[Volume 2 | Chapter 57: The Reappearing Scion]
June 21st, 418 E.V.
Acacia, once again, yawned.
His entire body felt like it had been systematically dismantled and reassembled by someone with only a theoretical understanding of human anatomy. All of his muscle fibers screamed their incessant protest every time he took a step on Windsor's downtown pavement. Unsightly so, his legs moved with all the grace of a newborn giraffe attempting ballet.
The Imperial Legion Training Regimen—or as Pandora had so cheerfully dubbed it, "physical hell"—had lived up to its reputation and then some. For over three hours a day, he was subjected to a relentless barrage of calisthenics, strength-building, and endurance training. He'd known agony before—those days after Gio's murder had carved scars into him that would never fade—but Pandora's training had a way of seeping into those wounds and drawing out fresh pain.
"You look like you died five times over," Elias politely observed while they made their way down Windsor's main thoroughfare.
Despite his own recent hospital discharge, the aspiring knight moved with considerably more dignity than his companion. Though Acacia noted the slight stiffness in Elias's gait, as well as the careful way he avoided putting weight on his left side, where Malleus's flame blade had found its mark.
"Thank you for that astute medical assessment," Acacia managed through gritted teeth, pausing to lean against a lamppost with perhaps more drama than strictly necessary. "I'm beginning to suspect Pandora's definition of 'physical conditioning' was influenced by her time interrogating war criminals."
"That bad?"
"She made me run laps until I could taste colors. Then she critiqued my form while I dry-heaved into a trash bin. Oh, did I say a trash bin? I meant the Windsor River. At 7:17 AM. While quoting a hundred and twenty-three verses of Harmonic Principle Theory. From memory."
Elias's expression hovered somewhere between pity and horror.
"I'm... sorry?"
"No, you're not." Acacia straightened, his joints audibly protesting. "You're enjoying this."
The mint-eyed boy's mouth twitched, a poor attempt to suppress a grin.
"At least you're building character. Isn't that what they say about suffering? It's supposed to be good for you."
"'They' clearly never met Pandora Kircheisen. Besides, I'm fairly certain I had sufficient character before she decided to supplement it with compound fractures."
"Compound fractures?"
"In my soul, Elias Scryer. In my soul."
With a sigh, Acacia resumed his plodding pace, Elias falling in step beside him.
The afternoon sun painted Windsor's distinctive northeastern architecture in shades of gold and amber, casting long shadows between the buildings as citizens went about their daily routines. Though... Acacia couldn't shake the feeling that something instrumental had shifted in the city's atmosphere. Conversations seemed to pause as they passed, and eyes lingered a fraction too long before suspiciously turning away.
"Speaking of which," Elias said, his voice taking on a more serious tone, "you've become quite the topic of conversation around these parts."
"Exactly what I wanted to avoid," Acacia mumbled. "Well, it can't be helped... I survived an encounter with legendary assassins. It's bound to catch local interest."
"Yep. Word spreads fast in a city like Windsor, especially when it involves the Bloodhounds and a High Inquisitor's ward. You've become something of a celebrity, though the reactions vary a lot depending on who's doing the talking."
They passed a newsstand where headlines proclaimed various interpretations of recent events:
"BLOODHOUNDS DEFEATED IN WINDSOR"
"HIGH INQUISITOR PROTECTS MYSTERIOUS YOUTH"
And most sensationally…
"WALLACHIAN REFUGEE SURVIVES ASSASSINATION ATTEMPT."
The vendor, a weathered man with ink-stained fingers, watched them pass with an inscrutable expression. Acacia resisted the urge to snap at him, instead opting to quicken his pace slightly, feeling the man's eyes bore into the back of his skull.
"The progressives love you," Elias continued, lowering his voice as they moved beyond the newsstand's earshot. "They see you as proof that Lady Kircheisen's policies work... protecting the vulnerable and supporting refugees creates positive outcomes. You're living evidence that the Empire's strength comes from inclusion rather than exclusion."
Acacia felt heat rise to his cheeks. "I hardly think one person's survival against all odds is proof of any political agenda."
Elias shrugged cluelessly. "That's politics. Everything is symbolic, but it does mean you have allies in the progressive movement. They're rooting for you."
They turned onto a quieter side street; the noise of the primary thoroughfare faded to a distant hum. Here, between rows of well-maintained townhouses with their characteristic Orion Province architectural flair, they could speak more freely.
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"What about the conservatives?" Acacia asked, though he suspected he already knew the answer.
"Ah... well..." Elias began cautiously, "they see your survival as an indictment of Lady Kircheisen's policies. A refugee, harbored by a High Inquisitor, targeted by assassins? It's a narrative too tantalizing to ignore. They think you're a magnet for trouble, and proof that welcoming outsiders only invite chaos... even if they're our Wallachian brethren. Worst of all, they hate that our controversial High Inquisitor is gaining more power from this. They see your survival as evidence of preferential treatment, special privileges granted to those who should be grateful for basic tolerance. It's... pretty nasty."
"Ah. So I'm simultaneously proof that the system works and evidence that it's broken. How fun." Acacia bitterly spat.
"Like I said, that's politics." Elias gave another small shrug.
"I guess I shouldn't be surprised. The conservatives were already suspicious of Pandora's progressive views. This just gives them more fodder." Acacia's fingers drummed against his leg in a nervous rhythm. "I can't help but feel I've made things worse for her."
