her smile deepens. “They are good people. I’m glad to know them.” “Are they //duette//, do you think?” you ask. “Can city-dwellers have that?” “Oh, anyone can have a //duette//,” your mother replies. “And your //duette// may not be another Iredicci. The city-dwellers simply don’t realize what they have because they can’t hear the //cordis//. It’s a private melody, known only to you and your beloved.” She nods toward Thaleia and Jonah. “But even if they’re not, it doesn’t lessen their bond. Affetto, their love for each other is obvious, and that’s what matters.” “Will I find my //duette// one day?” Your mother raises an eyebrow. “Do you want one?” You’d never really thought about it before. That’s grown up stuff. “Of course, you’re still young, you may change your mind as you grow. And that’s okay.” Your mother smiles. “Con amore, $birthname. I love you, and I can’t wait to see the kind of $pronoun6 you become.” You grin at her. “Con amore, momma.” ---- <<if $visitedfriends < 2>>\ <div class="choice">[[Speak to Evelyn.|VisitEva]]</div> <div class="choice">[[Speak to Jonah.|VisitJon]]</div> <div class="choice">[[Speak to Thaleia.|VisitThal]]</div> <<else>>\ [[Continue|1.59]] <<endif>>\

<<set $visitedfriends to $visitedfriends + 1>>\ Jonah is helping to carry instruments to a cleared patch of dirt by the bonfire. It looks like he’s got all of them piled within his thick arms at once. “Need help?” you ask, approaching him. He pulls a tambourine off the top of the pile and hands it to you. “Thank you for the help, $birthname.” You take the tambourine, then eye the massive pile still in his arms. You cock an eyebrow and he laughs. “You’re helping, believe me. That was unsteady at the top. Wouldn’t want it to fall and break.” You’re not sure you believe him but you shrug and walk beside him, tapping the tambourine against your thigh as you walk. “Do you not like animals?” you ask. “I like them very much.” He cocks his head at you. “Why do you ask?” “Because you hunt them.” “Ah.” Jonah nods in understanding. “I only hunt what I need to survive, or when I have to defend myself. Never for sport; don’t trust a hunter that does. I also don’t use traps, I find them inhumane. The best hunters, the good ones, believe in balance just like the Iredicci do.” “But we don’t fight,” you point out. “And I admire that about your people, $birthname,” he declares. “Fighting should always be a last resort, but sometimes it is necessary. To defend yourself, for instance. Or more importantly, to protect those you love.” When you reach the bonfire, the elders and other musicians begin removing the instruments one by one from Jonah’s arms, thanking him as they do. He assures them it was no trouble, then turns to you. “I could teach you the basics, if you ever want to learn,” he offers. You recall Evelyn telling you he was trying to teach her the bow. She whined about it for days. Your eyes flick to the sword at his side and you tilt your head. “Maybe. Can I think about it?” “Absolutely. Of course, we’d need your mother’s approval,” he says with a wink. ---- <<if $visitedfriends < 2>>\ <div class="choice">[[Speak to Evelyn.|VisitEva]]</div> <div class="choice">[[Speak to Thaleia.|VisitThal]]</div> <div class="choice">[[Speak to your mother.|VisitUnda]]</div> <<else>>\ [[Continue|1.59]] <<endif>>\

The first chords from a psaltery break the night air, beautiful and haunting. They’re accompanied by the fast, lyrical notes of a lute and a rebec. Then the rhythmic thumping of a tabor joins in, and you can’t help but tap your foot along to the driving beat of the drum. A few Iredicci raise tambourines to join in the music, others raise their voices, while others leap to their feet and start dancing. The tune is energetic and spirited, and it’s impossible to keep still with such a melody. <<if $cordis is "air">>\ You feel the //cordis// pulse around you and you let go, allowing the music to guide your motions. You spin and leap around the bonfire, your feet darting skillfully about. You sing as you move, your voice blending with the others in a fervent melody. You bend backward as you spin, your arms weaving above you like tendrils of flame. You can feel the air shifting around you, stirring your hair and clothes, buoying you, guiding you in a dance that is as effortless as breathing. As you spin you catch glimpses of the faces around you. Fulmen nods along to the music, gesturing excitedly at you while he speaks to the elder beside him. Tellus watches you with that mute, doe-eyed stare. Your mother smiles proudly, her hands clasped in front of her. Jonah and Thaleia both stare in wide-eyed wonder, their eyes following your deft motions. Evelyn stands slack-jawed as she watches you, and you can’t help but feel a flash of smugness. <<else>>\ <<if $social gte 55>>\ You’ve never been much of a dancer, but that doesn’t stop you. You stomp and jump around the bonfire, your arms waving frantically about like a bird learning to fly. You sing as you move, your voice blending with the others in a fervent melody. Your mother laughs at your antics but nods encouragingly. Tellus watches you with that mute, doe-eyed stare. Thaleia and Jonah clap along enthusiastically, while Evelyn gapes at you as if you were prancing about in the nude. <<else>>\ You’ve never been much of a dancer, nor very good around crowds, but you bounce in place on the toes of your feet. The beat is erratic and joyful, and you smile as you watch the dancers leap and spin around the bonfire. You hum along with the others, your voice soft but sure. <</if>>\ <</if>>\ Eventually, everyone is on their feet and dancing. You watch as Jonah effortlessly lifts his wife into the air and spins her about, her joyous shriek rising above the music. Your mother joins you at your side, laughing with careless ease when she missteps. Even Evelyn relaxes into the melody, her movements less structured. She grins at you when you catch her eye. You dance late into the night, the flames and your voices rising into the sky in rapturous harmony. ---- [[Next|1.60]]

<<audio "proelium" volume 0.9 loop play>>\ <<audio "iredicci" stop>>\ Several nights later, you’re sitting on the floor of your hut, trying to meditate but finding it unusually difficult. The //cordis// sounds off, somehow—the rhythm muddied, discordant, the voices in the city unusually shrill. Your mother went to bed early, complaining of a headache. You’re about to give up and do the same when another sound reaches your ears: a shuffling of feet outside your hut, as of someone trying to be silent but failing. You can also hear… water dripping? You turn to the window just as a familiar face peers into your room. “Psst, $birthname… oh! You’re awake!” Evelyn grins, her wet hair clinging to her cheeks. “That’s good. Come with me!” “What are you doing here? And why are you wet?” “I snuck in through the stream. Remember that opening we saw under the fence? It works!” She steps back and gestures excitedly. “There’s a dance going on next door to my house. You said you would come with me next time there was one. Come on!” ---- [[You clamber quickly to your feet, nearly tripping over yourself in your excitement. “Yes! Let’s go!”|1.61][$sneak = true]] [[You stand quickly and raise a finger to your lips. “Okay, but be quiet, or you’ll wake momma.”|1.62][$sneak = true]] [[You bite your lip and turn toward the bedroom you share with your mother. “I don’t know, momma’s not feeling well tonight. Maybe I should stay.”|1.63][$sneak = false]] [[“What? No, I’m not going.” You stand and place your hands on your hips. “Go away before you wake momma.”|1.64][$sneak = false]]

Evelyn bounces on the balls of her feet, waiting impatiently as you put your sandals on. Your head is starting to hurt and you struggle with the straps, but you eventually succeed. You rush out of the house and the two of you sprint toward the stream. <<include "1.65">>

Evelyn copies your gesture, the grin still plastered on her face, and waits for you to put your sandals on. Your head is starting to hurt and you struggle with the straps, but you eventually succeed. You slip quietly out of the house and the two of you head toward the stream. <<include "1.65">>

“She’ll be fine. She’s sleeping, right? The best thing you can do for her is to leave her alone and let her rest.” Well, that did make sense, and you //had// promised Evelyn you’d attend a dance. Plus, your head is starting to hurt and you’re in no mood to argue with her. You nod and grab your sandals and she grins triumphantly. You struggle with the straps, the dull pain in your head steadily growing worse, but you eventually succeed. You slip quietly out of the house and the two of you head toward the stream. <<include "1.65">>

Evelyn copies your stance and glares at you. “$birthname, you promised.” “Why do you even want me there?” “Just… because I do, okay?” Evelyn sighs. “You’ve never seen my home, it's only fair. We don’t have to stay long, alright? In and out. One song, one dance, and I’ll never bother you again.” “Ugh. Fine, okay, just keep it down.” You wish you’d never made that promise, but you can’t back out of it now. Plus, your head is starting to hurt and you’re in no mood to argue with her. You grab your sandals while she grins triumphantly. You struggle with the straps, the dull pain in your head steadily growing worse, but you eventually succeed. You rush out of the house and the two of you sprint toward the stream. <<include "1.65">>

“Aren’t these dances fancy? We’re going to be all wet,” you point out. “We can swing by my house first and change,” Evelyn replies. “Momma keeps extra clothes for all the kids she takes in.” Night has fallen but the light of the moon and the gas lamps shed enough light to see by. Plus, the camp is not big, and you know this path well enough you could find your way blindfolded. When you make it to the stream Evelyn turns to you. “Okay, now you’ll have to take a big breath and crawl on your belly,” she instructs, “as fast as you can.” She smooths down her skirts and it’s then that you realize she’s wearing a simple olive dress, nowhere near as fancy as her usual attire. Seems she had the foresight not to damage her expensive gowns. She steps into the water, which reaches above her knees. She makes a big show of drawing in air, then drops under the water and scurries under the fence. It’s rather impressive for a girl used to a sheltered life. When she’s halfway through you hear a large gasp and realize she’s come up for air. Then her feet kick forward and she pulls herself all the way through. “Your turn, $birthname! Just make sure you hold your breath,” she pants, noticeably out of breath. You can hear the tumble of rocks as she climbs up the stream bed on the other side. <<if $cordis is "air">>\ You smile to yourself. You have no fear of running out of air. You wade into the stream, smoothing down your clothes as Evelyn did. The water is cold and you quickly plunge under before you can have second thoughts. You claw your way over the rocky bottom, your shoulder blades brushing against the bottom of the fence. It’s tight, but you make it through with no trouble. <<else>>\ You wade into the water and take a deep breath. The water is cold and you quickly plunge under before you can have second thoughts. You claw your way over the rocky bottom, your shoulder blades brushing against the bottom of the fence. It’s tight, but you make it through with no trouble. <</if>>\ Evelyn clasps her hands together when you surface on the other side. “You made it! Okay, let’s go. We’ll have to be quick, my house is kind of far.” ---- [[Next|1.65a]]

<<audio "grief" volume 0.3 loop play>>\ <<audio "proelium" stop>>\ You wake up coughing, the sensation of smoke thick in your throat. “Momma, $pronoun5 awake!” A glass is raised to your lips and you feel the cool relief of water trickle down your throat. You wrap your hands around the cup and gulp it down, heedless of the water spilling down your chin. Once your throat feels better, you open your eyes. Thaleia sits on the bed beside you, her curls clinging to her damp cheeks. Has she been crying? Evelyn sits on a bed against the far wall, her gaze wide and anxious. Jonah stands in the open doorway, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides, his expression hard and unreadable. You sit up and look around. The bedroom you’re in is larger than two of your houses put together, and draped in coral and sea-green finery. The bed you’re lying upon sits high above the floor, and a thick, mint-colored blanket is tucked around you. “Where am I?” you ask, your voice hoarse. “You’re in our home, dear one,” Thaleia answers. She stumbles over the words and takes a deep breath before continuing. “Jonah found you and Eva down the street, thankfully, and carried you here.” Then it all comes rushing back to you—the terrified voices, the sound of gunshots, the sharp twang of strings breaking. The pounding in your head is gone, leaving behind a hollow, dull ache. It’s quiet—eerily, //wrongly// quiet. “Where’s momma?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper. Thaleia’s face crumbles, tears wetting her thick eyelashes. “$birthname, I’m sorry. The soldiers…” Her voice catches when she tries to open her mouth, and she lays a hand upon her collarbone. “The regis's army attacked your camp. No one survived.” ---- [[You blink and stare at her, struggling to comprehend her words.|1.67]] [[You squeeze your eyes shut and start to cry, large, choking sobs that rattle your whole body.|1.68]] [[You angrily throw off the covers and attempt to climb out of bed.|1.69]]

“They can’t… that’s not… momma can’t…” Strong arms encircle you, locking you in a tight grip that’s almost suffocating. Jonah kneels beside your bed, his arms enfolding you. You didn’t think a man that large could move that fast. “I’m sorry, $birthname,” he whispers. “I am so... //so// sorry.” “No, no, no,” you whisper, squeezing your eyes shut. Tears stream down your face, soaking Jonah’s shirt. He has your arms pinned at your side and your fingers claw desperately at his shirt. “That’s not possible. She can’t be dead. She can’t…!” <<include "1.70">>

Strong arms encircle you, locking you in a tight grip that’s almost suffocating. Jonah kneels beside your bed, his arms enfolding you. You didn’t think a man that large could move that fast. “I’m sorry, $birthname,” he whispers. “I am so... //so// sorry.” “No, no, momma!” you sob, your voice raw. Tears stream down your face, soaking Jonah’s shirt. He has your arms pinned at your side and your fingers claw desperately at his shirt. “No! No, momma… I can’t… she can’t… no!” <<include "1.70">>

“No, momma wouldn’t… I need to go to her.” Strong arms encircle you, locking you in a tight grip that’s almost suffocating. Jonah kneels beside your bed, his arms enfolding you. You didn’t think a man that large could move that fast. “I’m sorry, $birthname,” he whispers. “Your mother is dead. Everyone in your camp is.” “No, no, no!” you yell, your voice raw. Tears stream down your face, soaking Jonah’s shirt. You struggle against him but he has your arms pinned at your side, and you can only beat your fists helplessly against his belly. “No! No, momma… I have to go to her. I have to… she needs me. Momma!” <<include "1.70">>

But even as you rail against it, you know it to be true. The dull ache in your head, the hollowness of the //cordis//—it forces you to face the truth. Your mother is dead. Everyone but you is dead. You cry into Jonah’s shoulder until there are no more tears left to shed. Till you hear nothing but the sound of your heartbreak. Till the pain and grief overwhelm you and you fall into an exhausted slumber. ---- [[Next|1.71]]

<<unset $attire>>\ “$birthname, wake up.” A voice tugs at your consciousness, waking you from a dreamless sleep. Someone is shaking you, their grip so firm it verges on painful. You groggily open your eyes and find Jonah’s face hovering over yours. You open your mouth to speak and he places a hand over your mouth. But that’s not what silences you. It’s his expression—hard and severe, his brow furrowed in sharp lines, his eyes holding you better than his hand ever could. It’s the same expression he wore that day with Lorenzo. “Listen to me carefully, $birthname,” he whispers, his voice grim. “Don't speak, don’t move. When I release you, you will close your eyes and pretend to be asleep. No matter what you hear, no matter what happens, you must be still and silent. Your life, all our lives, depends on this. Nod if you understand.” The sound of voices downstairs distracts you. You hear Thaleia shouting indignantly, something about illegal searches and disturbing her family. A gruff voice responds, but you can’t hear the words because Jonah is squeezing your shoulder again, commanding your attention. “$birthname, you hear nothing. Do you understand? Be silent. Be still.” His voice is harsher now, rimmed with fear. Over his shoulder you see Evelyn sitting up in bed, her wide eyes shifting between you and her father. You meet Jonah’s eyes and nod. He breathes a sigh, then releases you and straightens. You close your eyes and force your breathing to calm, using the techniques your mother and the elders taught you. You hear Jonah’s retreating footsteps as he moves to Evelyn’s side of the room. Then other footsteps echo on the stairs, heavy with purpose. The footsteps enter the room, followed by Thaleia’s short but deliberate tread. “You can’t just barge in here and disturb the children.” Thaleia’s voice is indignant and strong, larger than her petite frame. “Who do you think you are?” “I have orders to search every house, domina.” A gruff voice, one used to giving orders and having them obeyed without question. A soldier. “Even those of our most respected citizens.” His tone bears little respect. A pause. “I thought you had only one child, domina.” “I take in orphans all the time to help with my work, everyone knows this.” Thaleia sighs tiredly, as if speaking to a child. “That one is deaf and mute, but a hard worker. Been with me a month now.” “Deaf and mute, you say?” the soldier asks, his tone disbelieving. “Yes, the lucky whelp doesn’t have to listen to your daft prattle.” As the soldier’s measured tread nears, you reach out with your senses the way your mother taught you, and you touch the //cordis//. <<if $cordis is "air">>\ You feel the subtle tremors in the air as the man leans over you. His movements are tense, cautious, the air vibrating around him in anticipation of… something. You feel rather than hear his breathing quicken. The air between you trembles when he opens his mouth and draws a deep breath. <</if>>\ <<if $cordis is "earth">>\ You feel the vibrations in the ground as the soldier approaches. His steps are tense, cautious, yet reinforced, as if he’s bolstering himself in preparation for… something. You smell the stench of sweat and blood on him, the perspiration coating his neck. It reminds you of petrichor, of the moist soil just before it rains. You smell his breath, tart and bitter, when he opens his mouth. <</if>>\ <<if $cordis is "water">>\ The man’s emotions assault you as he leans over your bed, as sharp and grating as a physical touch. He’s angry, tense, suspicious. Tiny droplets of saliva form and coat his throat in preparation for speech, but you can tell by the temper of his emotions that he isn’t interested in civil conversation. <</if>>\ <<if $cordis is "fire">>\ You feel the man’s body temperature rising, the heat enveloping your senses as he leans over you. He’s angry, tense, the blood rushing towards his muscles in preparation of… something. His cheeks flush, his heart rate increases. You can feel the heat of his breath when he opens his mouth. <</if>>\ You focus on the //cordis//, letting the harmonies envelope you like a weighted blanket, shielding and bolstering you for whatever is coming. He screams above your head, his voice loud enough to wake the houses on either side. Evelyn screams in fright and there’s a shuffling sound and a thump, as of a body hitting a hard surface. You don’t move, don’t twitch. You don’t react in any way. “What the devil is wrong with you?” Thaleia shouts. Her footsteps move to Evelyn’s side of the room and you hear her murmur soothing words before she turns her wrath back upon the soldier. “I told you $pronoun5 deaf, didn’t I? You bloody bastard! You trying to make us deaf, too?” “I had to be sure.” “The fuck you did! Are you saying you doubt my word? Me, the woman who delivered the conte’s child? Shall I tell him of your actions here tonight?” “My apologies, domina,” the soldier says, his voice decidedly less arrogant than it was earlier. “The regis wants to make certain no one is harboring the Iredicci.” “What he did to those poor people is unforgivable,” Thaleia retorts. Then she sighs, her voice steadying. “But even I know better than to disobey the regis. Now, if you’re done harassing my family, I demand you leave, before I report this indignity to the conte.” “Yes, of course, domina,” the soldier flusters. “Regis Andreano thanks you for your cooperation.” His footsteps retreat, his steps more hasty and clumsy than they were upon entry. You hear a second set follow him out of the room, soft and unassuming, and recognize Jonah’s tread. The room is silent. You keep your eyes closed, your breathing calm. Eventually, you hear the sound of the front door opening and closing, then Jonah’s steps returning. “He is gone.” The words drop from his throat like a lead weight. You open your eyes and catch only a brief glimpse of his somber face before Evelyn tackles you. “$birthname! That was awful, I was so scared for you!” Her voice is muffled into the pillow next to your head, the fabric damp with her tears. She clings to your neck as you struggle to sit up, her body trembling. Then you realize it’s not her that’s trembling, but you. You taste salty tears on your lips, feel your nails digging into your thighs. The panic and anxiety from the encounter rushes from you on a heaving sob. It mingles with the memory of pained voices, the smell of smoke and blood. Your vision blurs as the memory overwhelms you. “Oh, my poor dear.” Thaleia sits on the bed behind you and pulls you into her arms. “My poor $pronoun7. You did so well, so splendidly well.” She rocks you gently, and Evelyn, too, as she’s still clinging to you. “It’s alright, my darling. Cry all you want. Cry now, because tomorrow…” Her voice shifts and falters. “Well, we’ll worry about that tomorrow. It’s alright, my dear. Let it out.” You do, your voice resonating with your grief. But even in the midst of your sorrow, a worry niggles at the back of your mind—a vague awareness that your life, your self, everything is about to change. You cry harder. And as the empire wakes to the horrors that were committed during the night, the land cries with you. ---- [[Chapter 2|2.0]]

<<if $cordis is "fire">>\ <<if $averse is true>> The air is cold against your wet skin, your clothes chafing. You briefly consider warming yourself, but you don’t dare make a noise. You would be in //so// much trouble if caught outside of camp. <<else>>\ The air is cold against your wet skin. You briefly consider warming yourself, but you don’t dare make a noise. You would be in //so// much trouble if caught outside of camp. <</if>>\ <<else>>\ The air is cold against your wet skin, but it’s the least of your worries. You would be in //so// much trouble if caught outside of camp. <</if>>\ Evelyn leads you along the fence line for a bit. The trees begin to thin and clusters of stone houses dot the landscape. You dart from one to another, keeping to the shadows. Eventually the dirt path ends and the cobbled road begins. You reach the edge of the city proper and Evelyn turns down a side alley. The road gradually slopes upward and the homes on either side seem to follow the slope of the land, with tiered levels and columns of varying sizes. They grow larger and more elegant the further you travel. <<if $cordis is "water">>\ You would appreciate the architecture more if not for the pounding in your head. You squint your eyes, struggling to follow Evelyn’s form through the dizzying pain. What began as a dull ache between your eyes has grown to a pulsing sensation on either side of your head. The usual hum of the city is now frantic and jarring. You’ve never heard the harmonies so erratic. A cacophony of emotions assault your senses: rage, grief, doubt, terror. Too many, too loud to pinpoint where they’re coming from. <<else>>\ You would appreciate the architecture more if not for the pounding in your head. You squint your eyes, struggling to follow Evelyn’s form through the dizzying pain. What began as a dull ache between your eyes has grown to a pulsing sensation on either side of your head. The usual hum of the city is now frantic and jarring. You’ve never heard the harmonies so erratic. <</if>>\ You stumble and brace a hand against the nearby wall to keep from falling. Evelyn slows and glances back at you. “What is it? Why’d you stop?” “I don’t know, I…” You press a hand to your head and clench your teeth. “It’s too loud, I can’t…” “What’s too loud? I don’t hear anything.” An intense feeling of dread washes over you, like the feeling you experienced that day with Lorenzo, only much, much worse. You whirl around, your eyes frantically searching the streets behind you. The path you and Evelyn had taken was winding, and you can no longer see the woods nor the camp. “I need to go back,” you whisper, your voice cracking as you struggle to breathe. Your hands are trembling and you hug them close to your stomach. “Something’s wrong. I need to go back.” “Go back? But we’re almost home, it’s just up ahead-” The sound of a distant scream cuts her off. Then another. Then all you hear is noise. Voices raised in alarm, confused and frightened. The shouts of the guards ordering people back to their houses. The slamming of doors and the stomping of heavily armored feet on the cobblestones. More voices yelling, questioning. Sharp blasts of gunfire, followed by more screams. A glow lights up the distant horizon, rising where no sun should. Fire. You choke back a sob and race back the way you came. But the roaring in your ears is worse, blackening your vision. You stumble and fall to your knees. You feel hands grasping at you and Evelyn calling your name. You’re pulled to your feet and dragged backward, away from the glow, away from the camp. //Voices in your head, screaming, praying.// You try to pull out of Evelyn’s grasp but you can’t feel your limbs. Are you walking? Crawling? It doesn’t matter, you need to get back. //A roar, rending, thunderous, toneless.// The pain is so intense, dizzying. You can smell the smoke, acrid and suffocating. You cough, and vomit and spittle cling to your lips. //Strings writhe, snap, lashing the air.// Strong arms encircle you, too strong to be Evelyn’s. But she’s near. You can hear her sobbing, scared yet relieved. //A breath, choked, empty, then stilled.// A tall figure. A flash of red hair. Someone lifts you off the ground and carries you effortlessly. Then there is only darkness. ---- [[Next|1.66]]

“It’s beautiful,” Tellus says. He sits beside you, his long legs folded awkwardly beneath him. “You really are amazing, $birthname.” <<if $cordis is "water">>\ Tellus smiles at you, that odd, wide-eyed, hopeful smile he’s been giving you a lot lately. You’ve always been friends but lately he’s been following you around more, giving you compliments at random moments. Yesterday he complimented the way you dug up potatoes. His emotions have been all over the place, too. You sense joy, anxiousness, embarrassment, and affection, all tangled together in a messy knot that’s been difficult to make sense of. <<else>>\ Tellus smiles at you, that odd, wide-eyed, hopeful smile he’s been giving you a lot lately. You’ve always been friends but lately he’s been following you around more, giving you compliments at random moments. Yesterday he complimented the way you dug up potatoes. <</if>>\ It’s weird. “Lovely work as always, $birthname,” says elder Fulmen, striding up behind the children. “Your paintings bring much needed comfort and light to our little home. But shouldn’t you children be getting home for supper? It will be time for the bonfire soon.” He stands with his hands on his hips in what is probably meant to be a commanding stance. But when he has to crane his neck back to see Tellus, it doesn’t quite have the effect. Even so, the children scamper up and wave briefly to you before racing to their homes. You and Tellus stand and your friend helps you gather up your paints. He insists on carrying them back to your house, even though you assure him you can do it alone. As he’s leaving, Tellus pauses in the open doorway, his hands burrowing in his pockets. He looks at you, his cheeks flushing beneath a scattering of freckles. “$birthname, I… um, I made you something.” He pulls out his fist and opens his palm. Inside is a long twine cord adorned with painted clay beads in vibrant hues of orange, yellow and red. The beadwork is a favored craft among your people. While this piece may not be as polished as that of a master’s work, you can tell that Tellus put a lot of time and care into its construction. ---- [[“Thank you, Tellus!” you chirp, slipping the beads around your neck.|1.58][$beads to "necklace"]] [[“Thank you, Tellus!” you chirp, slipping the beads around your wrist. The cord is long, so you have to double it up.|1.58][$beads to "bracelet"]] [[“Thank you, Tellus!” you chirp, slipping the beads around your ankle. The cord is long, so you have to double it up.|1.58][$beads to "anklet"]] [[“Uh, thanks?” You hesitantly accept the gift, slipping the beads around your neck.|1.58][$beads to "necklace"]] [[“Uh, thanks?” You hesitantly accept the gift, slipping the beads around your wrist. The cord is long, so you have to double it up.|1.58][$beads to "bracelet"]] [[“Uh, thanks?” You hesitantly accept the gift, slipping the beads around your ankle. The cord is long, so you have to double it up.|1.58][$beads to "anklet"]] [[You shake your head. “No, thank you.”|1.58][$beads to "none"]]

<<audio "darissi" volume 0.3 loop play>> <<audio "grief" stop>> !Chapter 2 //5 years later// You walk through the streets of Darissi with quick, purposeful strides. Your hand rests on the satchel against your hip. Contained within are an assortment of sealed scrolls and correspondence waiting to be delivered. You enjoy your job as a courier. It may be an odd choice for a member of the privilegiato, but it’s a respectable profession, requiring both a knowledge of letters and a modicum of discretion. More importantly, your duties have allowed you to become familiar with the streets of a new city, to know which markets have the best deals, and which slums to avoid. You have a freedom you never knew as a child. Best of all, your job doesn’t require you to speak. Evelyn’s parents adopted you after the attack on your camp, claiming you were one of Thaleia’s apprentices from the orphanage. You all quickly learned that the horrific attack was not an isolated incident—every Iredicci settlement across the empire was razed that night. In the years since, Salestians began to refer to it as The Proelium, the fight to reclaim their land. Thinking of that word causes a familiar bile to rise in your throat. There was no battle, no fight. There was only slaughter. It was no longer safe for you in Acamera, where the soldiers regularly patrolled. Nor could you remain near the scorched shell of your camp. The pain was too raw, the silence too loud. So Thaleia accepted a position as midwife and healer for the town of Darissi, an inland port town at the confluence of the Krene and Javi rivers. These two waterways were the largest in the empire, and a great deal of merchant vessels traversed them. Darissi is located on the shores where the two rivers meet, making it a hotspot for news and trade. Darissi lacked the culture and social functions found in the larger cities, a fact which disappointed Evelyn when you first moved here. She was dismayed to find there were no other noble houses in the merchant town. Thaleia’s class as a privilegiato was considerably higher than most here, and while many treated her with respect, a few viewed your family with scorn. At the age of 17, every commoner child throughout the empire was drafted into the army to serve for three years; the children of nobles and privilegiato were exempt. It was a directive every family in Darissi had to obey—except for you. But no imperial soldiers were stationed here, thankfully. And no aristocracy also meant no direct ties to the regis. You focus on the now familiar streets around you. The port stretched for over a mile along the river’s edge. The docks were always busy, loud, an easy place to get lost amidst the hustle and bustle. The rest of the sprawling town sits on a higher slope. From here you have an unbroken view of the green river valley. Beyond the town the foothills slope gracefully upward before meeting with the distant mountains. The land is dotted in fir trees, rhododendrons, and wildflowers. A crisp breeze wafts down from the mountains, keeping your days warm and temperate, and your nights cozy and cool. ---- [[You love the beauty around you. You've tried to find happiness in your new life, but it’s bittersweet, knowing what it cost to be here.|2.1][$mercy to Math.clamp($mercy + 10, 0, 100)]] [[You miss the din of the big city. You long for more noise, more distractions—a clamor that can keep you from remembering.|2.3]] [[It’s too idyllic, too peaceful, like something terrible is lurking on the horizon. It's made you anxious, wary, and unable to fully settle.|2.2]] [[You hate how complacent everyone here is, how easy it is for these people to go on with their selfish lives while yours is in ruins.|2.4][$mercy to Math.clamp($mercy - 10, 0, 100)]]

!Credits This is my first foray into Twine SugarCube, which is very different from the Chapbook format of my previous work. Thank you to the following creators and your wonderful resources, without which I could not have written this. !!!Templates & Resources "Twine Template" by Vahnya (<a href="https://vahnya.itch.io/twine-template" target="_blank">here</a>) on Itch "The 100% Good Twine Sugarcube Guide" by manonamora (<a href="https://manonamora.itch.io/twine-sugarcube-guide" target="_blank">here</a>) on Itch "The Twine Grimoire" by Grim Baccaris (<a href="https://gcbaccaris.itch.io/grimoire-one" target="_blank">here</a>) on itch "A Quick Guide to Character Pages" by albie (<a href="https://gamesbyalbie.itch.io/character-page-tutorial" target="_blank">here</a>) on Itch !!!Character Art on Main Story Page The character art in both "Cantata" and my previously completed story "Viatica" are all commissioned works by the incredibly talented Isabela Zaneti. !!!Music The music is from several different artists on Pixabay. Dvir Silverstone (<a href="https://pixabay.com/music/folk-hopeful-optimistic-acoustic-gentle-warmth-277097/" target="_blank">here</a>) Lex D. (<a href="https://pixabay.com/music/horror-scene-horror-strings-4-153500/" target="_blank">here</a>) Dream Protocal (<a href="https://pixabay.com/music/modern-classical-stone-castles-moody-ambient-cello-111674/" target="_blank">here</a>) Amaksi (<a href="https://pixabay.com/music/modern-classical-sorrow-153980/" target="_blank">here</a>) Gregor Quendel (<a href="https://pixabay.com/music/classical-string-quartet-bach-brandenburg-concerto-no6-iii-allegro-bwv-1051-291793/" target="_blank">here</a>) Luis Humanoide (<a href="https://pixabay.com/music/main-title-clockwork-adventure-steampunk-music-with-melody-288524/" target="_blank">here</a>) Sergii Pavkin (<a href="https://pixabay.com/music/modern-classical-northern-lands-200187/" target="_blank">here</a>) ''RO Themes'' * Corinne's Theme: Zakhar Valaha (<a href="https://pixabay.com/music/main-title-anima-main-7426/" target="_blank">here</a>) *Calliope's Theme: Zakhar Valaha (<a href="https://pixabay.com/music/modern-classical-the-way-home-6674/" target="_blank">here</a>)  <center><<link "Return to game" $return>><</link>></center>

You’ve tried to accept your new life, to move beyond the sadness and pain. You’re immensely grateful to the Sideris family for taking you in and keeping you safe. But you would give it all back - the freedom, the grandeur - for even one more day with your people. With Tellus and Fulmen. With your mother. <<include "2.5">>

It was hard those first few years after The Proelium. You had trouble accepting Thaleia and Jonah’s love, or spending time with Evelyn. You had a deep fear that they, too, would be torn from you in the night; that if you dared to love, you would lose again. Jonah and Thaleia did their best to assure you they would keep you safe, that the worst was behind you. But that’s what the elders had once said of the camps. <<include "2.5">>

The docks are always loud with the voices of sailors and the clanking of cargo. The markets, too, are a hum of boisterous and charismatic voices, and you spend as much time there as you can. But the market stalls close up at night. And the docks are dangerous in the dark. It's in those moments of downtime that the memories return—loud and inescapable. You recall the dances. Tellus's gentle manner. The boisterous children. Your mother. <<include "2.5">>

It’s easier now than it had been five years ago, your burning hatred now cooled to a bitter ember. But it still rankles. Every time you see a child run to the open arms of their parent. Every time you see drunks singing boisterously in the tavern. Every time you see a merchant haggle over a handful of silver. It rankles. <<include "2.5">>

Your path takes you down the main street, leaving the business district with its notaries, banks, and merchant associations, and heading toward the more colorful street market. A strong breeze stirs the ''<<cycle "$haircolor" autoselect>> <<option "black">> <<option "dark brown">> <<option "light brown">> <<option "red">> <<option "auburn">> <<option "sandy blonde">> <<option "pale blonde">> <</cycle>>'', ''<<cycle "$hairtexture" autoselect>> <<option "straight">> <<option "wavy">> <<option "curly">> <<option "tightly coiled">> <</cycle>>'', ''<<cycle "$hairlength" autoselect>> <<option "short">> <<option "medium">> <<option "long">> <</cycle>>'' strands of your hair, ''<<cycle "$hairstyle" autoselect>> <<option "settling loosely around your head">> <<option "tugging a few free from your bun">> <<option "tugging a few free from your ponytail">> <<option "tugging a few free from your braid">> <<option "tugging a few free from your lace bonnet">> <<option "tugging a few free from your wool tricorne hat">> <<option "barely disturbing your multiple braids">> <</cycle>>''. As you walk deftly through the market stalls, shopkeepers and traders catch your eye and smile and wave. You’ve become something of a familiar oddity to the townspeople: the deaf and mute child of the local healer, magnanimously adopted from an orphanage. It had been surprisingly easy to pull off the ruse. That first year was difficult, training yourself not to react to loud noises, not to instinctually turn when someone spoke to you. You were always afraid of revealing your secret, but most citizens never questioned your disability. There was more prejudice against you for being an orphan turned privilegiato in a town of commoners than there was any suspicion over your heritage. You stroll through the market, a smile tingeing your lips as you peruse the stalls. You were in awe the first time Jonah brought you here. There are furs from the northern territories, fragrant spices and oils from the south, intricate jewelry and precious gems from the east, and of course, the luxurious silk and fine wool clothing popular throughout the empire. And color everywhere—in the textiles, the pottery, the gemstones. It reminded you of your camp and the beautiful works of your people. The market quickly became your favorite place in Darissi. You had no idea the world could be so vast, yet so familiar. It filled you with wonder, yearning, and a twinge of sadness. Was this the world your mother and father had known? You spy Lucia’s stall, a large canopied storefront draped in elegant linen and velvet. Lucia is one of the more talented seamstresses in Darissi. She runs a large shop in the business district, but operates a stall here in the market to be closer to the docks. She has an eye for detail and a talent for finding the most flattering cuts for her customers, including your own ''<<cycle "$height" autoselect>> <<option "short">> <<option "average">> <<option "tall">> <</cycle>>'', ''<<cycle "$build" autoselect>> <<option "slender">> <<option "lean">> <<option "athletic">> <<option "curvy">> <<option "muscular">> <</cycle>>'' figure. You yourself happen to be wearing one of her pieces: ---- [[A silk brocade gown with a heavy, multi-layered skirt, the epitome of court fashion.|2.5a][$attire to "fancy dress"]] [[A silk brocade gown, the skirt hiked up to your knees with some creative belt work, and fitted leggings underneath. It earns you some odd looks but you can move easier.|2.5a][$attire to "dress"]] [[A fitted doublet made of leather and colorful silk, worn over a linen shirt and fitted leggings, the epitome of court fashion.|2.5a][$attire to "fancy shirt"]] [[A loose fitting linen shirt and wool pants, tastefully made but easy to move and work in.|2.5a][$attire to "shirt"]]

As you finish with the vendor, Lucia steps out of the stall next to yours. Her black ringlets escape her bonnet as she gestures wildly with both hands, grabbing your attention. “I’m so glad I caught you…” You keep your birth name a secret, it being easily recognizable as Iredicci. You took on the Sideris last name, and changed your given name to: <<textbox "$alias" "Type name here">> [[View Suggestions]] “I’m glad to see you!” Lucia clutches at her chest. “Can you do a teensie, tiny favor for me, sweets?” You make a point of watching Lucia’s mouth as she speaks to you. Over the years you’ve managed to convince the townspeople that you can read lips. No one suspects the truth: that you’re not lip reading at all, but hearing every word. You raise an eyebrow and cross your arms over your chest, knowing immediately what she’s going to ask of you. All deliveries need to be coordinated and paid for in advance at the main office, but it doesn’t stop anyone from trying to weasel in an extra delivery when they see you. “I know, I know, don’t look at me like that,” she says with a laugh. She grabs a small, rectangular parcel wrapped in paper and twine. “I need this delivered to the harbormaster. He’s expecting it today but I can’t leave my stall unattended.” You pull a small journal and lead pencil out of your satchel and jot down a quick note, then hold it up to Lucia. //You know the rules.// “Oh, but if I miss this delivery it will cost me greatly! Please, I’ll make it worth your while,” she adds, grabbing her coin purse. ---- [[You smile and push the money pouch away, but pick up the parcel. Lucia has always been kind to you and you don’t mind doing this favor for her.|2.7][$mercy to Math.clamp($mercy + 10, 0, 100)]] [[You scowl and push the money pouch away, but pick up the parcel. You’ll make the delivery just to stop her whining, but you won’t be bought.|2.8][$cheer to Math.clamp($cheer - 5, 0, 100)]] [[You pick up the parcel and hold your other hand open, palm up. You’ll take her coin, but you’ll turn it in to the main office when you return.|2.9][$cheer to Math.clamp($cheer + 5, 0, 100)]] [[You pick up the parcel and hold your other hand open, palm up. Hell, you’re not above taking these Salestians for every coin they have.|2.10][$mercy to Math.clamp($mercy - 10, 0, 100)]]

“You’re an absolute treasure, you are!” Lucia clasps her hands together. “I’ll make you a fine scarf next time you come by the shop.” You’re heading in that direction anyway, and truthfully it’s no extra trouble. You stow the parcel in your satchel and continue making your way through the market. You stop at a few stalls along the way, distributing missives and envelopes as you go. <<include "2.11">>

“Well, no cause to be rude about it,” Lucia says with a huff. “I’ll remember this next time you need a favor.” You glare at her from beneath lowered lids and stow the parcel in your satchel. You’re heading in that direction anyway, and truthfully it’s no extra trouble. But she doesn't need to know that. You continue making your way through the market, stopping at a few stalls along the way to distribute missives and envelopes as you go. <<include "2.11">>

Lucia drops five silvers into your palm. “You’re an absolute treasure, you are!” she exclaims. You’re heading in that direction anyway, and truthfully it’s no extra trouble. You stow the parcel in your satchel and continue making your way through the market. You stop at a few stalls along the way, distributing missives and envelopes as you go. <<include "2.11">>

After the market, the main road breaks at a fork. One path continues straight on the high ground parallel to the river. The street is lined with colorful shrubs and row houses, bustling inns, fragrant taverns, and the local school at the far end. You can hear the children playing from here, though you can’t see them; they must be in the school yard in back. The second path veers downhill toward the river and leads to the docks, shipyard, warehouses, and the shipping guildhalls. It’s always a delight walking the pier and seeing the variety of ships moored there. You recall the first time you saw one unfurl its sails and depart. It was like watching clouds cutting through the land; you didn’t know where the sky began and the river ended. Most ships that dock in Darissi are smaller trading vessels like caravels, carracks, and galleys—easy to navigate and manned by a minimal crew. The larger imperial naval ships rarely traverse these waterways. Every now and then you see a steamboat, a strange vessel with a smoke stack and large paddlewheel. The recent oddity has had all the merchants clamoring in excitement. <<if $cordis is "air">>\ You’re about to take the path to the docks when a glint of gold stops you. You peer through the crowded streets, your keen eyes searching for the source. You see the bright flash again and you hear the terrifyingly familiar tread of armored feet. Your eyes settle on the deceptively decorative blue and gold armor, the cuirass emblazoned with a sun and lion’s head. <<else>>\ You start down the path to the docks when a commotion ahead stops you. You hear voices raised in excitement, see the townspeople ahead step quickly to the sides. As the road clears, you hear the terrifyingly familiar tread of armored feet. Your eyes settle on the deceptively decorative blue and gold armor, the cuirass emblazoned with a sun and lion’s head. <</if>>\ Imperial soldiers. It’s been five years since you’ve seen an imperial soldier. Why are they here? You step to the side along with the rest of the crowd and study the approaching soldiers. There are five of them: one leading the procession and four others keeping close to either side of the road. The one in the lead is older and more heavily decorated than the other four, his armor carved in finely detailed filigree. They walk in eerie unison, their heads held high, their gazes forward. Between them, in stark contrast to the austere soldiers, is a well-dressed older man and his young female companion. The dark skinned man has a neatly trimmed beard and kindly eyes behind a pair of wire-rimmed glasses. He lopes along with casual ease, the tip of his walking cane clicking against the cobblestones with each step. Beside him is a petite young woman you’d guess to be a couple years younger than you, possibly 14 or 15. She’s dressed in a colorful doublet and trunk hose, her dark hair bouncing about her head in multiple braids. She holds a copper sphere in her hands, and she twists the halves around as she talks animatedly to the man at her side. He, in turn, gazes down at her with fatherly affection. The pair must be important to have imperial soldiers as an escort, and you’re curious who they might be. You take a step back, closer to the buildings, giving the group ample room to pass by. As they come abreast of you, one of the young soldiers in the back flicks his gaze toward you. His eyes are a piercing pale blue, cool and cutting. They linger on you, like frost clinging to a pane of glass. ---- [[You stare back.|2.12]] [[You lower your gaze and stare at the road beneath your booted feet.|2.13]] [[You quickly avert your gaze, turning to look at the river instead.|2.14]]

His eyes hold yours for a moment. Then two. <<nobr>> <<if $cordis is "water">> Then his gaze returns to the front, an impenetrable expression on his face. His emotions are as flat as his expression, revealing nothing. <<else>> Then his gaze returns to the front, an impenetrable expression on his face. <</if>> <</nobr>> The small procession turns at the fork in the road, heading toward one of the inns in town. You turn swiftly on your heel and continue toward the docks. You finish the rest of your deliveries, even the extra ones, relatively quickly. It’s still mid-day when you leave the courier office and make your way home. The home you share with the Sideris family lies outside of town, higher up the hills and tucked back into the trees. It’s not visible from the main streets of Darissi, but a winding dirt path leads those who know the way. There were questions at first as to why the town healer lived so far away. Thaleia put those questions to rest by explaining the need to be closer to the flora of the woods for medicinal purposes, and space for her gardens. Of course, the real reason is you. The move had been difficult for Evelyn. She became fiercely protective of you, doting on you in and out of the home. She was a staunch defender against other children who taunted you behind your back for being “deaf,” giving them a tongue lashing that would make even her mother blush. But she could be overbearing, too. Evelyn took it upon herself to teach you court etiquette and proper manners. You understood it to be her way of retaining that lifestyle to which she had grown accustomed, to have something familiar. She wasn’t always a patient teacher, and became frustrated if you didn’t grasp a concept immediately. <<if $eva gte 35>>\ ---- [[You were close to Evelyn when you were younger, and the years since have only strengthened that bond.|2.15][$eva to Math.clamp($eva + 10, 0, 100)]] [[You were close to Evelyn when you were younger, but in the years since The Proelium, you’ve begun to drift apart.|2.15][$eva to Math.clamp($eva - 10, 0, 100)]] <<else>>\ ---- [[You were never close to Evelyn when you were younger, and the years since have only weakened your bond further.|2.15][$eva to Math.clamp($eva - 10, 0, 100)]] [[You were never close to Evelyn when you were younger, but the years following The Proelium have brought you closer together.|2.15][$eva to Math.clamp($eva + 10, 0, 100)]] <</if>>\

