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Manabound - Resilience - Chapter 21
🕑 Added 2023-11-02 22:04:06 +0000 UTCAN: We're officially 15 ahead! Woo! RR and other tiers start back up on Monday. Thanks for all the support everyone and I hope you have a good weekend.
It’s Great to be Queen
“Mamma! Look! I'm a princess!” Gwyn's voice, filled with innocent joy, echoed through the quaint pizzeria, catching Sloane's attention instantly.
She turned to see her daughter, clad in her colorful dress, twirling with unbridled enthusiasm. A new plastic tiara sat atop her head, gleaming under the warm, ambient lights of the establishment. They were there to celebrate the birthday of one of Gwyn’s friends, a fun little party filled with laughter and childish glee.
“Where’d you get that?” Sloane asked, her voice laced with amusement as she observed her daughter’s impromptu performance.
“Francesca’s mom gave it to me! Aren’t I pretty?” Gwyn beamed, striking a playful pose with one hand on her hip and the other delicately touching the tiara.
“Yes, you are, sweetie! My perfect little princess.” Sloane couldn’t help but smile, her heart swelling with love. She reached out, gently grabbing Gwyn’s cheeks and giving them a soft squeeze. “And oh so cute!”
“Moooooooom! Stop!” Gwyn’s playful whine filled the air as she tried to wriggle free from Sloane’s grasp, her cheeks flushed with a mixture of embarrassment and delight.
Seven year olds were just too adorable.
Sloane chuckled, her laughter light and heartfelt as she ruffled her daughter’s curly hair, eliciting a giggle from the little girl.
But suddenly, Gwyn pulled away, her expression changing as she looked up at Sloane with eyes filled with confusion and a hint of sorrow. “Mom? What are you doing? Why are you taking so long to find me? Do you not want me anymore?”
Sloane’s heart skipped a beat, her laughter dying in her throat as she tilted her head, trying to process the sudden shift in the atmosphere. Suddenly, as if like a switch, Gwyn was ten again, standing before her with an expression of hurt and betrayal.
She looked around, disoriented, then back at her daughter. “What? Gwyn, I—”
But Gwyn was already starting to walk away, her voice soft yet laced with pain as she spoke. “Why did you replace me? Non mi ami?”
“Of course, I love you! Gwyn!” Sloane’s voice was desperate, her heart aching as she reached out, trying to bridge the growing distance between them but it was like she was being weighed down, each movement heavy.
“I made you a queen, and you couldn’t even wait to replace me.” Gwyn’s form started to fade, becoming translucent as she continued to move away.
“Gwyn! No! Come back!” Sloane’s plea was filled with desperation, her voice breaking as she took a step forward, trying to reach her daughter.
“I thought you loved me.”
“I do, honey! Gwynnie, come back!” Sloane's voice was a mix of a plea and a cry, her heart in her throat as she reached out towards the fading figure of her daughter, the image tearing at the very fabric of her soul.
✦ ✦ ✦
“Gwyn!” Sloane’s voice tore through the stillness of the night, raw and desperate.
In an instant she was sitting upright, her breaths coming in short, ragged gasps. Cold sweat clung to her skin, and her heart pounded in her chest as if trying to escape. Her eyes, wide and filled with terror, darted around as they adjusted to the dim light, taking in the familiar yet disorienting surroundings of the inn’s room.
“Sloane? Sloane, what’s wrong?” Nemura’s voice, laced with concern, cut through Sloane’s disarray as the telv woman swiftly rose from her own bed, crossing the short distance to Sloane’s side in a matter of moments.
But Sloane, still caught in the throes of her nightmare, couldn’t find the words to respond. Her chest heaved with silent sobs as tears welled in her eyes, spilling over and streaming down her cheeks.
Nemura didn’t hesitate. She pulled Sloane into a firm, reassuring embrace, her arms wrapping securely around her. “It’s okay. You’re safe,” she murmured, her voice soft and steady.