Elias tilted his head thoughtfully as they walked in companionable silence for several minutes, left only to the sound of the rotating windmills in the distance.
"...Your dad falls into the latter category, I assume?" Acacia asked eventually, keeping his tone carefully neutral.
Elias's stride faltered almost imperceptibly.
It didn't take long within the few weeks that they were at Windsor Medical Center together for the topic of the Iron General himself, Rudyard Scryer, to have come up. Elias was very careful of what to divulge to Acacia, but the black-haired boy had picked up on what he thought was enough.
That didn't mean he enjoyed bringing the man up, but... he figured it was polite to ask.
"Father has... strong opinions about proper order and traditional values. He believes in merit, but his definition of merit is rather narrow. He served with honor during the war, fought alongside soldiers from every background imaginable. But that was different—war creates its own rules and necessities. In peacetime, old biases have room to reassert themselves."
"Then, what do you believe?"
The question hung between them, frankly heavier than the summer air. Elias stopped walking entirely, then turned to face Acacia.
His expression held no deceit.
"I believe that, courage and intelligence aren't measured in blood purity or social status. The qualities needed to serve the Empire, to push us forward, can come from anywhere, anyone. My father's beliefs... they're outdated. They hold us back, make us weaker, not stronger."
He looked down at his hands, one rough from swordplay, the other smooth and pale from being tucked into the pocket of his white shirt. The dichotomy of his own life, a child born into talent and expectations, now questioning the very structures that elevated his commoner family.
"I want to be a knight, a righteous one... we're told to honor the traditions of the Empire. To uphold its laws and protect its people. But if those traditions, those laws, become shackles that hold us back, if they stop us from embracing the potential of all its citizens... how can we truly serve the common people, the innocent?"
"You're more introspective than I took you for, Elias." Acacia's lips curved into a wry smile.
"H-Hey! Just because I swing a sword and don't know how to tie a tie properly doesn't mean I can't think!" Elias blushed madly.
"Can't say I don't feel your pain for the latter, but I'm not sure if that's something you should assert proudly..."
"You just called me an idiot, Acacia! I can't believe this...! I'm not as smart as Leila, but I'm not stupid! I can hold my own in a conversation! Wait, speaking of Leila—" Elias stopped mid-tirade as the realization dawned on him. "Why didn't you invite her to… wait what are we even doing again?"
Acacia just blankly stared at him.
'I'm smart, Acacia! I'm not jock-brained! I just forgot about what you told me literally a few hours ago!'
The Irregular internally mocked Elias in the aspiring knight's own voice.
As they approached Windsor Preparatory Academy's distinctive gates, Acacia found himself studying the imposing structure with quite a new appreciation. The prestigious institution rose before them like a monument to educational excellence; there was no doubt that the neo-classical architecture spoke of tradition, knowledge, and the careful cultivation of future leaders.
Before he was about to re-explain to Elias what they were going to do, he felt the familiar weight of deception settle on his shoulders. He couldn't very well explain about the Aeterna Armamenta, the Dead Sea Scrolls, or Viceroy Bismarck's missions without revealing far more than was safe or wise.
"Research," he said finally, which had the virtue of being technically true. "I'm trying to understand some historical patterns, connections between events that might not be immediately obvious. It's kind of comprehensive records that only a school like this would maintain. You and Leila both attended Windsor Prep, and I only need one of you guys to guide me around to where the library is kept. And... well, I didn't want to bother her."
"And you chose me to be the sacrificial lamb, huh?"
"I'm looking for a knight in shining armor, Elias. No point in bothering the damsel when you're around."
"I'm going to remember this insult," Elias grumbled, but his eyes twinkled with amusement. "Fine, I'll play the chivalrous knight for today. But don't think I'm doing it for you."
He then produced his student ID with a flourish.
"Let's go get you some books, for your 'research.'"
"...You make it sound like I'm doing something criminal."
"Something that apparently you didn't want Leila finding out about. That does seem rather criminal to me, Mr. Belmont."
"You...!" Heat rose to Acacia's cheeks. "Stop treating me like I'm doing something perverted! Why would I try to find that type of material at a school library?!"
"I don't know, why would you?" Elias's smile was insufferable, and he was clearly getting revenge for Acacia's earlier jab at his intelligence. "But I guess we'll never know. After you, Mr. Criminal."
"You're not getting the chance to live that down, are you?"
"Not anytime soon, Mr. Pervert."
"Elias!"
"Well, if it isn't the sniveling refugee and his pet knight."
That sentence cut through their banter like a blade through silk, dripping of aristocratic disdain and arrogance. Acacia felt his blood turn to ice as he turned toward the source, already knowing what he would find.
Alaric Ptolemy stood at the academy's entrance with the bearing of a conqueror surveying his domain. His natural blue hair—that distinctive mark of the House of Ptolemy—caught the late afternoon sunlight like spun sapphire, perfectly styled despite the summer heat. But it wasn't his appearance that made Acacia's breath catch in his throat. It was the transformation in his presence.
Gone was the hot-headed bully who had frustratedly destroyed half a park.
In his place stood someone who radiated quiet... and predatory confidence. His posture was straighter and his eyes held a gleam that spoke of secrets and newfound power. The change was so dramatic that for a moment, Acacia wondered if this was the same person they'd encountered weeks ago.
But that grin was unmistakable.
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