You wait till the sound of their footsteps has passed before raising your head. The small procession turns at the fork in the road, heading toward one of the inns in town. You turn swiftly on your heel and continue toward the docks. You finish the rest of your deliveries, even the extra ones, relatively quickly. It’s still mid-day when you leave the courier office and make your way home. The home you share with the Sideris family lies outside of town, higher up the hills and tucked back into the trees. It’s not visible from the main streets of Darissi, but a winding dirt path leads those who know the way. There were questions at first as to why the town healer lived so far away. Thaleia put those questions to rest by explaining the need to be closer to the flora of the woods for medicinal purposes, and space for her gardens. Of course, the real reason is you. The move had been difficult for Evelyn. She became fiercely protective of you, doting on you in and out of the home. She was a staunch defender against other children who taunted you behind your back for being “deaf,” giving them a tongue lashing that would make even her mother blush. But she could be overbearing, too. Evelyn took it upon herself to teach you court etiquette and proper manners. You understood it to be her way of retaining that lifestyle to which she had grown accustomed, to have something familiar. She wasn’t always a patient teacher, and became frustrated if you didn’t grasp a concept immediately. <<if $eva gte 35>>\ ---- [[You were close to Evelyn when you were younger, and the years since have only strengthened that bond.|2.15][$eva to Math.clamp($eva + 10, 0, 100)]] [[You were close to Evelyn when you were younger, but in the years since The Proelium, you’ve begun to drift apart.|2.15][$eva to Math.clamp($eva - 10, 0, 100)]] <<else>>\ ---- [[You were never close to Evelyn when you were younger, and the years since have only weakened your bond further.|2.15][$eva to Math.clamp($eva - 10, 0, 100)]] [[You were never close to Evelyn when you were younger, but the years following The Proelium have brought you closer together.|2.15][$eva to Math.clamp($eva + 10, 0, 100)]] <</if>>\

The sunlight reflecting off the river blinds you. You squint and look away—at the bonnet on the woman standing next to you, at the green hedges, anywhere but into those glacial eyes. You wait till the sound of their footsteps has passed before returning your gaze to the street. The small procession turns at the fork in the road, heading toward one of the inns in town. You turn swiftly on your heel and continue toward the docks. You finish the rest of your deliveries, even the extra ones, relatively quickly. It’s still mid-day when you leave the courier office and make your way home. The home you share with the Sideris family lies outside of town, higher up the hills and tucked back into the trees. It’s not visible from the main streets of Darissi, but a winding dirt path leads those who know the way. There were questions at first as to why the town healer lived so far away. Thaleia put those questions to rest by explaining the need to be closer to the flora of the woods for medicinal purposes, and space for her gardens. Of course, the real reason is you. The move had been difficult for Evelyn. She became fiercely protective of you, doting on you in and out of the home. She was a staunch defender against other children who taunted you behind your back for being “deaf,” giving them a tongue lashing that would make even her mother blush. But she could be overbearing, too. Evelyn took it upon herself to teach you court etiquette and proper manners. You understood it to be her way of retaining that lifestyle to which she had grown accustomed, to have something familiar. She wasn’t always a patient teacher, and became frustrated if you didn’t grasp a concept immediately. <<if $eva gte 35>>\ ---- [[You were close to Evelyn when you were younger, and the years since have only strengthened that bond.|2.15][$eva to Math.clamp($eva + 10, 0, 100)]] [[You were close to Evelyn when you were younger, but in the years since The Proelium, you’ve begun to drift apart.|2.15][$eva to Math.clamp($eva - 10, 0, 100)]] <<else>>\ ---- [[You were never close to Evelyn when you were younger, and the years since have only weakened your bond further.|2.15][$eva to Math.clamp($eva - 10, 0, 100)]] [[You were never close to Evelyn when you were younger, but the years following The Proelium have brought you closer together.|2.15][$eva to Math.clamp($eva + 10, 0, 100)]] <</if>>\

As the slate roof and stone walls of your casa come into view, you breathe easier, releasing the tension that remained since seeing the soldiers. Your home is considerably smaller than the palazzo the Sideris family inhabited in Acamera, but it’s far grander than anything you had known. Back in Acamera, Thaleia employed a few servants, mainly a cook and housemaid, but they were dismissed when you were adopted. As you approach, you see Thaleia at work in her garden. Her back is to you as she kneels beside a raised bed filled with yarrow, chamomile, and lavender. She talks to herself as she works, reciting ingredients and portions for her latest tonics. Jonah and Thaleia had taken you in whole-heartedly, not a word of discussion or reluctance. You know the change could not have been easy, the danger of harboring an Iredicci was a constant shadow over your lives. Yet they never uttered a word of complaint and treated you with the same care and affection they bestowed upon Evelyn. You step on a twig as you approach and Thaleia turns at the sound. When she sees you, her eyes light up and she stands. “Welcome home, $alias! How was your day?” She signs as she speaks to you. All four of you learned to sign. It was necessary to keep up the ruse that you were deaf and mute, not to mention a safe way to communicate. Your family uses it always as a precaution, along with your new name, to avoid potentially slipping up in front of others. You respond in sign language. You make an effort to use sign, even when you're alone with family, just to be safe. ---- [[You're happy to do it. You'll do whatever it takes to protect your new family, even if it means sacrificing your voice.|2.16][$mercy to Math.clamp($mercy + 5, 0, 100)]] [[You're happy to do it. You'll do whatever it takes to protect your new family. Truth be told, you've even begun to appreciate the quiet.|2.16][$social to Math.clamp($social - 5, 0, 100)]] [[You don't mind doing so, but you miss the sound of your own voice, the thrill of animated conversations.|2.16][$social to Math.clamp($social + 5, 0, 100)]] [[You resent having to sign—it's a constant reminder of the injustice against you. But you do it out of necessity.|2.16][$mercy to Math.clamp($mercy - 5, 0, 100)]]

You hear rumors of survivors from time to time, but you’ve never seen another Iredicci since that night. The thought makes you cling to your heritage even harder. You need to keep the song alive—for Tellus, for Fulmen, for your mother. You will not lose it. You must not. So you sing now, safe in the knowledge that no one can hear you. You add your voice to the melody as it surrounds you, pulsing with life. It energizes you, bolsters you, makes you feel capable of taking on anything. You know in your heart you are growing stronger. And that makes it worth the risk. <<include "2.21">>

You hear rumors of survivors from time to time, but you’ve never seen another Iredicci since that night. While you no longer sing, you do meditate as often as you can. It keeps the memory of your people alive—Tellus, Fulmen, your mother. You have lost everything, but you will not lose this last, tenuous connection. You must not. Even without singing you can still focus on the melody of the //cordis//. It pulses with life, gentle and affirming. It calms and centers you in a way nothing else can. It reminds you of the good moments, the happiness you felt among your people. It reminds you that you are not alone. <<include "2.21">>

<<if $hobby is "cook">>\ You remain in the greenhouse until the sun has set. Afterwards you make dinner for your family, which eases your stress and cheers you up a little. <</if>>\ <<if $hobby is "write">>\ You remain in the greenhouse until the sun has set. After dinner you spend some time writing in your journal, which eases your stress and cheers you up a little. <</if>>\ <<if $hobby is "chess">>\ You remain in the greenhouse until the sun has set. After dinner you manage to wrangle Jonah into a game of chess, which eases your stress and cheers you up a little. <</if>>\ <<if $hobby is "art">>\ You remain in the greenhouse until the sun has set. After dinner you spend some time drawing in your sketch book, which eases your stress and cheers you up a little. <</if>>\ <<if $hobby is "run">>\ You remain in the greenhouse until the sun has set. After dinner you take a leisurely walk through the gardens, which eases your stress and cheers you up a little. <</if>>\ <<if $hairstyle is "settling loosely around your head">>\ When it’s time for bed, you take some time to brush out your hair. Then you change into your sleepwear and climb into bed, pulling the warm coverlet up around your chest. You push the thought of the soldiers out of your mind and fall asleep. <</if>>\ <<if $hairstyle is "tugging a few free from your bun">>\ When it’s time for bed, you let your hair out of the bun and brush it out. Then you change into your sleepwear and climb into bed, pulling the warm coverlet up around your chest. You push the thought of the soldiers out of your mind and fall asleep. <</if>>\ <<if $hairstyle is "tugging a few free from your ponytail">>\ When it’s time for bed, you let your hair out of the ponytail and brush it out. Then you change into your sleepwear and climb into bed, pulling the warm coverlet up around your chest. You push the thought of the soldiers out of your mind and fall asleep. <</if>>\ <<if $hairstyle is "tugging a few free from your braid">>\ When it’s time for bed, you let your hair out of the braid and brush it out. Then you change into your sleepwear and climb into bed, pulling the warm coverlet up around your chest. You push the thought of the soldiers out of your mind and fall asleep. <</if>>\ <<if $hairstyle is "tugging a few free from your lace bonnet">>\ When it’s time for bed, you remove your hat and brush out your hair. Then you change into your sleepwear and climb into bed, pulling the warm coverlet up around your chest. You push the thought of the soldiers out of your mind and fall asleep. <</if>>\ <<if $hairstyle is "tugging a few free from your wool tricorne hat">>\ When it’s time for bed, you remove your hat and brush out your hair. Then you change into your sleepwear and climb into bed, pulling the warm coverlet up around your chest. You push the thought of the soldiers out of your mind and fall asleep. <</if>>\ <<if $hairstyle is "barely disturbing your multiple braids">>\ When it’s time for bed, you knead rosemary oil into your braids, then wrap them in a silk scarf. Then you change into your sleepwear and climb into bed, pulling the warm coverlet up around your chest. You push the thought of the soldiers out of your mind and fall asleep. <</if>>\ ---- [[Next|2.22]]

<<audio "proelium" volume 0.9 loop play>>\ <<audio "darissi" stop>>\ //It’s dark.// //Not dark like the night sky, or a dim room. But the cold, endless absence of light. There’s nothing.// //Nothing but the screams.// //All around you, in your head. An endless wail of voices you can’t escape. You recognize a few: Tellus, your mother. But the voices are empty and lifeless, like mirrored copies. Disjointed notes in a tuneless melody. They blend with other voices in a maelstrom of noise and anguish and horror.// //You try to move but it’s like running through water. The current resists you, swells around you, holding you in place.// //The screams grow louder. A distant red glow pierces the veil.// <<if $eva gte 35>>\ “$birthname!” Hands gently tap your arm, the incessant touch finally waking you. You blink your eyes as the dream fades and the reality of your bedroom comes into focus. Evelyn leans over your bed, her brow creased in worry. You realize belatedly that she used your real name—you can count on one hand the number of times she’s done that in the last five years. “You were having a nightmare,” she says, her voice trembling. “You wouldn’t wake up.” “Thanks,” you croak. You lick your lips. Your voice is thick, raspy from disuse, but you don’t have the heart to sign. Not after that nightmare. You push yourself up to a sitting position and lean back against the headboard. Evelyn hesitates a moment before sitting at the foot of your bed. “It was that nightmare, wasn’t it?” she asks, apparently willing to drop the signing as long as you are. You nod and squeeze your eyes shut. It was a dream you suffered almost nightly in that first year after The Proelium, though you haven’t had it recently. “You haven’t had that dream in a long time,” she muses, as if reading your thoughts. “Was it because of the soldiers today?” <<if ($cordis is "fire") and ($averse is false)>>\ “Probably.” You open your eyes and meet her concerned gaze. “I’ll be fine, Eva. I appreciate you checking on me.” You force a smile and lean forward to lay your hand over hers. You feel the warmth of her skin, the softness, and you realize you desperately need more of that contact. You tug her toward you and wrap your arms about her in a strong hug. She chuckles and pats your back, understanding your need for touch. “Well, of course,” she says matter of factly. “That’s what sisters do. I’m gonna go back to bed. You’ll be alright?” <<else>>\ “Probably.” You open your eyes and meet her concerned gaze. You force a smile and lean forward to pat her hand. “I’ll be fine, Eva. I appreciate you checking on me.” “Well, of course,” she says matter of factly, returning your smile. “That’s what sisters do. I’m gonna go back to bed. You’ll be alright?” <</if>>\ “Yeah, don’t worry about me. Go on, get your beauty sleep.” You eye her tousled hair. She never lets anyone see it till it’s brushed and plaited. She must have been in a real rush to come to you. “You need it,” you add teasingly. She sticks her tongue out at you. “Brat,” she says. There is no real bite in her voice, and her eyes crease affectionately. “Good night, $alias.” Then she leaves your room, closing the door behind her. <<else>>\ “$birthname!” Hands shake you roughly, fingers pressing into your shoulders. You blink your eyes as the dream fades and the reality of your bedroom comes into focus. Evelyn leans over your bed, her brow creased in worry. You realize belatedly that she used your real name—you can count on one hand the number of times she’s done that in the last five years. “You were having a nightmare,” she says, her voice miffed. “You wouldn’t wake up.” “I'd have woken on my own. Eventually,” you croak. Your voice is thick, raspy from disuse, but you don’t have the heart to sign. Not after that nightmare. You lick your lips, your throat dry. You push yourself up to a sitting position and lean back against the headboard. Evelyn hesitates a moment, then crosses her arms over her chest, choosing to abandon signing as long as you are. “Well, I can’t have you screaming in your sleep and alerting the neighbors.” “What neighbors?” “It was that nightmare again, wasn’t it?” she asks, ignoring your question. You nod and squeeze your eyes shut. It was a dream you suffered almost nightly in that first year after The Proelium, though you haven’t had it recently. “You haven’t had that dream in a long time,” she muses, as if reading your thoughts. “Was it because of the soldiers today?” “Probably.” You open your eyes and meet her sour gaze. “I’m fine, Eva. You don’t have to stay.” “Fine. Next time I’ll let you thrash around till you fall out of bed,” she pouts. She turns to leave, then bites her lip and looks back at you. “You sure you’re alright?” “Yeah, don’t worry about me. Go on, get your beauty sleep.” You eye her tousled hair. She never lets anyone see it till it’s brushed and plaited. She must have been in a real rush to come to you. “You need it,” you add. She rolls her eyes and sticks her tongue out at you. “Brat,” she says. Then she leaves your room, closing the door behind her. <</if>>\ You settle back down in your bed, your heart rate gradually returning to its regular rhythm. Your mind drifts back to the night you snuck out of camp, a memory you try not to dwell on. <<if $sneak is true>>\ You had snuck out eagerly, willingly, a decision that saved your life. You often wonder if you had hesitated, or said no altogether, what might have changed? Could you have saved your mother, or Tellus? Anyone? Maybe all of you could have escaped with Evelyn? Or would you all have died together? <<else>>\ You hadn’t wanted to go, Evelyn had to persuade you. You often wonder if you had hesitated longer, or not relented at all, what might have changed? Could you have saved your mother, or Tellus? Anyone? Maybe all of you could have escaped with Evelyn? Or worse, would Evelyn have perished along with you, trapped in the camp due to your indecision? <</if>>\ <<if $beads is "none">> You shake your head and rub your eyes. You will never have answers to these questions, and dwelling on them only makes you sick. You eventually manage to fall back asleep, though it is a restless, weary night. <<else>>\ Your gaze drifts to the dresser, atop which your beads sit on a glass plate. You throw your blanket off and climb out of bed. You lift the $beads in one hand and rub your thumb over the clay beads. There are faint whirls carved into each, dulled by constantly rubbing against your clothes, but still there. You can feel your anxiety lifting off you just by holding them, this last vestige of your people. You climb back into bed, the beads still clenched in your fist. You eventually manage to fall back asleep, the rest of your night blessedly free of dreams. <</if>>\ ---- [[Next|2.23]]

<<audio "venture" volume 0.1 loop play>>\ <<audio "proelium" stop>>\ The next day is exceptionally busy, and you don’t finish your deliveries till the sun has begun to set below the mountains. You hurry home, tired and hungry, when you spy a familiar figure walking up the road toward you. It’s the handsomely dressed girl from yesterday. You glance around quickly, your eyes scanning for the accompanying soldiers, but see no one. She appears to be alone. Her gaze is fixed intently on the metal sphere in her hands as she spins the discs around. Her hair partly covers her face but you can see her tongue sticking out between her pressed lips. She stumbles on a loose piece of gravel and the ball slips from her fingers. It rolls down the slope, gaining speed as it careens toward the docks. “Oh, codd stopper!” the girl exclaims, then takes off after the device. You pause, glancing around once more. Still no soldiers in sight. Where is her guard? It’s not safe to wander the docks at this hour, especially for those unfamiliar with the area. After a moment of hesitation, you quickly run after the girl. The metal ball rolls into the side of a warehouse and bounces off, disappearing down a side street with a loud clatter. The girl scampers after it, not even pausing to check her surroundings. You follow behind, turning the corner just in time to see her veer off down another side street further ahead. She’s heading deeper into the warehouse district. You pause and take a moment to look around. Behind you and further down the pier you see two men seated atop crates, an assortment of bottles littering the ground between them. You hear the metallic clang of the ball again and one of the men lifts his head toward you. You quickly duck down the side street, then make the second turn the girl had taken. You find yourself in a narrow alleyway between two warehouses. You step carefully through shards of glass and fragments of broken plywood littering the street. The setting sun is partially blocked behind the tall, cramped sides of the buildings. Several gas lamps hang from the rooftops, their light dimmed by a layer of soot. The ball clatters again somewhere ahead of you, then stops. You slow as you approach the end of the alley and peer around the corner. The girl stands at the far end, holding the metal ball. She examines it closely, running her fingers along a dent in its side. It gleams bright and gold in the lamplight, the sheen of the metal glistening like a beacon. Between you and she looms a third figure, a large man in a soiled tunic and mud encrusted boots. He creeps slowly toward her, and she, intent on her device, doesn’t appear to notice him. You don’t know whether his interest is the girl or the expensive looking object in her hands. Either way, this won’t end well. You look around. There’s a bottle at your feet and a wooden plank, broken off of one of the crates. ---- [[You pick up the bottle.|2.24]] [[You pick up the wooden plank.|2.25]]

Gripping the mouth of the bottle tightly, you quietly inch forward. The man is only a few feet away from the girl now. As if sensing his presence she finally looks up, her golden eyes widening. She opens her mouth to scream and the man lunges. You dash forward and swing as hard as you can, bringing the bottle down on the man’s head. The glass shatters and he falls to the ground with a grunt, unconscious, but breathing. You drop the remainder of the broken bottle down beside him, pausing to catch your breath. Then you raise your eyes to the girl. <<include "2.26">>

Gripping the plank tightly in both hands, you quietly inch forward. The man is only a few feet away from the girl now. As if sensing his presence she finally looks up, her golden eyes widening. She opens her mouth to scream and the man lunges. You dash forward and swing as hard as you can, bringing the wood plank down on the man’s head. It connects with a resounding crack and he falls to the ground, unconscious, but breathing. You drop the wood down beside him, pausing to catch your breath. Then you raise your eyes to the girl. <<include "2.26">>

She stares at you, her eyes wide as saucers. “Oh, my… gosh, that was amazing!” She springs forward, uncomfortably close, and you step back. “You saved me!” she continues excitedly, her voice echoing through the dark alley. “I couldn’t move, I think I was in shock. And you just came up and //wham//! That was incredible! I’m so lucky you were here. Do you live around here? I don’t, but I guess that’s pretty obvious. It was rather foolish of me to come down here. My name is Calliope-” You clamp your hand over her mouth. This girl has no sense of self preservation. She blinks and you raise a finger to your lips. She blinks again, then nods in understanding. You remove your hand and she whispers, still too loud for your liking, “Right, sorry. We need to be careful, huh? I’ll be quiet. My name is Calliope, by the way,” she repeats. You pull out your journal and jot down your name. “Your name is $alias?” You nod. “Wow, you’re serious about being quiet.” You swallow down the urge to smile and shake your head, tapping the fingers of your hand against your throat. She cocks her head to the side, then her eyes widen. “Ooh, you can’t speak?” You shake your head. Before she can respond you turn on your heel and head back the way you came. You gesture for Calliope to follow and immediately hear the scuffle of her feet. “That’s pretty clever, keeping a journal on you. One of my guards doesn’t speak much, they should carry a journal, too,” she continues chattering, her voice barely a whisper. “I really shouldn’t have left without telling my guards. I’m afraid I’m quite lost. Do you know the way back, $alias? $alias? $alias! Oh my gosh! Can you not //hear// either?” she squeaks. Her footfalls drop off but you keep walking. When you feel a hand on your arm you finally stop and turn. Calliope peers intently into your face. “Can you not hear, either?” she asks. You shake your head. “Wait, how do you know what I said?” You open your mouth and tap your index finger against your bottom lip. “Oh! You can read lips? That’s brilliant!” Calliope continues her prattle but your attention is pulled elsewhere. You hear the shuffling of feet behind you, two pairs, approaching from the alley you came from. They’re erratic, as if the owners were impaired in some way. It’s not the heavy tread of soldiers nor the thick booted soles of the dock workers, but someone trying to be as stealthy as possible. Your mind races, trying to think of a way to avoid them without revealing your secret to Calliope. But you hesitate too long and the pair turn the corner. Calliope’s eyes widen and she grabs hold of your hand. “$alias, watch out!” She tugs you forward and you stumble, spinning on your heel as you catch your balance. Behind you stand the two men you saw earlier on the pier. They weave from one foot to another, their expressions malicious and ugly. “Well, what have we here?” The taller of the two speaks and the smell of cheap alcohol hits you like a brick. “The inventor’s daughter,” his gaze shifts to you, “and the mute rat.” You don’t react, you’ve been called worse behind your back. “Get away from us!” Calliope yells. She hefts the copper ball over her head as if to throw it. “I’m warning you!” “Or what?” the second man sneers. “You gonna hit us with that, you spoiled-//Ow//!” The ball nails him on the nose and he staggers back, clutching his face. The first man turns his attention to Calliope and you kick him in the gut, and he doubles over wheezing. You grab Calliope’s hand and run, but you don’t get more than a few steps before she’s pulled backward out of your grasp. The man she hit, his nose now a bloody mess, wrenches her arms behind her back and shoves her against the wall. You move to help but the taller thug steps in your way, a dagger glinting in his hand. The man thrusts forward with the dagger and you quickly step to the side. You grab his arm and try to yank him to the ground, his momentum carrying him forward. He cries out and falls to his knees, twisting his body and lashing out wildly with his arms as he falls. You jump back to avoid the swinging dagger, but you lose your balance and fall hard on your back, knocking the wind out of you. <<if $body is "female">>\ “I’ll kill you, you mute bitch!” the man snarls through gritted teeth. He pounces on you, raising the dagger over your head. <<else>>\ “I’ll kill you, you mute bastard!” the man snarls through gritted teeth. He pounces on you, raising the dagger over your head. <</if>>\ <<if $cordis is "air">>\ The air shivers, as if something moves quickly past you. It’s your only warning. You hear nothing—not the tread of footfalls nor the shrill rasp of metal being drawn. One moment the man is crouched above you, his dagger poised to strike. The next, he’s on his back at your feet, clawing desperately at the open wound in his neck, blood flowing swiftly through his fingers. There’s a gurgle, a final gasp of breath, then his body stills. <</if>>\ <<if $cordis is "fire">>\ You feel the briefest sense of warmth, like a body moving quickly past you. It’s your only warning. You hear nothing—not the tread of footfalls nor the shrill rasp of metal being drawn. One moment the man is crouched above you, his dagger poised to strike. The next, he’s on his back at your feet, clawing desperately at the open wound in his neck, blood flowing swiftly through his fingers. There’s a gurgle, a final gasp of breath, then his body stills. <</if>>\ <<if $cordis is "earth">>\ An unfamiliar scent hits your nose, fresh and piney. It’s your only warning. You hear nothing—not the tread of footfalls nor the shrill rasp of metal being drawn. One moment the man is crouched above you, his dagger poised to strike. The next, he’s on his back at your feet, clawing desperately at the open wound in his neck, blood flowing swiftly through his fingers. There’s a gurgle, a final gasp of breath, then his body stills. <</if>>\ <<if $cordis is "water">>\ You hear nothing, not the tread of footfalls nor the shrill rasp of metal being drawn. One moment the man is crouched above you, his dagger poised to strike. The next, he’s on his back at your feet, clawing desperately at the open wound in his neck, blood flowing swiftly through his fingers. There’s a gurgle, a final gasp of breath, then his body stills. <</if>>\ You blink dazedly, then your eyes focus on the figure standing over the dead man. Blood coats the rapier in the figure’s gloved hand, the lamplight dimly reflected in his blue and gold armor. He turns to look at you, his blue eyes pricks of ice in the dark alley. Before you can manage a coherent thought, the man spins and lunges for the attacker holding Calliope. He moves like water, swift and unhindered. He makes no sound. How can he not make a sound? A slash of his arm, a gleam of steel, and the second thug is dead before his body crumples to the ground. Calliope sags against the warehouse wall, her round eyes wide in relief. “Dirk! Thank the stars you found us!” She scrambles over to you and helps you to your feet. “It’s okay, $alias. Dirk is one of my father’s guards. We’re safe now.” She turns to the imperial guard as you brush off your clothes. “$alias is my new friend, $pronoun1 saved me from another thug. Only, $pronoun1 can’t hear or speak, but $pronoun1 can read lips, so you have to look at $pronoun2 when you talk to $pronoun2, okay?” Calliope has her back to you, so you keep your eyes fixed on the soldier as she speaks. He’s surprisingly young, probably no older than you. If indeed 17, that would mean he's newly drafted into the army, but his sword skills give the impression he's been training for years. <<nobr>> <<if $height is "tall">> He stands a little shorter than you, the top of his head at eye level. <</if>> <<if $height is "average">> He’s the same height as you, though something in his stoic manner makes his presence loom larger. <</if>> <<if $height is "short">> He stands a little taller than you, your eyes at the level of his thin lips. <</if>> <</nobr>> His pale face is gaunt and angular, with cheekbones as sharp as his weapon. His hair is ink black and falls to his chin. He’s beautiful… in a hauntingly frightful way. The soldier, Dirk, bends down and wipes his blade on the pants of one of the dead men. Then he turns to Calliope and tips his head toward the entrance to the alley. “This way, domina.” His voice is flat and steady, like the broadside of a blade. Without waiting for a reply, he turns and walks away. You and Calliope quickly fall into step behind him. As you walk back up the road away from the docks, Calliope looks you over. “Are you okay?” she asks. “You’re not hurt?” You shake your head. “Come with me to the inn, okay?” she continues. “Just to rest a moment. I want you to meet my dad. I’m sure he’d like to thank you, too, when he learns what you did.” You’re not keen on the idea of being among imperial soldiers, but you can’t think of a suitable reason to refuse, so you simply nod in agreement. You retrieve your journal and pencil from your pocket and jot down a quick note. //His name is Dirk?// You nod toward the soldier ahead of you. Calliope giggles, her voice like bells tinkling. “Oh, I don’t know their name, that’s just what I call them. They don’t talk much. Like you. Well, not exactly like you, I suppose, because they can talk if they wanted. They just don’t.” Her gold eyes widen and she shakes her head, her braids bouncing about her ears. “Oh, my, that was rude, wasn’t it? I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to make you feel bad. I actually think it’s remarkable the way you read lips...” If you were truly reading lips, hers would be very difficult to follow along with. You suspect she’ll go on forever if you don’t interrupt. ---- [[You clasp your hand around her arm and smile at her.|2.27]] [[You hold your hand up.|2.28]] [[You turn away, thinking she’ll stop talking if you’re no longer watching her mouth.|2.29]]

She smiles back, relieved and bright. Her eyes glimmer with the same golden orange hues of the setting sun. “I know I talk too much. Dad tells me not to bother the guards when they’re working but I think, if we’re traveling together, then we ought to know one another, right?” She throws her arms up. “I mean, it can only help. We’re all like helical gears, working together to bear a greater load. Of course, helical gears generate less noise, so if we’re all talking that makes us noisy. More like spur gears, I suppose.” You turn your head but Calliope keeps chattering, lost in her musings and oblivious to the fact that you’re no longer reading her lips. <<include "2.30">>

She bites her lip and smiles sheepishly. Her eyes glimmer with the same golden orange hues of the setting sun. “I know I talk too much. Dad tells me not to bother the guards when they’re working but I think, if we’re traveling together, then we ought to know one another, right?” She throws her arms up. “I mean, it can only help. We’re all like helical gears, working together to bear a greater load. Of course, helical gears generate less noise, so if we’re all talking that makes us noisy. More like spur gears, I suppose.” You turn your head but Calliope keeps chattering, lost in her musings and oblivious to the fact that you’re no longer reading her lips. <<include "2.30">>

Calliope keeps chattering, lost in her musings and oblivious to the fact that you’re no longer reading her lips. “I know I talk too much. Dad tells me not to bother the guards when they’re working but I think, if we’re traveling together, then we ought to know one another, right?” She throws her arms up. “I mean, it can only help. We’re all like helical gears, working together to bear a greater load. Of course, helical gears generate less noise, so if we’re all talking that makes us noisy. More like spur gears, I suppose.” <<include "2.30">>

You study her discreetly as you walk. <<nobr>> <<if $height is "tall">> She’s nearly a full head shorter than you… you think. She skips rather than walks so that she bounces with every step, making it difficult to tell. <</if>> <<if $height is "average">> She’s a little shorter than you… sometimes. She skips rather than walks so that she bounces at an even height with you on every other step. <</if>> <<if $height is "short">> She’s the same height as you… most times. She skips rather than walks so that she bounces higher than you on every other step. <</if>> <</nobr>> <<if $cordis is "earth">>\ Her braids are all varied in length and threaded with small bronze loops and toothpick-sized dowels. She jingles when she moves, no doubt a result of the many odd bits and tools attached about her person. She also has a uniquely pleasant aroma about her: honey, lemon, and rosemary. The rosemary scent seems to be coming from her hair, but you can’t place the others. <<else>>\ Her braids are all varied in length and threaded with small bronze loops and toothpick sized dowels. She jingles when she moves, no doubt a result of the many odd bits and tools attached about her person. <</if>>\ You reach the front door of The Merchant’s Mettle, the best inn in town. The three younger guards from Calliope’s retinue lean causally against the front wall of the inn. Dirk, or whatever his name is, nods silently at them as he leads the three of you in. “Hi, Franco! Hi, Alonzo! Hi, Carmine!” Calliope waves eagerly at the three soldiers, then places her hand on your shoulder as you walk past. They nod back at her with disinterested effort, hardly sparing you a glance as you walk past. You suspect their acceptance of you has less to do with Calliope’s presence and more the fact that Dirk has obviously vetted you. Inside the lobby of the inn, Calliope faces you with a wide smile. “Those //are// their names, by the way. They can be a little standoffish, but they usually answer when I talk to them. Unlike Dirk. Dirk can be moody-oh, I know!” Calliope stops and rustles around in a leather pouch on her belt. “Ah ha!” She proudly holds aloft three hard candy suckers, then offers you one. “Want one?” <<if $cordis is "earth">>\ You take one of the sticks and pull the paper wrapper off, and the scent of honey and lemon wafts over you. //Well, that explains that.// You pop it in your mouth and suck on the hard candy end, the pleasant flavors coating your throat. <<else>>\ You take one of the sticks and pull the paper wrapper off, then pop it in your mouth and suck on the hard candy end. The pleasant flavors of honey and lemon coat your throat. <</if>>\ “Dirk, want a sucker?” she asks, her words muffled around the stick hanging out of her mouth. She waves the last candy around the soldier’s head. Dirk doesn’t even look at the offered treat and continues his trek through the common room toward a stairwell in the back. Calliope shrugs and puts the candy back in her pouch. You follow your dour escort up four flights of stairs to the top floor of the inn. You can hear men’s voices as you approach and you reach out for the //cordis//, steadying yourself. You don’t know what you're in for. Best to be on guard. You walk through the doorway into a large seating area. Every table and chair, every surface of any kind, is covered in a gleaming assortment of gadgets and machinery. You recognize a few tools and timepieces, but most of the extraordinary items are unlike anything you’ve seen before. In the center of the room, the distinguished older gentleman and the lead officer are having a conversation. When the former sees Calliope, his shoulders dip in relief and his white teeth gleam when he smiles. “Calli, there you are!” He reaches her in two swift strides and clasps her in his arms. “You know it’s unwise to venture off without an escort. I was worried.” He glances over the top of her head, his gaze roving between you and Dirk. “Did something happen?” “It’s alright, I’m fine! See?” She twirls around, her words slurred around the candy still in her mouth. She gestures to you. “This is $alias, $pronoun1 saved me, and then Dirk saved $pronoun2!” “Saved?” The man adjusts his glasses and peers at you. The officer levels his gaze on Dirk. “Sergente, report.” “There was an attack on the young domina in the harbor streets, Capitano,” Dirk answers. “This person assisted. Neither were harmed.” <<if $cordis is "water">>\ Dirk’s words are concise, brusque, as flat as a plane of glass and just as shallow. It’s the most words you’ve heard him utter, and yet he doesn’t say a thing. You get the sense he’s withholding something—whether due to present company or his own nature, you can’t say. You worry, briefly, that he suspects you, but you get the sense that his reticence concerns something else. The young soldier stands with his back to you, so you keep your eyes fixed on Calliope and her father. The elder man gasps at Dirk’s words and tightens his grip on his daughter. <<else>>\ Dirk’s words are concise, brusque—the most words you’ve heard him utter and yet still barely enough. The young soldier stands with his back to you, so you keep your eyes fixed on Calliope and her father. The elder man gasps at Dirk’s words and tightens his grip on his daughter. <</if>>\ “And the perpetrators?” the Capitano presses. “Dead.” The officer nods. “I want a detailed report. Dominus,” he addresses Calliope’s father, “I expect you would like some time to see to your daughter. I will leave you to it.” The Capitano leaves the room and Dirk falls into step behind him. He doesn’t shift his eyes but you swear he’s watching you. You swivel around, watching them as they leave. ---- [[Next|2.31]]

<<audio "darissi" volume 0.3 loop play>>\ <<audio "venture" stop>>\ “Well, friend,” Calliope’s father begins jovially, “if you truly came to my daughter’s aid, then you have my deepest gratitude.” He speaks from behind you. You make no indication that you heard him, keeping your gaze on the departing soldiers. “Dad, $alias is deaf, $pronoun1 can’t hear you," Calliope whispers loudly. You bite the inside of your cheek to keep from smiling. Why on earth is she whispering? “Oh, indeed?” You hear her father shuffle on his feet. “Yes, and mute, too. But $pronoun1 can read lips, so make sure to look at $pronoun2 when you speak.” You feel a tap on your shoulder and turn around to find Calliope smiling at you. “$alias, this is my dad.” “Please, the name is Alessandro,” he says, flashing you a brilliant smile. “Thank you for coming to my daughter’s aid. I am indebted to you." You nod, then pull out your journal and jot a quick note. //My father told me about you. The inventor?// “Ah, it seems my reputation precedes me.” Alessandro lifts his index finger and pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose, but it leaves them askew, the left lens slightly higher than the right. “Your father is correct. I like to dabble in all things mechanical and magnificent, as you can see by the disarray. Apologies, I have no seat to offer you.” He smiles ruefully, his grin as lopsided as his glasses. You smile and shake your head to indicate it’s not a problem. You take a step toward the array of gadgets and Calliope bounces alongside you. “My dad is the greatest inventor ever,” she crows. “His work is so important, the regis made him his Chief Engineer. He invited us to court!” A shadow passes over Alessandro’s face and he turns away. “Yes, well, not all tidings are glad,” he murmurs, his voice too soft for Calliope to hear, but not for you. <<if $cordis is "air">>\ You feel the air around Alessandro quiver as his breathing quickens, the air vibrating with his unease. He releases a deep breath, the air escaping him on a trembling sigh. Then it passes, his smile slipping into place once more. “Ah, but my daughter is the true intellect,” he says, patting her head affectionately. “Calliope has solved many a mathematical quandary for me.” Calliope beams up at her father. A familiar, raw pain throbs in your chest and you turn away from the pair. You swallow down the hurt and focus on the gadgets strewn about the tables. A curious item grabs your attention, and you lean forward for a closer look. At first glance, you think it a stiletto or letter opener, out of place for its simpleness among the other wires and cogs. Upon closer inspection you see it’s actually several blades with tiered edges slotted together, rather than a single piece. You gently lift the silver handle and the blades open, fanning out in a complete semi circle. With a start you realize it’s a metal fan with serrated edges, similar in looks to those carried by nobility but nothing like them in construction. “Ah, you’ve discovered my battle fan!” Alessandro says proudly. Then he coughs, perhaps realizing that your eyes remain on the fan and you didn’t “hear” him. He waves a hand in front of you, catching your attention, then holds his hands out. “May I?” he asks, gesturing to the fan. You hand it over and his fingers clutch it awkwardly, attempting to steer clear of the sharp edges. “This is a prototype of mine,” he explains. “It’s made of a light weight but incredibly durable alloy, capable of shielding the bearer from both blades and bullets. It can also be wielded like any blade.” As he speaks he attempts a slashing motion but misjudges the distance, the sharp edges of the fan severing the copper tubing in a device on his workbench. “Well, you can see how sharp it is.” Alessandro carefully closes the fan and sets it down on the table. “I’m afraid it takes a graceful hand to wield, and the soldiers I had test it were lacking in that regard. I envisioned a weapon the nobles of the court could use to defend themselves. But the barone I approached for testing called it 'crude' and 'vulgar.' A strange statement, given his proclivity for hot irons, but I’m not well-versed in the nuances of the court.” You gesture down to the fan, then at yourself. Alessandro hesitates for a moment, his gaze on the severed tubing. After a pause he nods his consent. You lift the fan with one hand, deftly testing its weight. Closed, it’s the length of a stiletto, and just as light weight. With a quick flick of your fingers the fan opens. It gleams a bright silver, with celadon threads weaving an intricate geometric pattern across the surface. You feel the way it catches the air, effortlessly molding the currents, and you know instinctively how to control it. You step back away from the table with a dexterous turn of your ankle. As you move, you swing your arm up and out it in a graceful arc, the way Jonah taught you. You step, swivel, your arm and the fan moving as one. You feel the air currents shift around you, steadying you, directed by the weapon in your hand. You flick your wrist and the fan shutters close. <</if>>\ <<if $cordis is "earth">>\ You feel the ground tremble as Alessandro shifts in place, his form suddenly rigid and stiff. You smell his perspiration, the ripe unease in his sweat. Then it passes, his smile slipping into place once more. “Ah, but my daughter is the true intellect,” he says, patting her head affectionately. “Calliope has solved many a mathematical quandary for me.” Calliope beams up at her father. A familiar, raw pain throbs in your chest and you turn away from the pair. You swallow down the hurt and focus on the gadgets strewn about the tables. A curious item grabs your attention, and you lean forward for a closer look. At first glance, it looks like an ordinary metal buckler, out of place for its simpleness among the other wires and cogs. Upon closer inspection you see the rivets and channels along the surface, as if it were constructed of several layers of discs pressed together, rather than a single piece. You gently lift the buckler and notice the armored glove attached to the underside. A short blade protrudes out between the knuckles of the gauntlet, just barely extending beyond the shield. “Ah, you’ve discovered my disc shield!” Alessandro says proudly. Then he coughs, perhaps realizing that your eyes remain on the buckler and you didn’t “hear” him. He waves a hand in front of you, catching your attention, then holds his hands out. “May I?” he asks, gesturing to the buckler. You hand it over and he stoops a bit as if from the weight. Funny, you didn’t think it that heavy. “This is a prototype of mine,” he explains, slipping his hand into the armored gauntlet. “I envisioned a battle shield and sword all in one, but the controls are rather tricky, you see. And it’s difficult to-” As he speaks the blade extends with a sharp whistle, instantly the length of a regular longsword. Then it retracts just as swiftly. The discs of the buckler rotate and sharp, squat spikes protrude out across the round surface, then retract back into the shield. “Oh, codd stopper!” Alessandro shakes off the buckler and it drops to the table with a loud clang. “I’m afraid it’s a bit unruly, even I have difficulty operating the settings. That was supposed to change the size, not trigger the spikes. And it’s terribly heavy and unwieldy. The soldier who tested it for me couldn’t properly balance the weight, and had to withdraw after stabbing his own foot.” You gesture down to the buckler, then at yourself. Alessandro hesitates for a moment, his gaze dropping to your feet, perhaps wondering if you’ll meet the same fate as the hapless soldier. After a pause he nods his consent. You lift the buckler, the texture of the metal cool and familiar against your skin. You slowly slide your hand into the gauntlet. The weapon isn’t heavy at all; in fact, it feels like an extension of your own arm, sturdy and whole. You can feel the contact points within the gauntlet and you flex your fingers, knowing instinctively where to press and squeeze. You step back away from the table, then clench your fist. The sword shoots out and you swing it in a graceful arc, the way Jonah taught you. Then you retract the blade, hefting the buckler in front of you. With a subtle movement of your fingers the discs turn, rotate, extending outward in every way till the buckler has grown twice in size. You move your fingers and the spikes extend outward, spinning in a deadly circle. You move your fingers again and the spikes retract, the discs compress down till it’s just a small buckler once more. <</if>>\ <<if $cordis is "water">>\ You feel an onslaught of emotions in a brief moment—fear, doubt, regret. Alessandro’s anxiety rolls off him in waves, his concern as tangible as it was for his daughter earlier. Then it passes, his smile slipping into place once more. “Ah, but my daughter is the true intellect,” he says, patting her head affectionately. “Calliope has solved many a mathematical quandary for me.” Calliope beams up at her father. A familiar, raw pain throbs in your chest and you turn away from the pair. You swallow down the hurt and focus on the gadgets strewn about the tables. A curious item grabs your attention, and you lean forward for a closer look. At first glance, it looks like a heavy leather glove—adorned with strange accessories perhaps, but nothing too out of the ordinary. Upon closer inspection you see they’re not accessories at all, but an intricate mechanical device of some kind. You carefully pick up the glove, minding the numerous copper wires spanning the length. Parallel lines of tubing run along the underside of the glove from the finger tips to the elbows. On the backside is a steam gauge and a dozen cylindrical glass vials filled with what appears to be water. “Ah, you’ve discovered my water jet gauntlet!” Alessandro says proudly. Then he coughs, perhaps realizing that your eyes remain on the glove and you didn’t “hear” him. He waves a hand in front of you, catching your attention, then holds his hands out. “May I?” he asks, gesturing to the glove. You hand it over and he slips his hand into it, the material covering his entire forearm up to his elbow. “This is a prototype of mine,” he explains. “A bit of engineering magic, if I do say so myself, though not terribly practical in use. There are sensors in the fingers, allowing you to control the water pressure and expulsion. You can, theoretically, shoot a jet of water or spray a cloud of steam.” As he speaks he closes his fist and a puff of steam erupts in his face, fogging up his glasses. “Oh, codd stopper,” Alessandro hisses. He shakes off the gauntlet and it drops to the table with a loud thump. “I’m afraid it’s a bit unruly; even I have difficulty operating the settings,” he says, cleaning his glasses. “That was supposed to trigger the water whip, not release steam. You see, I envisioned this as a defensive device, useful for camouflage and subterfuge tactics. It’s designed to use a minimal amount of water, or any water-based liquid. Poison, for example. Alas, the soldiers who tested this for me required a less nuanced weapon. All they accomplished was in getting themselves and their barone drenched. He was not pleased.” You gesture down to the glove, then at yourself. Alessandro hesitates for a moment, readjusting his glasses. After a pause he nods his consent. You heft the glove in your hands. The leather material is thick, but comfortable, easily supporting the weight of the mechanical elements. You slowly slide your hand into the gauntlet. You feel the current of the water through the glove, the way it settles about your arm like a familiar shirt or well-loved blanket—like an extension of your own arm, comforting and whole. You can feel the contact points within the glove and you flex your fingers, knowing instinctively where to press and squeeze. You step back away from the table, point your arm toward the large open window, and clench your fist. A thin, high-pressured lance of water shoots out from between your knuckles, dislodging the clay tiles on the opposite rooftop. You flex your fingers and the spray loosens slightly, still high pressured but malleable. You rotate your wrist and the stream of water bends and flexes like a whip. You move your fingers again and the spray abruptly cuts off, the burst ending in a cloud of steam that momentarily conceals the window from view. <</if>>\ <<if $cordis is "fire">>\ Alessandro’s temperature rises and his heart rate quickens. You feel the warmth of his breath as he heaves a trembling sigh. Then it passes, his smile slipping into place once more. “Ah, but my daughter is the true intellect,” he says, patting her head affectionately. “Calliope has solved many a mathematical quandary for me.” Calliope beams up at her father. A familiar, raw pain throbs in your chest and you turn away from the pair. You swallow down the hurt and focus on the gadgets strewn about the tables. A curious item grabs your attention, and you lean forward for a closer look. At first glance, it looks like an ordinary writing quill. The end is topped with an iridescent black feather, extraordinary in color but a rather simple device to find amongst all the wires and cogs. Upon closer inspection you realize the body is unusually long, the pen tip wider and flatter than most fountain pens. You gently lift the quill, running your fingers along its length. The edges of the feather are soft and velvety, but the copper body is… odd. It feels hollow but you can feel the tension within the slim rod, as if something within were tightly coiled and compressed. “Ah, you’ve discovered my quill dart!” Alessandro says proudly. Then he coughs, perhaps realizing that your eyes remain on the quill and you didn’t “hear” him. He waves a hand in front of you, catching your attention, then holds his hands out. “May I?” he asks, gesturing to the quill. You place it atop his two outstretched palms. “This is a prototype of mine,” he explains. “It’s made of a lightweight, flexible alloy. It resembles an ordinary quill pen, but it’s actually-” His finger skims over a small rivet along the side and the pen springs open. The two ends shoot out to either side and a slender metal rope unravels, entangling Alessandro’s fingers. “Oh, codd stopper,” he mumbles, fumbling with the wiry cord. You realize it’s a metal chain, finely woven, loose as a thread. Alessandro manages to grasp the feathered end of the dart and touches his finger to the rivet. The cord retracts, the two metal pieces swiftly joining back together. “It’s a rope dart, you see,” he explains, setting the quill back down on the table. “It contains a retractable cord, so that the dart can easily return to the hand of the wielder. Elegant in design, but poor in execution. The soldiers I had test it could never control it properly—they either misjudged the length of the rope or failed to strike their targets with the proper pressure. It requires a more sensitive touch than they were capable of.” You gesture down to the quill then at yourself. Alessandro hesitates for a moment, his gaze on the sharp tip. After a pause he nods his consent. You heft the dart in one hand, testing its weight. Closed, it’s roughly the same length and width of a small dagger. You flex your fingers, deftly twirling the dart back and forth between them. You note the texture, the weight of it, the ease with which it rolls between your fingers at the mildest touch, and you know instinctively how to control it. You step back away from the table, aim toward the large open window, and flick your wrist forward. The front end of the dart opens and the tip springs outward though the open window. You jerk your arm back and pull the string toward you, then twist and extend your arm. The momentum of the weighted tip causes the string to wrap around your arm. You press the release and the cord starts to unwind, retracting back into the body. Just before it closes all the way you throw it again, aiming for a tin cup perched on a nearby shelf. The dart strikes dead center, knocking the cup off the shelf. You pull it back quickly, this time retracting the cord fully. <</if>>\ You look up and meet Alessandro’s wide eyes. Beside him Calliope stares at you with her mouth agape, the sucker having fallen to the floor at her feet. “Remarkable,” he breathes. Then his eyes crease and his lips turn upward in a wide grin. “You know, I believe that weapon has found its wielder.” You hesitate. As much as you want the weapon, it feels too precious a gift. And it’s probably unwise to take inventions from the regis’s new Chief Engineer. You start to shake your head in protest but Alessandro stops you. “Please, keep it. Consider it a gift in gratitude for saving my daughter. It’s a prototype, there is no other of its kind. It would merely collect dust in my workshop, as I doubt there is anyone as adept at wielding it. I believe it was made for you, $alias.” "//Thank you//," you sign. You don’t know if he can read sign, but the inventor’s smile widens as if he understands. Your gaze shifts to the window behind Alessandro. The sun has completely set and it’s now dark. Your family will be wondering where you are. Alessandro follows your gaze. “Oh, it’s rather late, isn’t it? Will you be alright getting home? Shall I ask one of the soldiers to escort you?” You quickly hold up your hands and shake your head. Then you offer Calliope and her father a quick wave before turning to leave the room. “Wait!” Calliope calls out but you ignore her and keep walking. “Oh, codd stopper,” you hear her mutter. Then there’s the quick patter of feet and she bounces into your path. “Will I see you again?” she asks breathlessly. Her eyes are wide golden discs, her lips parted slightly. ---- [[As much as you’d like to, it’s unlikely you’ll ever see her again. You don’t want to disappoint her, though, so you force a smile and nod briskly.|2.32]] [[You shrug. You wouldn’t mind seeing Calliope again, but it’s unlikely. You’re steering clear of imperial soldiers from now on.|2.33]] [[It’s not a matter of whether you want to see her or not. Your paths lie in different directions, and you want to be honest. You shake your head.|2.34]]