In that moment, as Sloane felt the warmth and solidity of Nemura’s embrace, something inside her broke. The dam holding back her emotions burst, and she felt everything—all the fear, the pain, the desperation—pour out of her in a torrent of tears.
At some point, she was dimly aware of the door opening and Mariel’s worried voice calling out, “Mother? Are you okay?”
Her daughter’s concern made her cry harder.
After all, she couldn’t take her mind off of her other daughter. Her little princess who against all odds had somehow become a real one in this new world. Sloane couldn’t even begin to parse how that happened.
She couldn’t, despite trying to ever since learning about Gwyn from the paladin a week ago.
More words were said by her protector and her daughter, but it was all background noise, fading into the distance as Sloane allowed herself to be consumed by her feelings and uncertainties.
Nemura held her close as Sloane’s cries filled the room.
Time seemed to stretch on indefinitely, the night holding its breath as Sloane let her emotions run free. And then, slowly, the tears subsided, her sobs quieted, and her body grew limp with exhaustion.
Nemura gently stroked Sloane’s hair, whispering words of comfort until, finally, Sloane’s breathing evened out and she fell back into a fitful sleep, the echoes of her nightmare still lingering in the dark.
✦ ✦ ✦
As Sloane meandered through the grand hallways, the whisper of her movements stirred not a single mote of dust. She reached out to the polished banisters, her fingers passing through the carved wood like tendrils of mist. Chandeliers overhead dripped with crystals that shimmered with a light that seemed sourced from neither flame nor sun.
“Excuse me,” she attempted. A courtier dressed in velvet and silk strode past, his face fixed in concern as he murmured into a scroll. Sloane's plea was as insignificant to him as the flutter of a moth's wing.
“Can you hear me?” she tried again, reaching for a passing maid whose eyes were hollow with secrets she dare not speak. The woman continued on her path, her arms laden with linens, her steps measured and soundless.
A woman walked out of a door, and Sloane gasped as she walked through her, as if she were but a ghost. The door was left open, and she heard voices coming from within.
Entering the shadowed chamber, Sloane's gaze fell upon the men gathered around an ornate table, their fingers tracing the borders of maps and their palms striking the wood as they laid claim to lands and lives with the ease of gods playing at creation.
“We must ensure the alliance,” one voice said, smooth as oil over water. “The marriage must bring us strength, but the girl continually protests.”
She realized what they were doing. They were talking about giving away her daughter. Her baby.
Sloane rushed forward, but no one paid her any heed as they continued.
Another voice, gruff and impatient, interjected, “The princess's wishes are of no consequence. She will marry where it benefits the realm—which is to say, where it benefits us.”
Sloane's heart pounded against her ribcage, a drumbeat out of sync with the world around her. “Gwyn is not a pawn in your games!” she shouted, but her words dissipated, absorbed by the thick tapestries that lined the walls.
“We must carefully select the suitors,” interjected a third, his figure wraith-like and indistinct. “The marriage must be advantageous. The bloodlines must be strong, the alliances unbreakable.”
Sloane’s chest clenched at their words, a cold dread coiling in her stomach. She wanted to shout, to rage against their callous decrees, but she was voiceless in this realm of shadows, her fury as impotent as her form.
“Silence her if you must, but her womb must remain fruitful,” one coldly stated, his silhouette looming as he spoke. “She must produce heirs, that is all that matters.”
The men laughed then, a sound that echoed with the hollow ring of coins in a coffer, devoid of any true mirth. Their laughter swelled, a chorus of corruption that filled the room, and Sloane felt the very essence of her dream-self quiver with revulsion.
She turned away from the poisonous gathering, fleeing the room and its inhabitants, their laughter chasing her down the endless corridors. She ran, the laughter growing ever distant, yet somehow following no matter how far she ran.