Calliope’s lips tug upward in a brilliant, luminous smile. She clasps her hands behind her back. “You’re just indulging me, but I don’t mind. Our ship departs in three days. If nothing else, I hope you’ll see me off.” Her smile softens. “Thank you again, $alias. For saving me.” <<include "2.35">>

Calliope bites her lip, her eyes downcast. She clasps her hands behind her back “I know it’s unlikely, but it’d be lovely to see you again. Our ship departs in three days. If nothing else, I hope you’ll see me off.” She smiles softly. “Thank you again, $alias. For saving me.” <<include "2.35">>

Calliope purses her lips together and huffs. “Geez, you don’t pull your punches, do you?” She clasps her hands behind her back. “I know it’s unlikely, but it’d be lovely to see you again. Our ship departs in three days. If nothing else, I hope you’ll see me off.” She smiles softly. “Thank you again, $alias. For saving me.” <<include "2.35">>

With a final nod her way, you edge past her and out the door. You pull out the sucker still in your mouth and smile fondly. You doubt you’ll ever see Calliope again, but you know for certain you won’t forget her. You bite off the last of the hard candy and walk down the staircase. At the bottom, you look around for a place to dispose of the stick, when a gloved hand suddenly stretches out in front of you. Your eyes track along the slender arm, up to the pauldrons embellished with gold, then further up to the angular face and the cool blue gaze. Dirk watches you, his face impassive, his silence louder than the jovial voices in the inn. <<if $cordis is "water">>\ You glance down at his hand, palm up. He’s not blocking your way, not completely. He simply waits. He’s not demanding you return the weapon, is he? You tilt your head to the side and squint at him. He’s difficult to read, his emotions carefully controlled and shuttered. You’ve never met anyone with such control. But then the facade slips, just a fraction of a second, and you sense a cautious ease, a reluctant kinship. Then the facade is back, and he continues to wait in stoic silence. <</if>>\ <<if $cordis is "earth">>\ You glance down at his hand, palm up. He’s not blocking your way, not completely. He simply waits. He’s not demanding you return the weapon, is he? You tilt your head to the side and squint at him. You recognize his scent now. He smells of juniper—crisp like an early morning frost or a sip of ice water, but with a woody spice. Refreshingly beautiful, but also sharp and bitter. It suits him. <</if>>\ <<if $cordis is "fire">>\ You glance down at his hand, palm up. He’s not blocking your way, not completely. He simply waits. He’s not demanding you return the weapon, is he? <</if>>\ <<if $cordis is "air">>\ You glance down at his hand, palm up. He’s not blocking your way, not completely. He simply waits. He’s not demanding you return the weapon, is he? <</if>>\ His gaze drifts down to the candied stick in your hand, then back up to your face. Bewildered, you place the stick in his outstretched hand and he closes his fist around it. Then he raises his other hand and his fingers move in quick, deft motions. Belatedly, you realize they’re letters. He’s signing. V…I…C… Vicente? "//My name//," he signs. Then he turns on his heel and walks back down the hall, his footfalls silent on the wood floors. You watch him drop the stick in a waste container at the end of the hall before turning out of sight. You stare at the spot he vacated, trying to puzzle out the strange encounter. Having no luck, you turn and depart the inn with your head in a daze. ---- [[Next|2.36]]

Three pairs of eyes stare at you from around the dinner table after you finish relating the day’s adventures. “Well, I think we all need a soothing cup of tea after //that// tale,” Thaleia mutters. She climbs to her feet and starts fussing with the kettle. “You said Alessandro was reluctant to go to court?” Jonah presses. “Did he say why?” “Because the regis is a damned devil, that’s why!” Thaleia tosses over her shoulder. You shake your head. "//No, and he never actually said it. It was just the impression I got//." “What possessed you to go after that girl in the first place?” asks Evelyn. "//I was worried about her. I knew she’d get herself in trouble.//" Your hands stall over the words. It feels more like an excuse than a reason. Why //did// you go after her? “//You// were in trouble!" Evelyn presses, leaning forward. "You should be more worried about yourself, about us-” “Eva.” Her father speaks her name like a hammer falling, abrupt and final. <<if $eva gte 35>>\ Evelyn bites her lip and looks contrite. “I’m sorry. Having those soldiers in town makes me nervous. Please, be careful around them.” She smiles at you, half-placating, half-mischievous. “I'm your big sister, I can't help worrying about you. Especially when you can't fight for shit,” she jokes, poking at your arm. "//I’ll be careful, Eva, don’t worry//," you sign, smiling at her. "//And I have a fancy new weapon to protect myself now.//" <<else>>\ Evelyn bites her lip and looks contrite. “I’m sorry. Having those soldiers in town makes me nervous. You need to be careful. Stay away from them.” "//You're just jealous because you didn’t get a fancy new weapon.//" <</if>>\ “Pfft, yeah right.” Evelyn leans back and crosses her arms over her chest. “You’re more likely to hurt yourself with that thing.” Jonah sits with his chin resting on his fist, his gaze intent on the weapon in your hands. Then his eyes grow wide and his hand drops to the table. “I know what we’ve been doing wrong,” he whispers. He locks eyes with you and grins, slow, devilish. “Get a good night’s rest, $alias,” he says eagerly. “We have training tomorrow.” ---- [[Next|2.37]]

Not only do you //not// hurt yourself with your new weapon the next day, you’ve never had a practice go so well. Jonah begins his instruction with an apology. “I’ve been going about this the wrong way,” he says, leading you through the woods behind your house. “I’ve been training you the same way I was taught. But you’re Iredicci, and with that comes special abilities I failed to take into account.” He smiles sadly. “We’ve been so focused on hiding your heritage, we’ve forgotten its value. With this weapon,” he nods at the new weapon in your hands, “I think we can utilize that.” You come to a stop in a small clearing. You can’t hear a soul for miles. Assured of your privacy, Jonah forgoes signing in order to use his hands to instruct you. <<if $cordis is "earth">>\ “Now, as I understand it, your attunement grants you an affinity for metal, correct?” When you nod, he continues. “Then we will utilize that. A sword and shield in anyone else’s hands are merely tools; efficient tools, yes, but tools nonetheless. But in your case they are an extension of your arm, of you. Traditional sword techniques don’t apply here.” Jonah drops his own sword and shield to the ground, indicating for you to do the same. After you do he raises his hands in front of him, hands clenched in fists, his lips turning upward in a slow grin. “In your case, $alias, I think we start with some good old-fashioned fisticuffs.” Jonah begins by teaching you basic boxing maneuvers like the jab, hook and uppercut. He teaches you when to press your advantage and follow a punch, and when to cover and step back. He shows you how to deflect an opponent’s punch by parrying with your forearm and elbow. You manage to learn it quickly—analyzing Jonah’s movements, adapting when he counters, and adjusting and maintaining your stance. Once he’s satisfied you’ve learned the basics, you both take up your weapons. You keep the blade retracted at first, till you have a feel for the weapon. You practice with it first as a buckler, then with the shield at full size. He teaches you how to use the shield for offense as well as defense—to intercept, counter, take the initiative, or, in your case, to straight out punch with it. Then you spar with the blades. He teaches you to thrust, parry, grapple—all of which you learned before but this time you focus on using your body as leverage. On one particularly strong punch Jonah’s shield quakes with the force of your hit, and he stumbles back. He winces and removes his shield, flexing his arm. “I’m sorry!” you exclaim. “Don’t be. It was an excellent hit,” he insists, massaging the arm with his other hand. “Looks like I’ll be needing to build you some training dummies.” Though he sounds weary, there’s genuine pride in his voice. <</if>>\ <<if $cordis is "air">>\ “Now, as I understand it, your attunement is based on air and sight, correct? And it’s tied to your dancing?” When you nod, he continues. “Then that is what we will work with. Traditional fighting techniques won’t work for you. Open your fan and dance with it. Don’t worry about technique, just do what feels natural.” You nod and he takes a few steps back. You start to dance, your feet moving in a familiar pattern across the forrest floor. You dip, spin, your arms bend and sway—sometimes in graceful arcs, sometime in sharp thrusts. You move your wrist, the fan catching the air currents around you. You dance faster, your movements nimble and fluid. Jonah observes you for awhile before finally nodding to himself. He spends the next several hours helping you blend the fan work into your movements, creating a hybrid that is both dance and swordplay. He shows you how to thrust upward with the fan perpendicular like a blade, or to slash sideways with it. He teaches you maneuvers to adapt to your steps—how to perform a leg sweep, a swift kick, a sidestep to dodge, how to brace your feet when using the fan as a shield. Once he’s satisfied you’ve learned the basics, it’s time to spar. Your eyes track his every movement, even the subtle ones you don’t think he’s aware of—the way he exhales just before a heavy attack, the way he favors his left leg. You focus on the air weaving between the two of you. It’s nothing you haven’t felt before, but you’ve never been so acutely aware, so analytical in your movements. And you manage to do it quickly—analyzing Jonah’s movements, adapting when he counters, anticipating his attacks. On one particular thrust you manage to catch his blade between the edges of the fan. You turn and twist downward, pulling the sword out of Jonah’s hands. It drops to the dirt with a dull thud, and you both stare at in silence. Then Jonah rears his head back and laughs. It’s a carefree, boisterous laugh, the kind you haven’t heard from him in a very long time. “Excellent hit, $alias.” He retrieves his sword, examining it for damage. “Looks like I’ll be needing to build you some training dummies.” Though he sounds weary, there’s genuine pride in his voice. <</if>>\ <<if $cordis is "fire">>\ “Now, as I understand it, your attunement makes you sensitive to touch, correct?” When you nod, he continues. “Then rather than a blade, I think you’d be more suited for hand-to-hand combat. Nerve point attacks will allow you to swiftly incapacitate a foe, allowing you to escape if you can, or turn the battle to your favor if you can’t.” Jonah spends the next several hours showing you what areas of the body are weakest—eyes, throat, top of the head, behind the ear, stomach. The angle with which to hit these points and the amount of force behind the hit. Where to affect blood flow to render an opponent unconscious. How to attack with the flat of your hand, a swift kick, a twist of your wrist. You focus on the feel of these pressure points beneath your fingers—the muscles flexing and stretching, the flow of the blood, the joints between bones. It’s nothing you haven’t felt before, but you’ve never been so acutely aware, so analytical in your movements. And you manage to do it quickly—analyzing Jonah’s movements, the amount of pressure needed, how to adapt when he counters. On one particular thrust you manage to hit him on the underside of his arm, above the wrist. He winces and disengages, his arm limp at his side. “I’m sorry!” you exclaim. “Don’t be,” he insists, massaging the arm with his other hand. “It was an excellent hit.” Though he sounds weary, there’s genuine pride in his voice. “Do you want me to help?” you offer. As a fire-attuned, your touch can help speed up the body’s natural healing process. You would have to sing in order to do anything really noticeable, but some minor wounds you can help just by touching; understanding how much pressure to exert on a bleeding wound, for instance, or how to massage the nerves to relieve tension and reduce pain. <<if $averse is false>>\ You try to keep the excitement out of your voice but Jonah hears it. Aware of your proclivity for touch, he smiles and extends his arm to you. “Thank you, $alias, that will be most helpful.” Judging by the ease with which he held out his arm, you suspect it no longer hurts, but you jump on the opportunity anyway. You lift Jonah’s sleeve and run your fingers over the inside of his forearm. His skin is more leathery than yours and Eva’s, tanned by the sun and hardened by age. You can also feel scar tissue in a few places, indiscernible to the eye but not to your fingers. You find the damaged nerves, already mending, and rub your thumb over them in small, circular strokes. <<else>>\ You try to keep the hesitation out of your voice but Jonah hears it. Aware of your aversion to touch, he shakes his head and smiles gently. “Thank you for the offer, $alias, but there’s no need. It feels better already.” <</if>>\ He slowly moves his arm up and around, testing it. “Looks like I’ll be needing to build you some training dummies,” he says with a chuckle. After that you begin training with the dart, striking out at the trees and branches around you. You become familiar with the weight of the dart and the length of the rope, and the speed with which it retracts. <</if>>\ <<if $cordis is "water">>\ “Now, as I understand it, your attunement makes you sensitive to water and emotions, correct?” When you nod, he continues. “Then, rather than battle techniques, we’re going to focus on defense, misdirection, and concealment. By controlling the battle and your opponents, you can turn the fight in your favor, or even avoid it altogether.” “You have the added advantage of understanding your opponent's behavior and emotions,” Jonah continues. “Use that. Read them, then tailor your tactics to their mood. An angry or frustrated fighter will be more impulsive and less cautious, prone to making mistakes.” Jonah spends the next several hours teaching you how to move stealthily—how to control your breathing, to stand with one foot behind the other to maintain balance, to step from heel to toe. He tells you to keep your arms - particularly the one with your glove - slightly bent and loose, always on guard and ready to act or intercept. He teaches you to dodge, feint, side step, bob and weave. You focus on his mood and movements. It’s nothing you haven’t felt before, but you’ve never been so acutely aware, so analytical in your movements. And you manage to do it quickly—analyzing Jonah’s facial cues, keeping your movements fluid and reactive, staying always a step ahead. When it’s time to practice with the glove, Jonah tells you to think of the water stream as a whip. You practice bringing it smoothly up, then “cracking” the whip by bringing your arm down firmly in front of you, letting the weight of your falling arm do most of the work. Then you adjust your stance and swing the jet stream over your shoulder and out in a wide arc, keeping multiple attackers safely at bay. On one of his thrusts you manage to duck beneath his blade and spin around him. As he turns you release a jet of steam, momentarily blinding him. When it clears, Jonah blinks to find you’ve retreated 20 feet back. He rears his head back and laughs. It’s a carefree, boisterous laugh, the kind you haven’t heard from him in a very long time. “Excellent work, $alias.” He waves his arms through the dissipating steam cloud, clearing the remaining mist from the air. “Looks like I’ll be needing to build you some training dummies.” Though he sounds weary, there’s genuine pride in his voice. <</if>>\ You spend the entire day out in those woods, till both of you are hungry, sore, and exhausted. But even then you can’t tamp down your excitement, the thrill of success. You walk home side by side, your mood more triumphant than it has been in years. ---- [[Next|2.38]]

You hear rumors of survivors from time to time, but you’ve never seen another Iredicci since that night. The thought makes you angry, the urge to resist even stronger. You need to keep the song alive—for Tellus, for Fulmen, for your mother. You sing for them. And one day, you will no longer be silent. You sing now, safe in the knowledge that no one can hear you. You add your voice to the melody as it surrounds you, pulsing with life. It energizes you, bolsters you, makes you feel capable of taking on anything. You know in your heart you are growing stronger. And that makes it worth the risk. <<include "2.21">>

You hear rumors of survivors from time to time, but you’ve never seen another Iredicci since that night. Perhaps the survivors are just like you, charting a new course in a world without song. Your whole life has been pre-determined for you, all because you were Iredicci. Maybe it’s time for a new life, one that is truly your own. But it’s wise to retain the lessons from the past, those that will aid you going forward, and so you meditate. Even without singing you can still focus on the melody of the //cordis//. It pulses with life, tenacious and affirming. It keeps your senses sharp and your mind clear of distractions. It reminds you of what you are capable of. <<include "2.21">>

!Content Warning This story is intended for mature audiences. Possibly triggering topics present in the story include: * Blood * Violence * Death (including child death) * Trauma & PTSD * Mature language * Sexual content (optional) * Classism * Sexism * Bigotry * Persecution of a fictional people Be advised, you are also pretending to have a disability for at least half the story. ''Music'' The music is intentionally loud in certain parts of the story. This is to mimic the noise and emotions that the MC is experiencing, as sound is an integral feature of your race. It may be uncomfortable for some readers, so please read with caution.  <center><<link "Return to game" $return>><</link>></center>

You train rigorously after that, managing to accomplish in months what you could not in years. Your new weapon becomes a part of you, and you wield it as expertly as Jonah does his sword. You leave it at home when you’re working, however; best not to invite questions about its origins. You’re walking along the wharfs toward the harbormaster’s office to make a delivery. The afternoon sun shines brightly, warming you through your clothes. Your eyes catch sight of a caravel alongside one of the docks, old, but well-maintained. Men and women unload crates and casks from a wagon on the street and carry them aboard. You stop, letting the procession cut in front of you. The crates and casks are stamped with the contents within: salted pork, beef, flour, beer, and various other rations for a voyage. On deck, a tall, broad man with golden-honey skin directs the men and women as they set down their loads. He’s dressed in colorful foreign garb, the likes of which you’ve never seen. He runs a hand through his dark curls and you spy a gold ear cuff; a chain hangs from the cuff and links to a citrine gem ear stud. He directs one of the sailors to set her cask above another, and it rattles as she does so. The sound isn't discernible to others, but you hear it. The cask is labeled “potatoes” but the rattling sound was distinctly metal, as of blades striking together. <<if $cordis is "air">>\ You glance over the other men and women as they work, your eyes taking in every detail. One man sets down a cask labeled “flour” then stands and wipes his hand together. A small dusting of black soot clouds the air over his palms. It looks like gun powder. <</if>>\ <<if $cordis is "earth">>\ You glance over the other men and women as they work, your eyes narrowing. A man walks up the plank in front of you, a cask labeled “flour” in his hands. You smell the acrid, bitter scent of gun powder wafting from the cask. <</if>>\ <<if $cordis is "water">>\ You glance over the other men and women as they work, your eyes narrowing. On the outside they appear calm and at ease, but as you focus you can feel the tension coiled in the air. They’re on edge, alert, grim. <</if>>\ <<if $cordis is "fire">>\ One of the younger sailors staggers in front of you and you reach out, supporting his elbow. His heart rate jumps, the blood rushing from his face. You can feel how taut his muscles are, abnormally tense. He quickly nods at you and scampers up the gangway. <</if>>\ There’s something very wrong with this ship. Smugglers, perhaps? Mercenaries? Lately there have been strange rumors of unrest in the empire. There have always been pockets of dissent from some of the outlying regions, territories that were forcefully brought under the empire’s domain. But these new rumors speak of raids on military depots and outposts, the only survivors being the common folk who labored there. These attacks have all been swift, well-coordinated, and, most surprising of all, successful. You swallow and look away from the ship, tamping down your suspicions. The last time you let your curiosity get the better of you, you wound up attacked in a dark alley. Once the final sailor passes, you continue hurriedly on your way. You step through the doors of the harbormaster’s office and stop short. He’s gesturing wildly at an unfamiliar woman beside him, his oily hair slick against his thick neck and his voice a raucous bellow. He’s been in his cups again, you realize. It’s not even midday. “You //will// let me inspect your ship, girl,” the harbormaster yells, wagging his finger in the woman’s face. “Every piece of cargo that comes through my docks has to be accounted for.” “I’ve already told you, sir, we’re not unloading.” The woman - most definitely not a girl - speaks in a calm, clipped tone, each word clear and enunciated. “We only docked to take on extra provisions.” She doesn’t seem at all intimidated by the large man, and even manages to look down her sharp nose at him from her superior height. She’s dressed in men’s leather armor, her arms crossed against her chest, thin lips drawn in a tight line. “Doesn’t matter,” the harbormaster slurs. “Them’s the rules. ‘Course, suppose I can let you off if you pay the fee. I’d be happy to discuss… payment with you.” “//Disgusting pig//,” you sign, struggling to keep your face impassive. He doesn't see you, not that he'd understand anyway. You don’t wish to spend a moment longer than necessary in this man’s presence. If you can squeeze past him, you can leave the letters on the back counter and go. You duck under the man’s sweeping arms, opening your satchel as you do. Unaware of your presence, the harbormaster takes a step back and collides with you. He swears loudly and flails his arms trying to catch his balance. He swipes you and you stumble to your knees, the contents of your satchel spilling across the floor. “Fucking dumb brat!” the man bellows. You keep your head down, pretending not to hear him, and focus on picking up the scattered missives. <<if $cordis is "air">>\ He swears again and you feel the air shift. Something hovers over you, an arm poised to strike. You keep your head down, bracing for the blow you know is coming. <</if>>\ <<if $cordis is "earth">>\ You feel the subtle tremors in the floor as he steps closer. You smell his rancid breath as he swears, the foul stench of his sweat as he raises an arm. You keep your head down, bracing for the blow you know is coming. <</if>>\ <<if $cordis is "water">>\ His emotions hit you clear and strong: rage, embarrassment, resentment. You can sense the sweat coating his skin as he raises an arm. You keep your head down, bracing for the blow you know is coming. <</if>>\ <<if $cordis is "fire">>\ The man radiates heat with how high his blood pressure is running. You can feel the heat above your head, hovering there. You keep your head down, bracing for the blow you know is coming. <</if>>\ But it doesn’t. ---- [[Next|2.39]]

There’s a muffled clap of skin against skin. Then a voice, sharp and drawn out like a blade. “You would hit a child?” //I’m not a child//, you think indignantly, striving to keep your mask in place. You pick up the last parchment and sit back, casually raising your head as you do. The woman stands above you with her arm outstretched, her hand clenched tightly around the harbormaster’s wrist. Burn scars cover the back of her hand and fingers, the skin pinched and discolored. The burn disappears beneath the cuff of her leather sleeve. The old wound has no effect on her strength, however. You can see the thick folds of the harbormaster’s skin as her fingers press into the fleshy mass. “Unhand me, gir-//Ow//!” The woman twists his arm and he cries out, trying to pry her long fingers loose. Then she shoves him away from her and he stumbles back against his wooden desk. “You… you!” he sputters. “I’ll have the guards on you!” The woman ignores him and instead offers her hand down to you. You grasp it, noting with surprise how strong her grip is for such a slender hand. She hauls you easily to your feet. “Are you hurt?” she asks. You shake your head but she looks you over regardless. “You need to be more aware of your surroundings.” You pull out your journal and quickly write, //Thank you for helping me.// The woman squints at the paper, then down to the ground, then back to you. You can almost see the gears turning behind her eyes. You study her while she studies you. Her face is slender and angular, with thin, slightly pouted lips. Her beige skin looks healthy and well cared for, though marred with fine scars and scratches. Her nose is long, hawk-like and aristocratic, and her hair is loosely pulled back in a messy jumble atop her head. The graceful line of her neck disappears beneath the rough, cracked leather of her collar. <<if $cordis is "earth">>\ You get a whiff of butter and almonds; the scent reminds you of Thaleia’s kitchen when she's baking bocconotti. Beneath that is a sharper scent, almost metallic, like flint or gun powder. The fragrance beckons you in, even as it repels you. She’s an odd juxtaposition of elegance and efficiency, softness and strength. <<else>>\ She’s an odd juxtaposition of elegance and efficiency, softness and strength. <</if>>\ “My apologies,” she finally speaks. “You can’t hear, can you?” You shake your head. “You can read lips?” You nod. She faces you fully, her hazel eyes locked on your own $eyecolor ones. They’re a handsome swirl of green and brown hues—delicate and intense, much like the woman herself. “You’re welcome,” she says. “That man was wrong to treat you that way.” With a final nod, she turns and leaves the office. After a moment’s hesitation, you follow her out the door. Your heart jumps into your throat when the woman proceeds to board the suspicious ship you saw earlier. What would a woman like her be doing on a smugglers’ ship? Curious, you start to approach when the harbormaster’s loud voice shouts from behind you. “Hey, you’re not going anywhere!” He lumbers toward the ship, tripping over a mass of ropes on the pier and rattling the wooden cask they’re attached to. He regains his balance and adjusts his pants around his rotund waist. “You’re not leaving till I inspect that ship!” The woman glances back over her shoulder at him, hazel eyes narrowed. Before she can respond a jovial, booming voice erupts over the dock. “Aman, what’s all this fuss about? It is too beautiful a day for all this noise!” The strangely-dressed foreign man grabs one of the ship’s ropes and swings over to the dock. He lands with a resounding thump right in front of the harbormaster, causing the inebriated man to stumble backward and get tangled in the ropes again. The stranger looks young, older than you, though perhaps not by much. His clothes are vibrant and exotic, his turquoise pants wide and billowy but tapered at the ankles. His geometric patterned shirt would be better described as a wrap, which he has draped around his shoulders and mid-section, eventually flowing down his waist. <<nobr>> <<if $height is "tall">> He’s tall, easily as tall as you. <</if>> <<if $height is "average">> He's taller than you, the stubble on his chin at your eye level. <</if>> <<if $height is "short">> He's much taller than you, your head only reaching as high as his broad shoulders. <</if>> <</nobr>> There’s a softness to his girth and face that gives him an air of affability despite his large stature. “Whatever the issue is, I’m sure we can work it out like gentlemen,” he says, throwing an arm around the harbormaster’s shoulders. His nose crinkles in disgust, fleeting, there and gone so quickly you nearly miss it. He starts leading the man back down the dock away from the ship. The harbormaster, his legs still loosely entangled in ropes, struggles to keep pace. “Bayram, we need to set sail,” the woman calls after him. “Of course, my dear, Corinne,” the man, Bayram, gestures absently, “just as soon as we get this good man settled. Now, my fine friend, you look overworked. Managing this splendid port is no doubt stressful and thankless work. But let me tell you, it is one of the best-, err, cleanest ports I have ever seen, and I’ve seen quite a few. I can tell you do stellar work. In fact, I think you should be commended for such an exemplary operation.” The harbormaster’s expression grows more mollified and agreeable the longer Bayram goes on. As Bayram speaks, he reaches a hand to the man’s belt and artfully removes his coin pouch. His motions are nimble, his touch quick and effortless. “Now, why don’t you take a break, relax, enjoy a round at the tavern, on me.” He drops the coin purse into the man’s hands. The harbormaster stares at the pouch in delight, either too drunk on ale or Bayram’s words to realize it’s his own. Bayram gives the man a hard slap, maybe too hard, on the back, then releases him and turns back toward the ship. <<if $cordis is "earth">>\ As Bayram walks past, he notices you observing the scene, and his steps slow to an easy saunter. A pleasant tangy scent of cedar and citrus wafts over you. He takes his time trailing his eyes down your person and back up—a deliberate, purposeful crawl that you can almost feel ghosting along your skin. He makes no effort to hide the interest in his gaze. <<else>>\ As Bayram walks past, he notices you observing the scene, and his steps slow to an easy saunter. He takes his time trailing his eyes down your person and back up—a deliberate, purposeful crawl that you can almost feel ghosting along your skin. He makes no effort to hide the interest in his gaze. <</if>>\ He winks at you, his light brown eyes glistening like bronze in the sunlight. As he strolls past, the wind parts the fabric wrapped around his shoulders. You spy a mosaic tattoo covering the broad planes and dips of his back, a vibrant burst of color that you don’t normally see amidst the austere marble and wool in the empire. His steps quicken once he’s passed you. He boards the vessel in one easy leap, surprisingly nimble for a man his size, and the sailors move to ready the ship for sailing. You look back at the harbormaster. His steps have slowed, still entangled in the ropes as he is. He squints at the coin purse, brings it closer to his face, then lets out a choked noise, half sputter, half cough. He turns and rushes back to the dock, entangling his feet further. The large wooden cask attached to the ropes wobbles on the edge of the dock. When the harbormaster approaches, you step casually to the side, as if making room. Your hip bumps the hollow cask, causing the already precarious barrel to tumble over the side. It’s quickly swept up in the river’s currents, pulling the rope along with it. The cords tighten around the harbormaster’s legs and he flounders, losing his balance and plunging into the river. He grabs at the cask, shouting around mouthfuls of water. You watch as several dockhands race parallel to him along the street, trying to bring him ashore. You can’t help but smirk, and turn back to the ship just as it slips away from the pier. The woman, Corinne, inclines her head toward you, one corner of her mouth lifting in a knowing half-smile. Bayram is grinning openly, his round face full of mirth. The wind whips his brown curls around his head and the sun glints off his ear cuff. “Such a clever yaren,” you hear him say to Corinne. “Bit quiet, though.” ---- [[Next|2.40]]

The harbormaster was relieved of duty, his superiors citing drunken and disorderly conduct. Ironically, he became even more drunk and disorderly after that, wandering the dock streets and spouting off about his unfair treatment. Everyone gave him a wide berth, including you. You don’t know if he was even aware of your actions with the cask, but you don’t chance finding out. Life resumed a normal routine after that. You work your courier job most days, and spend your free time training with Evelyn and Jonah. Jonah will often have the two of you sparring together, which helps both of you greatly. You become more adept at wielding your weapon and $cordis attunement as one. And Evelyn, out of necessity, becomes quite practiced at evading and deflecting unconventional attacks. The three of you are walking back from the denser part of the woods, heading home after another training session. “I’m going to have to sleep on one side for a week,” Evelyn groans. “My shoulder is killing me.” She stops signing and examines her fingers. “And I broke another nail.” “But just think about how strong you’re getting,” Jonah offers. He lays his large hand on her head, tousling her hair. She squawks in protest and bats his hand away. “I don’t want to be strong. I want to be poised and elegant,” she pouts. “I want boys to tell me how lovely I dance. I want them to admire me and give me flowers, not run for the hills every time they see me.” “One day you’ll find someone who appreciates both sides of you, cub,” Jonah insists. “And don’t settle for anything less.” She harrumphs but doesn’t argue. You lift your hands to comment, but a sudden noise stops you. There’s a rustling in the underbrush somewhere far off, and a mewling wail. It sounds like a child but more shrill, wordless. It sends a shiver down your spine. Jonah and Evelyn both see your hands still and they come to a stop. “//What is it?//” Jonah signs. “//Something in the woods. It sounds wrong. Hurt? Not sure if it’s a person or animal.//” You cock your head to the side to try to pinpoint where it’s coming from. “//That way.//” You point off to your right. Jonah leads in the direction you point. The sound grows louder and you know he and Evelyn can now hear it, too. “//It’s an animal. Wounded, most likely//,” Jonah signs. “//Be cautious when you approach; an animal in distress can be very dangerous.//” The sounds get louder as you approach. The creature, whatever it is, alternates between distressed howls and hissing. Ahead you can see the bushes shake violently, as if something were thrashing about. Jonah cautiously pulls back the leaves and you see a: ---- [[Ferret.|2.41][$pet to "ferret"]] [[Fox.|2.42][$pet to "fox"]] [[Badger.|2.43][$pet to "badger"]]

A small black and tan ferret thrashes about in the underbrush, his left back leg caught in a hunter’s snare. It’s tightly wound multiple times over, causing his paw to bend inward at an unnatural angle. When the creature sees you he stops thrashing and scampers backward, fur raised. Then he hisses and tries to stand on his hind legs but immediately topples over. "//A young ferret, male, I think//," Jonah signs. Then he turns to you. "//$alias, can you hear anything else? Is the parent nearby, or maybe the hunter?//" You listen for a moment, reaching out with your senses. You hear the rustling of leaves and birds, but nothing out of the ordinary. Certainly no other humans or large creatures. Your eyes meet Jonah’s and you shake your head. Jonah’s shoulders relax and he crouches down just out of reach of the young ferret. “Poor thing won’t survive long with that leg.” His eyes trace the short cord of the snare to an iron stake in the ground. His expression is grim, his eyes creased in disappointment when he turns to you. “The humane thing to do would be to put it out of its misery.” <<if $cordis is "fire">>\ “No, wait, I can heal it!” you croak. Jonah shakes his head sadly. “I’m afraid that foot is beyond even your capabilities. This little fellow will always have a limp. His chances for surviving in the wild aren’t good.” <<else>>\ “No, wait, can’t we just free him?” you croak. Jonah shakes his head sadly. “I’m afraid that foot will never heal properly. This little guy will always have a limp. His chances for surviving in the wild aren’t good.” <</if>>\ “Then,” your mind flounders for a solution, “I’ll adopt him!” “$alias, this is a wild animal, not a pet,” Jonah urges. Evelyn scrunches her nose. “Uh, I feel bad for it, too, but look at those teeth. I don’t want that thing biting my nose off in the middle of the night.” “He can stay in the yard, at least until he’s fully healed.” You turn your gaze to the ferret. He’s flattened himself on the ground and is now watching you, hissing softly. “Don't give up on him, he just needs a little help. He deserves a chance to live, too.” The "too" gives Jonah pause. You watch as his brows crease, lips purse. His eyes flash a deep green and become glazed, like he’s thinking of something far away. Then they focus on you. “Alright,” he sighs. “He’s still not a pet, and I’m not saying we’re keeping him. But we can at least nurse him back to health. After that it’s up to nature, understand?” You nod hurriedly. Jonah takes off his cloak and holds it in one hand, his other hand outstretched, his fingers claw-like. The ferret senses the change and puffs up, his hiss turning into a scream. Jonah lunges and manages to grab the ferret by the scruff of his neck, quickly wrapping him up in the cloak. The creature squirms but Jonah’s grip is tight. You can see the ferret’s nose sticking out of the folds of the cloak, his sharp canines bared. “Evelyn, take my dagger and cut the snare,” he instructs her. “$alias, can you calm him at all?” As Evelyn grabs the dagger off her father’s belt, you crouch next to him, laying a hand on the squirming bundle. You start to hum, the tune a long-forgotten melody from your childhood. You focus on the //cordis// and imagine the string connecting you and the ferret. The ferret stills almost immediately, though he’s still breathing heavily. No longer thrashing about, Evelyn is able to cut the cord, and she and Jonah carefully untangle it from the ferret’s leg. <<if $cordis is "fire">>\ Still humming, you gently touch the ferret’s foot. He jerks and hisses, baring his teeth once more, but doesn’t try to escape. His foot feels cold where the circulation had been cut off, and there are subtle fractures in the bones. Under your touch, the blood starts flowing again, the damaged tissue starts to mend. The fractures will heal in time, but you can tell the bones are no longer aligned, the damage no doubt exasperated by his struggles. <<else>>\ Still humming, you gently touch the ferret’s foot. He jerks and hisses, baring his teeth once more, but doesn’t try to escape. His foot feels cold where the circulation had been cut off. Hopefully with the snare gone, the blood will start flowing again. <</if>>\ The ferret is quiet now, hypnotized by your voice. You reach out and take the swaddled bundle from Jonah’s arms and cradle him to your chest. The ferret makes an odd little chuckling noise and nestles in, borrowing his nose into the crevice between your arm and chest. You stop humming and hold your breath, waiting, but the ferret seems content not to move. “Well, I’ll be,” Jonah murmurs. Evelyn peers over your shoulder. “I suppose he’s a little cute, after all.” She scrunches her nose. “Kinda smelly, though.” She steps back, giving you room to stand. “What are you going to name him?” “He’s not a pet,” Jonah reminds her. You tilt your head to the side as you watch the furry critter. “I’ll name him…” <<textbox "$petname" "Type name here">> “Momma’s not gonna like this,” Evelyn mutters. Jonah sighs and rubs the bridge of his nose. “Actually, knowing your mother, she probably will.” ---- [[Next|2.44]]

A small red fox thrashes about in the underbrush, his left back leg caught in a hunter’s snare. It’s tightly wound multiple times over, causing his paw to bend inward at an unnatural angle. When the creature sees you he stops thrashing and scampers backward, fur raised. His large ears flatten back against his head and he barks like a dog showing his teeth. "//A young fox, male, I think//," Jonah signs. Then he turns to you. "//$alias, can you hear anything else? Is the parent nearby, or maybe the hunter?//" You listen for a moment, reaching out with your senses. You hear the rustling of leaves and birds, but nothing out of the ordinary. Certainly no other humans or large creatures. Your eyes meet Jonah’s and you shake your head. Jonah’s shoulders relax and he crouches down just out of reach of the young fox. “Poor thing won’t survive long with that leg.” His eyes trace the short cord of the snare to an iron stake in the ground. His expression is grim, his eyes creased in disappointment when he turns to you. “The humane thing to do would be to put it out of its misery.” <<if $cordis is "fire">>\ “No, wait, I can heal it!” you croak. Jonah shakes his head sadly. “I’m afraid that foot is beyond even your capabilities. This little fellow will always have a limp. His chances for surviving in the wild aren’t good.” <<else>>\ “No, wait, can’t we just free him?” you croak. Jonah shakes his head sadly. “I’m afraid that foot will never heal properly. This little guy will always have a limp. His chances for surviving in the wild aren’t good.” <</if>>\ “Then,” your mind flounders for a solution, “I’ll adopt him!” “$alias, this is a wild animal, not a pet,” Jonah urges. Evelyn scrunches her nose. “Uh, I feel bad for it, too, but look at those teeth. I don’t want that thing biting my nose off in the middle of the night.” “He can stay in the yard, at least until he’s fully healed.” You turn your gaze to the fox. He’s crouched low to the ground and is now watching you, growling softly. “Don't give up on him, he just needs a little help. He deserves a chance to live, too.” The "too" gives Jonah pause. You watch as his brows crease, lips purse. His eyes flash a deep green and become glazed, like he’s thinking of something far away. Then they focus on you. “Alright,” he sighs. “He’s still not a pet, and I’m not saying we’re keeping him. But we can at least nurse him back to health. After that it’s up to nature, understand?” You nod hurriedly. Jonah takes off his cloak and holds it in one hand, his other hand outstretched, his fingers claw-like. The fox senses the change and opens his mouth wider. He tries to stand on his hind legs but immediately topples over, giving Jonah a chance to grab him by the scruff of his neck. He quickly wraps him up in the cloak; the creature squirms but Jonah’s grip is tight. You can see the fox’s nose sticking out of the folds of the cloak, his sharp canines bared. “Evelyn, take my dagger and cut the snare,” he instructs her. “$alias, can you calm him at all?” As Evelyn grabs the dagger off her father’s belt, you crouch next to him, laying a hand on the squirming bundle. You start to hum, the tune a long-forgotten melody from your childhood. You focus on the //cordis// and imagine the string connecting you and the fox. The fox stills almost immediately, though he’s still breathing heavily. No longer thrashing about, Evelyn is able to cut the cord, and she and Jonah carefully untangle it from the fox’s leg. <<if $cordis is "fire">>\ Still humming, you gently touch the fox’s foot. He jerks and barks again, baring his teeth once more, but doesn’t try to escape. His foot feels cold where the circulation had been cut off, and there are subtle fractures in the bones. Under your touch, the blood starts flowing again, the damaged tissue starts to mend. The fractures will heal in time, but you can tell the bones are no longer aligned, the damage no doubt exasperated by his struggles. <<else>>\ Still humming, you gently touch the fox’s foot. He jerks and barks again, baring his teeth once more, but doesn’t try to escape. His foot feels cold where the circulation had been cut off. Hopefully with the snare gone, the blood will start flowing again. <</if>>\ The fox is quiet now, hypnotized by your voice. You reach out and take the swaddled bundle from Jonah’s arms and cradle him to your chest. The fox makes an odd sound, something between a laugh and a purr, and nestles in, borrowing his nose into the crevice between your arm and chest. You stop humming and hold your breath, waiting, but the fox seems content not to move. “Well, I’ll be,” Jonah murmurs. Evelyn peers over your shoulder. “I suppose he’s a little cute, after all.” She scrunches her nose. “Kinda smelly, though.” She steps back, giving you room to stand. “What are you going to name him?” “He’s not a pet,” Jonah reminds her. You tilt your head to the side as you watch the furry critter. “I’ll name him…” <<textbox "$petname" "Type name here">> “Momma’s not gonna like this,” Evelyn mutters. Jonah sighs and rubs the bridge of his nose. “Actually, knowing your mother, she probably will.” ---- [[Next|2.44]]