Sloane screamed through the halls as she searched for her daughter. “Gwyn?! Where are you? Gwyn, baby!” Sloane cried out, her voice a silent scream that left her feeling helpless, unheard.
Suddenly, the world swirled around her, a maelstrom of darkness that whisked her away to the foot of grand double doors, flanked by two knights as still as statues.
A maid, her face a mask of indifference, approached, her hands clutching a key that glinted with malicious intent. She unlocked the doors with a turn that felt like a twist of fate, and Sloane followed, a ghost in her own nightmare.
Inside, she saw Gwyneth, her daughter, sitting on a bed looking almost lifeless. “Gwyneth, it is time for your etiquette lesson,” the maid declared with a voice that grated like rusty hinges.
“I don’t want to! You can’t make me,” Gwyn protested, her spirit a flickering flame in the oppressive darkness of the room.
The maid drew a hand back. Desperation clawed at Sloane’s insides as she reached out to stop the maid's hand, to shield her child, but her arms swept through empty air, through the scene unfolding before her.
Her voice rose in a silent scream, a mother's protective cry that should have roared through the halls like thunder, but it was swallowed by the void that enveloped her. She felt for her magic, that familiar pull at her core, the rush of power that had never failed her before.
With a ferocity born of panic, she willed her magic to life, to intervene, to warp reality to her need. But it was as impotent as her spectral fists, fizzling out in the dream-space, leaving her with nothing but the echo of her own powerlessness.
The slap was a sound that echoed through eternity, a violent burst that shattered the stillness. Sloane raged, but no matter what she tried, Gwyn just cried out as she fell. Slowly, her daughter pushed herself up before she clutched at her cheek, sobbing.
The maid, heedless of the silent struggle, towered over the weeping child with cold authority. “Enough,” she commanded, her voice the iron of shackles. “Your tears are currency we cannot afford. Steel yourself, girl. Your worth is measured in the alliances you forge, the heirs you provide. You are a commodity in the grand market of nobility.”
Gwyn's tear-streaked face lifted, her eyes meeting Sloane's, eyes that were windows to a soul burdened with resignation and an aching, hollow despair. “Why, mamma?” her gaze seemed to ask. “Why haven’t you come?”
Sloane's heart shattered anew with each unshed tear of her own, each silent plea that went unanswered. She was a tempest trapped in a bottle, fury and love swirling together in a maelstrom that could not touch the world around her.
She reached out for her daughter, but like every other time, she could not touch her. Could not hold or comfort her. She cried out in frustration.
As if her daughter realized how worthless her mother was, Gwyn fell, her renewed sobs a haunting melody of despair.
“Stop crying, girl,” the maid spat, her words like barbed hooks. “Know your place. You are only as valuable as what you can offer us. You are thirteen; behave as such. Suitors will come, and you will charm them, you will ensnare them.”
She yanked Gwyn to her feet, and forcefully turned her to look at what she held.
“Get the fuck away from my daughter!”
The maid, unheeding, laid out a dress—a shackle disguised as finery—and left with the finality of a closing coffin lid. Gwyn, a portrait of weariness and unspoken aches, stood taller than she had when they’d come. Her face was marred with weariness, her body with abuse and malnutrition.
Then, those eyes, brimming with accusation, met Sloane's. “This is all your fault,” Gwyn whispered, her voice a shiv to Sloane's heart. “Why didn’t you come? You could have stopped this.”
“I’m trying, baby, I’m trying!” Sloane pleaded to the void between them, but the words were swallowed by the abyss.
The dream faded to black, Gwyn’s voice a lingering specter. “I thought you said I could marry for love... Do princesses not deserve their happy endings?”
And Sloane screamed, her voice tearing through the void of her subconscious, a futile echo in the halls of her own mind. “Gwyn, no, no, no. Baby!”
Gwyn’s voice was the plaintive whisper of leaves in autumn, the resignation of one facing an inescapable winter. “Where are you, mamma?”
And with those words, the world around Sloane began to crumble, the dream dissolving into a miasma of fear and longing, until all that was left was the echo of her daughter’s voice, a refrain of betrayal that would haunt her to her waking breath.
✦ ✦ ✦
A sharp inhale tore through the stillness of the night as Sloane jolted awake, her breaths shallow, eyes darting through the gloom.
Beside her, the silhouette of Mariel shifted, the blankets rustling with her movement. “Mother? Are you okay?” Mariel’s voice was thick with sleep but edged with concern.
Sloane exhaled slowly, trying to anchor herself in reality and away from the lingering tendrils of her dream. “It’s nothing. Just a nightmare,” she murmured, her voice not quite her own.
Mariel propped herself up on one elbow, the moonlight casting silver highlights in her hair. “Was it about Gwyn again?” she asked gently, as if she already knew the answer.
Sloane nodded, her gaze lost to the shadows that danced across the ceiling. “Yes, but it’s the same old fears, just twisted now that I know she’s a princess—nothing new.”
Mariel’s presence was a comforting warmth as she edged closer. “We’ll find my sister, Mom. We have to believe that. The paladins didn’t act as if she was in any danger. She has paladins of her own,” she reassured her with a voice that was a steady beacon in the darkness of doubt.
How did I end up with such smart daughters?
But still…
Sloane’s heart felt heavy, threatening to sink like a ship lost in a sea of worries. “I do believe it, Mar. It’s just… the ‘what ifs’ are hard to escape at night.”
“I wish I could do more to help,” Mariel’s voice cracked slightly, revealing her own hidden battles with helplessness. “You’ve been having these nightmares for weeks now. Do you want me to go get Nemura?”
Sloane looked around the small room that she and Mariel shared. The inn in this village was decidedly smaller than the previous ones and the rooms each only boasted a single bed that she had to share with her daughter.
Poor Stefan. Nemura probably takes up the entire bed.
Sloane took a deep breath. “No, she needs her sleep. I’m sure she’s getting plenty for once, now that I’m not waking her up every night with my… worries.”
Mariel sighed. “If you say so…”
Sloane extended her arms, an invitation that Mariel accepted with eagerness. They embraced, a silent exchange of strength and solace. “Your support means everything, dear. I should be the one comforting you, but you’ve helped me so much. These nightmares, they can’t touch me—not really. And when I wake up and you’re here, everything is better,” Sloane whispered into the darkness.
Mariel’s embrace tightened. “What did you dream of this time?” she asked, her curiosity tinged with a protective edge.
Sloane’s voice was a low, haunted timbre as she recounted the nightmare’s twisted vision. “Gwyn… they treated her like a pawn in their games of power. They wanted to marry her off, to use her… as if she was nothing more than a prize to be given to the highest bidder.”
A sharp intake of breath from Mariel punctuated the silence that followed. “That’s horrible,” she breathed out, her words a soft hiss of shared outrage.
“Yeah, it was. But it was just a dream. Our Gwyn is out there, and she’s as fierce and bright as you. We’ll reach her in time,” Sloane reassured, both herself and Mariel, her resolve hardening like steel tempered in fire and enchanted with the strongest of magics.
The room settled into a quiet calm, the soft luminescence of the Sisters spilling through the window, casting long, pale shadows across the floor. In the circle of Sloane’s arms, Mariel nestled closer, her presence a tangible reminder of the day’s promise.
“We’ll keep moving forward, together,” Sloane said. “That’s all we can do.”
Mariel’s embrace tightened, a silent pledge of solidarity and comfort. “We’re a team, Mom. You, me, Nemura, Stefan… I guess the grumpy paladins too… we’re all going to make it to Gwyn.”
Sloane felt the prickle of tears, a surge of emotion that she quickly quelled. In any other setting, she would have joked that her daughter was a former priestess-in-training—paladins should have been seen as a good thing. The thought did help lift her spirits slightly.