A small badger thrashes about in the underbrush, his left back leg caught in a hunter’s snare. It’s tightly wound multiple times over, causing his paw to bend inward at an unnatural angle. When the creature sees you he stops thrashing and scampers backward, fur raised. Then he hisses and tries to stand on his hind legs but immediately topples over. "//A young badger, male, I think//," Jonah signs. Then he turns to you. "//$alias, can you hear anything else? Is the parent nearby, or maybe the hunter?//" You listen for a moment, reaching out with your senses. You hear the rustling of leaves and birds, but nothing out of the ordinary. Certainly no other humans or large creatures. Your eyes meet Jonah’s and you shake your head. Jonah’s shoulders relax and he crouches down just out of reach of the young badger. “Poor thing won’t survive long with that leg.” His eyes trace the short cord of the snare to an iron stake in the ground. His expression is grim, his eyes creased in disappointment when he turns to you. “The humane thing to do would be to put it out of its misery.” <<if $cordis is "fire">>\ “No, wait, I can heal it!” you croak. Jonah shakes his head sadly. “I’m afraid that foot is beyond even your capabilities. This little fellow will always have a limp. His chances for surviving in the wild aren’t good.” <<else>>\ “No, wait, can’t we just free him?” you croak. Jonah shakes his head sadly. “I’m afraid that foot will never heal properly. This little guy will always have a limp. His chances for surviving in the wild aren’t good.” <</if>>\ “Then,” your mind flounders for a solution, “I’ll adopt him!” “$alias, this is a wild animal, not a pet,” Jonah urges. Evelyn scrunches her nose. “Uh, I feel bad for it, too, but look at those claws. I don’t want that thing killing me in the middle of the night.” “He can stay in the yard, at least until he’s fully healed.” You turn your gaze to the badger. He’s flattened himself on the ground and is now watching you, growling softly. “Don't give up on him, he just needs a little help. He deserves a chance to live, too.” The "too" gives Jonah pause. You watch as his brows crease, lips purse. His eyes flash a deep green and become glazed, like he’s thinking of something far away. Then they focus on you. “Alright,” he sighs. “He’s still not a pet, and I’m not saying we’re keeping him. But we can at least nurse him back to health. After that it’s up to nature, understand?” You nod hurriedly. Jonah takes off his cloak and holds it in one hand, his other hand outstretched, his fingers claw-like. The badger senses the change and puffs up, his growls intensify, interspersed with hissing. Jonah lunges and manages to grab the badger by the scruff of his neck, quickly wrapping him up in the cloak. The creature squirms but Jonah’s grip is tight. You can see the badger’s nose sticking out of the folds of the cloak, his sharp canines bared. “Evelyn, take my dagger and cut the snare,” he instructs her. “$alias, can you calm him at all?” As Evelyn grabs the dagger off her father’s belt, you crouch next to him, laying a hand on the squirming bundle. You start to hum, the tune a long-forgotten melody from your childhood. You focus on the //cordis// and imagine the string connecting you and the badger. The badger stills almost immediately, though he’s still breathing heavily. No longer thrashing about, Evelyn is able to cut the cord, and she and Jonah carefully untangle it from the badger’s leg. <<if $cordis is "fire">>\ Still humming, you gently touch the badger’s foot. He jerks and hisses, baring his teeth once more, but doesn’t try to escape. His foot feels cold where the circulation had been cut off, and there are subtle fractures in the bones. Under your touch, the blood starts flowing again, the damaged tissue starts to mend. The fractures will heal in time, but you can tell the bones are no longer aligned, the damage no doubt exasperated by his struggles. <<else>>\ Still humming, you gently touch the badger’s foot. He jerks and hisses, baring his teeth once more, but doesn’t try to escape. His foot feels cold where the circulation had been cut off. Hopefully with the snare gone, the blood will start flowing again. <</if>>\ The badger is quiet now, hypnotized by your voice. You reach out and take the swaddled bundle from Jonah’s arms and cradle him to your chest. The badger makes an odd little cooing noise and nestles in, borrowing his nose into the crevice between your arm and chest. You stop humming and hold your breath, waiting, but the badger seems content not to move. “Well, I’ll be,” Jonah murmurs. Evelyn peers over your shoulder. “I suppose he’s a little cute, after all.” She scrunches her nose. “Kinda smelly, though.” She steps back, giving you room to stand. “What are you going to name him?” “He’s not a pet,” Jonah reminds her. You tilt your head to the side as you watch the furry critter. “I’ll name him…” <<textbox "$petname" "Type name here">> “Momma’s not gonna like this,” Evelyn mutters. Jonah sighs and rubs the bridge of his nose. “Actually, knowing your mother, she probably will.” ---- [[Next|2.44]]

The high-pitched squeal that erupts from Thaleia when you walk through the front door is, you're certain, heard throughout all corners of the empire. Even the $pet startles, raising his head out of the cloak and peering around. “What is that delightful creature?” Thaleia croons, momentarily forgetting to sign. She clasps her hands together in front of her mouth. “Oh my goodness, those eyes! That precious nose! It’s positively adorable!” “It’s our new pet,” says Evelyn. “It’s not a pet,” Jonah insists. “We’re just nursing him back to health, that’s all.” <<if $petname is "Tellus">>\ “And his name is $petname,” Evelyn offers. She catches your eye and gives you a knowing half-smile. Thaleia's hands drop to her collarbone, tears glistening her eyes as she regards you. “What a lovely tribute of a name, truly. $petname, are you as sweet as your namesake was? Let me look at you.” Thaleia hurries across the kitchen toward you and you meet her halfway. She holds her hand out and the $pet cautiously sniffs her. “Are you hungry, $petname? What do you feed a $pet?” <<else>>\ “And his name is $petname,” Evelyn offers. “$petname, you little sweetheart! Let me look at you.” Thaleia hurries across the kitchen toward you and you meet her halfway. She holds her hand out and the $pet cautiously sniffs her. “Are you hungry, $petname? What do you feed a $pet?” <</if>>\ “You don’t,” Jonah sighs, rubbing his hand over his face. “You don’t need to feed him because he’s not a pet. He can hunt just fine on his own.” “Excellent!” Thaleia chirps. “He’ll be able to help clear my garden of rodents and insects.” She grins broadly at her husband, her smile cheery and guileless. “I’m going to chop some wood for a small enclosure,” Jonah says resignedly. “Just… be careful. It’s still a wild animal.” He bends low to plant a kiss on Thaleia’s cheek. She hums happily and $petname echoes her with an enthusiastic chirp. “We’ll be fine,” Thaleia assures him. She waves him off, then starts digging through the egg basket. “Now, let’s see what we can feed you, hmm, $petname?” <<if $pet is "ferret">>\ By the end of the day, Jonah is sleeping soundly on his chair in the living room, exhausted from his work on the wooden enclosure out front. Your not-pet is curled on his chest and partially tucked beneath his beard, $petname’s soft chirps blending with Jonah’s snores. <</if>>\ <<if $pet is "fox">>\ By the end of the day, Jonah is sleeping soundly on his chair in the living room, exhausted from his work on the wooden enclosure out front. Your not-pet is curled on his chest and partially tucked beneath his beard, $petname’s purrs blending with Jonah’s snores. <</if>>\ <<if $pet is "badger">>\ By the end of the day, Jonah is sleeping soundly on his chair in the living room, exhausted from his work on the wooden enclosure out front. Your not-pet is curled on his chest and partially tucked beneath his beard, $petname’s purrs blending with Jonah’s snores. <</if>>\ ---- [[Next|2.45]]

"//It was good//," you sign. "//Lucia needed a special delivery. Again.//" “Oh, that Lucia,” Thaleia chuckles. Small clumps of dirt roll off her hands as she signs. “That woman can wrap people around her finger as easily as she can thread.” The front door opens and Jonah ambles out, followed by Evelyn. She’s dressed in one of her lightweight gowns, the strap of a quiver cutting across her chest and a bow clutched in her hands. Her long auburn hair is pulled back in a low ponytail, giving you full view of the disgruntled expression on her face. Your eyes drop to the pair of shortswords attached to Jonah’s hip and your shoulders sag in dismay. “You’re home. Good.” Jonah smiles, his voice a slow drawl, his hand motions airy and unhurried as he signs. Either he’s oblivious to your and Evelyn’s displeasure or, more likely, he’s amused by it. “You’re just in time for training.” Jonah has been training you and Evelyn in combat techniques and self defense; Eva with the bow and you with the sword. Neither of you are particularly happy about it, but Evelyn at least has a talent for it. For all her insistence that archery "is not a proper pursuit for a lady,” she’s actually quite good at it. Her speed and precision rivals her father’s. <<if $cordis is "earth">>\ You, however, have been far less successful at learning sword play. You were eager at the start, and the metal hilt felt familiar in your hand. But the basic techniques feel stiff and clumsy. You can’t keep track of all the details—how to bend your elbow, how to grip the sword, how to track your opponent’s movements. Nothing feels intuitive. The amount of bumps and bruises you’ve acquired through your inept attempts is embarrassing to think on. <<else>>\ You, however, have been far less successful at learning sword play. You were eager at the start, but it was not long before you realized you were exceedingly bad at it. The basic techniques feel sloppy and erratic. You can’t keep track of all the details—where to step, how to bend your elbow, how to grip the sword. Nothing feels intuitive. The amount of bumps and bruises you’ve acquired through your inept attempts is embarrassing to think on. <</if>>\ Not to mention the blade reminds you of the longswords the imperial soldiers favor. You shudder even holding it. But Jonah insists that you need at least a passable means of defending yourself, especially given the fact that Iredicci survivors are still hunted and killed. And so you persist. Reluctantly. Very reluctantly. You give him the most miserable expression you can muster. "//Can we skip today? Please? I had extra deliveries and really need to rest//." Your shoulders droop and your fingers are sluggish to emphasize your weariness. “Even better, you'll need to defend yourself when hurt or weary.” Jonah’s mouth is fixed in a solemn line but his green eyes dance with mirth. //Damn it.// Then you recall the imperial soldiers. You straighten your shoulders, your hand motions now brisk and emphatic. “//Wait, actually, I have something important to tell you//.” You relate the encounter to Evelyn and her parents, describing both the soldiers and their unusual charges. They watch intently, Jonah interrupting occasionally to ask you to describe the older man in more detail. “Do you know him?” Thaleia asks her husband once you’ve finished. “I’ve heard of a talented inventor, Alessandro Cato. Very clever man. Ingenious work. There was talk that the regis wanted to make him a part of his court.” Jonah crosses his arms and looks off toward town. “If that was indeed him, the soldiers may be escorting him to the capitol.” “Was the girl his daughter?” Evelyn asks. “Perhaps. I don’t know if he has family.” Jonah looks back at you, his eyes creased with worry. “They’re probably just passing through and won’t be staying long, but be wary in town, $alias. It may be wise for you to meditate tonight, rather than train.” You agree completely, and not just because you hate training. You excuse yourself and head around the house, toward Thaleia’s greenhouse in the back. It’s a small glass enclosure, no larger than the home you shared with your mother in camp. That’s partly why you enjoy meditating here. The other is because it’s easier to concentrate among the plants and silence. You settle down on the dirt floor facing the door, crossing your legs beneath you. You close your eyes and take in a deep breath, relishing the scent of aster, columbine, and lilies. As you breathe out, your mind focuses on the elements around you—the dirt beneath you, the smell of the flowers, the still air, and the trickle of a nearby fountain. The strands of the //cordis// come into your mind’s eye, humming their familiar tune. You can’t wield the //cordis// without singing, but meditation at least keeps your senses sharp and your $cordis attunement strong. ---- [[Though you still sing when you can. In secret. When you’re certain no one is about. You know if you don’t sing, your ability to affect the cordis will fade in time. It’s important to keep your heritage alive. You can’t lose this, too, not when you’ve already lost so much.|2.17][$magic to Math.clamp($magic + 10, 0, 100)]] [[Though you still sing when you can. In secret. When you’re certain no one is about. You know if you don’t sing, your ability to affect the cordis will fade in time. The regis and his soldiers have taken everything from you; you’ll be damned if you let him take this, too.|2.18][$magic to Math.clamp($magic + 10, 0, 100)]] [[You never sing, even in private. You know if you don’t sing, your ability to affect the cordis will fade in time, but the fear of discovery is just too strong. You can’t help feeling guilty, like you’re disgracing the memory of your mother. But the fear is greater than the guilt.|2.19][$magic to Math.clamp($magic - 10, 0, 100)]] [[You never sing, even in private. You know if you don’t sing, your ability to affect the cordis will fade in time, but perhaps that is for the best. You still mediate to keep your senses sharp, but you don’t think you will ever sing again. That life is over.|2.20][$magic to Math.clamp($magic - 10, 0, 100)]]

/* define your story variables here */  <<set $eva = 50>>  <<set $calli = 0>>  <<set $cori = 0>>  <<set $vic = 0>>  <<set $bay = 0>>  <<set $coda = 0>>  <<set $social to 50>> <<set $cheer to 50>> <<set $magic to 50>> <<set $mercy to 50>>  <<set $visitedfriends to 0>>  <<cacheaudio "iredicci" "Audio/iredicci.mp3">> <<cacheaudio "proelium" "Audio/proelium.mp3">> <<cacheaudio "grief" "Audio/grief.mp3">> <<cacheaudio "darissi" "Audio/darissi.mp3">> <<cacheaudio "venture" "Audio/venture.mp3">> <<cacheaudio "clockwork" "Audio/clockwork.mp3">> <<cacheaudio "coda" "Audio/coda.mp3">> <<cacheaudio "corinne" "Audio/corinne.mp3">> <<cacheaudio "calliope" "Audio/calliope.mp3">>

<<audio "venture" volume 0.1 loop play>>\ <<audio "darissi" stop>>\ //8 years later// You’ve just finished the last of your deliveries and are making your way through the town toward home. It’s late afternoon and the market is winding down. Though lately, truth be told, there’s not much to wind down from. Over the last several years, you’ve noticed a change in the atmosphere of the once lively town. News from the merchant travelers is grim: tales of escalating unrest and discontent in the empire, and the rise of a clandestine group known as the Resistenza. Openly rebellious acts disturb the larger metropolises, and riots in the outlying territories are a common occurrence. Relations with Tinebaille, while always tenuous, are more hostile than ever. The regis throws his navy at the islands in what many believe is more an act of pride than purpose. Regiments of soldiers are continually dispatched to deal with the Resistenza, with little regard for safety, resources, or funds. The death toll everywhere has risen, as have taxes and the cost of goods. Interestingly enough, the plight of the Iredicci has become a political matter. The hunt for survivors has not ceased, and many nobles condemn the regis’s continued persecution of your people. Whether they are truly sympathetic to your cause or simply want the regis to stop wasting resources, you have no idea. But you know it’s caused a schism among the aristocracy. As a result of the civil unrest, noble families have started moving away from the more lawless cities and congregating either closer to the capitol or in rural towns. A half dozen noble families moved to Darissi in the last eight years, a fact which delighted Evelyn. She is now engaged to a barone a few years older than her. She’s confided in you that, while their relationship is cordial, there is no love between them. The match is driven more by comfort and stability than any personal connection. You know neither Jonah nor Thaleia are keen on the match, but they respect Evelyn’s choice. As for you, you’ve had a couple relationships in the last years, but nothing serious. After all, how close can you truly be with someone while keeping a secret as big as yours? ---- [[The relationships were purely physical. You’re no stranger to sex, and that’s all you wanted from them.|2.46][$virgin = false]] [[The relationships were purely physical. You’re no stranger to sex, but you regret that’s all it was. You long for romance, to open your heart to someone, to be able to divulge all your feelings and secrets.|2.46][$virgin = false]] [[The relationships were platonic and non-physical, more friendship than romance. You have never been intimate with another and have no desire to be.|2.46][$virgin = true]] [[The relationships were platonic and non-physical, more friendship than romance. You have never been intimate with another, but you wish for it. You long to feel that depth of affection for someone, to love wholly and freely.|2.46][$virgin = true]]

A low chittering sound interrupts your thoughts and the satchel at your side bounces against your hip. <<if $pet is "ferret">>\ A small black nose surrounded by tan fur pushes aside the top flap of your satchel, whiskers twitching. You chuckle and slide your hand inside, tickling $petname’s soft belly. The ferret lets out a happy little chirp and settles back into the recesses of your satchel. Despite Jonah’s repeated insistence that he was not a pet, $petname quickly became your constant companion. When he wasn’t chasing his ball down the staircase or hiding Evelyn's jewelry, he happily remained at your side, perching on your shoulder or resting at the bottom of your satchel. It was rare that you came into town without him. <</if>>\ <<if $pet is "fox">>\ A small black nose surrounded by red fur pushes aside the top flap of your satchel, whiskers twitching. You chuckle and slide your hand inside, tickling $petname’s soft belly. The fox lets out a happy little bark and settles back into the recesses of your satchel. $petname's on the small side for a fox, but it still feels like you're carrying around a boulder in your bag. You adjust the strap to help disperse the weight more evenly. Despite Jonah’s repeated insistence that he was not a pet, $petname quickly became your constant companion. When he wasn’t wrestling in your blankets or chewing on Evelyn's shoes, he happily remained at your side, perching on your shoulder or resting at the bottom of your satchel. It was rare that you came into town without him. <</if>>\ <<if $pet is "badger">>\ A small black nose surrounded by white fur pushes aside the top flap of your satchel, whiskers twitching. You chuckle and slide your hand inside, tickling $petname’s soft belly. The badger lets out a happy little grunt and settles back into the recesses of your satchel. $petname's on the small side for a badger, but it still feels like you're carrying around a boulder in your bag. You adjust the strap to help disperse the weight more evenly. Despite Jonah’s repeated insistence that he was not a pet, $petname quickly became your constant companion. When he wasn’t burrowing in Thaleia’s garden or the blankets on your bed, he happily remained at your side, perching on your shoulder or resting at the bottom of your satchel. It was rare that you came into town without him. <</if>>\ “Well, if it isn’t the village idiot.” You hear the voice to your right but you keep your gaze locked on the road before you as if you hadn’t. You recognize the voice of Stavros, the son of a local banker. He’s never been kind to you, and the lecherous comments you’ve heard him whisper about Evelyn made you want to punch his face in. But he’s been far worse since returning from his enlistment. After his term in the army, he returned home scarred and with a permanent limp. He was one of the lucky ones; many of those drafted never returned at all. “You fuckin’ nobles strut around, leeching off the rest of us,” the voice continues. You hear his footfalls when he starts following behind you. “Never had to serve, never had to suffer. Think your life’s so easy, don’t ya?” <<if $mercy gte 50>>\ You breathe in through your nose and slowly out through your mouth, your eyelids fluttering as you blink back tears. Your hand stills against $petname’s belly. Stavros served with both his sister and cousin, yet only he returned home alive. You know that loss and grief fuel his anger. You understand that pain better than anyone. A soft coo drifts from the satchel, too low for anyone but you to hear. $petname has become exceedingly good at recognizing your moods, and you’re certain he senses your distress. He nuzzles into your hand, fur raised. <<else>>\ You swallow. Hard. Your hand inside the satchel clenches into a fist and you focus on the sensation of your nails digging into your palm. Stavros served with both his sister and cousin, yet only he returned home alive. You know that loss and grief fuel his anger, but he has no right taking it out on you. He has //no// idea what true loss is. A low growl rumbles from the satchel, too low for anyone but you to hear. $petname has become exceedingly good at recognizing your moods, and you’re certain he senses your anger. You can feel him vibrating with his growl, his fur raised. <</if>>\ You think the matter done until you hear hurried footsteps behind you, then a bitter grumble, “This asshole doesn’t get to walk away from me." <<if $pet is "ferret">>\ A hand grips your shoulder and roughly tugs you around. You lift your arm and twist easily out of his grasp, shoving him away from you as you do. $petname scampers out of your bag, hissing and barking as he climbs to your shoulder. <</if>>\ <<if $pet is "fox">>\ A hand grips your shoulder and roughly tugs you around. You lift your arm and twist easily out of his grasp, shoving him away from you as you do. $petname scampers out of your bag, growling and barking as he climbs to your shoulder. His weight pulls on you but you stand firm, not allowing yourself to show weakness in front of Stavros. <</if>>\ <<if $pet is "badger">>\ A hand grips your shoulder and roughly tugs you around. You lift your arm and twist easily out of his grasp, shoving him away from you as you do. $petname scampers out of your bag, hissing and barking as he climbs to your shoulder. His weight pulls on you but you stand firm, not allowing yourself to show weakness in front of Stavros. <</if>>\ Stavros stumbles back a few steps, his eyes on the $pet’s mouthful of teeth. “What the hell? Keep your damn pet away from me!” <<if $cheer gte 50>>\ “Now, you’re the one who approached $alias, I saw you put your hands on $pronoun2,” Lucia admonishes, coming out from behind her stall. She smiles at you briefly, before turning to glare at Stavros. “I know you miss your family, but that’s not $pronoun3 fault. No call to be taking it out on $pronoun2. There’s no one in this town more friendly and obliging than $alias.” You pet $petname’s back, calming him down. You nod at Lucia, hoping your expression conveys your gratitude. Then you turn on your heel and continue on your way. <<else>>\ “Now, you’re the one who approached $alias, I saw you put your hands on $pronoun2,” Lucia admonishes, coming out from behind her stall. She turns her hard gaze on you. “But you need to control that beast, $alias. His attitude is as bad as yours.” You pet $petname’s back, calming him down. You turn on your heel and continue on your way without acknowledging either of them. <</if>>\ You can hear Stavros’s disgruntled mumbling behind you. “S’not fair.” //No, it’s not//, you think as you make your way home. Thirteen years and it doesn’t get any fairer. Thirteen years and the heartbreak and pain are still there. Sometimes it’s manageable—a subtle, faraway whisper. Sometimes it’s a horrific and deafening scream in your head. But it’s always, //always// there. And unlike Stavros, you can’t even speak about the unfairness of it. ---- [[Next|2.47]]

Your mood gets gradually worse the closer you get to home. You begin pacing in a circle, your steps quick and forceful. Twigs break beneath your booted feet and you kick rocks and branches out of your way. You shake your hands out, trying to relieve the anxiousness that prickles your skin. You struggle to catch your breath but it’s coming in fast, harsh heaves. Feeling your distress, $petname whimpers and nuzzles into your neck. You stop, breathing heavily. Then you clutch him to your chest and collapse in a heap on the forest floor. <<if $magic gte 50>>\ You begin to sing—a wordless, mellow tune. The first song your mother ever taught you. As you sing, you struggle to picture her: her patient brown eyes, her $skincolor skin so much like yours. You look down at your hands around $petname, //her// hands, the only thing that remains of her. You stumble over the melody. You become dimly aware of $petname wriggling against you, struggling to free himself. You stop singing and release him. <<else>>\ You curse and cry—loud, violent sobs interspersed with the profanity. You struggle to picture your mother: her patient brown eyes, her $skincolor skin so much like yours. You look down at your hands around $petname, //her// hands, the only thing that remains of her. You stumble over your words. You become dimly aware of $petname wriggling against you, struggling to free himself. You quiet down and release him. <</if>>\ And that’s when you hear it. The footfalls that do not belong to anyone in your family. The heavy breathing behind you. You scramble to your feet and whirl around. Behind you stands Stavros, his eyes wide and furious. He raises a shaky hand and points at you. “You… you fuckin’ liar! You’re Iredicci! You fuckin’ bastards, your whole family is gonna pay! I’m telling the guards! This whole town is gonna know. You’re so fuckin’ dead, you hear me?! You’re dead!” He begins to turn away. You need to stop him! But your body won’t respond, your words stuck in your throat. He’s going to tell! //No!// //Thunk!// An arrow whizzes past your ear and pierces Stavros in the throat. He clutches at it, gurgling over the blood pouring from his neck. You hear the creak of the bow behind you, the sound of familiar hands pulling an arrow from a quiver and notching it skillfully against the string. Then another whoosh of air as the second arrow flies past and lands squarely in Stavros’s chest. His eyes roll back in his head and he falls backward, dead before he hits the forest floor. You stare at him for a heartbeat. Two. Three. Then turn, already knowing who you’ll see. Evelyn lowers the bow, breathing heavily. “What happened?” she demands. You don’t answer immediately, your thoughts frozen. Evelyn drops her bow and rushes over to you. She reaches out as if to grab you, but her hands still in the space between you, and she repeats, “What happened? Are you alright? Wait, don’t answer that yet.” She looks over your shoulder, peering intently through the trees. “Are we alone?” You take a deep breath and reach out to the //cordis//, listening to the sounds of the woods as you do. You hear no one else. “We’re alone,” you assure her, your eyes on the body behind you. “He insulted me in town, and I suppose he followed to have another go. I was upset and not paying attention. I didn’t even hear him. I couldn’t, I was…” You look back at Eva and your words trail off. She’s nodding quietly, her eyes also on the body. She worries her bottom lip between her teeth, her hands clenching and unclenching into fists. <<if $cordis is "water">>\ You can sense the emotions rolling off her. There’s fear, anxiousness, but also anger—anger toward you. You understand why, and the guilt closes around your throat like a vise. You can’t stay in Darissi, not after this. You’ll have to move. Again. <<else>>\ You can guess what she’s thinking, and the guilt closes around your throat like a vise. You can’t stay in Darissi, not after this. You’ll have to move. Again. <</if>>\ It means upending all their lives. Again. Evelyn's engagement, Thaleia’s job… all of it. Over. Because of you. Because of your secret. “I’m sorry, Eva.” You lean in, trying to draw her gaze. “I should have been paying attention. I should have been watching. This is my fault-” <<if $eva gte 35>>\ “No, no, it’s not. Well, I mean it is, but…” Tears pool beneath her lids and she wipes them away. “I don’t blame you, I don’t. But this,” her voice catches as she looks back at the body, “this is wrong. It’s so, so wrong. All of it. And so fucking unfair. And I can’t…” She looks at your chest, at her hands wringing in front of her, everywhere but your eyes. “I don’t hate you. I love you. But I hate being forced to do this. I hate not having a normal life. And I know it’s not your fault. But I can’t help feeling like it is. I’m sorry, I can’t-” You pull her against you and she cries into your shoulder, her words hiccuping around her cries. “I’m sorry, I really don’t hate you,” she continues. Her words are sour and regretful as she tries to assure both of you. “You didn’t ask for this any more than I did. I //know// that. I’m glad you’re safe. I’m glad I was here. I’m sorry.” “You have nothing to apologize for,” you assure her. You rub her back with one hand, holding her shoulders tight with the other. “I regret putting you and your parents in this situation. You’re my sister,” you whisper fervently. “I love you, too. And I’m grateful to you.” “You shouldn’t be. I’m a terrible sister for even thinking this way.” She sniffles, her sobs growing quiet till they eventually stop altogether. “It’s not fair of me to complain. Your case is much worse.” ---- [[“No, we’re not doing that. We’re not comparing miseries,” you urge. “It’s okay for you to feel the way you do.”|2.48][$eva to Math.clamp($eva + 5, 0, 100)]] [[You agree with her but there’s no need to say so. It’s obvious she regrets blaming you, there’s no reason to belabor the point.|2.49]] [[“No, it’s not fair,” you say pointedly. “My entire life was ripped apart, and every day I have to pretend like it wasn’t.”|2.50][$eva to Math.clamp($eva - 5, 0, 100)]] <<else>>\ “Of course it’s your fault! It’s always your fault!” she yells. She pushes you away from her and clutches at her hair, her fingers disturbing the meticulous plaits. “We have to be so careful, so private, all for you. And now I’ve killed a man. For you! Do you realize what this means? We can’t stay here. I’ve lost everything, my fiancé, my home-” Something inside of you snaps. “You think you’re the only one who’s lost something?” you retort. “You think I asked for any of this?! My people were massacred! My entire life was ripped apart, and every day I have to pretend like it wasn’t!” “You think I don’t know that?” Evelyn snaps back. “I get it. I do. What happened to your camp was fucking awful. And none of us escaped it. My mother makes herself angry over you. My father exhausted himself training you. All to keep you safe. Every aspect of our lives revolves around //you//. I finally, //finally// have something of my own. But no, I can’t even have that. I'm so sick and tired of playing second fiddle to you!” ---- [[“You selfish brat!” you yell. “So you have to leave the fiancé you don’t even care about? Big fucking deal. My entire people were slaughtered!”|2.51][$eva to Math.clamp($eva - 5, 0, 100)]] [[You force yourself to take a breath before answering calmly. “Eva, your parents are alive. You don’t have to pretend to be mute. You’re not being hunted to extinction. It’s not the same.”|2.52][$eva to Math.clamp($eva + 5, 0, 100)]] [[You stare at her in stunned silence, tears threatening the corners of your eyes. “Is that how you really feel?”|2.53]] <</if>>\

“You’re not even trying to reassure me like you usually do,” she grumbles. “I guess I deserve that.” Her words are muffled into your shoulder because she still won’t lift her head. “You’re being unreasonable, but I know you care,” you assure her. “You didn’t hesitate to shoot. Thank you for that.” You feel something soft tickling your ankles and you look down to find $petname has squeezed himself between the two of you. He curls into a ball atop both pairs of feet. <<if $averse is true>>\ Evelyn sighs into your shoulder and gently extracts her foot from beneath him. “I’m sorry,” she says, lifting her head and releasing you. “I know you don’t like being touched. I appreciate it.” She steps back and wipes your shoulder off. “And I made your $attire wet.” <<else>>\ Evelyn sighs into your shoulder and gently extracts her foot from beneath him. She steps back and wipes your shoulder off. “I made your $attire wet.” <</if>>\ “It’s fine,” you assure her, forcing a smile. <<if $cordis is "water">>\ She turns to regard Stavros’s body. You can feel the guilt radiating from her—sickly, piercing, consuming. Her face contorts, her brow creasing as if she’s going to cry again. She lets out a long, shaky breath, her body sagging as she does, as if all her strength departed on that single sigh. <<else>>\ She turns to regard Stavros’s body. Her face contorts, her brow creasing as if she’s going to cry again. She lets out a long, shaky breath, her body sagging as she does, as if all her strength departed on that single sigh. <</if>>\ “Are you alright?” you ask, then immediately regret it. Of course she’s not alright. You’ve witnessed death before in the camp, the alley. But Eva has never seen it up close. She’s never killed anyone—she, who doesn’t even like using her bow. She shakes her head and says, “Let’s find papa. He’ll know what to do about… him.” Looking down at Stavros’s dead body, you can’t help but feel… ---- [[Guilty. He died to keep your secret safe. He may not have been a good person, but he didn’t deserve this.|2.54][$mercy to Math.clamp($mercy + 10, 0, 100)]] [[Relief. He wasn’t a good person, even before his service and the death of his family. He would have caused real harm to you and yours.|2.55][$mercy to Math.clamp($mercy + 5, 0, 100)]] [[Apathy. He wasn’t a good person, even before his service and the death of his family. His death doesn’t affect you.|2.56][$mercy to Math.clamp($mercy - 5, 0, 100)]] [[Vindicated. He wasn’t a good person, even before his service and the death of his family. He deserved everything that happened to him.|2.57][$mercy to Math.clamp($mercy - 10, 0, 100)]]

Salestians speak of The Proelium as a moment in history, a single night and then over. But you know it’s more, its ramifications clinging to you like ash. And your people are not its only victims. You wonder if you’ll ever be able to truly move forward, to find a path of light through this long dark. <<include "2.58">>

“You’re always the one reassuring me, even though I’m your big sister,” she grumbles. “You understand me better than anyone. You always have. I don’t deserve it.” Her words are muffled into your shoulder because she still won’t lift her head. “You don’t give yourself enough credit, Eva. I wouldn’t even be alive if not for you,” you say urgently. “You saved my life, then and now. You always save me.” You feel something soft tickling your ankles and you look down to find $petname has squeezed himself between the two of you. He curls into a ball atop both pairs of feet. <<if $averse is true>>\ Evelyn sighs into your shoulder and gently extracts her foot from beneath him. “I’m sorry,” she says, lifting her head and releasing you. “I know you don’t like being touched. I appreciate it.” She steps back and wipes your shoulder off. “And I made your $attire wet.” <<else>>\ Evelyn sighs into your shoulder and gently extracts her foot from beneath him. She steps back and wipes your shoulder off. “I made your $attire wet.” <</if>>\ “It’s fine,” you assure her, forcing a smile. <<if $cordis is "water">>\ She turns to regard Stavros’s body. You can feel the guilt radiating from her—sickly, piercing, consuming. Her face contorts, her brow creasing as if she’s going to cry again. She lets out a long, shaky breath, her body sagging as she does, as if all her strength departed on that single sigh. <<else>>\ She turns to regard Stavros’s body. Her face contorts, her brow creasing as if she’s going to cry again. She lets out a long, shaky breath, her body sagging as she does, as if all her strength departed on that single sigh. <</if>>\ “Are you alright?” you ask, then immediately regret it. Of course she’s not alright. You’ve witnessed death before in the camp, the alley. But Eva has never seen it up close. She’s never killed anyone—she, who doesn’t even like using her bow. She shakes her head and says, “Let’s find papa. He’ll know what to do about… him.” Looking down at Stavros’s dead body, you can’t help but feel… ---- [[Guilty. He died to keep your secret safe. He may not have been a good person, but he didn’t deserve this.|2.54][$mercy to Math.clamp($mercy + 10, 0, 100)]] [[Relief. He wasn’t a good person, even before his service and the death of his family. He would have caused real harm to you and yours.|2.55][$mercy to Math.clamp($mercy + 5, 0, 100)]] [[Apathy. He wasn’t a good person, even before his service and the death of his family. His death doesn’t affect you.|2.56][$mercy to Math.clamp($mercy - 5, 0, 100)]] [[Vindicated. He wasn’t a good person, even before his service and the death of his family. He deserved everything that happened to him.|2.57][$mercy to Math.clamp($mercy - 10, 0, 100)]]

You’re usually more patient with Evelyn but you can’t keep silent. Your silence has been a sickness these past 13 years. If you can’t at least be honest with her, the sickness will destroy you, you’re certain of that. Evelyn stiffens and starts to object, but then stops. “You’re right, I know you’re right. I’m being childish and insensitive.” Her words are muffled into your shoulder because she still won’t lift her head. “You are,” you agree, “but you also didn’t hesitate to shoot. Thank you for that.” You feel something soft tickling your ankles and you look down to find $petname has squeezed himself between the two of you. He curls into a ball atop both pairs of feet. <<if $averse is true>>\ Evelyn sighs into your shoulder and gently extracts her foot from beneath him. “I’m sorry,” she says, lifting her head and releasing you. “I know you don’t like being touched. I appreciate it.” She steps back and wipes your shoulder off. “And I made your $attire wet.” <<else>>\ Evelyn sighs into your shoulder and gently extracts her foot from beneath him. She steps back and wipes your shoulder off. “I made your $attire wet.” <</if>>\ “It’s fine,” you assure her, forcing a smile. <<if $cordis is "water">>\ She turns to regard Stavros’s body. You can feel the guilt radiating from her—sickly, piercing, consuming. Her face contorts, her brow creasing as if she’s going to cry again. She lets out a long, shaky breath, her body sagging as she does, as if all her strength departed on that single sigh. <<else>>\ She turns to regard Stavros’s body. Her face contorts, her brow creasing as if she’s going to cry again. She lets out a long, shaky breath, her body sagging as she does, as if all her strength departed on that single sigh. <</if>>\ “Are you alright?” you ask, then immediately regret it. Of course she’s not alright. You’ve witnessed death before in the camp, the alley. But Eva has never seen it up close. She’s never killed anyone—she, who doesn’t even like using her bow. She shakes her head and says, “Let’s find papa. He’ll know what to do about… him.” Looking down at Stavros’s dead body, you can’t help but feel… ---- [[Guilty. He died to keep your secret safe. He may not have been a good person, but he didn’t deserve this.|2.54][$mercy to Math.clamp($mercy + 10, 0, 100)]] [[Relief. He wasn’t a good person, even before his service and the death of his family. He would have caused real harm to you and yours.|2.55][$mercy to Math.clamp($mercy + 5, 0, 100)]] [[Apathy. He wasn’t a good person, even before his service and the death of his family. His death doesn’t affect you.|2.56][$mercy to Math.clamp($mercy - 5, 0, 100)]] [[Vindicated. He wasn’t a good person, even before his service and the death of his family. He deserved everything that happened to him.|2.57][$mercy to Math.clamp($mercy - 10, 0, 100)]]

“I know that! We all know that! But what happened to you hurts me, too!” She staggers back, tripping over her bow. She catches herself but turns away from you, rubbing her sleeve across her eyes. Then she takes a deep breath and straightens, the slender line of her neck rigid and unbending. “It shouldn’t matter who’s hurting more when we’re both miserable," she snaps. “But you never see that. You never //see// me. It’s always about you.” “Stop acting like this is something I want,” you hiss. “I never asked for //this//.” Your throat hurts and your fingers ache, clenched into fists. You turn away, trying to calm your ragged breathing. You stand with your backs to each other. You can hear Evelyn sniffling behind you but you don’t turn around. You feel something rub against your leg and you look down to find $petname. His head is bowed but he leans into you, his fur tickling your ankles. After what feels an eternity of silence, Evelyn finally speaks. “Let’s find my father,” she says, her voice flat. “He’ll know what to do about… him.” Looking down at Stavros’s dead body, you can’t help but feel… ---- [[Guilty. He died to keep your secret safe. He may not have been a good person, but he didn’t deserve this.|2.54][$mercy to Math.clamp($mercy + 10, 0, 100)]] [[Relief. He wasn’t a good person, even before his service and the death of his family. He would have caused real harm to you and yours.|2.55][$mercy to Math.clamp($mercy + 5, 0, 100)]] [[Apathy. He wasn’t a good person, even before his service and the death of his family. His death doesn’t affect you.|2.56][$mercy to Math.clamp($mercy - 5, 0, 100)]] [[Vindicated. He wasn’t a good person, even before his service and the death of his family. He deserved everything that happened to him.|2.57][$mercy to Math.clamp($mercy - 10, 0, 100)]]

“It shouldn’t matter,” she says weakly. “It shouldn’t matter who’s hurting more when we’re both miserable.” She staggers back, tripping over her bow. She catches herself but turns away from you, rubbing her sleeve across her eyes. Then she takes a deep breath and straightens, the slender line of her neck rigid and unbending. “I know I’m being unfair and unreasonable. But is it so wrong of me to want a normal life?” she implores. “At the expense of mine? Yeah,” you answer. You see her hands clench and you turn away, the fight drained from you. “But I do understand this isn’t fair to you, either,” you continue. “Just… stop playing the blame game. There’s no winner here.” You stand with your backs to each other. You can hear Evelyn sniffling behind you but you don’t turn around. You feel something rub against your leg and you look down to find $petname. His head is bowed but he leans into you, his fur tickling your ankles. After what feels an eternity of silence, Evelyn finally speaks. “Let’s find my father,” she says, her voice flat. “He’ll know what to do about… him.” Looking down at Stavros’s dead body, you can’t help but feel… ---- [[Guilty. He died to keep your secret safe. He may not have been a good person, but he didn’t deserve this.|2.54][$mercy to Math.clamp($mercy + 10, 0, 100)]] [[Relief. He wasn’t a good person, even before his service and the death of his family. He would have caused real harm to you and yours.|2.55][$mercy to Math.clamp($mercy + 5, 0, 100)]] [[Apathy. He wasn’t a good person, even before his service and the death of his family. His death doesn’t affect you.|2.56][$mercy to Math.clamp($mercy - 5, 0, 100)]] [[Vindicated. He wasn’t a good person, even before his service and the death of his family. He deserved everything that happened to him.|2.57][$mercy to Math.clamp($mercy - 10, 0, 100)]]

She rubs her sleeve over her eyes and turns away from you, her silence the only answer you need. She takes a deep breath and straightens, the slender line of her neck rigid and unbending. “I always knew you were selfish, but this…” you croak. Your throat hurts and your fingers ache, clenched into fists. You turn away, trying to calm your ragged breathing. “I never knew you could be so hateful.” You stand with your backs to each other. You can hear Evelyn sniffling behind you but you don’t turn around. You feel something rub against your leg and you look down to find $petname. His head is bowed but he leans into you, his fur tickling your ankles. After what feels an eternity of silence, Evelyn finally speaks. “Let’s find my father,” she says, her voice flat. “He’ll know what to do about… him.” Looking down at Stavros’s dead body, you can’t help but feel… ---- [[Guilty. He died to keep your secret safe. He may not have been a good person, but he didn’t deserve this.|2.54][$mercy to Math.clamp($mercy + 10, 0, 100)]] [[Relief. He wasn’t a good person, even before his service and the death of his family. He would have caused real harm to you and yours.|2.55][$mercy to Math.clamp($mercy + 5, 0, 100)]] [[Apathy. He wasn’t a good person, even before his service and the death of his family. His death doesn’t affect you.|2.56][$mercy to Math.clamp($mercy - 5, 0, 100)]] [[Vindicated. He wasn’t a good person, even before his service and the death of his family. He deserved everything that happened to him.|2.57][$mercy to Math.clamp($mercy - 10, 0, 100)]]

On your way toward Lucia’s, you pause in front of a jewelry stall. Displayed on the counter is a beautiful array of thin gold bracelets, braided chains, looped earrings, and gemstone rings of all sizes and hues. <<nobr>> <<if $beads is "bracelet">> You still wear the beaded bracelet you received from Tellus, safely concealed beneath your long sleeves. It's the only remnant you have of your former life. The bright paint on the beads has faded some, but the bracelet actually fits better now that you’re grown. This glittering metal jewelry is stunning, of course, but it feels cold in comparison to your clay beads. <</if>> <<if $beads is "necklace">> You still wear the beaded necklace you received from Tellus, safely concealed beneath your clothes. It's the only remnant you have of your former life. The bright paint on the beads has faded some, but the necklace actually fits better now that you’re grown. This glittering metal jewelry is stunning, of course, but it feels cold in comparison to your clay beads. <</if>> <<if $beads is "anklet">> You still wear the beaded anklet you received from Tellus, safely concealed inside your boot. It's the only remnant you have of your former life. The bright paint on the beads has faded some, but the anklet actually fits better now that you’re grown. This glittering metal jewelry is stunning, of course, but it feels cold in comparison to your clay beads. <</if>> <<if $beads is "none">> As beautiful as these glittering baubles are, you miss the beaded accessories of your people. This jewelry feels cold in comparison. <</if>> <</nobr>> You consider the jewelry before you. ---- [[You buy several thin gold bracelets, appreciating the way they clink together on your arm.|2.6][$bling to "bracelets"]] [[You buy a gold necklace with a pearl and sapphire pendant.|2.6][$bling to "necklace"]] [[You buy a gold ring topped with a square emerald.|2.6][$bling to "ring"]] [[You can’t decide, and buy one of each.|2.6][$bling to "all"]] [[You decide against buying anything.|2.6][$bling to "none"]]

You didn’t wish for his death, but you can’t deny the relief you feel knowing he’s no longer a threat. Exposing your secret would have put your family in danger. They are the one saving grace that has kept you sane all these years. You’ll do anything to protect them. <<include "2.58">>

You know you should feel remorse, shock, grief. Something. But there is only a quiet numbness when you look at his body. You didn’t wish for his death, but you’ll shed no tears for him, either. <<include "2.58">>

Salestians speak of The Proelium as a moment in history, a single night and then over. But you know it’s more, its ramifications clinging to you like ash. It’s time the rest of the empire know that darkness, to feel what it’s like to carry that pain. <<include "2.58">>

When you arrive home, you explain the situation to Thaleia and Jonah as candidly as you can. Jonah asks no questions beyond where the body lies. You offer to show him but he ushers you and Evelyn inside, insisting he’ll handle it alone. Thaleia sits you both down at the dining table and busies herself making tea. She doesn’t chastise or condemn. She doesn’t cry or complain. But you can see her distress in the way she spills the tea leaves, in the way the teapot quivers in her hands. Jonah returns just as she’s bringing the teapot and cups to the table. He steps silently behind her and covers her fingers with his own, stilling her trembling hands. His arms support hers as she sets the tray down on the table, and you notice when they both pull away she is no longer shaking. She tilts her neck back to look up at him, a grateful smile pulling at the faint wrinkles around her eyes and cheeks. Jonah bends low and plants a soft kiss on her forehead. They join you and Evelyn at the table. There’s a moment of silence while everyone sips their tea. The questions and concerns settle around you like smoke, stifling, pervasive—too noxious to breathe in but obscuring everything else until it’s dispersed. Evelyn peeps at her father beside her from the corner of her eye. “Is he… is it…?” “It’s taken care of,” Jonah answers simply. He reaches behind and starts rubbing her back in wide, reassuring circles. “I know it feels wrong, but you did the right thing, a brave thing. I’m proud of you.” She lets out a long breath and leans back into his hand. She takes a sip of her tea, her eyes meeting yours over the rim of her cup. “We’ll have to move again, it’s not safe to remain here.” Thaleia voices the words you’re all thinking. “I’ve heard of Iredicci survivors fleeing to Tinebaille. Perhaps we should try-” “Out of the country?” Evelyn straightens and slams her cup down on the table. “No, no way. It’s bad enough giving up our home and station. I don’t want to leave the empire, too. We’d have nothing there. No connections, no status.” “We’d have each other,” Thaleia offers. “And I’m sure with all our skills we could find good jobs. It would be rather exciting, wouldn't it?” “Momma, I can’t,” Evelyn croaks, her voice pleading. “Don’t ask this of me, please.” “You know, cub… Eva. You don’t have to leave with us.” Thaleia’s voice is soft, encouraging, but you can hear the tremor in her words. “You have a fiancé here, a future. You’re old enough to make your own life now. You don’t need us-” <<if $eva gte 35>>\ “But you need me,” she cuts in. “I’m not abandoning you. I could never.” Her gaze shifts to you and she reaches across the table toward you. “We’re family. My place is with you.” <<if $cordis is "fire">>\ <<if $averse is true>>\ You reach forward and lay your hand next to hers, your $skincolor skin beside her fair tone. “Thank you, sister.” You hold like that for a moment, finding strength in each other’s gazes, relishing the affirmation you both desperately need. <</if>>\ <<if $averse is false>>\ You reach forward and clasp her hand in yours, palms pressed together, fingers interlocked. Her hand is cold but warms quickly with your touch. You squeeze, not too tightly. Just enough to assure yourself of the sturdy grip, of the solidness and realness of her touch. “Thank you, sister.” You hold like that for a moment, each finding strength in the other’s gaze, relishing the affirmation you both desperately need. <</if>>\ <<else>>\ You reach forward and clasp her hand in yours. “Thank you, sister.” You hold like that for a moment, each finding strength in the other’s gaze, relishing the affirmation you both desperately need. <</if>>\ <<else>>\ “But you need me,” she cuts in. “I’m not abandoning you. I could never.” Her gaze shifts to you and her eyes narrow. “Besides, something like this could happen again. I need to watch you.” You take a sip of your tea and silently return her glare. Things aren’t settled between you two, not by a long shot. But you respect her parents too much to revisit that argument here. <</if>>\ “We could move back to Inizi,” Jonah suggests. He sits with his elbows on the table, his hands clenched together in a fist and his chin resting upon them. His beard is as long as ever, but now streaks of white and grey mingle with the red. His face has always been weathered by the sun, but there are new wrinkles now brought on by age. Evelyn perks up at the suggestion. “Oh, that’s a wonderful idea! I loved it there!” “Inizi is where Eva was born. We lived there before moving to Acamera,” Thaleia explains. “It’s a large port city on the western coast of Saleste. I’m sure some of our old contacts are still there and could help us find immediate work and housing. There’s a large presence of imperial soldiers there, but it’s also a very large city, many people coming and going. It would be easy to get lost in the crowd.” After a pause she adds, “And I suppose if there were any problems, we could easily board a ship to Tinebaille from there. In an emergency.” <<if $cordis is "water">>\ Thaleia keeps her eyes locked on Jonah while she speaks. Something in her voice pulls your attention, something deliberate and careful. There’s another reason for wanting to go to Inizi, something she’s not telling you. You can feel unease coming from her and Jonah, but also resolve, guilt, impatience, and… hope? <<else>>\ Thaleia keeps her eyes locked on Jonah while she speaks. Something in her voice pulls your attention, something deliberate and careful. <</if>>\ “What do you think, $alias?” Jonah asks. “Would you like to go to Inizi?” ---- [[“Yes, definitely,” you reply, struggling to keep the excitement out of your voice. You crave the energy of a large city as much as Evelyn does.|2.59][$social to Math.clamp($social + 5, 0, 100)]] [[“Sounds good to me,” you say, nodding. Evelyn obviously wants to go, and you have to admit you’re curious about it.|2.59][$cheer to Math.clamp($cheer + 5, 0, 100)]] [[The idea of a large, crowded city is unnerving, but everyone seems to be in favor of the idea. You tamp down your hesitation and nod.|2.59][$social to Math.clamp($social - 5, 0, 100)]] [[You shrug. One imperial city is as good - or bad - as any other.|2.59][$cheer to Math.clamp($cheer - 5, 0, 100)]]