She squeezed her daughter. “I have to be strong, for her, for all of us. Don’t worry. Your mom’s got this.”
“Yeah you do. You’re the strongest person I know. You’ll save her if she needs it, and if not, then all the better. Are… are you better now? Did I..?”
“You helped. So much. Thank you, my daughter.”
Mariel nodded, sniffling softly.
Sloane let out an exhale, feeling better and ready to get some rest. She would need it if the next day was anything like the last. “I feel better now. Let’s get back to sleep.”
Mariel nodded again and settled back down, her presence a silent vow of vigilance. Sloane lay back, her mind still haunted by shadows, but her spirit bolstered by the unshakeable bond of the family they had forged amid the chaos.
They’d been going for weeks now, but they would continue and together, they would face the coming dawn, and together they would fight through the monsters for the future that awaited them.
As Sloane nestled back into her flat pillow, Mariel whispered, “Goodnight, Queen Mom. Love you.”
Sloane laughed softly at her daughter’s joke. “Goodnight, sweetie. I love you too.”
✦ ✦ ✦
“Wake up, Your Majesty!” The words, playful and filled with mirth, cut through Sloane’s grogginess, pulling her from the depths of sleep.
Sloane groaned, her body heavy with sleep as she slowly opened her eyes, adjusting to the morning light filtering through the curtains. The sight that greeted her was Mariel's bright and beaming face, holding a mug of what Sloane presumed to be tea.
A week had passed since that haunting nightmare, a week filled with restless nights and uneasy slumber. Another week of fighting monsters during the day and nightmare filled restless nights in village inns or even houses.
She narrowed her eyes at the young girl, a mix of confusion and amusement in her gaze. “Wait… What did you say?” she asked, her voice laced with a mock sternness, though a hint of a smile tugged at the corners of her lips.
“Nothing…” Mariel responded, though the twinkle in her eyes and the barely suppressed grin on her face betrayed her.
From her seat by the window, Nemura laughed, her voice rich and warm. “The princess is being cheeky.”
Sloane couldn’t help but groan again, though this time it was accompanied by a chuckle. The heaviness in her chest seemed to lift, and she sat up, reaching for the mug in Mariel's hand. “Cheeky or not, I could definitely use some tea.”
Mariel handed her the mug, her grin never fading as she watched Sloane take a sip. “Good morning, mother. Did you have nightmares again?”
“Don’t mother me. I’m not a queen. You both know that.” Mariel’s grin grew.
And where am I supposed to be Queen of anyways? Italy? Ugh… Gwyn… what did you rope me into?
“Allora…” Sloane sighed and shook her head. She looked up to see concern in her daughter's steely grey eyes. Sloane forced a smile onto her face. “Good morning, you two. No, I didn't have nightmares last night. Thank you,” Sloane said finally, her voice softer now, filled with affection. She'd been having nightmares for weeks, ever since learning the truth about Gwyn and what she'd been up to.
It hurt that Sloane wasn't there for her.
She looked between Mariel and Nemura, her heart swelling with gratitude. They were her anchors, her safe haven, and in this moment, with the warmth of the tea spreading through her and the sound of their laughter filling the room, Sloane felt a profound sense of peace and contentment.
But still…
“Gwyn is going to get a stern talking to…” she mumbled to herself before taking a sip of tea.
Sloane looked up at Nemura, her expression serious as she got straight to the point. “Where do we stand?”
Nemura rolled her shoulders, a series of cracks echoing in the quiet room as she stretched. “Stefan's out scouting. He has one of the paladins along with Tiberius and Vesper with him. There weren't any attacks on the village last night, so we should be able to push on to the next one by nightfall. Word is they're still standing, but there's been a lot of damage. Evocati Nell received word that there's a squad of the army there holding on.”
“And the other paladins?” Sloane inquired, her brows furrowing slightly.