“I need to write a letter to the barone, calling off our engagement,” Evelyn says, rising to her feet. “Would you like me to tell the family, cub?” Thaleia offers. “No, I should be the one to do this. But, thank you.” She clears the table and leaves the room. You can hear her footsteps ascending the stairs, her footfalls more sprightly than they were an hour ago. You plant your palms on the table, about to push yourself to your feet, but Thaleia reaches out to stop you. “Wait a moment, $alias. Please.” She exchanges a look with her husband. “There’s a matter we need to speak to you about.” You lean back in the chair and look questioningly toward the stairwell. Thaleia shakes her head and folds her hands above the table, interlocking her fingers. You note the wrinkles around her knuckles, the faint blue veins beneath her thinning skin. Her grip is as sure and steady as ever, but her hands betray her age. “Evelyn doesn’t know about this,” Thaleia begins. “We don’t think she’d approve. There’s another reason why we suggested Inizi. Jonah has…” She bites her lip and shifts her gaze to her husband. It’s unusual for Thaleia to be at a loss for words. “I’ve been working with the Resistenza for the last two years,” he says. You blink, his words on replay in your mind. “It began small,” he continues before you can reply. “I was hired for scouting jobs here and there, helping Resistenza members evade imperial bases and watch posts. That’s all they asked for; I was the one who offered more. I relayed information about troop movements, supply caches, battle plans. All the intel I’ve gathered from my scouting operations with the army. I’ve also helped the Resistenza smuggle Iredicci survivors out of the empire.” You flex your hands, realizing that you’ve been clenching the table so hard your fingers ache. Your lips part as you breathe in and out—shallow, irregular breaths. “I’m sorry we didn’t tell you sooner,” Thaleia speaks up. “What happened to your people has never sat right with us. And the things we’ve seen over the last several years—I’ve tended more war wounds than delivered babies. And Jonah has witnessed the deplorable conditions in the soldier camps. That despicable man doesn’t give a damn for his people. It’s not bloody right.” “The Resistenza is not a group of murderous upstarts,” Jonah adds. “They’re good people doing good things. They have plans for bringing about real reform in the empire. The woman who commands them is capable and clever, and she cares for the welfare of her people. I’ve seen her abandon strategic operations when the threat to her people was too great.” <<if $mercy gte 50>>\ “We wanted to tell you, but we’ve been worried how you would react,” Thaleia explains. “You’ve been working so hard to make a new life for yourself, to forgive and move on. We thought you might resent being drawn back into the conflict. We’re sorry for keeping secrets from you.” <<else>>\ “We wanted to tell you, but we’ve been worried how you would react,” Thaleia explains. “We know you resent the empire, and how much you hate having to hide. For us to do this while forcing you to keep silent is unfair, we know. We’re sorry for asking so much of you.” <</if>>\ Jonah reaches over and lays his hand over his wife’s. They wait for your response, their expressions earnest and trepidatious. ---- [[“I want in.”|2.61]] [[“I’m glad you joined them, and I’m grateful you helped other Iredicci.”|2.60]] [[“Are you insane? This is dangerous!”|2.62]] [[“Oh, so you get to play rebel while I have to hide?”|2.63]] [[“That was incredibly selfish of you! You know what I've been going through.”|2.64]]

“Of course, I only wish I've done more,” Jonah replies. “I’d been growing resentful of my work for the Imperial Army, and when the Resistenza approached me, it felt like fate. I didn’t officially join up. I haven’t met any of the leaders, nor have I been to any hideouts. Most of our correspondence has been written communications and drop-offs. It was safer for both parties to keep things between us on a need-to-know basis. But I do know they’re headquartered in Inizi.” “We didn’t tell you this to convince you to join us,” Thaleia assures you, “though, we wouldn’t discourage you either. But we couldn’t move to Inizi without telling you the truth.” <<include "2.65">>

Jonah lets out a slow breath that ends on a chuckle. “That simple?” he asks. “That simple.” “I’ll convey that the next time they contact me. I haven’t met any of the leaders,” Jonah explains, “nor have I been to any hideouts. Most of our correspondence has been written communications and drop-offs. It was safer for both parties to keep things between us on a need-to-know basis. But I do know they’re headquartered in Inizi.” “We didn’t tell you this to convince you to join us,” Thaleia assures you, “though I’m glad you are.” <<include "2.65">>

“I do all I can, no matter how much I resent it, to keep this secret safe,” you say. You drum your fingers on the table—a steady, forceful beat that mirrors the simmering frustration you feel. “And yet you join the Resistenza and don’t even deign to tell me?” “You have every right to be angry with us,” Jonah tells you, his voice low. “It was selfish of me. I’m sorry. I’d been growing resentful of my work for the Imperial Army, and I couldn’t deny my conscience any longer. When the Resistenza approached me, it felt like fate.” You still your hand. “I'm not angry because you joined. I'm angry because you joined and I didn't.” Relief floods Jonah’s face. “I should have considered that, I'm sorry. I didn’t officially join up,” he continues. “I haven’t met any of the leaders, nor have I been to any hideouts. Most of our correspondence has been written communications and drop-offs. It was safer for both parties to keep things between us on a need-to-know basis. But I do know they’re headquartered in Inizi.” “We should have told you from the start,” Thaleia admits. “And we didn’t tell you now to convince you to join us, though I’m glad you are.” <<include "2.65">>

“But it’s also the right thing to do,” Jonah insists. “I’d been growing resentful of my work for the Imperial Army, and I couldn’t deny my conscience any longer. When the Resistenza approached me, it felt like fate. I’ve been careful. I haven’t met any of the leaders, nor have I been to any hideouts. Most of our correspondence has been written communications and drop-offs. It was safer for both parties to keep things between us on a need-to-know basis. But I do know they’re headquartered in Inizi.” “We’re not blind to the risks, $alias,” Thaleia assures you. “But this is something we feel very strongly about. In Inizi, we don’t have to participate anymore than we do now. We wouldn’t endanger you and Eva. But we couldn’t move to Inizi without telling you the truth.” <<include "2.65">>

“But you’re not telling Eva,” you point out. “No, and we feel terrible for it, believe me,” Jonah huffs, rubbing his jaw. “Evelyn has a good heart, but she can be a little…” “Strong-willed?” Thaleia offers. “Spoiled?” you suggest. <<if $eva gte 35>>\ “Let’s go with inflexible,” Jonah concludes. “She may agree with our sentiments but that doesn’t mean she’d support this. She’d think it reckless. What Eva needs now is stability,” he continues. “Something familiar and safe. I think Inizi can be that for her, despite the presence of the Resistenza.” “I think you underestimate her,” you tell them. “Eva came through for me today, no hesitation; plus, she’s willing to give up her life here. We're not children anymore. She deserves to know.” “We'll tell her once we're settled in Inizi,” Thaleia insists. “It’s too much to unload on her now. She needs time to absorb all this.” You're not keen on keeping Evelyn in the dark, but you nod your acceptance. <<else>>\ “Let’s go with inflexible,” Jonah concludes. “She may agree with our sentiments but that doesn’t mean she’d support this. She’d think it reckless.” Given your altercation earlier, you have to agree. You’re not sure where either of you stand after that argument, but you know it’s nowhere good. Having her parents side with the Resistenza, with //you//, may very well be the last straw for her. You don’t need another reason for her to resent you. “What Eva needs now is stability,” Jonah continues. “Something familiar and safe. I think Inizi can be that for her, despite the presence of the Resistenza.” “She’ll come around, she just needs time to absorb all this,” says Thaleia. “It’s too much to unload on her now.” You nod in agreement. <</if>>\ “Thank you for hearing us out, $alias,” Jonah says, offering you a thin smile. “You should get to bed. We’ll need to pack up the house tomorrow.” “Good night,” you tell them. They remain seated at the table as you head upstairs. <<if $bling is "none">>\ Back in your room you change into your bedclothes. $petname scampers up your wardrobe, then leaps to your arm and climbs up to your shoulder. <<else>>\ In your room, you remove your jewelry and change into your bedclothes. $petname scampers up your wardrobe, then leaps to your arm and climbs up to your shoulder. <</if>>\ “Ah, $petname, claws!” you wince. <<if $cheer gte 50>>\ The $pet chirps softly and nuzzles your neck in apology. You lift him from your shoulder and carry him to the bed. “What do you think, $petname,” you murmur. “Ready for the big city?” He leaps out of your hands and starts prancing about the bed, chittering excitedly. “Yeah, same," you laugh, flopping down on your back. After a few more laps atop the bed, $petname finally settles into a ball on your belly. <<else>>\ The $pet chirps softly and nuzzles your neck in apology. You lift him from your shoulder and carry him to the bed. You lie down on your back and he curls into a ball on your belly. “What do you think, $petname,” you murmur, your eyes on the ceiling. “Ready for the big city?” $petname snores, a peculiar mix of grunts and growls. “Yeah, same.” <</if>>\ It takes awhile to fall asleep, your mind cluttered with thoughts of Stavros, Eva, Inizi, the Resistenza. You feel like a leaf caught in a maelstrom, swept up in the storm, always reacting but never having control over the tides of your life. Maybe in Inizi you will finally be able to settle—to write the measure of your own life and compose your own fate. Maybe there you’ll find your song. ---- [[Chapter 3|3.0]]

<<audio "clockwork" volume 0.2 loop play>> <<audio "venture" stop>>\ !Chapter 3 Inizi. The word means “beginnings.” Looking out upon the city, it feels aptly named. You sit upon a limestone wall rising from the rocky shoals on the sea-facing side of the city. The water is a gorgeous blue-green, deceptive in its beauty due to the crashing waves that break against the base of the wall. The seawall reaches as high as 60 feet in some parts and runs an uninterrupted course in an open, trapezoid-like shape. The harbor is tucked safely inside and extends about two square miles south along Inizi’s coastline. Beyond the harbor stretches the red-tiled roofs of Inizi. From your vantage point, you can see every high-masted naval ship, every dome-topped tower, every picturesque garden, every vibrant market stall. You watch as horse drawn wagons and the occasional steam-powered carriage navigate the wide and twisting cobbled streets. It truly is a picturesque city, worthy of its nickname as the “Pearl of the Azure Coast.” When your family moved here months ago, you learned the land had once belonged to a race of people called the Vangris, a seafaring tribe. The original name of the city has long been forgotten, a shadow of a time before the empire. The empire conquered the Vangris centuries ago, and a devastating fire destroyed most of the buildings and half the city wall. The empire repaired the wall and rebuilt the city, renaming it Inizi. The only other remnant of the Vangris is Forte Araldo, a stone fortress built atop a promontory north of Inizi. A channel separates the fortress and the mainland. Forte Araldo was heavily damaged in the attack, and the immense stone bridge that once connected it to the mainland was destroyed. The rocky cliffs that connect the promontory to the mainland are treacherous on foot, and blustery winds make the channel notoriously difficult to navigate. A new seaport was constructed further south down the city’s coastline, and the old forte was abandoned. <<if $hairstyle is "settling loosely around your head">>\ A gust of wind whips your hair into your face and you reach up to push the strands aside. Your attention returns to the sea and a cluster of islands and reefs just beyond the harbor: the Cancello Isles, an archipelago of 39 mostly uninhabited islands. Some of the larger ones are home to privately owned villas, while many of the smaller, rocky islets disappear when the tide gets too high. <</if>>\ <<if $hairstyle is "tugging a few free from your bun">>\ A gust of wind pulls some strands of hair free of your bun, and you reach up to fix it. Your attention returns to the sea and a cluster of islands and reefs just beyond the harbor: the Cancello Isles, an archipelago of 39 mostly uninhabited islands. Some of the larger ones are home to privately owned villas, while many of the smaller, rocky islets disappear when the tide gets too high. <</if>>\ <<if $hairstyle is "tugging a few free from your ponytail">>\ A gust of wind pulls some strands of hair free of your ponytail, and you reach up to fix it. Your attention returns to the sea and a cluster of islands and reefs just beyond the harbor: the Cancello Isles, an archipelago of 39 mostly uninhabited islands. Some of the larger ones are home to privately owned villas, while many of the smaller, rocky islets disappear when the tide gets too high. <</if>>\ <<if $hairstyle is "tugging a few free from your braid">>\ A gust of wind pulls some strands of hair free of your braid, and you reach up to fix it. Your attention returns to the sea and a cluster of islands and reefs just beyond the harbor: the Cancello Isles, an archipelago of 39 mostly uninhabited islands. Some of the larger ones are home to privately owned villas, while many of the smaller, rocky islets disappear when the tide gets too high. <</if>>\ <<if $hairstyle is "tugging a few free from your lace bonnet">>\ A gust of wind stirs your bonnet and you clamp your hand down on it quickly. Your attention returns to the sea and a cluster of islands and reefs just beyond the harbor: the Cancello Isles, an archipelago of 39 mostly uninhabited islands. Some of the larger ones are home to privately owned villas, while many of the smaller, rocky islets disappear when the tide gets too high. <</if>>\ <<if $hairstyle is "tugging a few free from your wool tricorne hat">>\ A gust of wind stirs your hat and you clamp your hand down on it quickly. Your attention returns to the sea and a cluster of islands and reefs just beyond the harbor: the Cancello Isles, an archipelago of 39 mostly uninhabited islands. Some of the larger ones are home to privately owned villas, while many of the smaller, rocky islets disappear when the tide gets too high. <</if>>\ <<if $hairstyle is "barely disturbing your multiple braids">>\ A gust of wind whips your braids into your face and you reach up to push them aside. Your attention returns to the sea and a cluster of islands and reefs just beyond the harbor: the Cancello Isles, an archipelago of 39 mostly uninhabited islands. Some of the larger ones are home to privately owned villas, while many of the smaller islets disappear when the tide gets too high. <</if>>\ And beyond the archipelago, an endless expanse of blue. You knew what the ocean was, of course, before moving here. It’s not like you hadn’t studied it or were unfamiliar with the word. But to //see// it for the first time… You smile as you recall your initial reaction. <<if $cordis is "water">>\ ---- [[You would have dived in head first had there not been anyone else around. No one can hear you sing underwater, right?|3.1]] [[The sight of the open water took your breath away. It was energizing, freeing. You could have stared at it for hours.|3.2]] [[There was something bittersweet about it. You had never felt so comforted, so sure of yourself as you were upon seeing that endless water. But it also reminded you of what you had lost.|3.3]] <<else>>\ ---- [[The sight of the open water took your breath away. It was energizing, freeing. You could have stared at it for hours.|3.2]] [[It was terrifying in its vastness. In Darissi, you could see the opposite riverbank from the higher parts of the town, but here, the water was unknown and endless.|3.4]] [[There was something bittersweet about it. Not for the first time did you wonder if your mother had ever seen this part of the world.|3.5]] <</if>>\

“I was horrified when I messed up today!” you hiss, half-rising from your chair. “I second guess myself everyday trying to keep this secret safe. And yet you join the Resistenza like it's nothing?” “You have every right to be angry with us,” Jonah tells you, his voice pleading. “It was selfish of me. I’m sorry. I’d been growing resentful of my work for the Imperial Army, and I couldn’t deny my conscience any longer. When the Resistenza approached me, I didn't think how it would affect you. I'm ashamed of that. It just felt like something I needed to do. And then as time progressed, well, it became harder to tell you.” You look away, your hands gripping the armchairs. You’re still annoyed about being left in the dark, but you understand their reasons. “I get it, and I'm not saying their cause isn't a good one. It's just,” you turn back to him, “I'm so tired of keeping secrets. I don't want them from you, too.” Jonah swallows and nods. “I know, and I am truly sorry. I've tried to keep my work for them minimal, so as not to endanger you. I didn’t officially join up,” he continues. “I haven’t met any of the leaders, nor have I been to any hideouts. Most of our correspondence has been written communications and drop-offs. It was safer for both parties to keep things between us on a need-to-know basis. But I do know they’re headquartered in Inizi.” “We should have told you from the start,” Thaleia admits, “but this is something we feel very strongly about. In Inizi, we don’t have to participate anymore than we do now. We wouldn’t endanger you and Eva. But we couldn’t move to Inizi without telling you the truth.” <<include "2.65">>

!!!Suggestions for Female Names Aurora Iris Eleni Vittoria Embeth Chiara Ismene !!!Suggestions for Male Names Konstantin Dario Markos Renato Leandros Dante Salvatore !!!Suggestions for Gender Neutral Names Fiore Charis Adrian Fenix Echo Lior Ventura <center><<link "Return to game" $return>><</link>></center>

One day you’ll find out. You’ll immerse yourself in the water and just enjoy the sensations. You’ll sing till your lungs ache for air, come up for a breath, then do it again. You suspect you could stay blissfully happy in that deep blue for days. The sharp, scratching sound of nails on stone interrupts your thoughts and you smile. Well, perhaps not days. A certain $pet was known to get a little hangry. <<include "3.6">>

The sharp, scratching sound of nails on stone interrupts your thoughts and you smile. Well, perhaps not hours. A certain $pet was known to get a little hangry. <<include "3.6">>

Perhaps if you were to dive in and just let the water envelope you, you could rise from the sea renewed—allow the tide to carry away the sorrow and grief. The sharp, scratching sound of nails on stone interrupts your thoughts and you smile. Well, there was one other thing that always lifted your mood, too. <<include "3.6">>

You think back on the night in camp after Lorenzo’s death. “//You were right, momma//,” you sign, with none but the wind and sea to read your words. “//The world is vast. I wish we could have seen it together//.” The sharp, scratching sound of nails on stone interrupts your thoughts and you smile. Well, perhaps there is //one// other here. <<include "3.6">>

It made you feel small, vulnerable, like you were the only soul left in a world that was drowning around you. The sharp, scratching sound of nails on stone interrupts your thoughts and you smile. Well, perhaps there is //one// other here. <<include "3.6">>

<<if $cheer gte 50>>\ $petname scurries from one stone to another, digging into every nook and cranny along the wall. The seawall has several tiers and ledges, with stone staircases and ramps leading from one level to another. You sit atop one of the highest points. Not only does it offer the best views, but it’s so far removed from the main hub that few people venture here—plenty of privacy and space for a $pet to explore. <<else>>\ The seawall has several tiers and ledges, with stone staircases and ramps leading from one level to another. You sit atop one of the highest points. Not only does it offer the best views, but it’s the perfect spot for some sun bathing. Beside you, $petname yawns and stretches, his claws raking against the warm stone. He flops onto his back, his little legs jerking as if in a dream. <</if>>\ You feel a twinge of guilt for having pulled $petname from his wooded home, but you couldn’t bear to leave him behind. Even Jonah - who had put up a half-hearted argument about how a $pet doesn’t belong in the city - relented immediately when $petname burrowed in your trunk as you were packing. You now take him out on short excursions as often as possible so he can enjoy the sunshine and stretch his legs. You rap your knuckles on the wall to get $petname’s attention and he lifts his head. You stand and tip your head back and to the side in a “come along” gesture. The $pet immediately recognizes your intent and hurries to join you. <<if $pet is "ferret">>\ You start making your way down the stairs, $petname at your feet. When you get closer to the docks you’ll pick him up and tuck him away in your satchel, but for now it’s good he get some exercise. He’s verging on elder status for a ferret, and not as rambunctious as he used to be, but he still keeps up with you easily. <<else>>\ You start making your way down the stairs, $petname at your feet. When you get closer to the docks you’ll pick him up and tuck him away in your satchel, but for now it’s good he get some exercise. <</if>>\ It’s taken some getting used to, being in a large city again. As lively as Darissi had been, it pales in comparison to Inizi. The pulse of life here is strong—the chorus of voices loud, but not obnoxious. There’s an undercurrent of joy in the city, an expectant buzz that hums through every inhabitant. It feels like a dance, yet no one is dancing, like they’re all eagerly awaiting the right cue. <<if $cordis is "air">>\ And so much to see! Inizi is a multi-colored canvas, threaded with strings from every corner of the empire and beyond. Steam-powered ships bob beside galleons in the marina. Citizens pair their tailored Salestian silk doublets with flowing Tinebaillese sarongs and robes. <</if>>\ <<if $cordis is "water">>\ And the food! You were amazed to discover the variety of flavors and cuisines here. Nearly every dish across the empire can be found in Inizi, as well as spicy and exotic ingredients from Tinebaille. You’ve only been here a few months but have already established your favorite food stalls. <</if>>\ <<if $cordis is "fire">>\ And the amount of people! It was jarring, at first, to have so many people in one place, as if you were back in camp. You can’t walk down a crowded street without getting overheated from the mass of bodies. Thaleia had been right, it's easy to get lost in the crowd here. <</if>>\ <<if $cordis is "earth">>\ And the smells! The market here is twice as large as the one in Darissi. Tangy and sweet fragrances drift from the food stalls, citizens wear all manner of perfumes and oils, and the crisp, fresh smell of the sea carries over all. You crinkle your nose as the smell of sweat and human excrement hits you. Well, there’s that, too. The downside of big cities. It’s one of the reasons you visit the seawall whenever possible—you’ll take the smell of salt water and fish over that any day. <</if>>\ You were surprised to see such a large Tinebaillese influence. The two nations were on “ceasefire” terms, at best. Only certified Salestian merchant vessels were permitted to cross the ocean to trade with the island nation, but the goods they brought back were eagerly received. Perhaps it was because Inizi was geographically closer to Tinebaille than it was to the capital of the empire. Or perhaps the Resistenza made everyone just a bit bolder. You had yet to witness any activity by the Resistenza, but you saw the signs. You heard the sympathetic whispers of city officials, the appreciative gossip of the city guard, the tall tales shared by commoners. You saw their presence in the vandalized naval ships in the harbor, in the surprisingly well-fed slums, in the empty jail houses. It would seem that most citizens, including the city guard and officials, are in favor of the Resistenza. The animosity toward the regis and his soldiers is undisguised. Everyone knew the Resistenza were somewhere in Inizi, but no one knew where. And if they did, they weren’t talking. Before leaving Darissi, Jonah left a message for the Resistenza at his usual drop-off, informing them that he and his family were moving to Inizi. You had no way of knowing whether the message was received or not. With no other way to contact them, all you could do was wait. In the interim, you and Evelyn often accompanied Thaleia when she worked. She had settled back into the role of medic and midwife quite easily, and in such a large city, there was always a need for her services. Marchionessa Romano was due to deliver any day now, and Thaleia was planning another visit this afternoon to check on her. You quicken your steps so that you’ll make it home in time to help her. ---- [[You help with delivery. There’s always a need for more hands during labor, and you enjoy the nurturing, caring aspect of the work. Not to mention, newborn babies are simply adorable.|3.7]] [[You offer support to the families. You aren’t keen on watching childbirth, but there’s always a distraught husband in need of assurance, or older siblings who need to be watched.|3.8]] [[You serve as her escort. You have no interest in watching childbirth, but Thaleia’s duties often keep her out late, and you don’t like the idea of her walking home alone. You usually remain outside the home or in the foyer.|3.9]]

Watching Thaleia work is fascinating. Her motions are all business, quick and efficient. But she talks constantly throughout the delivery, assuring and encouraging the new mother in a voice that would set at ease even the most battle-weary soldier. You spend much of the time fetching water or cloth. Sometimes you just sit with the new mother, or have an opportunity to hold the newborn. <<if ($pet is "ferret") and ($petname is "Sweeper")>>\ You make it down the final steps to the water. The harbor is a flurry of activity in the late morning. A mounted imperial soldier thunders down the wharf on his war horse, and $petname scurries out of the way. The $pet stands on his hind legs and hisses angrily at the departing guard, teeth bared and fur raised. You smile and crouch next to him. “//Why so ill-tempered, my friend? Or is it that all Ferrets don’t like the guard, hmm//?” $petname chitters and scampers over to you. He climbs into your satchel, snuggling into a tight ball. You smile and give him a quick rub, then stand and turn your steps toward home. <<else>>\ You make it down the final steps to the water. The harbor is a flurry of activity in the late morning, and $petname scurries out of the way of a loaded wagon barreling down the wharf. You pick him up and stow him safely away in your satchel. Then you turn your steps home. <</if>>\ ---- [[Next|3.10]]

$petname is always a huge hit with kids, and you often bring him along if you know there’ll be older siblings in need of distracting. This is the marchionessa’s first child, and you doubt the marchese would be interested in playing with a $pet. So, $petname will have to stay behind tonight. <<if ($pet is "ferret") and ($petname is "Sweeper")>>\ You make it down the final steps to the water. The harbor is a flurry of activity in the late morning. A mounted imperial soldier thunders down the wharf on his war horse, and $petname scurries out of the way. The $pet stands on his hind legs and hisses angrily at the departing guard, teeth bared and fur raised. You smile and crouch next to him. “//Why so ill-tempered, my friend? Or is it that all Ferrets don’t like the guard, hmm//?” $petname chitters and scampers over to you. He climbs into your satchel, snuggling into a tight ball. You smile and give him a quick rub, then stand and turn your steps toward home. <<else>>\ You make it down the final steps to the water. The harbor is a flurry of activity in the late morning, and $petname scurries out of the way of a loaded wagon barreling down the wharf. You pick him up and stow him safely away in your satchel. Then you turn your steps home. <</if>>\ ---- [[Next|3.10]]

The ordeal with Stavros left you more alert, more cautious. You never travel anywhere without your weapon now, and you are determined to protect your family. While Inizi is a vibrant, inviting city, it is twice the size of Darissi. And larger cities inevitably have more crime. <<if ($pet is "ferret") and ($petname is "Sweeper")>>\ You make it down the final steps to the water. The harbor is a flurry of activity in the late morning. A mounted imperial soldier thunders down the wharf on his war horse, and $petname scurries out of the way. The $pet stands on his hind legs and hisses angrily at the departing guard, teeth bared and fur raised. You smile and crouch next to him. “//Why so ill-tempered, my friend? Or is it that all Ferrets don’t like the guard, hmm//?” $petname chitters and scampers over to you. He climbs into your satchel, snuggling into a tight ball. You smile and give him a quick rub, then stand and turn your steps toward home. <<else>>\ You make it down the final steps to the water. The harbor is a flurry of activity in the late morning, and $petname scurries out of the way of a loaded wagon barreling down the wharf. You pick him up and stow him safely away in your satchel. Then you turn your steps home. <</if>>\ ---- [[Next|3.10]]

“//Are babies always that loud//?” Evelyn signs, her nose scrunched up as if smelling something foul. Thaleia chuckles and pokes her daughter in the arm. “//You complain every time I wake you from a nap. Think how those poor newborns feel//.” “//Ew, no//,” Evelyn responds with a shudder. “//When Pluvia’s twins cried, the whole camp could hear them//,” you sign. Evelyn looks at you in horror. “//Twins? That’s like four babies crying at once//!” It’s late in the evening, and the three of you are walking back across town from the marchese’s home after a successful birth. He and his wife live in one of the larger villas on the southern edge of town, while your home is to the north in the Caelian Quarter. The marchese did offer the use of his carriage, but Thaleia declined the offer. She was always worked up after a delivery, and she said it helped to walk off the excess energy. A row of gas lamps keep the main avenue well lit, and with no one else about at this hour, it’s a peaceful stroll. Even so, you all take care to sign, and both you and Evelyn have your weapons on hand. After the ordeal with Stavros, you can never be too careful. “//I remember those dear little ones//!” Thaleia signs excitedly. “//They were the first babies I delivered in your camp//.” She looks up at you, smiling fondly. “//That was the day I met you and Unda//.” ---- [[You smile back. There will always be a twinge of sadness when talking about your mother, but overall you enjoy it. Remembering her, talking about the good moments, keeps her alive in your heart.|3.11][$cheer to Math.clamp($cheer + 5, 0, 100)]] [[You force a smile. You’re not sure you can ever discuss your mother without feeling the ache in your chest, no matter how much you try, nor how much time has passed.|3.11]] [[You frown. You don’t like talking about your mother. The memories bring no warmth, they only serve to make you more bitter and resentful.|3.11][$cheer to Math.clamp($cheer - 5, 0, 100)]]

Thaleia takes a deep breath, then heaves out a prolonged, overly dramatic sigh. “//It’s too bad I can’t deliver some babies a little closer to home//.” Evelyn rolls her eyes. “//Oh no, not this again//.” “//I can’t help it, I want grand babies//,” Thaleia signs, her hands darting emphatically between you and Evelyn. “//You can adopt, there are plenty of children in need of good homes out there. Give me someone to spoil//.” She jabs a finger up at you. “//And no, $petname doesn’t count//.” You raise your hand to respond when a sound in the street ahead catches your attention. You recognize the armored footsteps of imperial soldiers. Over the last few months, you’ve been able to distinguish them from the regular city guard. The guards wear padded armor, less noisy, and they navigate the familiar streets with ease and comfort, often stopping to chat with local business owners and merchants. Soldiers of the Imperial Army, however, are far more noisy—barreling their way through the streets with little regard for citizens or property. This sounds like multiple imperial soldiers combing the streets, searching. You catch snippets of phrases: “…find him…” and “…can’t have gone far.” You glance around. There’s a side street up ahead, but footsteps echo from there, as well. Evelyn stops to regard you. “//You’re making that scrunched, distracted face you make when listening to something//,” she signs. “//What is it//?” “//Imperial Army//,” you sign. “//At least two patrols; I hear eight different pairs of feet. Sounds like they’re looking for someone//.” Thaleia catches your eye, her lips set in a grim frown. Her mind no doubt turned in the same direction as yours: the Resistenza. You still haven’t told Evelyn the truth, and as far as you can tell, she hasn’t clued into their activities here. <<if $cordis is "air">>\ Thaleia squares her shoulders. “//Let’s continue as we were, my dears. Stay on the main avenue and just act normal//.” She eyes the fan in your hand. “//Maybe stow your weapon, $alias. Best we don’t give them any reason to stop us//.” You nod and tuck the fan into your belt. It looks like a harmless accessory now. <</if>>\ <<if $cordis is "water">>\ Thaleia squares her shoulders. “//Let’s continue as we were, my dears. Stay on the main avenue and just act normal//.” She eyes your water glove. “//Maybe stow your weapon, $alias. Best we don’t give them any reason to stop us//.” You nod and pull the glove off, affixing it to the belt on your waist. With the number of travelers that pass through Inizi, it’s not unusual to see people armed, but there’s no sense calling attention to it, either. Especially a weapon as unusual as yours. <</if>>\ <<if $cordis is "fire">>\ Thaleia squares her shoulders. “//Let’s continue as we were, my dears. Stay on the main avenue and just act normal//.” She eyes the dart in your hand. “//Maybe stow your weapon, $alias. Best we don’t give them any reason to stop us//.” You nod and tuck the dart into your belt. It looks like a harmless fountain pen now. <</if>>\ <<if $cordis is "earth">>\ Thaleia squares her shoulders. “//Let’s continue as we were, my dears. Stay on the main avenue and just act normal//.” She eyes your gauntlet. “//Maybe stow your weapon, $alias. Best we don’t give them any reason to stop us//.” You nod and pull the gauntlet off, affixing it to the belt on your waist. With the number of travelers that pass through Inizi, it’s not unusual to see people armed, but there’s no sense calling attention to it, either. Especially a weapon as unusual as yours. <</if>>\ You continue your trek home with unhurried steps, keeping to the center of the road. The gruff voices become more distinct, the clanking metal grows louder. They’re definitely searching for someone; their sharp, desperate commands echo off the tightly packed buildings. Evelyn and Thaleia exchange a quick glance and you know they hear it, too. Four imperial soldiers emerge from a darkened side street and turn your way. The three in the back draw their swords and you come to a quick stop. The man in front, a Capitano judging by his insignia, raises his fist and the other three relax their stance. “It’s a late hour to be out on the street, citizens,” he says, striding forward. His gait is casual, but he keeps his hand on the hilt of his sword. “Where are you headed?” “Our pardon, good Capitano,” Thaleia answers cheerfully. To anyone else she appears friendly and unbothered, but you can hear the thread of unease in her voice. She pats the medical bag at her side. “I’m a certified midwife. My children and I just delivered a beautiful son to Marchese Romano. We’re on our way home now.” “And where is home, domina?” “The Caelian Quarter." You study the officer as Thaleia speaks with him. <<nobr>> <<if $height is "tall">> He’s as tall as you, and he wears his imperial armor as if born to it. <</if>> <<if $height is "average">> He’s tall—not as tall as Jonah, but enough that you have to crane your neck back to see his face. <</if>> <<if $height is "short">> He’s tall—not as tall as Jonah, but enough that you have to crane your neck back to see his face. <</if>> <</nobr>> His blonde hair is pulled back in a short ponytail, the hair beneath shaved close to his head. A goatee accentuates the harsh lines of his face, made more prominent as he frowns at your group. His brown eyes study each of you in turn. <<if $body is "male">>\ "Bearing children is women's work," the officer snaps, his gaze landing on you. "What business does a man have there?" <<if $attire is "fancy dress">>\ The soldier looks over your attire, a sneer of disgust twisting his face. You're thankful for the years of practice you've had at schooling your face. Now isn't the time to correct ignorrant bastards. Thankfully, Thaleia feels the same. "Oh, you can never have enough hands when delivering a baby. Messy work. Lot of fluids, you know." She waves her hands about, her tone jovial. The woman should consider a career in the teatro. <</if>>\ <<if $attire is "dress">>\ The soldier looks over your attire, a sneer of disgust twisting his face. You're thankful for the years of practice you've had at schooling your face. Now isn't the time to correct ignorrant bastards. Thankfully, Thaleia feels the same. "Oh, you can never have enough hands when delivering a baby. Messy work. Lot of fluids, you know." She waves her hands about, her tone jovial. The woman should consider a career in the teatro. <</if>>\ <<if $attire is "fancy shirt">>\ You're thankful for the years of practice you've had at schooling your face. Now isn't the time to educate ignorrant bastards. Thankfully, Thaleia feels the same. "Oh, you can never have enough hands when delivering a baby. Messy work. Lot of fluids, you know." She waves her hands about, her tone jovial. The woman should consider a career in the teatro. <</if>>\ <<if $attire is "shirt">>\ You're thankful for the years of practice you've had at schooling your face. Now isn't the time to educate ignorrant bastards. Thankfully, Thaleia feels the same. "Oh, you can never have enough hands when delivering a baby. Messy work. Lot of fluids, you know." She waves her hands about, her tone jovial. The woman should consider a career in the teatro. <</if>>\ <</if>>\ "What's this about, good Capitano?" Thaleia inquires. A vein in the officer’s neck jumps as he clenches his jaw. “There’s a dangerous fugitive at large, domina,” he tells you. He looks past your heads, studying the empty street behind you. “Did you see anything suspicious?” “A dangerous fugitive?!” Thaleia shrieks, bringing a hand to her throat. “Regis knows, I would have screamed if I saw anyone like that! What are the guards doing about it?” She wags her finger at the officer. “What are you doing standing here talking to me when there’s a criminal out there?! Oh, my stars, I need to get home. Children, come!” You have to hand it to her, she can play the scandalized aristocrat when needed. Thaleia rushes forward, leaving you and Evelyn with no choice but to hurry after her. She mutters loudly about soldiers and miscreants and general comments about “back in her day.” Her grousing is loud enough for the soldiers to hear, and they step back to give you room. You don’t dare look back, but you note that several beats pass before you hear their departing footsteps. You walk in silence for a block, your footsteps the only sound, then turn down a side street. Evelyn is the first to sign. “//Bet you regret not taking that carriage now//.” “//Oh, hush. Let’s just get home//.” Thaleia's cheeks flush crimson and she quickens her pace. ---- [[Next|3.12]]

Evelyn and Thaleia continue to banter back and forth as you press on. At one point you hear the sound of distant shouting, but it sounds like it’s moving away from you. You’re less than two blocks from home when another sound catches your ear. You stop and cock your head toward a narrow alley off to your left. You hear heavy, irregular breathing and the shuffling of soft-soled shoes. “//Another patrol//?” Evelyn signs, stopping beside you. You shake your head. “//No. This is something else//.” <<if $cordis is "air">>\ You grip your fan and motion for Evelyn and Thaleia to stay where they are. As you creep toward the end of the alley, you reach out to the //cordis//. The air currents move in an odd pattern. You watch the shadows bend, flex, the movement subtle and indistinguishable to the average eye. There appear to be two people around the corner, and moving clumsily. <</if>>\ <<if $cordis is "water">>\ You slip on your glove and motion for Evelyn and Thaleia to stay where they are. You step silently, your lessons returning like second nature. As you creep toward the end of the alley, you reach out to the //cordis//. You feel a tangle of emotions—urgency, pain, determination, and fear. There are two souls around the corner, each fearing for the other. <</if>>\ <<if $cordis is "fire">>\ You grip your dart and motion for Evelyn and Thaleia to stay where they are. As you creep toward the end of the alley, you reach out to the //cordis//. It’s difficult to identify another’s body heat in an open space. The heat you feel ebbs and recedes, as if their body temperature is changing. Or they’re bleeding? <</if>>\ <<if $cordis is "earth">>\ You slip on your gauntlet and motion for Evelyn and Thaleia to stay where they are. As you creep toward the end of the alley, you reach out to the //cordis//. You smell the sweat of two different people. It mingles with soil, gun powder, and… clay? Odd combination to find in a city. And blood. One of them is injured. <</if>>\ You sense something else… and you bite down hard on your lip. There’s a second pulse nearby, another presence besides yours connecting to the //cordis//. The strings vibrate with a comfortable pitch, two similar songs in harmony, connecting in a way that only your people can. Whomever is around the corner is Iredicci. “Aestus?” a hushed voice asks. The voice is single-pitched and strained, as if in pain. Someone grunts, then a muffled scraping sound, like fabric against a stone wall. “What is it? Is someone ahead?” “There is,” a second voice answers slowly. This voice sounds older, gentle, and is double-pitched. “Adagio, they are not soldiers. But perhaps… friends.” It has never been so easy to hold back your words as it is in this moment. Because you have none. It steals your breath away to hear a double-pitched voice after thirteen years of nothing—the symphony of it, the achingly beautiful canon. It sounds like home. Your heart beats faster as warmth fills a part of you—a part you hadn’t even realized was empty. You turn back to Thaleia and Evelyn, your fingers tripping over each other as you frantically sign. “//There are two people, and one of them is Iredicci.//” Then you heft your weapon and step around the corner, Evelyn right behind you. Two figures stare back at you. The younger of the two, a tall, slender, dark-skinned man holds a longsword in one hand and clenches his side with the other. Blood stains his maroon leather doublet and seeps in between the fingers of his glove. He looks like he can barely stand. He partially shields the second person with his body, with what little strength he has left. The second figure is shorter but stockier, their long hair and beard more white than black. Their neck and wrists are adorned in colorful, beaded clay jewelry. Their clothes are nondescript, but for the plum colored scarf draped about their neck. Vivid green and yellow threads are woven throughout in a repeating pattern of chevrons and cresting waves. It’s a specific embroidery you haven’t seen in over a decade, but would recognize anywhere. This is an Iredicci elder. “Stay back,” the young man says through gritted teeth. “We have no quarrel with you. Just… turn around and walk away.” <<if $cordis is "air">>\ You close your fan and tuck it into your belt. Then you hold your hands up, palms out, and sign, “//Relax, we’re not your enemy. Let us help you//.” <</if>>\ <<if $cordis is "water">>\ You hold your hands up, palms out, the copper tubing on your glove gleaming in the dim light of the nearby lamps. Then you sign, “//Relax, we’re not your enemy. Let us help you//.” <</if>>\ <<if $cordis is "fire">>\ You tuck your dart into your belt. Then you hold your hands up, palms out, and sign, “//Relax, we’re not your enemy. Let us help you//.” <</if>>\ <<if $cordis is "earth">>\ You hold your hands up, palms out, the metal of your gauntlet gleaming in the dim light of the nearby lamps. Then you sign, “//Relax, we’re not your enemy. Let us help you//.” <</if>>\ The elder’s dark blue eyes regard you quizzically. You’re certain they recognize what you are, but say nothing. The young man frowns, his sword lowering a fraction. “I don’t understand.” “What $pronoun1 said was, put your sword away before you hurt yourself further,” Evelyn snaps. “Do we look like soldiers to you?” “My dear boy, what happened to you?” Thaleia asks, her voice that soothing timbre she reserves for patients. She rummages for supplies in her pack. “I’m a medic, I can help.” “Aestus?” the young man asks. He keeps his hickory brown eyes on the three of you, though he looks ready to pass out any moment. “She speaks true; they genuinely want to help,” Aestus confirms, tilting their head to the side. “They’re earnest, cautious, and this one,” they point to Evelyn and smile, “is annoyed with you, ma non troppo.” Great, a water-attuned Iredicci. No keeping secrets from them. <<if $cordis is "fire">>\ <<if $averse is true>>\ You swallow down your discomfort and offer the young man your arm. He takes it gratefully, relief sagging his form. Your hand brushes the spot on his side and you can feel the wound itself. He was cut, rather than stabbed, and not terribly deep. Fortunately, it seems the weapon missed any vital organs. His blood coats your fingers, warm and sticky, and you quickly draw your hand away. You lower him to the ground faster than you intended, and he lets out a grunt. Thaleia spares you a sympathetic glance before she kneels in front of him. You and Evelyn stand on either side of her, watching as she begins dressing his wound. <</if>>\ <<if $averse is false>>\ You offer the young man your arm and he takes it gratefully, relief sagging his form. Your hand brushes the spot on his side and you can feel the wound itself. He was cut, rather than stabbed, and not terribly deep. Fortunately, it seems the weapon missed any vital organs. Singing is out of the question, but you do what you can to heal him. You exert just the right amount of pressure. His blood coats your fingers, warm and sticky, but you can feel the flow slowing and clotting. You gently lower him to the ground, keeping your hand in place. Thaleia spares you a grateful, knowing glance before she kneels in front of him. You and Evelyn stand on either side of her, watching as she begins dressing his wound. <</if>>\ <<else>>\ You offer the young man your arm and he takes it gratefully, relief sagging his form. You gently lower him to the ground and Thaleia kneels in front of him. You and Evelyn stand on either side of her, watching as she begins dressing his wound. <</if>>\ You hold up your hand, now soiled with the man’s blood, and look at him pointedly. One doesn't need to know sign to understand what you’re asking him. “Attempted a dance with some imperial soldiers,” the man jokes, the whites of his teeth flashing as he smiles. “They’re utter shit at the galliard.” This evokes a snicker from Evelyn, and she quickly coughs behind her fist to hide it. The man notices, and his face grows thoughtful. He glances between the three of you. “I… might I know the names of our saviors?” “My name is Evelyn, this is $alias, and our mother, Thaleia.” He locks eyes with each of you, lingering a moment longer on Evelyn. “Evelyn,” he murmurs. “My name is Nikolaos Vasiliou,” he nods his head toward the elder, “and that’s Aestus. They're Iredicci, obviously. My partner and I rescued them from the regis’s men. We’re trying to get them to safety.” “Is there anywhere safe?” Evelyn mutters. You catch her eye and gesture. Her eyes widen and she looks back at Nikolaos. “You’re with the Resistenza?” “I am.” Evelyn frowns and crosses her arms over her chest. Your hands dart in front of you in quick motions and she nods. “$alias is asking about your partner,” Evelyn translates. “What happened to them?” “Soldiers caught up to us. He lured them away when I was injured.” Nikolaos meets your eye as he answers. “I don’t know what happened to him. I’d like to think he made it back to headquarters; we were to meet there.” “You’re not going to get far, not with this injury,” Thaleia says, as she finishes wrapping the wound. “This will hold for now but that wound needs to be sewn up, and I can’t do it here. Where’s headquarters?” Nikolaos hesitates and Evelyn rolls her eyes. “Fine. Keep your secrets,” she says. <<if $mercy gte 50>>\ “//Eva, they’re not going to make it without help//,” you sign. “//They need to tell us//.” “//What? Are you seriously wanting to help them? The Imperial Army is after them! No, absolutely not. Why do you always need to get involved//?” Her hands move too quickly in her frustration and you miss a few words, but you get the general message. “//Because it’s the right thing to do//,” you sign, “//and you know it.//” <<else>>\ “//Eva, the Imperial Army is after them//,” you sign. “//We need to help//.” “//No, we don't. That's exactly why we shouldn't get involved. Why do you insist on fighting every battle//?” Her hands move too quickly in her frustration and you miss a few words, but you get the general message. “//Because I hate what the empire did to my people//,” you sign, “//and it's time I did something about it.//” <</if>>\ “I’m sorry, but may I ask what you’re saying?” Nikolaos speaks up. “I feel like we’re the subject of your conversation.” “You’re right,” Evelyn snaps, “$pronoun1 said we should leave you here.” “//Stop mistranslating me//!” “//We help those in need, cub//.” Thaleia frowns at her daughter, her hand motions sharp and quick. “Ugh, I hate when you call me that.” Evelyn crosses her arms over her chest and scuffs her satin boot against the cobblestones. “//Fine, then. Evelyn. Beloved daughter. Spawn of my loins. Apple of my eye. Your father and I taught you better than that.//” You press a fist to your mouth and turn away so as to keep from laughing. Evelyn looks equal parts embarrassed and contrite. “Now, listen here, young man.” Thaleia turns to Nikolaos and jabs her finger into his chest. “We know of the Resistenza and have helped before. And that’s all we want: to help. I don’t need to know base blueprints, or special codewords, or your super secret plans to cause mayhem across the empire. I would simply like to save one life from the regis’s claws.” She swallows and adds in a softer voice, “One more life.” Aestus chuckles, the sound a rich vibrato that warms your heart. “Gioioso, I like her,” they say. Nikolaos massages his chest where Thaleia poked him. “You said your name was Thaleia, domina?” “That’s correct. Thaleia Sideris.” Nikolaos’s face relaxes and he glances between the three of you. “You’re Jonah’s family. You made it here after all.” Evelyn straightens and plants her hands on her hips. “What are you talking about? How do you know my father?” “Not here, cub,” Thaleia says, waving her off. Evelyn turns to you, notes the expression on your face, and squints at you. “//You don’t look surprised. Why don’t you look surprised? Did you know about this//?” “//Not here, Eva//,” you sign. “//Stop telling me that//!” Thaleia ignores the exchange happening above her head and continues speaking to Nikolaos. “Yes, Jonah’s my husband. Our home isn’t far. Come with us and I can fix you up proper.” Nikolaos shakes his head. “I appreciate the offer, domina, but it’s too dangerous. The regis has patrols everywhere looking for Aestus. They’d only be safe with the Resistenza.” “I wouldn't want to bring the soldiers to your door, kind one,” Aestus adds. They don't look your way, but you catch the brunt of their words as if they threw them at you. You gesture between yourself and Eva. Thaleia watches your motions a moment before translating. “Then //you// come back with me.” Thaleia pats Nikolaos on the knee as she relays your words. “It’s only a block away, and my husband is there. $alias and Eva can lead Aestus safely back to your base. We’ll all meet back there as soon as you’re fit to walk. Where is your base, exactly?” “Forte Araldo,” Nikolaos answers. You picture the old fortress built into the cliffs along the northwestern coast of the city, the stone watchtowers and batteries crumbling from disuse. “The old fortress?” Thaleia asks. “That ruin?” Nikolaos offers a lopsided smile. “Beneath it, actually.” “Hard to believe the soldiers never looked there in all this time,” Evelyn says with a snort, crossing her arms. “Oh, they’ve looked, but found nothing. There’s a labyrinth of underground tunnels and bunkers that are sealed from above.” Nikolaos looks over you and Evelyn, taking in the bow at her back and your weapon. Then he settles his gaze on you and clears his throat. “I mean no disrespect, truly, but I cannot stress enough how important it is that Aestus isn't captured. They //must// reach the Resistenza safely. Are you… confident you can do it?” You can guess what he’s asking. He’s wondering if your “disability” makes you a liability. You don’t know whether to feel affronted or remorseful. What you //do// know, is that this ruse is becoming exhausting. You tip your head in a half nod, half bow, your eyes never leaving his dark ones. You do your best to convey your earnestness through your actions. Whatever Nikolaos reads in your expression seems to satisfy him. “Then I agree with this plan, and I thank you,” he says. He makes a move to stand and Thaleia supports him as he climbs laboriously to his feet. “Head through the city, keep to the shadows, and make your way to the marina. Our people have a small boat there; you can cut across the channel to the forte from there.” “We’d be exposed on the open water,” Evelyn objects. “It’s the only way into the old fortress,” Nikolaos explains. “There’s no bridge, and the paths around are tricky if you don’t know the way. You’d have to go outside city limits and travel around, but the army is camped just outside the city.” Aestus clears their throat. “If I may, I’d be able to help on the water.” “Only if you’re certain no one will hear you,” Nikolaos insists. Thaleia adjusts her bag and pouches so that Nikolaos can lean on her. Before you part ways, she grabs first you in a fierce hug, then Evelyn. “You owe me an explanation when I see you next,” Evelyn hisses into her mother’s ear, her arms clutching her short frame to her. “I know, cub,” Thaleia whispers back. “We’ll meet you at Forte Araldo as soon as we can, and then I’ll tell you everything, I promise. Take care of each other.” “I won’t let anything happen to your mother, I swear it,” Nikolaos promises. “Pfft, your insides would be on the outside if not for my mother.” Evelyn stands a full foot shorter than Nikolaos and somehow still manages to look down at him when she speaks. “She’ll make sure nothing happens to //you//.” “Oh, uh, of course. I only meant…” Nikolaos stammers for a reply but Evelyn has already turned away from him. He turns to you and smiles sheepishly. “Thank you for your help. I’ll make sure your parents rejoin you soon. And if you can, keep an eye out for my friend. His name is Coda. He’s as tall as me, brown hair, armed with a rifle.” He nods toward the elder. “Aestus will recognize him.” ---- [[You hold out your hand and Nikolaos clasps it.|3.13]] [[You touch two fingers to your head then away in a mock salute.|3.13]] [[You give a brief nod.|3.13]]