“Outside, preparing to leave. Nell will meet us downstairs for breakfast to go over the plan. Stefan should be back by then as well.” Nemura’s tone was informative, yet held a hint of reassurance, as if to say they had things under control. “We wanted to give you some more time to sleep. Figured we shouldn’t wake up the queen too early.”
Sloane rolled her eyes, taking another sip of her tea, feeling the warmth of the liquid as it traveled down her throat. “Alright. May as well get ready.”
“Can I do your hair?!” Mariel’s voice, eager and filled with excitement, cut through the serious atmosphere.
“Must be great to be queen,” Nemura said with a chuckle.
Sloane glared at her friend before looking over at her daughter. “How about tonight, honey? If Nell is already downstairs, she's going to be cranky if she has to wait a while. You know how she gets.”
Mariel pouted slightly but then grinned, her eyes twinkling with mischief. “She thinks you're a queen, mom. She can grump all she wants.”
Sloane chuckled, ruffling Mariel’s hair affectionately. “That she does, but let's not test her patience too much, okay? After all, we all know the truth...” She glared at Nemura again who only smirked back. Sloane sighed. “The only thing I can definitively claim is the title of baroness. I have no idea how your sister did what she did… but, we'll figure it out and try not to make things more difficult for whatever she's accomplished.” She stood up, draining the rest of her tea before setting the mug down and stretching her limbs, ready to face the day and whatever challenges it might bring.
Monsters, definitely more monsters.
For almost the entirety of spring, they had gone from village to village fighting off monsters coming from the large forest in the center of the kingdom. While it had provided great sources of essentia, the delays it was causing were infuriating. Still, they were hoping to actually be on the road that cut through the forest in a day or two.
That’s when things would get difficult.
Sloane stood up from the bed, stretching out her limbs to shake off the last remnants of sleep. She turned to Mariel with a warm smile, “Hey, can you do me a favor and head down to order breakfast for us? Get Nell’s as well. I’ll pay for it.”
Mariel nodded enthusiastically, her eyes bright. “You can count on me, mom,” she declared with confidence.
“Oh I know I can. Thanks, dear,” Sloane replied, her smile widening as she watched her daughter's display of responsibility.
With a burst of energy, Mariel ran out the door, eager to fulfill her task.
Sloane was very glad that Mariel was growing up into an amazing young woman. Her other daughter was a teenager now, and… Sloane really hoped Gwyn was doing alright.
I have two teenage daughters. Fuck… I’m getting old.
Sloane turned to Nemura, her expression shifting to a more serious tone. “Ugh. Time to change. Mind helping me with the breastplate once I get all set up?”
Nemura smiled, her eyes filled with a supportive warmth. “Yeah, of course. I'll get into my gear as well.”
Sloane moved to her things and with a practiced ease, Sloane removed all of her clothes, not sparing a moment’s thought to modesty in front of Nemura, despite the woman's known attraction to her. They’d both seen each other naked way more times than she could count, and Nemura was as honorable as they came. Sloane knew she had nothing to worry about.
She trusted the woman with her life.
Plus, Sloane’s focus was singular: gearing up for the day ahead.
She began to dress, grabbing her underwear and the wrap she used to keep the girls tightly in place—her bra had long since been laid to rest—before pulling on her trousers, calf-high boots, and a tunic, each piece selected for comfort and mobility. Next came her breastplate, a piece of armor she had come to wear as naturally as a second skin. Her excerpt reader bracer followed, sliding it on and tightening it into place on her right forearm.
Then, with a careful hand, she strapped her holster to her thigh, ensuring the Caster Mk III was securely in place. Her belt came next, followed by clipping on all of the grenades and small spatial pouches filled with speed loaders preset with spell cartridges for her caster. Finally, she slung her satchel over her shoulder, now enchanted to hold significantly more items than its size would suggest.
“Could you help with this?” Sloane asked, gesturing to her breastplate. Nemura stepped forward, her hands skillful as she tightened the breastplate, ensuring it was secure.
“How did she do it, Nemura?”
Clearly the woman knew exactly what Sloane was talking about.
“I don’t know, Slo. But she’s clearly your daughter. Relena’s tits, she’s probably more resourceful than you. She’s created an actual royal House. That’s… I’m not going to lie, that’s scary.”
“How?”
“She had to figure out a way to convince people to acknowledge her. And she’s the head of House. So she has allies who actually follow her. You’ve been talking about making somewhere safe… but I think she’s done that for us.”
Sloane sighed. “I hope so, Nemmy.”
I really do.
Nemura gently nudged Sloane’s cheek. “I’m sure she’s fine.”
She nodded. Shaking off those thoughts. Getting back on task, she started to assist Nemura with her armor, which was decidedly more knight-like in its design.
Sloane couldn’t help but smile as the woman looked down at her fondly while she worked. “You know... you keep wearing this, people are going to think you're a real knight or something.”
Nemura rolled her eyes, a smirk playing on her lips. “Don’t you start. I get enough of that from your daughter.”
“Well... A queen does need her queensguard,” Sloane teased lightly, her tone playful.
Nemura groaned, though the corners of her mouth twitched upwards. “You’re not wrong… And your daughter is actually a princess…” She sighed, her expression turning more serious. “I... let's discuss this another time.”
“Of course, my dearest friend.” Sloane gave her a soft smile, patting her arm reassuringly. “Let's go meet Evocati Grumpy Pants. The damn monsters need to die and stop delaying us. We need to get to the capital.”
“I know.” Nemura frowned, her expression earnest. “Don’t worry though, we’ll get there. Gwyn’s at the Royal Academy there; clearly things are safe enough if she’s in a place of learning.”
Sloane sighed, her thoughts drifting momentarily to her daughter. “I hope so. I know we’re not stuck in one place, but this has been tough.”
“Just stay focused. You have to watch my back, you know? You can’t do that if your mind is wandering.”
Sloane looked up at her, a small smile playing on her lips. “Don’t worry. I’ve got you.”
Nemura nodded, her expression softening. “Good. I know you’re anxious and hurting... but we’ll get through this. I trust you. You’re a warrior.”
“And you’re more a knight than you know,” Sloane retorted with a grin, earning another groan from Nemura.
“Let’s get some food. If that girl wasn't grey, I would think she came from you.”
“Ah, you love us. Especially Mariel. She’s a cutie.”
Sloane’s eyes swept across the room, scanning every detail to ensure they had everything. Her gaze landed on Mariel’s satchel, forgotten in the young girl’s excitement. She moved swiftly, grabbing it and slinging it over her shoulder, determined not to leave any of their belongings behind.
They wouldn’t be returning to these rooms after breakfast, and Sloane wanted to make sure they had everything they needed.
She followed Nemura out of the room, her steps steady as they made their way downstairs. The inn was quiet, the early morning light filtering through the windows and casting a warm glow on the wooden interior.
As they reached the dining area, Sloane spotted Mariel at a table with Stefan and Evocati Nell, the paladin clad in her signature red plate armor. Nell’s helmet was resting on the back of her chair, and she was making quick work of her breakfast while Stefan was just getting started on his own. Two additional bowls, filled with a porridge-like meal, sat ready and waiting for Sloane and Nemura.
Mariel turned at the sound of their approach, her face lighting up as she waved enthusiastically.
Sloane couldn’t help but smile at the sight, feeling a surge of affection for the teenager. She was a bright spot in their lives, a constant source of joy and resilience.
“You forgot this,” Sloane said as she handed her the satchel as she took a seat at the table.
Mariel winced. “Thanks… I was in a hurry.”
“It’s okay. Just keep it close.”
“Hey, Boss,” Stefan greeted with a smirk, earning him a glare from the paladin across from him.
“Morning, Steffy,” Sloane shot back, a smirk playing on her lips.