Thaleia leads Nikolaos down the darkened street toward home. He’s as tall as Jonah, and is half bent over the sturdy midwife. When they’re a safe distance away and can no longer hear you, Aestus speaks. “I appreciate you helping me. I promise, I will not betray your secret.” They speak with their back to you, but you know the words are meant for you. The temptation to speak with an elder - with //any// member of your people - is almost too strong to resist. ---- [[“Thank you,” you tell them.|3.14][$speakAestus = true]] [[You ignore them, resisting the urge.|3.15][$speakAestus = false]]

Your voice is hoarse, the words a dry rasp. You cough and repeat them, clearer this time. Evelyn lifts an eyebrow but says nothing. Aestus turns to you, a sad smile stretching the wrinkles around their lips. “I imagine it’s been some time since you used your voice. You needn’t say more, but I would love to hear your story.” “I’d rather hear yours,” you tell them. “The army doesn’t take Iredicci prisoners. Why are they trying to capture you and not kill you?” “Can we take this conversation on the road, please?” Evelyn asks, looking nervously over her shoulder. “We need to get moving.” You nod and start making your way through the streets, keeping close to the shadowed walls. The three of you walk in single-file with you in the lead, Aestus behind you, and Evelyn bringing up the rear. <<nobr>> <<if $attire is "fancy dress">> The long, heavy skirts of your dress restrict your movement, forcing you to maintain a slower pace. Not to mention, the swishing of the fabric makes more noise than you would like. You notice Evelyn seems to be having the same trouble. <<else>> You notice Evelyn seems to be having trouble keeping up; the long, heavy skirts of her dress restrict her movement. Not to mention, the swishing of the fabric makes more noise than you would like. <</if>> <</nobr>> “In answer to your question,” Aestus begins, “and at the risk of sounding like a pretentious old codger, I’m very good at wielding the //cordis//, more so than most of our brethren. The regis seeks to use my ability for his own ends.” <<include "3.16">>

Aestus turns to you, a sad smile stretching the wrinkles around their lips. “I won’t push you, but I would love to hear your story. If you ever wish to talk, I’m here.” “Another time,” Evelyn says, looking nervously over her shoulder. “We need to get moving.” You nod and start making your way through the streets, keeping close to the shadowed walls. The three of you walk in single-file with you in the lead, Aestus behind you, and Evelyn bringing up the rear. <<nobr>> <<if $attire is "fancy dress">> The long, heavy skirts of your dress restrict your movement, forcing you to maintain a slower pace. Not to mention, the swishing of the fabric makes more noise than you would like. You notice Evelyn seems to be having the same trouble. <<else>> You notice Evelyn seems to be having trouble keeping up; the long, heavy skirts of her dress restrict her movement. Not to mention, the swishing of the fabric makes more noise than you would like. <</if>> <</nobr>> As you walk, your thoughts drift to the elder behind you. From all the stories you’ve heard, soldiers kill Iredicci survivors outright. There’s never an attempt to capture one. “You’re curious why the army seeks to take me alive, rather than kill me?” Aestus asks. You nod. Speaking to a water-attuned certainly makes conversation easier. “At the risk of sounding like a pretentious old codger,” Aestus begins, “I’m very good at wielding the //cordis//, more so than most of our brethren. The regis seeks to use my ability for his own ends.” <<include "3.16">>

“Against the Resistenza?” Evelyn asks. “Or Tinebaille,” Aestus replies. “I’m water-attuned, and my abilities can certainly be used as a weapon. But more importantly, my attunement grants me insight on the character of others, as well as the ability to control their emotions. From what I understand, Regis Andreano is not on good terms with his advisors. I imagine he thinks I can manipulate opinions in his favor.” “Can you?” she asks. “I can,” they affirm, their eyes narrowed. “Cesura, I would die first.” “Wait, if you can do that, can’t you just make everyone nicer?” Evelyn prompts. “Or at least make the soldiers //not// want to kill you?” “You’re asking the wrong question, eager one. It’s not ‘if you can,’ but ‘should you,’” Aestus replies, their tone softening. “If I were to take someone’s free will, even if my intentions are good, I become no better than a tyrant myself. Harmony is not achieved when we all sing the same note.” Evelyn sighs and kicks at a loose piece of gravel. “Yeah, okay, but if you and the regis were in the same room, you’re telling me you wouldn’t try to change his heart?” “I’d be tempted, I will admit. I’m only human.” Aestus smiles wryly. “But in truth, I’m not sure I can. We water-attuned do not so much change emotions as calm them—untangle the conflict so that cooler heads may prevail. But the regis has been consumed by hate for so long, who knows what remains of his heart. You cannot redirect a river that has broken its banks, without first understanding the cause of the flood.” <<if $cordis is "water">>\ “I didn’t know water-attuned could do that,” Evelyn murmurs. You don’t need to look around to know her eyes are on you. <<else>>\ “I didn’t know water-attuned could do that,” Evelyn murmurs. <</if>>\ “Not all water-attuned can control someone’s thoughts. In fact, I may be the only one,” Aestus adds. “Children of a //duette// pair tend to be stronger than other Iredicci.” You whip around, stumbling into the nearby wall. Aestus comes to a stop. “You didn’t know? I suppose you were still a child when you lost your accord.” They stroke their beard, a curious expression on their face. “By chance, were your parents-” You both turn your head at the same time. You hear the sound of armored feet on the cobblestone up ahead. Faint now, like the buzz of an insect, but growing steadily louder. ---- [[Next|3.17]]

You quickly duck down the nearest alley, Aestus and Evelyn right behind. You meander through the narrow side streets of the business district, avoiding the main drive. Every time you hear footsteps or voices ahead, you change direction. It’s taking longer to get down to the waterfront, but you manage to stay one step ahead of the patrols. You turn down the next alley. The path forward rises at a steep incline, the buildings on either side pressing in on the already narrow path. You would have expected the path to widen and veer downhill the closer you got to the water. You cock your head and listen. Up ahead, you hear the rhythmic crashing of waves against the harbor wall and the call of a seagull. You turn to Evelyn and sign, “//Is this the way to the marina//?” She has to squint to read your hands in the dark. “//How should I know//?” “//You grew up here, didn’t you//?” “//Uh, I was eight when we moved and I never left the Caelian Quarter//,” she signs, pursing her lips in a small pout. “//You’ve explored more than I have//.” “//Fine. I think this is the right way, but before we go any further…//” <<if $attire is "fancy dress">>\ <<if $cordis is "air">>\ You pull your closed fan from your belt and lean over. You cut into the layered fabric of your dress and tear a slit from above your knee down. The under skirt pulls away from the outer, which should help with the sound. The cool air hits your naked skin and you smile, relishing the freedom of it. You notice Aestus politely avert their gaze. “What are you doing?!” Evelyn exclaims, then winces when she realizes how loudly she spoke. “//I can’t move in this thing//.” You gesture with the fan toward her dress. “//You should cut yours, too//.” “Cut my dress? Are you crazy?” Evelyn hisses at you. “This is silk!” You roll your eyes and sign, “//Eva, please, we don’t have time to argue. You can’t run or fight in that thing if we get into trouble. I’ll buy you a new dress, promise. Just please, do something about it//.” “I’m going to remember you said that,” Evelyn mutters. She reaches down and pulls a small dagger from her boot. She copies your actions, tearing a long slit down the side of her dress. <</if>>\ <<if $cordis is "fire">>\ You pull your dart from your belt and lean over. You cut into the layered fabric of your dress and tear a slit from above your knee down. The under skirt pulls away from the outer, which should help with the sound. You notice Aestus politely avert their gaze. “What are you doing?!” Evelyn exclaims, then winces when she realizes how loudly she spoke. “//I can’t move in this thing//.” You gesture with the dart toward her dress. “//You should cut yours, too//.” “Cut my dress? Are you crazy?” Evelyn hisses at you. “This is silk!” You roll your eyes and sign, “//Eva, please, we don’t have time to argue. You can’t run or fight in that thing if we get into trouble. I’ll buy you a new dress, promise. Just please, do something about it//.” “I’m going to remember you said that,” Evelyn mutters. She reaches down and pulls a small dagger from her boot. She copies your actions, tearing a long slit down the side of her dress. <</if>>\ <<if $cordis is "water">>\ You crouch down and pull a small dagger from your boot. Jonah had insisted that you and Eva both keep some type of blade on you, for emergencies. You’ve never had need of it before, preferring to use your glove. You mentally thank him now. You cut into the layered fabric of your dress and tear a slit from above your knee down. The under skirt pulls away from the outer, which should help with the sound. You notice Aestus politely avert their gaze. “What are you doing?!” Evelyn exclaims, then winces when she realizes how loudly she spoke. “//I can’t move in this thing//.” You return the dagger to your boot and gesture toward her dress. “//You should cut yours, too//.” “Cut my dress? Are you crazy?” Evelyn hisses at you. “This is silk!” You roll your eyes and sign, “//Eva, please, we don’t have time to argue. You can’t run or fight in that thing if we get into trouble. I’ll buy you a new dress, promise. Just please, do something about it//.” “I’m going to remember you said that,” Evelyn mutters. She reaches down and also removes her dagger from her boot. She copies your actions, tearing a long slit down the side of her dress. <</if>>\ <<if $cordis is "earth">>\ You extend the blade in your gauntlet and lean over. You cut into the layered fabric of your dress and tear a slit from above your knee down. The under skirt pulls away from the outer, which should help with the sound. You notice Aestus politely avert their gaze. “What are you doing?!” Evelyn exclaims, then winces when she realizes how loudly she spoke. “//I can’t move in this thing//.” You retract the blade and gesture toward her dress. “//You should cut yours, too//.” “Cut my dress? Are you crazy?” Evelyn hisses at you. “This is silk!” You roll your eyes and sign, “//Eva, please, we don’t have time to argue. You can’t run or fight in that thing if we get into trouble. I’ll buy you a new dress, promise. Just please, do something about it//.” “I’m going to remember you said that,” Evelyn mutters. She reaches down and pulls a small dagger from her boot. She copies your actions, tearing a long slit down the side of her dress. <</if>>\ <<else>>\ You look pointedly at Evelyn’s skirt. “//What//?” she signs. “//You can’t move in that thing. You need to cut it//.” “Cut my dress?!” Evelyn cries indignantly. She winces when she realizes how loudly she spoke, then hisses at you, “Are you crazy? This is silk!” You roll your eyes and sign, “//You can’t run or fight in that thing if we get into trouble. I’ll buy you a new dress, promise. Just please, do something about it//.” “I’m going to remember you said that,” Evelyn mutters. She reaches down and pulls a small dagger from her boot. She cuts into the fabric of her dress and tears a slit from above her knee down. You notice Aestus politely avert their gaze. <</if>>\ When she’s done, she returns the dagger to her boot and plants her hands on her hips, glaring at you. “//So scandalous//,” you sign, giving her a teasing smirk. “I hate you.” <<if $cordis is "air">>\ You lift your hand to reply when the air stirs behind you. A startlingly familiar tingle ghosts across your skin, raising the hair on the back of your neck. You shove Aestus toward Evelyn and spin on your heel. With a flick of your wrist, you open and raise your fan just as the thin blade of a rapier thrusts forward. You deflect it upward, stopping the blade mere inches from your nose. From your periphery you see Evelyn pull the elder behind her and retreat back a few steps. Your gaze remains locked on the dark figure in front of you. Familiar, ice blue eyes meet yours over the edges of your fan. //Well, shit.// He’s different than you remember, the softness of youth gone from his face. His cheekbones are even more lean and pronounced, if that were possible. His dark hair is longer and hangs loose over his face. The edges of a tattoo are barely visible on his neck above the collar of his doublet. Wings, perhaps? That’s new. But the cold gaze, the silent step… that is very much the same. Vicente’s narrowed eyes hone in on your war fan, and a small crease appears between his brows. Then he shifts his gaze back to you, roving over your face, neck, and arm. His shoulders loosen and you can feel the weight of the rapier lifting off the fan. You keep your eyes locked on his and drop your free hand down to your side, where Evelyn can clearly see. <</if>>\ <<if $cordis is "water">>\ You lift your hand to reply when a wave of emotions suddenly overtakes you—resolve, satisfaction, and murderous intent. You shove Aestus toward Evelyn and spin on your heel, raising your gloved arm in front of you just as the thin blade of a rapier thrusts forward. Sparks fly where the metal blade hits the copper tubing, which, thankfully, doesn’t break. You deflect it upward, stopping the blade mere inches from your nose. From your periphery you see Evelyn pull the elder behind her and retreat back a few steps. Your gaze remains locked on the dark figure in front of you. Familiar, ice blue eyes meet yours over the knuckles of your hand. //Well, shit.// He’s different than you remember, the softness of youth gone from his face. His cheekbones are even more lean and pronounced, if that were possible. His dark hair is longer and hangs loose over his face. The edges of a tattoo are barely visible on his neck above the collar of his doublet. Wings, perhaps? That’s new. But the cold gaze, the silent step… that is very much the same. Vicente’s narrowed eyes hone in on your gloved fist, and a small crease appears between his brows. For a moment his cold demeanor breaks and you feel a pang of remorse from him, a lingering regret. The mask swiftly returns and he shifts his gaze back to you, roving over your face, neck, and arm. His shoulders loosen and you can feel the weight of the rapier lifting off your forearm. You keep your eyes locked on his and drop your free hand down to your side, where Evelyn can clearly see. <</if>>\ <<if $cordis is "fire">>\ You lift your hand to reply when you feel a flush of warmth on the back of your neck, a tingling heat that is startlingly familiar. You shove Aestus toward Evelyn and spin on your heel. You open the dart and pull, stretching the metal rope out in front of you just as the thin blade of a rapier thrusts forward. You deflect it upward, stopping the blade mere inches from your nose. From your periphery you see Evelyn pull the elder behind her and retreat back a few steps. Your gaze remains locked on the dark figure in front of you. Familiar, ice blue eyes meet yours over the taut rope. //Well, shit.// He’s different than you remember, the softness of youth gone from his face. His cheekbones are even more lean and pronounced, if that were possible. His dark hair is longer and hangs loose over his face. The edges of a tattoo are barely visible on his neck above the collar of his doublet. Wings, perhaps? That’s new. But the cold gaze, the silent step… that is very much the same. Vicente’s narrowed eyes hone in on your rope dart, and a small crease appears between his brows. Then he shifts his gaze back to you, roving over your face, neck, and arm. His shoulders loosen and he lifts the rapier off the rope. You retract the cord, but keep the dart poised in front of you like a dagger. You keep your eyes locked on his and drop your free hand down to your side, where Evelyn can clearly see. <</if>>\ <<if $cordis is "earth">>\ You lift your hand to reply when a startlingly familiar scent tickles your nose—crisp and woodsy. Juniper. You shove Aestus toward Evelyn and spin on your heel, bringing your shield up just as the thin blade of a rapier thrusts forward. You deflect it upward, stopping the blade mere inches from your nose. From your periphery you see Evelyn pull the elder behind her and retreat back a few steps. Your gaze remains locked on the dark figure in front of you. Familiar, ice blue eyes meet yours over the rim of your shield. //Well, shit.// He’s different than you remember, the softness of youth gone from his face. His cheekbones are even more lean and pronounced, if that were possible. His dark hair is longer and hangs loose over his face. The edges of a tattoo are barely visible on his neck above the collar of his doublet. Wings, perhaps? That’s new. But the cold gaze, the silent step… that is very much the same. Vicente’s narrowed eyes hone in on your shield and gauntlet, and a small crease appears between his brows. Then he shifts his gaze back to you, roving over your face, neck, and arm. His shoulders loosen and you can feel the weight of the rapier lifting off your shield. You keep your eyes locked on his and drop your free hand down to your side, where Evelyn can clearly see. <</if>>\ “//Eva, get Aestus out of here//,” you sign. “//I’ll join you later, don’t worry//.” “But…” Evelyn starts to object but she’s standing behind you. With no way to communicate, you’ve neatly assured her obedience. And she knows it. You hear her huff impatiently, then the sound of footsteps quickly retreating. Vicente seems unconcerned with the fact that his prey is escaping him. He takes a step back but doesn’t lower his weapon. With his free hand he signs, “//I remember you//.” ---- <<link "❤ “//I remember you, too//,” you sign. It’s impossible to forget a face as beautiful as theirs. Even if it does belong to an imperial soldier." "3.18">><<set $vic += 3>><</link>> <<link "❤ “//You’re mistaken//,” you sign. “//I don’t know you at all//.” Honestly, you couldn’t forget a face as beautiful as theirs if you tried. And the flutter it stirs in your chest is galling." "3.19">><<set $vic += 6>><</link>> <<link "❤ You blink. It was only the briefest of interactions eight years ago, yet they remember? You don’t know whether to feel flattered or concerned." "3.20">><<set $vic += 3>><</link>> <<link "“//I remember you, too//,” you sign. You remember him being… well, not nice, but not this sinister, either." "3.21">><</link>> <<link "Your eyes narrow. An enemy of his caliber remembering you is disconcerting, to say the least." "3.21">><</link>>

The corners of his lips twitch, the barest crack in his stoic mask. “Indeed?” he murmurs. Your eyes skim briefly over his figure and a thought occurs to you: he’s not attired like the other soldiers. He’s dressed in a black doublet and fitted leather pants, no military insignia anywhere on his person. You don’t recall seeing him among the patrols, and you hear no one else in the vicinity. He’s alone. Vicente’s face hardens, his eyes frigid once more. “//Step aside//.” <<include "3.22">>

The corners of his lips twitch, the barest crack in his stoic mask. “Shame,” he murmurs. You’re certain he knows you’re lying. Your eyes skim briefly over his figure and a thought occurs to you: he’s not attired like the other soldiers. He’s dressed in a black doublet and fitted leather pants, no military insignia anywhere on his person. You don’t recall seeing him among the patrols, and you hear no one else in the vicinity. He’s alone. Vicente’s face hardens, his eyes frigid once more. “//Step aside//.” <<include "3.22">>

The corners of his lips twitch, the barest crack in his stoic mask. “Curious,” he murmurs. Your eyes skim briefly over his figure and a thought occurs to you: he’s not attired like the other soldiers. He’s dressed in a black doublet and fitted leather pants, no military insignia anywhere on his person. You don’t recall seeing him among the patrols, and you hear no one else in the vicinity. He’s alone. Vicente’s face hardens, his eyes frigid once more. “//Step aside//.” <<include "3.22">>

Your eyes skim briefly over his figure and a thought occurs to you: he’s not attired like the other soldiers. He’s dressed in a black doublet and fitted leather pants, no military insignia anywhere on his person. You don’t recall seeing him among the patrols, and you hear no one else in the vicinity. He’s alone. “//Step aside//,” he signs. His expression is calm—too calm, like the heavy pause in a storm just before the sky breaks open and lightning strikes. <<include "3.22">>

He’s giving you an escape, for whatever reason. He didn’t have to disengage, didn’t have to linger with you while Aestus fled with Evelyn. Not that you’ll take it. “//I won’t let the regis have them//,” you sign. You take a step back and shift your weight, readying your stance. “//Neither will I//.” Before you can decipher that statement, he lunges. <<if $cordis is "earth">>\ You thrust forward with your shield and block his attack, extending the blade and twisting your arm toward him. His left hand snakes up, a main gauche in hand, and parries your attack. He attacks with both weapons, his movements fluid and precise. He's quick, agile, easily dodging your heavier strikes. It’s obvious he knows how to defend against an armored and shielded opponent. But he's not fought against a shield like this. Nor an opponent like you. He tries to slip around you but you twist your wrist and the shield grows larger, catching his rapier between it and your blade. He quickly steps back, forced to withdraw his thin blade or risk breaking it against your weapon. You brace your free hand behind the shield and push forward, your momentum carrying you into him. He raises the rapier and you hear the screech of metal as the tip of his blade is forced upward along the surface of your shield. You release the spikes, but not entirely. They touch his chest and pause, just as you feel a sharp prick against your stomach. You both freeze and you risk a quick glance down. The blade of the main gauche strains against your belly just as your spikes press upon his chest—neither breaks skin, but one small movement would be fatal for either of you. <<if $attire is "fancy dress">>\ You raise your eyes to find his gaze lowered on a point between you. You realize he’s looking at the parted, tattered slit in your dress. Your leg is bent forward, your bare knee slotted between his legs and pressing against his thigh. You quickly raise your gaze as he does the same. The scent of juniper is now tinged with sweat in a bitter, heady combination. Your heavy breathing mixes with his in the space you share. <<else>>\ You raise your eyes to find his own blue ones eerily close. You can feel his lean thighs pressed against your own $build ones, his muscles taut. The scent of juniper is now tinged with sweat in a bitter, heady combination. Your heavy breathing mixes with his in the space you share. <</if>>\ <</if>>\ <<if $cordis is "air">>\ You thrust forward with your fan and block his attack. Then you twist your wrist and spin to his left, extending your arm toward him. His left hand snakes up, a main gauche in hand, and parries your attack. He retaliates with both weapons, his movements fluid and precise, and you match him stroke for stroke. It’s obvious he’s a skilled fighter, more dexterous than most. But he’s not fought against someone like you. You remain a step ahead of him, reading the air around him. When he thrusts forward you dip under the blade. You swing your fan up and around as you do, forcing him to step back. You weave around him, keeping him on his toes. It’s like a dance where neither is taking the lead, each of you merely deflecting the other’s movements. He tries to slip around you but you spring forward, catching his rapier between the serrated edges of your fan. He quickly steps back, forced to withdraw his thin blade or risk breaking it against your weapon. You brace your free hand behind the fan and push forward, your momentum carrying you into him. He raises the rapier and you hear the screech of metal as the tip of his blade is forced upward along the surface of your fan. You angle the fan outward, the edges slipping under his chin just as you feel a sharp prick against your stomach. You both freeze and you risk a quick glance down. The blade of the main gauche strains against your belly just as the edges of your fan press upon his neck—neither breaks skin, but one small movement would be fatal for either of you. <<if $attire is "fancy dress">>\ You raise your eyes to find his gaze lowered on a point between you. You realize he’s looking at the parted, tattered slit in your dress. Your leg is bent forward, your bare knee slotted between his legs and pressing against his thigh. You quickly raise your gaze as he does the same. Your heavy breathing mixes with his in the space you share. <<else>>\ You raise your eyes to find his own blue ones eerily close. You can feel his lean thighs pressed against your own $build ones, his muscles taut. Your heavy breathing mixes with his in the space you share. <</if>>\ <</if>>\ <<if $cordis is "fire">>\ You jump back and to the right, throwing your dart out as you do. His left hand snakes up, a main gauche in hand, and bats it away. You press the advantage, swinging with your dart, elbow, knee—trying to land a hit on him while avoiding the gleaming blades. He’s quick and agile, his movements fluid and precise. It’s obvious he’s a skilled fighter, more dexterous than most. But he’s not fought against someone like you. You throw the dart forward and it catches around the hilt of his rapier. He tightens his grip and yanks you toward him… but that’s what you were counting on. You spring forward and the extra momentum carries you into him. Your free hand clamps around his wrist, pressing a pain point. He grunts and loses his grip on the rapier, the clang of metal resounding through the alley. You bring the dart up to his neck just as you feel a sharp prick against your stomach. You both freeze and you risk a quick glance down. The blade of the main gauche strains against your belly just as your dart presses upon the pulse in his neck—neither breaks skin, but one small movement would be fatal for either of you. <<if $attire is "fancy dress">>\ You raise your eyes to find his gaze lowered on a point between you. You realize he’s looking at the parted, tattered slit in your dress. Your leg is bent forward, your bare knee slotted between his legs and pressing against his thigh. You quickly raise your gaze as he does the same. The heat rolls and ebbs between you, your heavy breathing mixing with his in the space you share. Beneath your fingers, the pulse in his wrist unexpectedly jumps. <<else>>\ You raise your eyes to find his own blue ones eerily close. You can feel his lean thighs pressed against your own $build ones, his muscles taut. The heat rolls and ebbs between you, your heavy breathing mixing with his in the space you share. Beneath your fingers, the pulse in his wrist unexpectedly jumps. <</if>>\ <</if>>\ <<if $cordis is "water">>\ You deflect the attack with your glove, then spray a blast of steam into his face. He winces and steps back, allowing you to put some distance between you. With a clench of your fist you adjust the water pressure, tightening the stream till it’s a pummeling force. Vicente pulls a main gauche from the sheath at his waist and advances on you with both weapons. His strikes are fluid and precise as he lunges first for your chest, then legs. You deflect each strike with a sharp blast from your glove, pushing him a step back each time. You can sense his apathy, his indifference. He views this fight as a mere annoyance, a distraction from his real pursuit. You’ll make him regret underestimating you. You increase the pressure in your glove again. Your next attack will consume more water, but you get the sense Vicente is just toying with you. If you allow this fight to go on much longer, you’ll have more to worry about than your water limit. You aim for the lamp post behind him and shoot. The jet of water slams into the metal post, bending it inward. Hearing the twang of metal behind him, Vicente looks back as the top half of the pole falls toward him. He manages to leap out of the way, but you’re already rushing him. You spray a jet of water at his rapier, knocking it from his hand. Your bodies collide together into the bent remains of the lamp post. You punch upward, your knuckles slipping under his chin just as you feel a sharp prick against your stomach. You both freeze and you risk a quick glance down. The blade of the main gauche strains against your belly just as your fist presses upon his neck. This close, the water pressure may tear a hole in his neck, but probably not before he’s run you through, too. <<if $attire is "fancy dress">>\ You raise your eyes to find his gaze lowered on a point between you. You realize he’s looking at the parted, tattered slit in your dress. Your leg is bent forward, your bare knee slotted between his legs and pressing against his thigh. You quickly raise your gaze as he does the same. Your heavy breathing mixes with his in the space you share. He’s as difficult to read as he was eight years ago, but he doesn’t seem to want to continue this fight. You sense none of the murderous intent from earlier, nor the apathy. In fact, he seems oddly satisfied. His curiosity flares, his keen interest prickling your skin. <<else>>\ You raise your eyes to find his own blue ones eerily close. You can feel his lean thighs pressed against your own $build ones, his muscles taut. Your heavy breathing mixes with his in the space you share. He’s as difficult to read as he was eight years ago, but he doesn’t seem to want to continue this fight. You sense none of the murderous intent from earlier, nor the apathy. In fact, he seems oddly satisfied. His curiosity flares, his keen interest prickling your skin. <</if>>\ <</if>>\ ---- [[❤ You internally berate yourself. You can not be turned on by this. What is wrong with you?|3.23][$vic to Math.clamp($vic + 3, 0, 100)]] [[❤ You swallow, the fear of death making your heart race. Because obviously that’s it.|3.23][$vic to Math.clamp($vic + 3, 0, 100)]] [[You pull your head back, wanting some distance between you, but you keep your weapon firmly in place.|3.23]]

Vicente studies you, his face betraying none of his thoughts. “Perhaps you’ll succeed…” he murmurs. He takes a step back and lowers his arms. You don’t move other than to narrow your eyes at him. “I don’t care whether the elder lives or dies,” he tells you, returning his blades to their sheaths. “I only care that they stay out of my father’s hands.” Father? “//The first men the Resistenza sent were useless//,” he signs. “//Do better. I’ll be watching//.” He gestures behind you. “//You’d better catch up//.” You risk a glance over your shoulder but find the alley empty behind you. When you face forward again, Vicente is gone. His words leave you puzzled. Is he not working for the regis? And is he really that tyrant’s son? You vaguely remember Evelyn telling you about a controversy surrounding the regis’s heir years ago, but you never paid much attention to the gossip of the noble class. You make a mental note to ask her about it later. Right now, you need to find her. ---- [[Next|3.24]]

<<if $cordis is "earth">>\ You run quickly through the streets, following the sound of the waves. You find it strange that you don’t run into any further patrols, until another sound reaches your ears: metal clanging, shouting, heavy thumping. You smell blood. <<else>>\ You run quickly through the streets, following the sound of the waves. You find it strange that you don’t run into any further patrols, until another sound reaches your ears: metal clanging, shouting, heavy thumping. <</if>>\ There’s a fight up ahead. Your pace quickens, till you eventually come out of an alley near the upper marina. The seawall looms to your right. A heated battle rages down and to your left on the tier below you. A dozen or so soldiers have a small party of six backed against the pier. Aestus stands in the back, closest to the water. They keep glancing over their shoulder at the water, perhaps weighing the risks between helping or drawing more soldiers with their voice. Evelyn stands in front of them, firing her arrows into the fray with grim precision. Three unknown fighters are each paired off with an imperial soldier. They’re adorned in dark, padded leather armor, and fight fiercely with a mix of shields and blades. You watch, impressed, as an older man with a shaved head stabs his opponent through the chest, then turns his longsword upon another soldier. And in front of them all, taking on the bulk of the soldiers herself, stands a woman. No, not stands. She //hurls// herself at one opponent after another, her dual axes spinning in a deadly red mist of steel and blood. She smashes one axe into the shoulder of a soldier, swinging her other to deflect a second opponent. Then she plants her foot upon the first soldier, kicking him off her blade and propelling herself into another. Through it all her face remains utterly emotionless and inscrutable, at odds with the unbridled ferocity of her movements. She’s like a storm—terrifying and destructive, yet wholly natural and impassive. Something about her tugs at your memory. You feel as though you’ve seen her before, but you can’t imagine forgetting such a marvel of a woman. Movement to your right catches your eye. One of the soldiers has managed to slip through to the seawall. He stands partway up the stairs, above the fray but just below you. He hasn’t seen you; his gaze and his rifle remain trained on the woman. <<if $cordis is "air">>\ You leap toward the soldier, your arm outstretched. Your fan strikes his gun, slicing into the metal and causing the barrel to veer right just as he fires. The shot goes harmlessly into the water, but the explosive crack rings out uncomfortably loud. The momentum carries you both toward the ledge, but you nimbly maintain your balance. The soldier falls the short distance to the pier, landing on his back. His rifle clatters harmlessly to the ground out of reach. <</if>>\ <<if $cordis is "water">>\ You shoot a blast of water at his gun. The barrel veers to the right just as he fires. The shot goes harmlessly into the water, but the explosive crack rings out uncomfortably loud. The soldier spins about, losing both his grip on the weapon and his balance. He falls the short distance to the pier, landing on his back. His rifle clatters harmlessly to the ground out of reach. <</if>>\ <<if $cordis is "fire">>\ You launch your dart at his gun. The notched tip catches the barrel and you tug. The gun fires off harmlessly to the left, but the explosive crack rings out uncomfortably loud. The soldier spins about, losing both his grip on the weapon and his balance. He falls the short distance to the pier, landing on his back. His rifle clatters harmlessly to the ground out of reach. <</if>>\ <<if $cordis is "earth">>\ You launch yourself at the soldier. Your shield slams into his side, causing the barrel of the gun to veer right just as he fires. The shot goes harmlessly into the water, but the explosive crack rings out uncomfortably loud. The soldier tries to face you but you shove him off the ledge. He falls the short distance to the pier, landing on his back. His rifle clatters harmlessly to the ground out of reach. <</if>>\ The woman turns and slams her axe down into the prone soldier’s chest. When his body stops twitching, she tugs her axe free. Then she looks up. Piercing hazel eyes meet yours. The woman nods at you, then quickly turns to ward off another attack. <<if $cordis is "earth">>\ You hurry down the stairs to help, but by the time you reach the bottom, the fight is over. The bodies of a dozen soldiers litter the wharf. The cloying scent of blood mingles with the briny sea air; you concentrate on breathing slowly in and out to tamp down the sudden nausea. <<else>>\ You hurry down the stairs to help, but by the time you reach the bottom, the fight is over. The bodies of a dozen soldiers litter the wharf. After a cursory look, you don't see the Capitano from earlier among them. <</if>>\ <<if $eva gte 35>>\ Evelyn rushes over to you. Her bow is clenched in the fingers of her left hand, but her right hovers in front of you, as if examining you. “//Are you okay//?” she signs. Her fingers tremble slightly, belying her concern. “//Not hurt, are you//?” “//No, not hurt//.” You smile reassuringly at her. “//What happened back there//?” she signs, sliding her bow back over her shoulder. You look around the docks, searching for Vicente. He said he’d be watching; is he out there now? <<else>>\ Evelyn slings her bow back over her shoulder, her eyes skimming over you. “//You hurt//?” she signs. You shake your head, then look around the docks, searching for Vicente. He said he’d be watching; is he out there now? <</if>>\ Evelyn sees you cast your gaze over the strangers. “//They’re Resistenza//,” she informs you. “//The tall woman’s in charge. Says her name is Corinne. They found us just before the soldiers did//.” Corinne. The name jogs your memory. You find yourself back in the harbormaster’s office in Darissi, when a statuesque young woman stood up for herself. And for you. ---- [[❤ A warmth spreads in your chest. It’s good to see her again. Will she remember you, too?|3.25][$cori to Math.clamp($cori + 3, 0, 100)]] [[❤ She’s even more handsome than you remember, despite the blood and sweat matted in her hair. And on her armor. And her face. Honestly, it’s kind of hot.|3.25][$cori to Math.clamp($cori + 3, 0, 100)]] [[You’re happy to see her again. If she’s truly the one in charge here, your opinion of the Resistenza just improved greatly.|3.25]] [[You feel no great emotion upon seeing her again; though, it is surprising that you’ve already met the Resistenza without realizing it.|3.25]]