Mariel snorted in amusement. “Steffy!?”
Stefan just rolled his eyes in response, clearly used to their banter, and went back to his food.
Nell took a deep breath, choosing to keep her focus on her meal, her posture impeccable.
Nemura offered a nod of greeting to Nell before sitting down herself.
Sloane’s eyes shifted to the paladin, taking in her demeanor. Nell had proven her worth in the very first fight after they had left Nornport. She and her paladins had made short work of the pack of dinosaur looking reptiles.
Then there were some bandits.
Those men never even saw what was coming.
Sloane didn’t even get a chance to cast a spell.
But after that, everything just became a slog. Village after village had been beset by monsters, and Nell being the paladin that she was had implored Sloane to help them.
Despite Sloane’s desperate need to reach Gwyn, she couldn’t bring herself to abandon these people to their fate. So, they fought monster after monster along the way.
One good thing is that it helped her level.
“Good morning, Evocati Nell,” Sloane greeted, her voice respectful yet warm as she reached for a bowl of porridge.
“So, where are Vesper and Tiberius?” Sloane asked between bites, her gaze shifting to Stefan.
“They’re at the wagon,” Stefan replied, swallowing a mouthful of his own breakfast.
Nell chimed in without looking up from her meal, “And my squad is with them, packing up.”
Sloane nodded in acknowledgment, “What’s the plan?”
Nell glanced over at Stefan, deferring to his scouting report. “There doesn't appear to be anything else coming for the village, and Tiberius did catch sight of some men-at-arms coming from the northeast.”
“That would be the reinforcements from the city of Dayton,” Nell clarified, finally lifting her gaze to meet Sloane’s.
“Got it.”
“So, I think we're good until we reach the village of Dellway,” Stefan added, “Tiberius saw some smoke coming from that direction, but nothing that looked too serious.”
“Alright. So, let’s eat and head out. The sooner we get there, the sooner we can try and help them before pressing on,” Sloane decided.
She turned to Nell. “But remember, a day, two max is all we can really stay unless another swarm hits us.”
Nell nodded, understanding the urgency, but she couldn’t help the slip that came next, “Understood, Your Majesty... I mean... Lady... Sloane.”
The paladin winced, her eyes darting around to make sure no one else had heard.
Sloane sighed, her expression softening, “We’ve been together for weeks now, Nell. Come on.”
“Sorry. It’s difficult,” Nell admitted, her voice low. “I understand the need for discretion, but…” She sighed. “We are not trained in the ways of subterfuge. That is the expertise of the Umbral Monks.”
Sloane just gave her a reassuring smile, “We’ll get there. Now, let’s finish up and move out. We have a long day ahead of us.” She looked over at Nemura and gave the woman a wink. “Ser Nemura, you will take charge today?”
Nemura frowned. “Of course…”
“Good! Just point me at where the enemy is and I’ll pew pew.”
Mariel looked around at those at the table. “And me? I can help again, yeah?”
Nell’s eyes snapped to the cute necromancer. “I’m not sure—”
“Of course, Mariel,” Sloane interrupted. “Any new spells, or just continuing to practice the ones you have?”
Mariel pursed her lips for a moment before shrugging. “I think I’m close to something new, but no, just continuing with what I have for now.”
Nell turned to Sloane. “I don’t think…”
Sloane held up a hand. “We need to normalize it. Especially with you and your squad around. Showing that the Church approves of safe, responsible necromantic magic will go a long way to winning hearts and minds of the populace after any initial revulsion.”
The paladin sighed.
Stefan chuckled and Mariel beamed.
Comments
Marshall
Magic girl Gwen with one of Sloane’s magical assault rifles will be both too cute and too horrifying to imagine.
Marmot
Bad as they are, those nightmares may be well be worse when Sloane hears what Gwyn has had to do. Mariel, of course, will smile and say her sister is a badass