You watch as Corinne whispers to two of the Resistenza, a young man and woman who look uncannily alike. They’re of the same height, same diamond shaped faces with olive skin and black, pixie cut hair. They’re obviously siblings, probably twins. You overhear the conversation easily. She’s concerned about the gunshot and tells the twins, Mirabella and Matteo, to scout the streets and keep patrols away from the docks. She also tells them to remain close to the Caelian Quarter, to keep an eye out for Nikolaos and your family. The twins nod a couple times, then quickly head back up the main avenue away from the docks. Corinne and the remaining stranger, the bald man, approach you. “You must be Jonah’s $pronoun4. Aestus told us what happened,” she says. “Thank you for your assistance.” Corinne tilts her head, her lips slightly pursed. She stands with one axe leaning atop her left shoulder, her fingers drumming against the handle. After a moment of silence, she finally asks, “Have we met before?” You nod, then lift your hands to sign, “//Yes, we met in Darissi eight years ago. In the harbormaster’s office//.” “You what?” Evelyn asks in surprise. You incline your head toward Corinne, asking her to translate for you. “Um, this is $alias,” she translates. “You met $pronoun2 in Darissi eight years ago-” “The drunken harbormaster,” Corinne finishes. “Yes, I recall now.” A faint smile ghosts her lips. “You did us a favor back then, as well.” “//You’ve got some explaining to do later//,” Evelyn signs, narrowing her eyes at you. “We need to get moving before that gunfire draws more patrols. The boat is this way.” Corinne gestures toward the docks before turning to her companion. “Gabriele, start the engine.” “Aye, Comandante.” He nods curtly, then scurries down a rope ladder to one of the lower docks. <<if $eva gte 35>>\ “Whoa, wait, we can’t go with you,” Evelyn protests, looking anxiously at you. “We need to make sure our family is safe.” “//Eva, they are, don’t worry//,” you assure her. “//Thaleia promised to meet us at headquarters. And we promised to lead Aestus to safety//.” “The Resistenza is here. We’ve done our part,” Evelyn urges, signing as she speaks. “We should go back and help.” <<else>>\ “Whoa, wait, I’m not going with you,” Evelyn snaps. “I need to make sure my parents are safe.” “//Eva, we promised we’d lead Aestus there safely//,” you urge. “//You promised//,” she replies with a scowl. “//The Resistenza is here. We’ve done our part. Maybe you want to play hero, but I need to be there for my family//.” The way she signs those last two words, emphasizing //her// family... it's grating. You narrow your eyes, a warm pressure building in your chest. Sensing the shift in your mood, Aestus steps forward and speaks in a conciliatory tone. “Adagio, I believe your mother would feel more at ease knowing you were safe, anxious one. The domina said she would meet us at the base.” <</if>>\ “It’s too dangerous to be wandering the streets now,” Corinne chimes in. “The patrols are on high alert. You may even lead them to your parents… and my injured lieutenant.” Evelyn’s shoulders slump a little at her words, and you know she’s considering them. “I’ve stationed my people in your neighborhood,” Corinne continues. “They will make sure your family is safe. Right now, the best thing you can do for them is to come with us.” Evelyn hesitates a moment more. Worried about the delay, you strain your ears, listening for the sound of approaching soldiers. But all you hear is the crashing of waves against the seawall and a low, metallic hum. The boat engine, perhaps? Finally, Evelyn squares her shoulders and nods. “Fine then,” she says, her tone resigned. Corinne leads the three of you down the docks to the rope ladder. At the bottom you see a small, strange looking vessel hidden beneath one of the upper docks. Steam escapes through a narrow pipe close to the bow, and a paddle wheel hangs off the stern. It resembles the steam ships you saw in Darissi, only much sleeker and far less noisy; the hum of the engine is so soft, you wonder if the others can even hear it. Gabriele sits at the stern beside a set of controls and levers that no doubt operate the boat. Evelyn and Aestus take seats in the middle while you sit up front. Corinne undoes the ropes tying the boat to the dock, then joins you at the bow. Gabriele expertly steers the boat out from the docks, keeping parallel to the seawall. Once you clear the wall, he veers north toward the promontory. Forte Araldo looms ahead in the dark, a massive, jagged shadow against a starlit backdrop. <<if $cordis is "air">>\ As the boat skims noiselessly across the channel, you unfurl your fan and examine the surface. You expect to see a scratch or dent from your encounter with Vicente, but the silver matted surface appears undamaged. You run your fingers over the crisscrossing celadon lines and half circles, marveling at the craftsmanship. With a flick of your wrist, the fan snaps closed. You affix it securely to your belt, then look up to find Corinne studying you. She inclines her head toward your weapon. “That’s a marvelous invention. Is it Cato’s work?” You pull out your journal and pencil and write, //You know Alessandro?// You hand the journal to Corinne and she squints to read the words in the dark. A shuttered expression crosses her face as her lips dip in a frown. Corinne continues to stare at the words. She breathes a deep, silent sigh in and out through her nose. Finally, she lifts her head and hands you back your journal. “I know Calliope,” she says, her tone somber. “I never had the pleasure of meeting her father.” The way she says the word “never”—with finality, past tense. A queasy feeling roils your stomach. “Calliope’s with us. At the base,” Corinne continues, forcing a note of satisfaction into her voice. “She’d enjoy seeing an old acquaintance. I’m sure there’s much you need to discuss.” As the boat draws near the cliff face, you see a handful of small caves at the base of the promontory. The crashing waves cover their entrance with each surge, but a taller one looms higher than the waves. The top is lined with sharp stalactites; the surging waves bring driftwood dangerously close to those limestone jaws. As the boat approaches this larger cave, Gabriele slows the engine, the boat idling just outside the cave mouth. A wave passes, the water recedes, and the boat speeds quickly toward the opening. You pass safely under and find yourself in a small grotto. It’s dark without the lights from the city, but you can see clearly enough. There’s a small dock up ahead built into the rough cave wall. Behind it, a rocky, uneven stairwell with narrow steps leads up and to the left. Copper wiring runs along the ceiling above the stairs, from which hang gas lamps at even intervals, bathing the stairwell in a glaring tangerine light. Two sentries guard the small dock. They meet you as you disembark and help tie up the boat. You hear the soft shuffling of feet - too many feet for the number of people here - and steady breathing echoing through the cavern. You spy the glint of metal in an alcove over the dock, and a shadowy form backed into a ledge above the cavern entrance. Hidden sentries. Smart. Though not hidden from you. <</if>>\ <<if $cordis is "water">>\ As the boat skims noiselessly across the channel, you take a moment to refill your glove. You remove the glass capsules one by one and lean over the side of the boat. Once each is filled with seawater, you lock them back into place on your glove. You look up to find Corinne studying you. She inclines her head toward your weapon. “That’s a marvelous invention. Is it Cato’s work?” You pull out your journal and pencil and write, //You know Alessandro?// You hand the journal to Corinne and she squints to read the words in the dark. A shuttered expression crosses her face as her lips dip in a frown. You sense sadness, regret, guilt. Corinne continues to stare at the words. She breathes a deep, silent sigh in and out through her nose. Finally, she lifts her head and hands you back your journal. “I know Calliope,” she says, her tone somber. “I never had the pleasure of meeting her father.” The way she says the word “never”—with finality, past tense. A queasy feeling roils your stomach. “Calliope’s with us. At the base,” Corinne continues, forcing a note of satisfaction into her voice. “She’d enjoy seeing an old acquaintance. I’m sure there’s much you need to discuss.” As the boat draws near the cliff face, you see a handful of small caves at the base of the promontory. The crashing waves cover their entrance with each surge, but a taller one looms higher than the waves. The top is lined with sharp stalactites; the surging waves bring driftwood dangerously close to those limestone jaws. As the boat approaches this larger cave, Gabriele slows the engine, the boat idling just outside the cave mouth. A wave passes, the water recedes, and the boat speeds quickly toward the opening. You pass safely under and find yourself in a small grotto. It’s dark without the lights from the city, but there’s a faint glow up ahead. Gabriele steers the boat toward a small dock built into the rough cave wall. Behind it, a rocky, uneven stairwell with narrow steps leads up and to the left. Copper wiring runs along the ceiling above the stairs, from which hang gas lamps at even intervals, bathing the stairwell in a glaring tangerine light. Two sentries guard the small dock. They meet you as you disembark and help tie up the boat. You hear the soft shuffling of feet - too many feet for the number of people here - and steady breathing echoing through the cavern. You realize there are more sentries nearby, hidden from view. <</if>>\ <<if $cordis is "fire">>\ As the boat skims noiselessly across the channel, you roll your dart deftly between your fingers. The movement comes naturally to you; the satiny feel of the feather, the familiar joints along the body, are a familiar comfort to you. You affix the dart securely to your belt, then look up to find Corinne studying you. She inclines her head toward your weapon. “That’s a marvelous invention. Is it Cato’s work?” You pull out your journal and pencil and write, //You know Alessandro?// You hand the journal to Corinne and she squints to read the words in the dark. A shuttered expression crosses her face as her lips dip in a frown. Corinne continues to stare at the words. She breathes a deep, silent sigh in and out through her nose. Finally, she lifts her head and hands you back your journal. “I know Calliope,” she says, her tone somber. “I never had the pleasure of meeting her father.” The way she says the word “never”—with finality, past tense. A queasy feeling roils your stomach. “Calliope’s with us. At the base,” Corinne continues, forcing a note of satisfaction into her voice. “She’d enjoy seeing an old acquaintance. I’m sure there’s much you need to discuss.” As the boat draws near the cliff face, you see a handful of small caves at the base of the promontory. The crashing waves cover their entrance with each surge, but a taller one looms higher than the waves. The top is lined with sharp stalactites; the surging waves bring driftwood dangerously close to those limestone jaws. As the boat approaches this larger cave, Gabriele slows the engine, the boat idling just outside the cave mouth. A wave passes, the water recedes, and the boat speeds quickly toward the opening. You pass safely under and find yourself in a small grotto. It’s dark without the lights from the city, but there’s a faint glow up ahead. Gabriele steers the boat toward a small dock built into the rough cave wall. Behind it, a rocky, uneven stairwell with narrow steps leads up and to the left. Copper wiring runs along the ceiling above the stairs, from which hang gas lamps at even intervals, bathing the stairwell in a glaring tangerine light. Two sentries guard the small dock. They meet you as you disembark and help tie up the boat. You hear the soft shuffling of feet - too many feet for the number of people here - and steady breathing echoing through the cavern. You realize there are more sentries nearby, hidden from view. <</if>>\ <<if $cordis is "earth">>\ As the boat skims noiselessly across the channel, you remove your gauntlet and flex your fingers. As comfortable as you are with the weapon, it can still feel constricting if worn too long. You affix the gauntlet securely to your belt, then look up to find Corinne studying you. She inclines her head toward your weapon. “That’s a marvelous invention. Is it Cato’s work?” You pull out your journal and pencil and write, //You know Alessandro?// You hand the journal to Corinne and she squints to read the words in the dark. A shuttered expression crosses her face as her lips dip in a frown. Corinne continues to stare at the words. She breathes a deep, silent sigh in and out through her nose. Finally, she lifts her head and hands you back your journal. “I know Calliope,” she says, her tone somber. “I never had the pleasure of meeting her father.” The way she says the word “never”—with finality, past tense. A queasy feeling roils your stomach. “Calliope’s with us. At the base,” Corinne continues, forcing a note of satisfaction into her voice. “She’d enjoy seeing an old acquaintance. I’m sure there’s much you need to discuss.” As the boat draws near the cliff face, you see a handful of small caves at the base of the promontory. The crashing waves cover their entrance with each surge, but a taller one looms higher than the waves. The top is lined with sharp stalactites; the surging waves bring driftwood dangerously close to those limestone jaws. As the boat approaches this larger cave, Gabriele slows the engine, the boat idling just outside the cave mouth. A wave passes, the water recedes, and the boat speeds quickly toward the opening. You pass safely under and find yourself in a small grotto. It’s dark without the lights from the city, but there’s a faint glow up ahead. Gabriele steers the boat toward a small dock built into the rough cave wall. Behind it, a rocky, uneven stairwell with narrow steps leads up and to the left. Copper wiring runs along the ceiling above the stairs, from which hang gas lamps at even intervals, bathing the stairwell in a glaring tangerine light. Two sentries guard the small dock. They meet you as you disembark and help tie up the boat. You hear the soft shuffling of feet - too many feet for the number of people here - and steady breathing echoing through the cavern. You realize there are more sentries nearby, hidden from view. <</if>>\ ---- [[Next|3.26]]

<<unset $attire>>\ Corinne takes the lead up the stairs and your party follows, while Gabriele brings up the rear. The stairwell opens into a wide tunnel. This tunnel is much smoother and better crafted than the stairwell. As you walk you hear more voices—some gruff and brisk, others cheerful and laid back. You pick out multiple conversations of varying subjects: from the guard rotation at the jail house, to the latest play performing at the teatro, to the proper way to distill brandy. But the conversations drop off as your party exits the tunnel. You find yourself in a large, octagonal common room. A handful of Resistenza members lounge in the upholstered couches and chaises that dot the expansive room, while one small group plays a game of dice and cards at a circular table. Multiple tunnels extend outward from the room. There are no windows, but the copper wiring and lamps continue throughout the space, with one large, glass lighting fixture set above the center of the room. The lighting in here is softer, more of a muted coral shade. Everyone sits up, their attention trained on your party. A blonde young man seated at the table stands and approaches Corinne. “Comandante,” he says, standing at attention before her. “Levi, has Coda returned?” Corinne asks. “No, Comandante.” The young man, Levi, shakes his head. “Neither he nor Nikolaos have reported back.” “Nik is accounted for,” Corinne murmurs. Then she turns to Gabriele. “I want you and Levi to take the boat back. Check the safe houses.” “A larger party would make the search easier,” Gabriele suggests. “Too risky,” Corinne says with a shake of her head. “There are too many patrols out. I’m not yet concerned about Coda; he can see and hear anyone from a mile away. If he’s not in a safe house, he’s keeping ahead of the patrols. If you don’t find him immediately, join Mira and Matteo in the Caelian Quarter.” She spares you and Evelyn a quick glance. “Make sure Nik and the Sideris family are secure, and bring them back as soon as it is safe to do so.” You suddenly remember your encounter with Vicente. Do you warn Corinne about them? ---- [[Yes. You still don’t understand his motives; he could be dangerous.|3.27][$warnCori = true]] [[No. You don’t know exactly what he wants yet, maybe nothing.|3.28][$warnCori = false]]

“//I need to warn you about a soldier//.” Evelyn gives you an inquiring look, but translates for you. “A soldier?” Corinne asks. “//Actually, I’m not sure what they are//.” Evelyn continues to translate for you as you sign, relating the encounter to Corinne. You tell her Vicente’s name, their offhand comment, and a brief description of the fight. You don’t mention your past encounter with them, as it doesn’t feel relevant. And you don’t mention that he can sign. That’s… yours. “Vicente? I wonder…” Corinne stares intently at a spot on the stone floor a moment before lifting her gaze to yours. “I appreciate the warning.” Then she turns to her men. “Keep an eye out for this person, but don’t engage.” <<include "3.29">>

There’s no sense in starting a panic now, not till you know more. He did let you go, after all. And you’ve just met the Resistenza, as well. It’s too early to say if they can be trusted. <<include "3.29">>

“Aye, Comandante.” With a brisk nod, Gabriele and Levi head back down the passage you came from. Corinne turns to face you. You notice the deliberate way she angles her body, the way she holds your gaze. She’s ensuring you can understand her. “Feel free to explore any of the hallways or rooms on this level,” she says. “However, I ask that you not return to the docks, nor venture upstairs. This is for both your own safety and that of my people.” You nod your head in understanding. Beside you, Evelyn twists her lips as if annoyed, but doesn’t object. “If you’d like to rest, you may use one of the rooms next to the clinica,” Corinne points down a tunnel to your right. “There’s a bunk bed in each room, and a wardrobe with a change of clothes. Feel free to use anything you see there. If you need something to eat,” she gestures to a tunnel straight ahead, “the cucina is that way. And over there…” She points to your left down a set of stairs. The orange glow emanating from the stairwell wavers and shifts, and you hear the steady hum of machines and the ticking of gears. “That’s Calliope’s workshop,” she concludes, nodding your way. Then she switches her gaze to Aestus. “Elder, if you wouldn’t mind, I have a few questions for you.” “Of course,” says Aestus. They turn to you and Evelyn. “Thank you again for your help. I owe you my life. Come find me later, if you’d like.” They move their gaze between the two of you, but you’re certain their last words are for you. Corinne moves off down one of the branching corridors, Aestus at her side. “First things first, I need out of this dress,” Evelyn mumbles. You follow her down the hall Corinne indicated. Through an open double door you spy the clinica. Two rows of beds stretch down the center of the large room; a couple are occupied but most are empty. Oak shelves and cabinets line the walls, filled with an assortment of medicine, splints and bandages, and surgical tools. You recognize many of the items from Thaleia’s home office. Next to the clinica is a closed door. You knock first, and hearing no answer, enter the room. It’s a small room with no windows. The lighting on the ceiling continues into the room but is much dimmer, perhaps allowing for sleep. A set of bunk beds line one wall, a large wardrobe stands on the opposite wall with a dressing screen beside it, and a small redwood desk sits at the end of the room. Evelyn walks straight to the wardrobe and opens it, scanning the contents with a critical eye. “Well, I suppose it’s better than running around half naked,” she says with a sigh. She grabs a forest green, sleeveless, boned corset dress with ties down the back, and a long sleeved, cream colored camicia to wear beneath. Evelyn steps behind the screen as you peruse the remaining articles in the wardrobe. You select… ---- [[A maroon, sleeveless, boned corset dress with a long, loose fitting skirt and ties down the back. You also select a thin, long sleeved shift to wear beneath the dress.|3.30][$attire to "dress"]] [[A white cotton shirt with billowy sleeves and a form fitting red vest. You also select a long, rust colored wrap skirt and brown cotton leggings.|3.30][$attire to "skirt"]] [[A cream colored, lightweight linen tunic with a stringed collar and a pair of dark brown trousers.|3.30][$attire to "pants"]] [[A navy blue, fitted cotton doublet—not as fine as silk, but nicer than you were expecting to find here. You also select a white cotton shirt to wear beneath and black fitted pants.|3.30][$attire to "doublet"]]

“Ugh, this fabric is so itchy,” Evelyn grumbles. She drapes the tattered remains of her gown over the screen. “What is this? Burlap?” You roll your eyes. You spy several padded coats hanging in the back of the wardrobe; they look like they’d give a modicum of protection in a fight. Now that you’re among the Resistenza, it’s probably a good call. ---- [[You select a fitted, brown leather jacket that hangs to your waist.|3.31][$coat to "jacket"]] [[You select a burnt orange, quilted cotton overcoat that lands just above your ankles.|3.31][$coat to "overcoat"]]

Evelyn emerges from behind the screen, the loose skirt of her dress billowing about her ankles. The thin linen hugs her full, curvaceous figure and is actually far more flattering than the heavy, formal gowns she usually wears. She hangs her bow and quiver off the bed post, then reaches up to fix her braid. Before you have a chance to duck behind the screen, she plops down on the bottom bunk and glares at you. “Okay. Start talking.” You carefully hang your new clothes over the dressing screen, partly to free up your hands to sign, but mostly to give yourself time to craft a response. “Why are you so calm about this?” Evelyn presses. “Why doesn’t it surprise you that the Resistenza knows our name?” “//Remember the family talk we had about moving to Inizi? After… what happened with Stavros//?” <<if $eva gte 35>>\ Evelyn bites her lip and nods. “//After you went upstairs, your parents admitted that Jonah has been helping the Resistenza for the last two years: sending them reports about troops movements, supply runs, plans of attack, that sort of thing. They knew the Resistenza was based here//.” You relate the rest of the conversation in a rush, your fingers tangling in your haste. Evelyn’s eyes grow wider the more you sign, her expression stormy. “For fuck’s sake!” she exclaims when you’ve finished. She jumps to her feet and starts pacing the room. “Is it so fucking hard to just be a normal family?!” You step in front of her, forcing her gaze. “//I told your parents they should have told you. Don’t be too mad at them, they were only doing what they thought was right. They were afraid to upset you//.” “Yeah, well, big fail,” she huffs. She crosses her arms over her chest and kicks at the foot of the bed. Her shoulders dip and she looks up at you, her expression softening. “What about you? Are you happy here? Is this what you want?” ---- [[Your only desire was to see Aestus to safety. Now that that’s done, you’re unsure what to think.|3.32]] [[After seeing their efforts with Aestus, you want to learn more about the Resistenza and their plans for Saleste. If they’re sincere about making the empire better, then you want to help.|3.33][$mercy to Math.clamp($mercy + 5, 0, 100)]] [[Happy to fight the regis and burn the empire to the ground? Hell yeah, that’s what you want.|3.34][$mercy to Math.clamp($mercy - 5, 0, 100)]] <<else>>\ Evelyn’s frown deepens. “You mean, do I remember when you fucked up? Yeah, kinda hard to forget.” You take a deep breath and count to three before answering. “//After you went upstairs, your parents admitted that Jonah has been helping the Resistenza for the last two years: sending them reports about troops movements, supply runs, plans of attack, that sort of thing. They knew the Resistenza was based here//.” You relate the rest of the conversation in a matter-of-fact tone. Evelyn’s eyes grow wider the more you sign, her expression stormy. You take an almost devilish delight in watching her squirm. “For fuck’s sake!” she exclaims when you’ve finished. She jumps to her feet and starts pacing the room. “Is it so fucking hard to just be a normal family?!” You step in front of her, forcing her gaze. “//This is exactly why your parents didn’t tell you. They knew you’d react like this. You don’t even care about their side or what they want//.” “Don’t you dare presume to tell me what //my// family wants,” she growls. “Are you happy now? This is exactly what you want, isn’t it?” ---- [[Your only desire was to see Aestus to safety. Now that that’s done, you’re unsure what to think.|3.35]] [[After seeing their efforts with Aestus, you want to learn more about the Resistenza and their plans for Saleste. If they’re sincere about making the empire better, then you want to help.|3.36][$mercy to Math.clamp($mercy + 5, 0, 100)]] [[Happy to fight the regis and burn the empire to the ground? Hell yeah, that’s what you want.|3.37][$mercy to Math.clamp($mercy - 5, 0, 100)]] <</if>>\

“//They’re helping my people//,” you sign. “//Of course I want that. I don’t want to hide anymore; I want to make a difference. I want to ensure what happened to the Iredicci never happens to anyone else//.” “Would you tell them the truth?” she asks. “About being Iredicci?” You consider for a moment. “//I want to know more about the Resistenza first—what they stand for, what their plans are. Then… maybe//?” You shrug your shoulders. “Yeah, I guess I can understand that,” says Evelyn. “You do seem to be taking all this in stride. Much better than I, at least.” She leans against the desk and drums her fingers atop the surface. “Everything feels too fast, too… chaotic. I hate not knowing what’s happening next. I had a plan for my life, and now everything’s spiraling out of control.” She frowns, gazing idly past you. “I hate this feeling.” You understand where she’s coming from. For too long you’ve felt like you’ve had no control, no say on the course of your life. But here? This night? You finally feel needed, useful—obbligato, as your people would say. Ironic, that Eva is feeling adrift just as you’re finding your legs. She stands up straight and smoothes down her dress. “I suppose we can talk more once momma and papa get here." <<if $warnCori is true>>\ “//Wait, I want to ask you something. What do you know about the regis’s heir//?” <<if $vic gte 9>>\ “Is this about what that soldier told you? Vicente?” She tilts her head to the side and her lip quirks up in a smirk. “You’ve never been interested in social gossip before. Now a pair of pretty blue eyes got you interested?” “//Eva, he tried to kill Aestus. And us//.” You look at her deadpan. “Doesn’t mean he didn’t look good doing it,” she responds with a shrug. “But to answer your question, the regis’s only son, Crown Prince Massimo, died a long time ago.” She taps her finger on her lip, her eyes narrowing. “It was right before The Proelium, I think. But then, several years later, there was talk of a new heir. And I don’t mean like a new baby, but a young man. No one knew where he came from and the regis never presented him in court. It was all very secretive.” <<else>>\ “Is this about what that soldier told you? Vicente? The regis’s only son, Crown Prince Massimo, died a long time ago.” She taps her finger on her lip, her eyes narrowing. “It was right before The Proelium, I think. But then, several years later, there was talk of a new heir. And I don’t mean like a baby, but a young man. No one knew where he came from and the regis never presented him in court. It was all very secretive.” <</if>>\ “//Do you think this Vicente could be the new heir//?” “I don’t know, I never learned his name,” she admits. That was saying a lot, considering how much Evelyn indulged in court gossip. “If he is, doesn’t sound like he likes daddy very much.” She stretches her arms over her head, then winces and touches a hand to her stomach. “Oof, I’m starving. I’m gonna check out the cucina. Do you want me to wait for you?” she asks. “//Go ahead. I’ll catch up//.” <</if>>\ <<if $warnCori is false>>\ “//Wait, I want to ask you something//..." Your hands falter as Evelyn peers expectantly at you. You want to ask about Vicente, but unsure how best to bring them up. “//What can you tell me about the regis’s family//?” “His family? Why?” Evelyn tilts her head to the side, her eyes narrowing. “You’ve never been interested in social gossip before.” “//Now that we’re here, I should probably start paying attention//.” It's not a complete lie. “//Does the regis make all the military decisions? He must be getting old; is there anyone else I should be concerned about? An heir or something//?” “I don't know much about the military; papa could tell you more,” she responds with a shrug. "But you needn’t be concerned about an heir. The regis’s only son, Crown Prince Massimo, died a long time ago.” She taps her finger on her lip, her eyes narrowing. “It was right before The Proelium, I think. But actually, several years later, there was talk of a new heir. And I don’t mean like a baby, but a young man. No one knew where he came from and the regis never presented him in court.” “//Do you know the name of the new heir//?” “Mm-mm, never learned his name. It was all very secretive,” she admits. That was saying a lot, considering how much Evelyn indulged in court gossip. “Hopefully he’s better than the rest of his family.” She stretches her arms over her head, then winces and touches a hand to her stomach. “Oof, I’m starving. I’m gonna check out the cucina. Do you want me to wait for you?” she asks. “//Go ahead. I’ll catch up//.” <</if>>\ <<include "3.38">>

<<if $mercy gte 50>>\ “//It is//,” you sign emphatically. “//If these people are fighting the regis, I’ll volunteer for the front lines//.” Evelyn’s face falls and she worries her bottom lip between her teeth. “I didn't realize you felt that strongly. You're usually more... forgiving. Just don’t get yourself hurt, okay? Let’s see what they’re about first.” She leans against the desk and drums her fingers atop the surface. “I hate not knowing what’s happening next. Everything feels too fast, like it’s spiraling out of control.” She frowns, gazing idly past you. “I hate this feeling.” <<else>>\ “//It is//,” you sign emphatically. “//I know you love the empire, Eva, but everything about it sickens me. If these people are fighting the regis, I’ll volunteer for the front lines//.” Evelyn’s face falls and she worries her bottom lip between her teeth. “I know you’ve felt that way, I just… just don’t get yourself hurt, okay? Let’s see what they’re about first.” She leans against the desk and drums her fingers atop the surface. “I hate not knowing what’s happening next. Everything feels too fast, like it’s spiraling out of control.” She frowns, gazing idly past you. “I hate this feeling.” <</if>>\ You understand where she’s coming from. For too long you’ve felt like you’ve had no control, no say on the course of your life. But here? This night? You finally feel needed, useful—obbligato, as your people would say. Ironic, that Eva is feeling adrift just as you’re finding your legs. She stands up straight and smoothes down her dress. “I suppose we can talk more once momma and papa get here." <<if $warnCori is true>>\ “//Wait, I want to ask you something. What do you know about the regis’s heir//?” <<if $vic gte 9>>\ “Is this about what that soldier told you? Vicente?” She tilts her head to the side and her lip quirks up in a smirk. “You’ve never been interested in social gossip before. Now a pair of pretty blue eyes got you interested?” “//Eva, he tried to kill Aestus. And us//.” You look at her deadpan. “Doesn’t mean he didn’t look good doing it,” she responds with a shrug. “But to answer your question, the regis’s only son, Crown Prince Massimo, died a long time ago.” She taps her finger on her lip, her eyes narrowing. “It was right before The Proelium, I think. But then, several years later, there was talk of a new heir. And I don’t mean like a new baby, but a young man. No one knew where he came from and the regis never presented him in court. It was all very secretive.” <<else>>\ “Is this about what that soldier told you? Vicente? The regis’s only son, Crown Prince Massimo, died a long time ago.” She taps her finger on her lip, her eyes narrowing. “It was right before The Proelium, I think. But then, several years later, there was talk of a new heir. And I don’t mean like a baby, but a young man. No one knew where he came from and the regis never presented him in court. It was all very secretive.” <</if>>\ “//Do you think this Vicente could be the new heir//?” “I don’t know, I never learned his name,” she admits. That was saying a lot, considering how much Evelyn indulged in court gossip. “If he is, doesn’t sound like he likes daddy very much.” She stretches her arms over her head, then winces and touches a hand to her stomach. “Oof, I’m starving. I’m gonna check out the cucina. Do you want me to wait for you?” she asks. “//Go ahead. I’ll catch up//.” <</if>>\ <<if $warnCori is false>>\ “//Wait, I want to ask you something//..." Your hands falter as Evelyn peers expectantly at you. You want to ask about Vicente, but unsure how best to bring them up. “//What can you tell me about the regis’s family//?” “His family? Why?” Evelyn tilts her head to the side, her eyes narrowing. “You’ve never been interested in social gossip before.” “//Now that we’re here, I should probably start paying attention//.” It's not a complete lie. “//Does the regis make all the military decisions? He must be getting old; is there anyone else I should be concerned about? An heir or something//?” “I don't know much about the military; papa could tell you more,” she responds with a shrug. "But you needn’t be concerned about an heir. The regis’s only son, Crown Prince Massimo, died a long time ago.” She taps her finger on her lip, her eyes narrowing. “It was right before The Proelium, I think. But actually, several years later, there was talk of a new heir. And I don’t mean like a baby, but a young man. No one knew where he came from and the regis never presented him in court.” “//Do you know the name of the new heir//?” “Mm-mm, never learned his name. It was all very secretive,” she admits. That was saying a lot, considering how much Evelyn indulged in court gossip. “Hopefully he’s better than the rest of his family.” She stretches her arms over her head, then winces and touches a hand to her stomach. “Oof, I’m starving. I’m gonna check out the cucina. Do you want me to wait for you?” she asks. “//Go ahead. I’ll catch up//.” <</if>>\ <<include "3.38">>

“//I don’t know//,” you admit. “//Everything happened so fast, I wasn’t really thinking about anything beyond getting Aestus to safety. I wanted to help them, but the Resistenza itself//…?” You shrug your shoulders. “//I have to admit, I’m curious about them. I want to know what they stand for, what their plans are//.” “Well, glad to see we’re not jumping in blindly, at least,” says Evelyn. She leans against the desk and drums her fingers atop the surface. “Everything feels too fast, too… chaotic. I hate not knowing what’s happening next. I had a plan for my life, and now everything’s spiraling out of control.” She frowns, gazing idly past you. “I hate this feeling.” You understand where she’s coming from. For too long you’ve felt like you’ve had no control, no say on the course of your life. But here? This night? You finally feel needed, useful—obbligato, as your people would say. Ironic, that Eva is feeling adrift just as you’re finding your legs. She stands up straight and smoothes down her dress. “I suppose we can talk more once momma and papa get here.” <<if $warnCori is true>>\ “//Wait, I want to ask you something. What do you know about the regis’s heir//?” <<if $vic gte 9>>\ “Is this about what that soldier told you? Vicente?” She tilts her head to the side and her lip quirks up in a smirk. “You’ve never been interested in social gossip before. Now a pair of pretty blue eyes got you interested?” “//Eva, he tried to kill Aestus. And us//.” You look at her deadpan. “Doesn’t mean he didn’t look good doing it,” she responds with a shrug. “But to answer your question, the regis’s only son, Crown Prince Massimo, died a long time ago.” She taps her finger on her lip, her eyes narrowing. “It was right before The Proelium, I think. But then, several years later, there was talk of a new heir. And I don’t mean like a new baby, but a young man. No one knew where he came from and the regis never presented him in court. It was all very secretive.” <<else>>\ “Is this about what that soldier told you? Vicente? The regis’s only son, Crown Prince Massimo, died a long time ago.” She taps her finger on her lip, her eyes narrowing. “It was right before The Proelium, I think. But then, several years later, there was talk of a new heir. And I don’t mean like a baby, but a young man. No one knew where he came from and the regis never presented him in court. It was all very secretive.” <</if>>\ “//Do you think this Vicente could be the new heir//?” “I don’t know, I never learned his name,” she admits. That was saying a lot, considering how much Evelyn indulged in court gossip. “If he is, doesn’t sound like he likes daddy very much.” She stretches her arms over her head, then winces and touches a hand to her stomach. “Oof, I’m starving. I’m gonna check out the cucina. Do you want me to wait for you?” she asks. “//Go ahead. I’ll catch up//.” <</if>>\ <<if $warnCori is false>>\ “//Wait, I want to ask you something//..." Your hands falter as Evelyn peers expectantly at you. You want to ask about Vicente, but unsure how best to bring them up. “//What can you tell me about the regis’s family//?” “His family? Why?” Evelyn tilts her head to the side, her eyes narrowing. “You’ve never been interested in social gossip before.” “//Now that we’re here, I should probably start paying attention//.” It's not a complete lie. “//Does the regis make all the military decisions? He must be getting old; is there anyone else I should be concerned about? An heir or something//?” “I don't know much about the military; papa could tell you more,” she responds with a shrug. "But you needn’t be concerned about an heir. The regis’s only son, Crown Prince Massimo, died a long time ago.” She taps her finger on her lip, her eyes narrowing. “It was right before The Proelium, I think. But actually, several years later, there was talk of a new heir. And I don’t mean like a baby, but a young man. No one knew where he came from and the regis never presented him in court.” “//Do you know the name of the new heir//?” “Mm-mm, never learned his name. It was all very secretive,” she admits. That was saying a lot, considering how much Evelyn indulged in court gossip. “Hopefully he’s better than the rest of his family.” She stretches her arms over her head, then winces and touches a hand to her stomach. “Oof, I’m starving. I’m gonna check out the cucina. Do you want me to wait for you?” she asks. “//Go ahead. I’ll catch up//.” <</if>>\ <<include "3.38">>

“//I don’t know//,” you admit. “//Everything happened so fast, I wasn’t really thinking about anything beyond getting Aestus to safety. I wanted to help them, but the Resistenza itself//…?” You shrug your shoulders. “Well, you’d better decide where you stand. Fast,” Evelyn snaps. “I’m done here. I’m going to the cucina.” <<include "3.38">>

“//It is//,” you sign emphatically. “//If these people are fighting the regis, I’ll volunteer for the front lines//.” “And you don’t care who gets caught in the crossfire, do you? And you call me selfish,” Evelyn snaps. “I’m done here. I’m going to the cucina.” <<include "3.38">>

“//They’re helping my people//,” you sign. “//Of course I want that. I don’t want to hide anymore; I want to make a difference. I want to ensure what happened to the Iredicci never happens to anyone else. And I don’t understand why you’re so callous about it//.” “Maybe because my family has chosen your wishes over mine. Again,” Evelyn snaps. “I’m done here. I’m going to the cucina.” <<include "3.38">>

As she leaves the room you hear her grumble, “Damnit, I hope they have espresso here.” <<if $beads is "none">> Once Evelyn is gone, you change your clothes. You remove your old garments and toss them over the screen alongside Evelyn’s gown. <<if ($body is "female") and ($pronoun1 is "he")>>\ Do you wear a binder? ---- [[Yes|3.38a][$binder = true]] [[No.|3.38b][$binder = false]] <<else>>\ You slip on the new clothes and affix your weapon to your new belt. After transfering your pencil and journal to your coat pocket, you leave the room. ---- [[Next|3.39]] <</if>>\ <<else>>\ Once Evelyn is gone, you change your clothes. Mindful of your beads, you remove your old garments and toss them over the screen alongside Evelyn’s gown. <<if ($body is "female") and ($pronoun1 is "he")>>\ Do you wear a binder? ---- [[Yes|3.38a][$binder = true]] [[No.|3.38b][$binder = false]] <<else>>\ You slip on the new clothes and tuck your beads underneath. You affix your weapon to your new belt, transfer your pencil and journal to your coat pocket, then leave the room. ---- [[Next|3.39]] <</if>>\ <</if>>\

<<audio "coda" volume 0.3 loop play>>\ <<audio "clockwork" stop>>\ You follow the lighted tunnel back to the common room, then head down the staircase leading to Calliope’s workshop. It will be good to see her again; you’re curious if she will remember you. You step briskly down the stairs, the hums, whirs, and ticking growing louder with each step. Then you come to a halt. Beyond the open archway lies the most… well, the most chaotically wondrous scene you could have imagined. Copper and brass piping extend along the walls, floors and ceilings, interspersed with gauges, levers, and slowly spinning gears. There are multiple work desks littered with open text books, gears, dowels, ball bearings, screws, and all manner of unrecognizable bits and bobs. Multiple clocks of all shapes and sizes line the wall. They appear half-finished, or perhaps intentionally hollow, open inside so you can see the gears and rods moving, and each presents a different time. <<nobr>> <<if $cordis is "water">> You can feel the steam and condensation in the air, and from somewhere in the back, a whistle shrills and lets out a hazy puff of steam. <</if>> <<if $cordis is "air">>\ You watch, mesmerized, as the air shifts about the room—ebbing from a puff of steam, rolling through the clock gears, and humming between the vibrating tubing. It’s almost like a dance, switching from one partner to another. <</if>> <<if $cordis is "fire">>\ The room is warm, just verging on uncomfortably so. The heat blossoms from one fantastic machine to another, pulsing like a living creature as you draw near. <</if>> <<if $cordis is "earth">>\ The pleasant and delightful scents of honey and lemon mix with coal and rapeseed oil in a pungent, earthy aroma. <</if>> <</nobr>> The entire room feels alive—the air stirs with smoke, the tubing vibrates with a discordant hum, and everywhere gears spin and clack together. It’s… a lot. You take a step forward, then quickly jump back as a strange little device rolls in front of you. It looks like a tiny copper carriage, but with six sets of wheels: two on each side, one on top, and one on bottom. You watch as the device runs straight into the wall, rolls part way up, flips onto its top wheel, then peels off in another direction. “Is someone there?” a bright, amiable voice calls out. “Be with you in a sec!” You recognize Calliope’s voice, deeper than it was eight years ago, but still with that musical lilt to it. The words are slurred, as if she’s speaking around something, and you remember her fondness for hard candy suckers. You swerve around one desk and see a larger one propped against the wall in the back of the room. Above the wall is a circular window open to the outside. Steam empties through the window and a cool ocean breeze wafts in. Outside, the waves crash loudly against the side of the cliffs, muffling the sounds in the workshop. Just like the other desks, this one is covered in instruments and gadgets—some recognizable, but most not. A man’s black cane with silver filigree at the head leans against one corner of the desk. Calliope sits upon a wooden stool at the desk, her back to you. She's wearing a billowy, cream colored blouse tucked into a magenta, corset-like vest and matching gloves. Her green-striped trunk hose flare out around her hips as she sits. All manner of rings and dowels are strapped to her boots, belts, and gloves, and she jingles while she works. Her hair is longer, but still artfully set in multiple braids that fall between her shoulder blades. She looks exactly as you remember, and you smile fondly. “Ah ha!” Calliope cries, holding aloft a small device. It looks like a small tuna, about the length of her forearm. Thin, frosted glass fins cast an iridescent sheen over its copper and silver scales—except over the patches of green and black patina where the metal has tarnished. “Thought you could stump me, huh, my little Tubo?” she says, tapping the snout. “Well, no more vexing me today, thank you very much!” She sets the tuna down on the desk and swivels around on the stool. “Finally got the little bugger fixed!” she exclaims proudly. She pulls the candy out of her mouth and tosses what’s left of the stick in a nearby waste bin. Then her gold eyes settle on you. “Oh! Someone new?” She cocks her to the side and jumps off the stool. “Or have we met already? I’m sorry, I meet a lot of new Resistenza members. Then I get caught up in my projects and completely forget! I’m good with names, though. If you tell me…” Her voice trails off as she catches sight of the weapon on your belt. A myriad of expressions transform her oval face—surprise, sadness, confusion. “Where did you get that?” she whispers, raising her gaze back to you. Then her eyes widen, joy replacing the sadness, and she springs forward. “Wait, wait, wait! Oh, my gosh! $alias?!” “//Hello, again, Calliope//,” you sign. She squeals, the sound mirroring a sharp steam whistle, and throws herself into your arms. ---- [[❤ You fold your arms around her and return the hug.|3.39a][$calli to Math.clamp($calli + 3, 0, 100)]] [[❤ You lift a hand and awkwardly pat her head.|3.40][$calli to Math.clamp($calli + 3, 0, 100)]] [[❤ You gently extricate yourself from her embrace and smile encouragingly at her.|3.40][$calli to Math.clamp($calli + 3, 0, 100)]] [[You fold your arms around her and return the hug.|3.40]] [[You lift a hand and awkwardly pat her head.|3.40]] [[You extricate yourself from her embrace.|3.40]]

You unwrap the binding, taking a moment to stretch your arms above your head before rewrapping yourself. You slip on the new clothes and affix your weapon to your new belt. After transfering your pencil and journal to your coat pocket, you leave the room. ---- [[Next|3.39]]

You slip on the new clothes and affix your weapon to your new belt. After transfering your pencil and journal to your coat pocket, you leave the room. ---- [[Next|3.39]]

Calliope releases you and steps back. “Oh, wow, I can’t believe it’s you! You’re here!” Her eyes trail down and up over your figure and she bites her bottom lip. “You look... wow, you look really good. You grew up. Well, of course you did, so did I. You know, I waited for you. At the pier. The day we left.” As she speaks, she plays with a small latch at the top of her glove, flicking it open and closed. “I mean, you never said you’d see me off, but I kinda hoped. I wanted to say good-bye.” She grins broadly, her eyes glinting bright gold in the lamplight. “But saying hello feels much better.” You suspect you already know the answer, but you need to ask. You glance over at the cane on the corner of the desk, then look back to Calliope, your question clear. <<if $cordis is "water">>\ A torrent of emotions overwhelm you—regret, guilt, pain. And over them all, such profound grief. You suck in a breath at the sheer weight of it, the way it clings to your throat and heart. Calliope’s expression breaks, the smile vanishing from her face as quickly as it had sprung. She wraps her arms around herself and swallows. <<else>>\ Calliope’s expression breaks, the smile vanishing from her face as quickly as it had sprung. She wraps her arms around herself and swallows. <</if>>\ “My dad. He, um… he passed away. Three years ago.” She heaves a sigh, her gaze on the cane. “His job in the capital, it… well, it didn’t go as planned.” You wait. She seems to want to say more, but the effort is exhausting. Her body bows in, as if the words are draining her, making her smaller. “My dad loved his work,” she continues, her voice trembling. “He wanted to invent machines that could help people, make life easier, safer. But the regis… he only wanted to help himself.” She says the last word on a hiss, her posture stiffening. “He started demanding weapons; he wanted to twist my dad’s inventions into horrible things, use them for war. And when dad refused…” She shudders, the rings in her hair tinkling. Her gaze remains fixed on her father’s cane, her stare so severe the weight of it could almost knock the cane to the floor. She seems far removed from the room, from you. You take a step to the side, blocking Calliope’s view of the cane. She startles and looks up at you. “//I’m sorry//,” you sign. “//He was a good man//.” You know she can’t read sign but it seems too impersonal, too urgent to write out. Calliope must gather your meaning, however, because her lips turn up in a small smile. “He would have loved seeing you again, $alias. And this,” she gestures to your weapon, “he would have been happy, knowing you still have this. I am.” You pull out your journal and write, //This weapon saved my life. I’m grateful to you and your father//. A laugh escapes her—shaky, staggered, as if it had been coiled inside her, poised to escape. “I’m so glad,” she says, the sheen of unshed tears in her eyes. She rubs the heel of her palm against her eyes. “But now I’m here. The Resistenza saved me, and I can continue dad’s work. Corinne is wonderful. Have you met her?” she asks. She clears a small patch on the edge of her work desk and hoists herself up, then pats her stool. “Okay, sit. Tell me what you’re doing here. Did you join the Resistenza, too?” You sit on the stool with your journal on the table before you. You keep your story as brief as possible; your wrist would get impossibly sore writing down every little detail, after all. Calliope swings her legs back and forth, watching you as you write. She interrupts with questions every now and then, which you happily answer. She reads your final words, then hands the journal back to you. “Wow, I’m glad Nik stumbled upon you and your family. What a stroke of luck. Oh! You probably want to rest, don’t you? You’ve had a really busy night. I shouldn’t keep you up, we can always talk more later.” She plants her hands on either side of her as if readying to jump down. ---- [[❤ You reach forward and grip her sides, gently lifting her up and setting her down.|3.41][$calli to Math.clamp($calli + 3, 0, 100)]] [[❤ You offer your hands to her, palms up.|3.42][$calli to Math.clamp($calli + 3, 0, 100)]] [[You offer her a hand.|3.43]] [[You step back to give her room.|3.43]]

<<if $height is "short">>\ She giggles happily, the sound muffled into your clothes. You rub your hand against her back before setting her free. <<else>>\ You lean back, lifting her off the ground. She kicks her feet up and giggles happily, the sound muffled into your clothes. You rub your hand against her back before setting her free. <</if>>\ <<include "3.40">>

“Oh!” <<if $cordis is "fire">>\ <<if $averse is true>>\ She places her hands on your arms, her gold eyes wide as saucers. She doesn’t object, though, and allows you to help her down. Her waist is small in your hands. You can feel her stomach muscles clench through her corset-vest. When her feet touch the ground, you pull your hands away, flexing your fingers. <</if>>\ <<if $averse is false>>\ She places her hands on your arms, her gold eyes wide as saucers. She doesn’t object, though, and allows you to help her down. Her waist is small in your hands. You can feel her stomach muscles clench through her corset-vest. When her feet touch the ground, neither of you move. You stand close, your bodies not quite touching. Her hands tighten around your arms. <</if>>\ <<else>>\ She places her hands on your arms, her gold eyes wide as saucers. She doesn’t object, though, and allows you to help her down. Her waist is small in your hands. When her feet touch the ground, neither of you move. You stand close, your bodies not quite touching. Her hands tighten around your arms. <</if>>\ “Thank you,” she murmurs, her voice huskier than earlier. You nod and take a step back. “I’m so happy you’re here, $alias,” she tells you. “Really, you have no idea how good it is to see you again.” You smile and dip your head toward her in a way that you hope conveys the feeling is mutual. She turns back to her desk with a happy little bounce and you exit the workshop. ---- [[Next|3.44]]

She jumps down from the table and grins at you. “I’m so happy you’re here, $alias,” she tells you. “Really, you have no idea how good it is to see you again.” You smile and dip your head toward her in a way that you hope conveys the feeling is mutual. She turns back to her desk with a happy little bounce and you exit the workshop. ---- [[Next|3.44]]

Aestus intercepts you when you return to the common room. “$alias, do you have a moment? You’re no doubt tired but I would like to speak with you, if you wouldn’t mind? It will be quick.” <<if $social gte 55>>\ Never one to turn down a social invitation, you agree. <<else>>\ After this night, you’d like nothing more than to retreat into the peaceful solitude of your room and rest, but the opportunity to speak to the elder is too valuable to pass up. <</if>>\ You nod your assent and Aestus beams at you. “Allegrezza! The Comandante showed me a place where we can talk with a little more privacy. And the view is quite lovely. This way.” You follow Aestus down a hallway that runs parallel to Calliope’s workshop. You can hear the crashing of waves ahead and smell the salty sea air. You emerge on a wide ledge extended over the sea. The rocky, inhospitable cliffs of the northern coast loom ahead of you, jagged sentries against the evening sky. Foamy waves crash against the base of the ledge, sending up a spray over the edge of the outcropping. The wind is strong here; it whistles through the rocky shoals and ripples your $attire. Aestus sits cross legged on the ground and you follow, your backs against the forte’s wall, out of reach of the salty spray. “The sea will keep our secrets,” they assure you. “We can speak safely here, if you wish.” <<if $speakAestus is false>>\ You had previously chosen not to speak to Aestus. Do you do so now? ---- [[Yes.|3.44a]] [[No.|3.44b]] <</if>>\ <<if $speakAestus is true>>\ “I haven’t spoken to another Iredicci in thirteen years,” you murmur, your eyes on the water. Aestus follows your gaze, both of you looking forward. “I can’t imagine what it’s been like for you, brave one.” They play with the beads on their wrist. “Our people weren’t meant to be solitary. The soldiers took so much more than our lives that day.” “How did you survive?” you ask them. “My accord was one of the first attacked. The other elders and I could sense what was coming, and we were able to save many before the camp was overrun.” They look at you sadly. “The //cordis// became more discordant after that. So much death. It was impossible to hear or think straight. I understand other camps were entirely incapacitated by the time the soldiers arrived.” //Ah, so that’s what happened//. “After that, our little accord escaped north, eventually settling in the mountains. The land is too inhospitable for imperials, but not for the Iredicci.” They wink at you. “I remained there for several years, helping to stabilize the accord. I wanted to find other survivors, so I struck out on my own a little over a year ago. Somehow the regis learned about me in my travels; but thankfully, so did the Resistenza.” <<if $cordis is "fire">>\ <<if $averse is true>>\ You point to the scarf draped around their neck. “Did your new accord make this?” “They did,” Aestus says with a fond smile. “It’s dangerous to wear our frocks, but I couldn’t resist this small token. Foolish, I know.” You study the vibrant threads, the colors still vivid and sharp. It’s a heart-warming thought, to know this was made recently. To know your people are still out there crafting, building, singing. Alive. <</if>>\ <<if $averse is false>>\ You finger the tassels of the scarf draped around their neck. “Did your new accord make this?” “They did,” Aestus says with a fond smile. “It’s dangerous to wear our frocks, but I couldn’t resist this small token. Foolish, I know.” You study the vibrant threads, the colors still vivid and sharp. The fabric is well sewn, but rough, stiff, like a brand new garment that has not yet been worn in. It’s a heart-warming thought, to know this was made recently. To know your people are still out there crafting, building, singing. Alive. <</if>>\ <<else>>\ You finger the tassels of the scarf draped around their neck. “Did your new accord make this?” “They did,” Aestus says with a fond smile. “It’s dangerous to wear our frocks, but I couldn’t resist this small token. Foolish, I know.” You study the vibrant threads, the colors still vivid and sharp. It’s a heart-warming thought, to know this was made recently. To know your people are still out there crafting, building, singing. Alive. <</if>>\ “May I ask how you survived?” they inquire. “Evelyn and her parents were friends of my accord in Acamera,” you answer, nodding your head toward the doorway. “That night I snuck out of the camp to go to a dance with her. It was entirely a coincidence. Her family took me in and I’ve been with them since.” “What a fortunate coincidence. And a good family,” Aestus smiles, then their expression turns pensive. They study your face, their dark blue eyes roving over your cheeks, mouth, and nose. “Acamera, you said? Fulmen’s accord?” You sit up straighter. “That’s right. You knew Fulmen?” “I did!” Aestus grins. “Gioioso, that’s why you look so familiar! You’re Caelum’s $pronoun4, aren’t you? You have his eyes.” You blink. “You knew my father?” you croak, the words coating your throat. “Affetto, I had the very great pleasure of calling your father one of my dearest friends,” Aestus replies, their voice as throaty as yours. Their words spill out on a half laugh, half sigh. “That man was one of the most charismatic, impish fellows I’ve ever known. That is, until Unda visited our accord and he turned into a smitten mess.” You hug your knees in front of you and lean in. Aestus sees your attentive expression and continues with a smile. “Caelum was a charmer, always knew the right thing to say and do. It was more than his water-attunement; he was attuned to people. But once he knew your mother, it was as if he knew nothing else.” Aestus chuckles. “She broke many an infatuated heart that day. He left our accord to be with her; they were //duette//, after all. I was sorry to see him go, but I was happy for them.” “I never knew him,” you murmur. “He died before I was born.” “Dolore, I’m sorry to hear that. He’d be very proud of you, and those aren’t just words.” Aestus peers into your eyes, their tone assertive. “Caelum knew people. He’d know the strength of your heart, and he’d be so very proud. Both of your parents would be.” ---- [[You feel the tears welling up in your eyes and you wipe them away.|3.45]] [[You smile gratefully, your heart fuller than it has felt in a long time.|3.45]] [[You know they mean well, but the words sound hollow. You haven’t done anything to make them proud. Not yet.|3.45]] <</if>>\

“Thank you!” Calliope grins and clasps your hands, jumping down with your assistance. <<if $cordis is "fire">>\ <<if $averse is true>>\ She doesn’t immediately let go, but stands close to you, her thumb trailing over your fingers. You enjoy the warmth emanating from her hands, but the touch feels constricting. You ease your hands from her grip. <</if>>\ <<if $averse is false>>\ She doesn’t immediately let go, but stands close to you, her thumb trailing over your fingers. Her hands are small and pleasantly warm, her fingers slightly calloused. You squeeze her hands lightly before letting go. <</if>>\ <<else>>\ She doesn’t immediately let go, but stands close to you, her thumb trailing over your fingers. You squeeze her hands lightly before letting go. <</if>>\ “I’m so happy you’re here, $alias,” she tells you. “Really, you have no idea how good it is to see you again.” You smile and dip your head toward her in a way that you hope conveys the feeling is mutual. She turns back to her desk with a happy little bounce and you exit the workshop. ---- [[Next|3.44]]

“Shall we sing the dirge for them, tutti?” Aestus asks gently. “No one will hear us out here.” You realize then that you never sang for your mother. After The Proelium you were so focused on being silent and safe that you never allowed yourself to mourn her properly. “I will start,” Aestus offers, noting your hesitation. “Feel free to join in or simply listen.” Aestus closes their eyes, leans their head back, and begins singing. Their voice drops almost an octave lower when they sing, the resonant tones washing over you. The waves crash higher, their thunderous clamor matching Aestus’s pitch. They sing your father’s name, your mother’s, then dozens others you've never known; they blend together into one mournful symphony, a tune that comforts as much as it grieves you. ---- [[You join in.|3.46][$magic to Math.clamp($magic + 3, 0, 100)]] [[You choose not to sing, and merely listen.|3.47][$magic to Math.clamp($magic - 3, 0, 100)]]

After yet another turn in bed, you heave a sigh and throw off the wool blanket. Your body may be exhausted but your mind is wide awake. Convinced that sleep isn’t coming tonight, you quietly roll off the mattress and stand. From the bunk above, you hear Evelyn’s gentle snoring. You take a peek and see her with her mouth wide open, a strand of auburn hair caught in her teeth. You step back, careful not to disturb her. You lace up your boots, then slip quietly from the room. You amble slowly down the hallway. You hear the tread of feet and soft whispers ahead. They don’t sound like sentries, just other night owls like yourself. The gas lights along the ceiling are as bright as ever. You wonder briefly how anyone knows the time of day down here. When you reach the common room, you find a handful of other people awake. Two women sit together on a couch, conversing quietly. A man sits in an alcove in the back, reading a book by the light of a gas lamp. The women glance your way when you enter, but then immediately return to their conversation. You notice the lights are on in Calliope’s workshop, and you can hear movement within. She must still be working. You consider going to visit her. On the other hand, you haven’t had anything to eat since before leaving for the marchese’s home. Perhaps you should venture to the cucina in search of food. ---- [[You decide to visit Calliope in her workshop.|3.53]] [[You decide to get something to eat.|3.54]]

<<audio "calliope" volume 0.2 loop play>>\ <<audio "coda" stop>>\ You imagine she doesn’t sleep much, not with her inquisitive, boisterous nature. Maybe a spot of conversation will help tire you both out. An odd buzzing noise reaches your ears, growing steadily louder as you descend the steps of the workshop. You’re certain you didn’t hear it earlier among the cacophony of sounds. When you reach the bottom step, a spinning device comes flying straight at your head. You duck just in time as it buzzes overhead and veers sharply to your left, allowing you a good look at it. It’s narrow but short, with the wings and tail of a swallow, thought it’s definitely //not// a bird. There’s a spinning device on the nose, like a windmill but faster. It lands atop a tall cabinet to the left of the archway with a loud clatter. “Oh, codd stopper! $alias, I’m so sorry! Are you hurt?” Calliope runs up to you, her concerned gaze roving over you. You shake your head, realizing then that you left your pencil and journal in your room. You point to the device and make a questioning motion. “It’s a new prototype I’m working on!” she exclaims, her words coming fast in her excitement. “It’s a flyer, capable of transporting people through the air like a ship. Of course, this is just a model,” she walks away mid-sentence, her back to you, but continues to speak, “the real one will be much bigger. Dad had several blueprints he was working on—flyers of all shapes and sizes. My Swallow, that’s the working name, can only hold about six people, but dad envisioned enormous ships that could carry hundreds. Can you imagine it?” You reach out and tap Calliope on the shoulder. When she turns to you, you tap a finger against your ears, then your lips. Her gold eyes widen and she claps a hand to her forehead. “Oh, gosh, I’m sorry! I forgot. You didn’t hear any of that, did you? Well, of course you didn’t //hear// it, I meant-” She cuts herself off, smiling sheepishly at you. She repeats everything she had said, then adds, “Dad never had the chance to build his ships. I don’t have all the materials here to build the Swallow, but I hope to one day.” Calliope turns back to the cabinet, stretching up on her tiptoes to reach the flyer, but she’s too short. “Oh, codd stopper,” she mumbles. She jumps, her tools jangling about her, but still can’t reach. <<if $height is "short">>\ You look around and spy a step stool beneath the nearest desk. You push it in place in front of the cabinet. ---- [[❤ As Calliope stands on the stool, you place a steadying hand on her lower back.|3.59][$calli to Math.clamp($calli + 3, 0, 100)]] [[You offer Calliope a steadying hand while she stands on the step stool.|3.60]] [[You stand on the step stool and retrieve the flyer.|3.61]] <<else>>\ ---- [[❤ You stand behind Calliope and reach above her.|3.62][$calli to Math.clamp($calli + 3, 0, 100)]] [[You motion for Calliope to step aside. When she does, you step forward and retrieve the flyer.|3.61]] <</if>>\

<<audio "corinne" volume 0.1 loop play>>\ <<audio "coda" stop>>\ <<if $cordis is "earth">>\ You set off down the hallway Corinne pointed out earlier. A faint breeze tickles your neck, carrying with it a tantalizing and strangely familiar almond scent. At the end of the hall, rather than a door, a stone archway leads into the cucina. You stop just outside the archway and peek in. <<else>>\ You set off down the hallway Corinne pointed out earlier. A faint breeze tickles your neck. At the end of the hall, rather than a door, a stone archway leads into the cucina. You stop just outside the archway and peek in. <</if>>\ Oak counters and cabinets line the back wall. Above the cabinets, several rectangular windows open to the outside, letting in a crisp sea breeze. The sky outside is starting to brighten, the soft dawn light casting an indigo haze over the room. An assortment of terracotta pots, wooden utensils, and a mortar and pestle line the counters. In one corner of the room is a large roasting spit, the coals cold and grey. In the center of the cucina is a long counter with a line of wooden stools surrounding it. Seated upon a stool at the far end of the counter is Corinne, her long fingers lifting a bocconotti toward her parted lips. She stills and blinks at you in surprise. Then she sets the tartlet down and beckons you. “Please, come in,” she says, wiping powdered sugar off her hands. “Are you hungry?” In the center of the counter is a serving dish full of bocconotti. The rich, buttery tartlets are usually filled with fruit preserves or sweet cream. The kind Thaleia makes have a dark chocolate and toasted almond filling, but these smell like fig. Your stomach rumbles when you see them. Corinne waits for you to look at her before speaking again. She turns on the stool so that she faces you directly, rather than the table. “I realize they aren’t the most nutritious meal,” she says apologetically. “But they’re my weakness. There are dried meats and fruits in the pantry there,” she gestures toward a tall cabinet on the far wall, “if you’re looking for something more substantial.” You sit down on a stool diagonal from her and take a bocconotti. You raise it in the air and make a toasting motion. Corinne guesses your intent. She picks up a bocconotti, then taps it lightly against yours. Then you both take a bite of your treats. The sweet, slightly tart fig jam touches your tongue and you smile as you chew. <<nobr>> <<if $hobby is "cook">> Whoever made these did an excellent job; maybe you could partner with them. You’d love to try the recipe yourself. <</if>> <</nobr>> You discreetly study Corinne as you eat. She's cleaned up from the fight, her damp hair piled loosely atop her head and her armor gone. She’s dressed in a simple blue tunic and black leggings. Her gloves are off, leaving the burn scars on her hands visible. The scars extend over her wrists and about halfway up her arm. They seem to have faded some from what you remember, but still, it must have been an incredibly painful injury. After a few bites, Corinne asks, “Couldn’t sleep?” You shake your head, realizing then that you left your pencil and journal in your room. “I imagine it’s difficult being in a new place,” Corinne muses. “No doubt you’re worried about your parents, too. Jonah has been invaluable; I appreciate the sacrifices your family has made for our cause.” Perhaps it’s good you don’t have your journal. Admitting to Jonah’s secrecy over the last two years would be awkward. A silence falls as you both continue to munch on the bocconotti. You’re used to people being awkwardly silent around you, unsure of the protocols around speaking to a “deaf” person. But this isn’t that. This silence feels comfortable, effortless. Corinne doesn’t seem to be one for idle chatter. <<nobr>> <<if $social gt 50>> If given the choice, you would prefer to be leading an animated conversation. But with speech impossible and the stillness of the early morning around you, this feels surprisingly… nice. <<else>> You’ve always enjoyed the quiet. To find a similar soul, especially one in a militaristic organization such as this, is surprisingly welcome. <</if>> <</nobr>> You’re curious about the woman beside you, and how she came to be in charge of such a dubious group. You gesture to the room, then to Corinne, lifting your hands in a questioning way. “You’re asking about the forte?” she asks. You shake your head, then point to her, the door, then the room at large. You lift both hands in the air, palms up, and furrow your brow as if confused. “You want to know why I started the Resistenza?” she guesses. You nod. She stares at you for a moment, her forehead creased. You realize she does that often before speaking; as if sorting the words in her head, then parsing together the best response. “I saw the need,” she answers finally, simply, “and I am in a position to help. The regis has no regard for human life—not for the Iredicci, nor his own soldiers.” She clasps her hands in a fist on the table in front of her, the burns scars rippling together like a folded tapestry. “Most Resistenza members are deserters. They’re drafted into the service of a monster, but to refuse means death for their families.” Corinne tips her chin toward the door. “We’ve helped hide family members, but they’re condemned to a life on the run. I don’t want that for my people, for my country.” <<if $cordis is "water">>\ You know it’s the truth, but it’s not the whole truth. There’s a regret there, a yearning, a sense of failure. Corinne’s motives are certainly good, but they’re also very personal. <<else>>\ It’s a good answer, if a vague one. She’s clearly not telling you everything, but you can’t fault her for that. You have secrets, too. <</if>>\ You’re distracted by a spot of powdered sugar in the corner of her lips. “The Resistenza was only a couple years old when you and I first met,” Corinne continues, oblivious to the wayward sugar. “That was one of our smuggling operations that you stumbled upon. How ironic, that the Resistenza should bring us together again years later,” she notes, the corners of her mouth tipping in a half smile. ---- [[❤ You subconsciously lean in, mesmerized by the even meter of her words.|3.55][$cori to Math.clamp($cori + 6, 0, 100)]] [[❤ You reach forward to brush the sugar off her lips.|3.56][$cori to Math.clamp($cori + 3, 0, 100)]] [[You point to Corinne’s mouth, then tap at the corner of your own mouth.|3.57]] [[You choose to ignore the stray sugar. No sense embarrassing her.|3.58]]

“What…?” Corinne stiffens and lifts her chin, peering down her nose at you. You tap your finger to the corner of your own mouth. A rosy blush tinges her cheeks and she lifts a hand to her lips. “Is there something on my face?” She wipes at the spot and pulls her finger away to see the powdered sugar. “Ah, um, thank you.” You nod and smile at her. She holds your gaze, her hazel eyes bright and luminous in the orange light of the gas lamps. Her lips are parted slightly and you hear a hitch in her breath. You hold like that for what feels like hours, neither daring to move. Corinne clears her throat and makes to stand. “I’m going to try to catch a few hours of sleep,” she says, dusting off her hands. “You should, too.” You nod and stand. “//Thank you//,” you sign. You’re not sure if she understands, but she inclines her head in response. “Good night, $alias,” she says. When you return to your room, you find Evelyn still asleep, still snoring soundly. You kick off your shoes and climb into bed, tucking the sheet up around your chest. This time, you have no trouble falling asleep. ---- [[Next|3.64]]

“Is there something on my face?” She wipes at the spot and pulls her finger away to see the powdered sugar. “Ah, thank you,” she says, smiling sheepishly. “A hazard of these desserts. I’m going to try to catch a few hours of sleep,” she says, dusting off her hands. “You should, too.” You nod and stand. “//Thank you//,” you sign. You’re not sure if she understands, but she inclines her head in response. “Good night, $alias,” she says. When you return to your room, you find Evelyn still asleep, still snoring soundly. You kick off your shoes and climb into bed, tucking the sheet up around your chest. This time, you have no trouble falling asleep. ---- [[Next|3.64]]

“I’m going to try to catch a few hours of sleep,” she says, dusting off her hands. “You should, too.” You nod and stand. “//Thank you//,” you sign. You’re not sure if she understands, but she inclines her head in response. “Good night, $alias,” she says. When you return to your room, you find Evelyn still asleep, still snoring soundly. You kick off your shoes and climb into bed, tucking the sheet up around your chest. This time, you have no trouble falling asleep. ---- [[Next|3.64]]

<<audio "coda" volume 0.3 loop play>>\ <<audio "calliope" stop>>\ <<audio "corinne" stop>>\ You wake to the sound of shouting, metal clanging, and pounding feet. You jump out of bed and rush to put on your boots. The noise wakes Evelyn, as well, and she lifts her head groggily. “What is that?” she asks. “//Something must have happened//…” You stop mid signing and cock your head. Listening more closely, the shouts and yells sound happy and delighted. You hear a peal of laughter, followed by more thumping and the ringing of metal. And beneath the shouting, very faint, you hear the scraping of tiny nails on stone and a familiar chittering noise. You grin broadly. “//I think $petname is making friends//.” “$petname? If he’s here, then that means…” Her eyes widen and she scrambles down the ladder. You finish tying your boots, grab your coat, and race from the room. “Wait for me! I have to fix my hair!” Evelyn shouts behind you. Quite the sight awaits you in the common room. Calliope and Aestus sit cross legged on the floor in the center of the room. On the floor between them, $petname rolls around with a familiar copper ball, the clanging of metal rising above Calliope’s laughter. Corinne stands behind her, watching the $pet with a bemused expression. Nikolaos and Thaleia sit on one of the couches, while Jonah stands behind the couch, one large hand settled on his wife’s shoulder. Nikolaos appears in much better shape, sitting straight, his eyes alight with laughter. Only the subtle way he shifts when he laughs alerts you to his injury. Other Resistenza members sit and stand around the room, watching the spectacle with varying degrees of amusement. You recognize Gabriele, Levi, and the twins, Mirabella and Matteo, from the night before. Leave it to $petname to bring the party. “$alias!” Thaleia waves and signs excitedly when she sees you. “There you are, my dear!” $petname stops spinning when he hears your name and looks around, then his beady eyes land on you. You crouch down and pat the floor. The $pet kicks off the ball, which goes rolling down the hall toward the cucina. He scampers toward you, his feet clicking on the stone floor, and you scoop him up. <<if $pet is "ferret">>\ $petname makes a happy little dooking sound as he scampers up your arm. He nuzzles into your neck before settling in his perch atop your shoulder. <</if>>\ <<if $pet is "fox">>\ $petname purrs happily as he scampers up your arm, tail swishing. He nuzzles under your chin before wrapping himself around your neck, settling on both shoulders. <</if>>\ <<if $pet is "badger">>\ $petname squeaks happily as he scampers up your arm. He nuzzles under your chin before plopping himself flat on your shoulder like a heavy weighted pillow. <</if>>\ As you stand back up you hear Evelyn’s booted tread behind you. “Momma! Papa! You made it!” Jonah stretches his free hand toward Evelyn, but she ducks under it and punches him in the stomach. He winces, more from remorse than any physical pain. “I suppose I deserve that, cub,” he says with a repentant smile. “You do,” Evelyn replies, kissing her father on the cheek. <<if $eva gte 70>>\ She then squeezes herself between Thaleia and Nikolaos on the couch. Nikolaos clears his throat and tries to make room for her, but he’s wedged pretty tight between the arm of the couch on one side and Evelyn’s round hips on the other. You see him look down at where she’s pressed against him, then quickly look away, his cheeks a shade darker. //Oh, that man is crushing hard//. And Eva seems oblivious to it. You make a mental note to tease her about it later. <<else>>\ She then squeezes herself between Thaleia and Nikolaos on the couch. Nikolaos clears his throat and tries to make room for her, but he’s wedged pretty tight between the arm of the couch on one side and Evelyn’s round hips on the other. <</if>>\ <<if $cori gte 9>>\ “Glad you could join us,” Corinne says, catching your eye. “I trust you slept well?” The question is innocent enough, her tone steady, but you hear a tinge of concern underlying it. You nod and smile at her. She returns the gesture with a half-smile of her own—fleeting, awkward, and entirely endearing. Corinne pushes a stray lock of sandy blonde hair behind her ear and turns to Thaleia. “I’m glad to see you all well. I owe you a great debt for saving Nik’s life.” <<else>>\ Corinne nods your way as you join the others. “I’m glad to see you all well. I owe you a great debt,” she addresses Thaleia, “for saving Nik’s life.” <</if>>\ “Aww, worried about me, Comandante?” Nikolaos teases. Corinne raises a delicate eyebrow. “It would be inconvenient to train up a new lieutenant right now.” “Stop. I can’t handle the emotional intensity.” Nikolaos clutches his heart. Several Resistenza members chuckle and make teasing remarks. It’s odd seeing the lighthearted way they all interact, like a family. Your first impressions about the Resistenza had been more militaristic, strict. “Coda still abed?” Nikolaos asks, looking around. “I’m surprised he can sleep through the noise.” “Coda hasn’t returned yet.” Corinne’s voice is calm, steady, but the mood in the room noticeably darkens. “We haven’t received any reports of new prisoners or detainees by the guards.” She raises her voice, addressing everyone in the room. “As far as I’m concerned, no news is good news. Coda's survived worse than this. I’m certain he’s taking care to avoid the patrols and return safely.” “There’s a military operation happening to the east, outside the city,” Jonah speaks up. His deep voice echoes around the common room. “If your man is caught in that area, he’d be wise to move slowly.” Corinne straightens her back and plants her hands on her hips. “What’s happening out there?” “The army called in all of their contracts,” Jonah explains. “Mercenaries, scouts, everyone. I received the post this morning.” Thaleia stiffens and lays her hand over her husband’s. “The gathering point is just east of the city,” Jonah continues. “The post didn’t give details, but it sounds like they’re planning something big.” “They’re not going to let me go easily,” Aestus says, their tone regretful. “Neither are we,” Corinne tells them. Her eyes flash, more copper than hazel in the lamp light. “Jonah, can you brief Gabriele? Include every detail you can think of, no matter how insignificant.” “Comandante, I can do that,” Nikolaos objects. He tries to stand too quickly, then winces and plops back into the couch cushions. “You need time to heal, Nik,” Corinne admonishes. “I want you to delegate some of your tasks to Gabriele while you convalesce.” “I’ve got you, old man.” Gabriele grins at the younger man. “Who you calling old?” “I’m happy to help, as well,” Jonah speaks up. He squeezes Thaleia’s shoulder before releasing her, then he leaves the room with Gabriele. “You said you had a clinica?” Thaleia speaks up. “Mind if I take a look? If things are going to get scrappy, I’d better familiarize myself with it.” “That would be much appreciated, thank you.” Corinne points behind you. “It’s down that hall. Levi, can you help her with anything she needs? Levi is our resident medic; anything the two of you can do to prepare would be helpful.” “Of course. This way, domina.” Levi escorts Thaleia back down the tunnel you came from. As soon as Thaleia stands up, $petname jumps from your shoulder and settles into the now vacant warm spot on the couch. He gives a wide yawn, then curls into a tight ball and buries his nose in his tail. “What if we just get Aestus out of the empire?” Nikolaos suggests. “Smuggle them out on a ship to Tinebaille like we’ve done for others?” “If they’re locking down the eastern border, they’re going to be watching the port, too,” Corinne murmurs. She brings her fist to her mouth, her eyes blinking fast as her mind mulls over possibilities. “We need help.” She lowers her hand and turns to Calliope. “Send word to Bayram. Tell him we need his fastest ships, as many as he can spare. And we need them yesterday.” “On it!” Calliope scampers to her feet and races off toward her workshop, her tools jingling about her as she runs. “‘As many as he can spare’?” Nikolaos repeats. “For an escape?” “We’re not escaping; we need to control the port,” Corinne answers slowly, folding her arms across her chest. “Calling in all their contracts? The regis will raze this city to the ground trying to find Aestus. Or perhaps just for spite. We need to make our stand here. We can’t let Inizi fall.” “You think Bayram’s mothers will allow him to send a fleet?” Nikolaos asks with a frown. “I think Bayram will find a way. It’s time he put that silver tongue of his to better use.” “We’ll have to hold out till he gets here.” Nikolaos drums his fingers atop the arm of the couch. “It takes 9-10 days for a ship to make that voyage.” “//Our// ships,” Corinne corrects him. “Tinebaillese vessels can make the voyage in half the time. But you’re right, and it will take a couple days for the message to reach him.” Corinne turns to Mirabella and Matteo. “I want a constant eye on the activity along the eastern border. Set up a rotation.” “Aye, Comandante,” they speak in unison. The twins leave the room and the remaining Resistenza members follow them. Only you, Evelyn, Aestus, Nikolaos and Corinne remain in the common room. “Who’s Bayram?” Evelyn asks. “My contact from Tinebaille,” Corinne explains. “He’s helped us in the past.” The name tugs on the chords of your memory. You remember the brown-skinned foreign man aboard the ship—the way his charismatic voice seized your attention, the gold of his ear cuff glinting in the sun. ---- [[❤ He was flirtatious and brazen, not to mention incredibly attractive. You look forward to getting reacquainted.|3.65][$bay to Math.clamp($bay + 3, 0, 100)]] [[❤ Your heart beats a little faster as you picture him, which is ridiculous considering you barely spared a glance at each other ages ago. But what a glance it was…|3.65][$bay to Math.clamp($bay + 3, 0, 100)]] [[❤ You recall the brazen way he had stared at you. The cheek of the man! You frown and try to push the memory out of your head, but an image of melty brown eyes stubbornly lingers.|3.65][$bay to Math.clamp($bay + 3, 0, 100)]] [[He was sly, yet playful, a useful companion to have. You look forward to meeting him properly.|3.65]] [[He seemed deceitful and flippant. You’re concerned whether he’ll really come through for the Resistenza.|3.65]]

Your thoughts are interrupted by footsteps approaching from down the hall. The gait is long—whoever is approaching is quite tall, their footfalls swift and heavy with intent. “Allegrezza!” Aestus breathes a sigh of relief. “He’s back.” The footsteps round the corner and enter the common room behind you. You hear Corinne’s relieved voice, “Welcome back, Coda. Glad to see you safe.” Out of the corner of your eye, you see Evelyn stiffen. She whips her head toward you, her face ashen and panicked. “Evelyn? Evelyn Sideris? Is… is that you?” The voice is familiar—achingly, unbearably familiar. Yet, not. It’s harsh and raspy when it should be smooth. Wary and cagey when it should be affectionate. A single pitch when it should have two. You turn around, your heart in your throat. Your $eyecolor eyes meet his grey ones. The face they’re set in is harsher than you remember. A wicked scar cuts through his left eyebrow, down across the bridge of his nose, marring the freckled skin beneath his right eye. The tall figure blinks rapidly, then stills. He shudders, the air leaving his mouth on a strangled, choked noise that is half question, half sob. “$birthname,” he whispers. His voice is soft, too soft for anyone but you to hear. You can’t breathe, can’t move, can’t think. But your mind screams his name. //Tellus//. ---- [[Chapter 4|End]]

This is the end of the demo. Thank you for reading and stay tuned for updates!

You remain silent, your gaze on the water ahead. Aestus follows your gaze, both of you looking forward. “I don’t begrudge you your silence. I can’t imagine what it’s been like for you, brave one.” They play with the beads on their wrist. “Our people weren’t meant to be solitary. The soldiers took so much more than our lives that day. “My accord was one of the first attacked,” they confess. “The other elders and I could sense what was coming, and we were able to save many before the camp was overrun.” They look at you sadly. “The //cordis// became more discordant after that. So much death. It was impossible to hear or think straight. I understand other camps were entirely incapacitated by the time the soldiers arrived.” //Ah, so that’s what happened//. “After that, our little accord escaped north, eventually settling in the mountains. The land is too inhospitable for imperials, but not for the Iredicci.” They wink at you. “I remained there for several years, helping to stabilize the accord. I wanted to find other survivors, so I struck out on my own a little over a year ago. Somehow the regis learned about me in my travels; but thankfully, so did the Resistenza.” <<if $cordis is "fire">>\ <<if $averse is true>>\ You point to the scarf draped around their neck, curious about the authentic garment. You know Aestus can understand your unspoken question. “Affetto, my accord made this for me, as a parting gift,” Aestus says with a fond smile. “It’s dangerous to wear our frocks, but I couldn’t resist this small token. Foolish, I know.” You study the vibrant threads, the colors still vivid and sharp. It’s a heart-warming thought, to know this was made recently. To know your people are still out there crafting, building, singing. Alive. <</if>>\ <<if $averse is false>>\ You finger the tassels of the scarf draped around their neck, curious about the authentic garment. You know Aestus can understand your unspoken question. “Affetto, my accord made this for me, as a parting gift,” Aestus says with a fond smile. “It’s dangerous to wear our frocks, but I couldn’t resist this small token. Foolish, I know.” You study the vibrant threads, the colors still vivid and sharp. The fabric is well sewn, but rough, stiff, like a brand new garment that has not yet been worn in. It’s a heart-warming thought, to know this was made recently. To know your people are still out there crafting, building, singing. Alive. <</if>>\ <<else>>\ You finger the tassels of the scarf draped around their neck, curious about the authentic garment. You know Aestus can understand your unspoken question. “Affetto, my accord made this for me, as a parting gift,” Aestus says with a fond smile. “It’s dangerous to wear our frocks, but I couldn’t resist this small token. Foolish, I know.” You study the vibrant threads, the colors still vivid and sharp. It’s a heart-warming thought, to know this was made recently. To know your people are still out there crafting, building, singing. Alive. <</if>>\ “You seem to have found yourself among good people,” Aestus says, the tone of his voice pitching up in an encouraging way. “It is no replacement for what you’ve lost, but I’m glad they’ve kept you safe.” Their expression turns pensive. They study your face, their dark blue eyes roving over your cheeks, mouth, and nose. “You look familiar, quiet one. Were you by chance in Fulmen’s accord?” You sit up straighter, your mouth tipping open in surprise. “Gioioso, I knew it!” Aestus exclaims. “You’re Caelum’s $pronoun4, aren’t you? You have his eyes.” You blink. You had heard your father’s name before, spoken in fondness by your mother and in celebration in the elders’ songs. You hadn’t expected someone outside of your accord to know him. Aestus tunes into your curiosity. “Affetto, I had the very great pleasure of calling your father one of my dearest friends,” they tell you, their voice thick with affection. Their words spill out on a half laugh, half sigh. “That man was one of the most charismatic, impish fellows I’ve ever known. That is, until Unda visited our accord and he turned into a smitten mess.” You hug your knees in front of you and lean in. Aestus sees your attentive expression and continues with a smile. “Caelum was a charmer, always knew the right thing to say and do. It was more than his water-attunement; he was attuned to people. But once he knew your mother, it was as if he knew nothing else.” Aestus chuckles. “She broke many an infatuated heart that day. He left our accord to be with her; they were //duette//, after all. I was sorry to see him go, but I was happy for them. “He’d be very proud of you, and those aren’t just words.” Aestus peers into your eyes, their tone emphatic. “Caelum knew people. He’d know the strength of your heart, and he’d be so very proud. Both of your parents would be.” ---- [[You feel the tears welling up in your eyes and you wipe them away.|3.45]] [[You smile gratefully, your heart fuller than it has felt in a long time.|3.45]] [[You know they mean well, but the words sound hollow. You haven’t done anything to make them proud. Not yet.|3.45]]

“I haven’t spoken to another Iredicci in thirteen years,” you murmur, your eyes on the water. Aestus follows your gaze, both of you looking forward. “I can’t imagine what it’s been like for you, brave one.” They play with the beads on their wrist. “Our people weren’t meant to be solitary. The soldiers took so much more than our lives that day.” “How did you survive?” you ask them. “My accord was one of the first attacked. The other elders and I could sense what was coming, and we were able to save many before the camp was overrun.” They look at you sadly. “The //cordis// became more discordant after that. So much death. It was impossible to hear or think straight. I understand other camps were entirely incapacitated by the time the soldiers arrived.” //Ah, so that’s what happened//. “After that, our little accord escaped north, eventually settling in the mountains. The land is too inhospitable for imperials, but not for the Iredicci.” They wink at you. “I remained there for several years, helping to stabilize the accord. I wanted to find other survivors, so I struck out on my own a little over a year ago. Somehow the regis learned about me in my travels; but thankfully, so did the Resistenza.” <<if $cordis is "fire">>\ <<if $averse is true>>\ You point to the scarf draped around their neck. “Did your new accord make this?” “They did,” Aestus says with a fond smile. “It’s dangerous to wear our frocks, but I couldn’t resist this small token. Foolish, I know.” You study the vibrant threads, the colors still vivid and sharp. It’s a heart-warming thought, to know this was made recently. To know your people are still out there crafting, building, singing. Alive. <</if>>\ <<if $averse is false>>\ You finger the tassels of the scarf draped around their neck. “Did your new accord make this?” “They did,” Aestus says with a fond smile. “It’s dangerous to wear our frocks, but I couldn’t resist this small token. Foolish, I know.” You study the vibrant threads, the colors still vivid and sharp. The fabric is well sewn, but rough, stiff, like a brand new garment that has not yet been worn in. It’s a heart-warming thought, to know this was made recently. To know your people are still out there crafting, building, singing. Alive. <</if>>\ <<else>>\ You finger the tassels of the scarf draped around their neck. “Did your new accord make this?” “They did,” Aestus says with a fond smile. “It’s dangerous to wear our frocks, but I couldn’t resist this small token. Foolish, I know.” You study the vibrant threads, the colors still vivid and sharp. It’s a heart-warming thought, to know this was made recently. To know your people are still out there crafting, building, singing. Alive. <</if>>\ “May I ask how you survived?” they inquire. “Evelyn and her parents were friends of my accord in Acamera,” you answer, nodding your head toward the doorway. “That night, I snuck out of the camp to go to a dance with her. It was entirely a coincidence. Her family took me in and I’ve been with them since.” “What a fortunate coincidence. And a good family,” Aestus smiles, then their expression turns pensive. They study your face, their dark blue eyes roving over your cheeks, mouth, and nose. “Acamera, you said? Fulmen’s accord?” You sit up straighter. “That’s right. You knew Fulmen?” “I did!” Aestus grins. “Gioioso, that’s why you look so familiar! You’re Caelum’s $pronoun4, aren’t you? You have his eyes.” You blink. “You knew my father?” you croak, the words coating your throat. “Affetto, I had the very great pleasure of calling your father one of my dearest friends,” Aestus replies, their voice as throaty as yours. Their words spill out on a half laugh, half sigh. “That man was one of the most charismatic, impish fellows I’ve ever known. That is, until Unda visited our accord and he turned into a smitten mess.” You hug your knees in front of you and lean in. Aestus sees your attentive expression and continues with a smile. “Caelum was a charmer, always knew the right thing to say and do. It was more than his water-attunement; he was attuned to people. But once he knew your mother, it was as if he knew nothing else.” Aestus chuckles. “She broke many an infatuated heart that day. He left our accord to be with her; they were //duette//, after all. I was sorry to see him go, but I was happy for them.” “I never knew him,” you murmur. “He died before I was born.” “Dolore, I’m sorry to hear that. He’d be very proud of you, and those aren’t just words.” Aestus peers into your eyes, their tone emphatic. “Caelum knew people. He’d know the strength of your heart, and he’d be so very proud. Both of your parents would be.” ---- [[You feel the tears welling up in your eyes and you wipe them away.|3.45]] [[You smile gratefully, your heart fuller than it has felt in a long time.|3.45]] [[You know they mean well, but the words sound hollow. You haven’t done anything to make them proud. Not yet.|3.45]]

You tilt your head back and sing with Aestus, your voice echoing theirs in a haunting cantata. You sing for Tellus, for Fulmen, for your mother and father. You sing for your people. <<include "3.48">>

You lean back, close your eyes, and listen. The achingly beautiful melody hums around you, as if your people are present in the air around you, real and connected. <<include "3.48">>

<<if $build is "slender">>\ “You’re different than I remember,” she continues, studying you. Her gaze is so intense it presses upon you like a well-fitted glove, binding but comfortable. “You carry yourself well, with confidence as well as good posture. You’re more slender, willowy. And older, of course. I remember thinking you a child, back then. You’re not anymore,” she murmurs. <</if>>\ <<if $build is "lean">>\ “You’re different than I remember,” she continues, studying you. Her gaze is so intense it presses upon you like a well-fitted glove, binding but comfortable. “You’ve obviously trained over the years. You’re leaner, well-toned. And older, of course. I remember thinking you a child, back then. You’re not anymore,” she murmurs. <</if>>\ <<if $build is "athletic">>\ “You’re different than I remember,” she continues, studying you. Her gaze is so intense it presses upon you like a well-fitted glove, binding but comfortable. “You move with ease and purpose. Your physique appears stronger, more defined. And you're older, of course. I remember thinking you a child, back then. You’re not anymore,” she murmurs. <</if>>\ <<if $build is "curvy">>\ “You’re different than I remember,” she continues, studying you. Her gaze is so intense it presses upon you like a well-fitted glove, binding but comfortable. “You move with poise and confidence. You’re well-proportioned, statuesque. And older, of course. I remember thinking you a child, back then. You’re not anymore,” she murmurs. <</if>>\ <<if $build is "muscular">>\ “You’re different than I remember,” she continues, studying you. Her gaze is so intense it presses upon you like a well-fitted glove, binding but comfortable. “You command attention. You’re stronger, sturdier. And older, of course. I remember thinking you a child, back then. You’re not anymore,” she murmurs. <</if>>\ Her brows crease over her hawk-like nose and she leans forward, suddenly concerned. “My apologies, was that too forward? I’ve been told I can be too direct.” You hold back a smile as this tall, authoritative, confident woman hesitates. Her directness is endearing. You’ve had to live with secrets and half-truths for most of your life. To be around someone who speaks her mind, is refreshing. In her concern, Corinne doesn’t seem to have realized how close the two of you are. You both lean forward over the corner of the counter, less than a head space between you. Your knees would touch if you were to move your own an inch to the left. You’re mesmerized by the color of her eyes—the hard brown hues blending with the softer green ones in an image that is as complex and beautiful as the woman herself. Your gaze drops lower, drawn by the spot of powdered sugar on her lips. You lift your finger to your own lips, then point to hers. “What are you asking?” Corinne murmurs. You tap the spot on the corner of your lips again, then gesture to her. A rosy blush tinges her cheeks and she lifts a hand to her lips. “Is there something on my face?” She wipes at the spot and pulls her finger away to see the powdered sugar. “Ah, um, thank you.” She clears her throat and makes to stand. “I’m going to try to catch a few hours of sleep,” she says, dusting off her hands. “You should, too.” You nod and stand. “//Thank you//,” you sign. You’re not sure if she understands, but she inclines her head in response. “Good night, $alias,” she says. When you return to your room, you find Evelyn still asleep, still snoring soundly. You kick off your shoes and climb into bed, tucking the sheet up around your chest. This time, you have no trouble falling asleep. ---- [[Next|3.64]]

Calliope freezes and draws in a sharp breath. She slowly turns and glances down over her shoulder at you. Her lips part in a small “o,” before pressing together, her bottom lip rolling under her top one in a self-satisfied smile. She retrieves the flyer and jumps down with your help. “Thanks for the help,” she chirps. “It’s tricky being short sometimes. But I guess you’re familiar with that, too. We’re both a couple of short screws, huh?” She laughs shakily and gestures behind her. “I should, um, probably put the Swallow away.” Calliope turns around and walks toward the nearest desk. You watch her lithe form as she saunters away, and you smile to yourself. <<include "3.63">>

She grasps the flyer easily, then jumps back down with your help. “Thanks! I should put this away before I damage it,” she chuckles. <<include "3.63">>

“Thank you!” she says as you hand it to her. “I should put this away before I damage it.” <<include "3.63">>

Calliope freezes and draws in a sharp breath. She slowly turns and glances up over her shoulder at you. Her lips part in a small “o,” before pressing together, her bottom lip rolling under her top one in a self-satisfied smile. She leans back into you—whether the lean is intentional or a result of her tilting her head back, you’re unsure. Either way, you don’t mind the way her dainty form fits snuggly against yours. You retrieve the flyer, stepping back as you hand it to her. “Thanks for the help,” she chirps. “It’s tough being a short screw.” She laughs shakily and gestures behind her. “I should, um, probably put the Swallow away.” Calliope turns around and walks toward the nearest desk. You watch her lithe form as she saunters away, and you smile to yourself. <<include "3.63">>

Calliope sets the flyer down on her desk. Beside it, you spy the mechanical tuna device she was working on earlier. You point to it, then tilt your head to the side as if in question. “Oh, that’s our courier! I named him Tubo,” Calliope explains proudly, picking up her invention. “We use this to send messages to Tinebaille. It’s pretty neat. It was inspired by the Iredicci.” Your face remains composed, though your curiosity is piqued. “They have this ability to hear sound vibrations, did you know?” Calliope continues. “It’s pretty fascinating, I’d love to study it more. But anyway, you put your message in here.” She presses a tiny button and the tuna’s body opens to reveal a watertight compartment. “There’s a machine with a tuning fork underwater in Tinebaille that emits a distinct pattern of sound waves, and there are receivers here and here.” She points to the large, concave silver eyes. “Then we release this little guy and he just swims straight to the source. There’s a similar device under our docks here, too, for the Tinebaillese courier.” You’ve never heard of such technology before. You study the tuna in her petite hands with wonder and… pride? Validation? After so many years in hiding, it’s odd, knowing your heritage could inspire such marvels. If Calliope wanted to learn more, would it be so bad to break your silence? Calliope’s gaze shifts to the window. The sky outside is starting to brighten, the soft dawn light casting an indigo haze over the room. “Oh, gosh, it’s nearly morning! I didn’t realize. Corinne will yell at me if I don’t take a nap,” she says, setting the tuna down on the desk. “But I’m glad you came to see me, $alias. Feel free to come by anytime.” She smiles at you and clasps her hands behind her back. “I mean it. Anytime.” You return the smile, departing the workshop with a brief wave. When you return to your room, you find Evelyn still asleep, still snoring soundly. You kick off your shoes and climb into bed, tucking the sheet up around your chest. This time, you have no trouble falling asleep. ---- [[Next|3.64]]

When the dirge is done, a quiet curtain settles around you and the elder—a moment of stillness that keeps the turbulent world at bay, at least for a moment. <<if $beads is "none">>\ “Thank you for sitting with me, brave one,” they say, smiling at you. “I know these years have felt dark and uncertain, but I've learned that hope can be found in the most unexpected places, poco a poco.” The two of you stand and head back into the forte. Aestus bids you good night, and you return to the room by the clinica to try to get some rest. ---- [[Next|3.52]] <<else>>\ “Thank you for sitting with me, brave one,” they say, smiling at you. “I know these years have felt dark and uncertain, but I've learned that hope can be found in the most unexpected places, poco a poco.” Then, noting your mood they add, “I’ll leave you to your thoughts. Good night.” Aestus stands and heads back inside. When you can no longer hear their footsteps, you reach under your clothes and remove your beads. You study the symbols clumsily carved into the surface—faded now with time but still discernible. <<if $cordis is "water">>\ Tellus had carved tiny cresting waves into each, like your attunement. You hadn’t given much thought to the gift at the time, nor to the gangly boy who made them. But thanks to him, you still have a physical artifact of your people. And that’s worth something. <</if>>\ <<if $cordis is "air">>\ Tellus had carved little whorls of air into each, like your attunement. And his. You hadn’t given much thought to the gift at the time, nor to the gangly boy who made them. But thanks to him, you still have a physical artifact of your people. And that’s worth something. <</if>>\ <<if $cordis is "fire">>\ Tellus had carved tiny flames into each, like your attunement. You hadn’t given much thought to the gift at the time, nor to the gangly boy who made them. But thanks to him, you still have a physical artifact of your people. And that’s worth something. <</if>>\ <<if $cordis is "earth">>\ Tellus had carved tiny triangular mountains into each, like your attunement. You hadn’t given much thought to the gift at the time, nor to the gangly boy who made them. But thanks to him, you still have a physical artifact of your people. And that’s worth something. <</if>>\ ---- <<link "//Thank you, my friend. I miss you//." "3.49">><<set $mercy += 5, $cheer += 5>><</link>> [[You remember his shy awkwardness. That wasn’t a young crush, was it?|3.50][$coda to Math.clamp($coda + 3, 0, 100)]] <<link "//I will avenge you—you, momma, everyone. I’ll make the regis pay. I swear it//." "3.51">><<set $mercy -= 5, $cheer -= 5>><</link>> <</if>>\

You try to recall your last moments with him—the way he stumbled out of your house, his freckled face earnest and flushed. You’d been too young to understand at the time, but perhaps he’d been fond of you, as more than just a friend? You feel a twinge of guilt for not having recognized it at the time. But maybe that's for the best, given that… Your hand clenches tightly around the beads before tucking them safely back beneath your clothes. You stand up and return to the room by the clinica to try to get some rest. ---- [[Next|3.52]]

You sigh and roll the beads between your fingers before tucking them safely back beneath your clothes. You stand up and return to the room by the clinica to try to get some rest. ---- [[Next|3.52]]

Your hand clenches tightly around the beads before tucking them safely back beneath your clothes. You stand up and return to the room by the clinica to try to get some rest. ---- [[Next|3.52]]