"Mom, do you have a moment?”

Edana blinked at her daughter, noting the wet, barely dried hair. It looked as if she ran from the bathrooms.

“Of course.” Edana let her daughter in and shut the door behind them. “What happened?”

“Just… it’s Elizabeth.” Frances sagged into the spare chair in her mom’s room. “Elizabeth told me she likes other women. But because of her religion, she thinks it’s wrong to like other women.”

Edana felt her face twist in a grimace. “What? What kind of… Sorry, hold on, I think we both need some drinks. Tea?”

“Chamomile please,” Frances asked.

As Edana cast a magical fire underneath the kettle on its stand, she also levitated cups onto the table.

“So, Elizabeth likes girls, but thinks it’s wrong to like other women?” Edana repeated.

Frances nodded. “Yes! I don’t… I don’t know why. Apparently her God says it’s wrong and she’s just… really confused now.”

“And you’re angry at her because of that?” Edana asked.

The sound of water starting to simmer and boil filled the room as Frances averted her gaze. Edana took note of how her daughter clenched her fists, though.

“Well, what does she think about her mentor and me then?” Edana asked, trying a different angle.

“I don’t know. But… why should she disapprove of you, or Igraine, when you don’t even believe in her religion? You’re good people, and you make each other happy! Why should she judge you for breaking rules you don’t even believe in? What if I liked other women? Would she think I was wrong for doing that?”

Frances took a deep breath to recover from her rant, and drawing Ivy’s Sting, she levitated the kettle over to the teapot and poured the hot water into the pot. It bought Edana some time to think about how to respond.

Closing the teapot’s lid, Frances put her wand down, and sighed, shoulders sagging. “So, yes, I’m angry. I… I don’t like that Elizabeth thinks that this kind of love is wrong. Not when it makes people happy.”

“I think that’s more than understandable, dear. You care about me, Igraine, and others who are in these kind of relationships.” Edana leaned forward. “Have you seen Elizabeth treat those people differently?”

That wasn’t so easy to answer, and Frances hesitated, the words just on the tip of her tongue, before she pursed her lips to cut herself off. She took a deep breath. “No. She’s always been nice to you, and I’m sure she still admired Igraine after she found out. It’s why I was so surprised.”

Edana nodded.“Alright, so she’s not being bigoted. She has a difference of opinion, applies it only to herself, and is clearly questioning it.”

“Yes. You’re not saying whether I should be angry or not, though?” Frances asked.

Another nod. Edana took the teapot and poured herself and Frances a steaming cup. “What you feel about your friend should be your decision, Frances. What I will say is that despite Elizabeth having this opinion, she still seems to be the same kind, understanding and caring person that she always ever was.”

Frances nodded, and felt her shoulders loosen. Taking her cup, she blew on it, exhaling slowly, watching the ripples across the brown liquid.

“You’re right, mom. Thank you.” She touched her lip to the tea and put the cup down. It was too hot. “Elizabeth is still my friend, and she needs my support right now.”

Edana smiled, “Mm hmm. Just try not to criticize her religion when you talk to her, Frances.”

“Oh. Um…” Frances grimaced. “I’ll try.”

“That’s all I ask, Frances. But I don’t ask you to do so simply because it’ll help. You see, religions can be… imperfect. You know I believe in Amura and Rathon, but sometimes I find the church’s teachings to be rather… human-centric.” Edana took a sip from her cup. “There are priests whose prayers call for the defense and protection of humankind’s future. It doesn’t help that Alavari feature in Amura and Rathon’s story as an enemy.”

Frances blinked. “If… if the church of Amura and Rathon isn’t perfect, why do you believe in them?”

“Because what I believe in does help me, and gives me a sense of purpose. I’m not a priest, so I don’t know if it’s right or wrong to say you shouldn’t believe in everything their church says, but what I do believe… guides me and inspires me, so it’s useful.” Edana watched as Frances sipped from her cup and nodded thoughtfully. “Just out of interest, how long has Elizabeth known that she was attracted to girls?”

“Um, not too long I think. She said that she started to notice when she realized that… that I and other girls looked… good.” Her cheeks turning red, Frances averted her eyes again and sipped from her cup. Edana frowned. Frances had a habit of making herself smaller when she was nervous or scared, a habit holding over from when she was abused. She was doing that now, curling her shoulders, shifting her weight forward.

“Frances, do you want to talk about it?”

Her daughter nodded quickly, but didn’t meet her mother’s gaze. “I… yes, but I’m not sure how to explain what I want to talk about.”

“Well, start from what caused you to feel… whatever that is you are feeling?” Edana suggested.

“Timur.” Frances raised her hands and waved them frantically. This was good, because Edana’s eyes had narrowed at the mention of the trogre’s name. “It’s not his fault! It was just… I started feeling odd and strange when he called me pretty. He said… he said I was so pretty he didn’t even recognize me in my dress.”

Edana blinked. “Oh, go on.”

Frances took a deep breath. “After that I started to notice things. Especially when I’m dressed up. People looking at me. People smiling at me because they think I look good. And well, even Elizabeth confessed to me she realized she liked girls after noticing that I… looked good. She said she didn’t like me romantically but she definitely meant that I looked attractive.”

As her daughter fell silent, Edana nodded and drummed her fingers on the table. “Can you describe what sensations you feel when you notice this?”

“They’re not… painful. And they’re not too strong. I can mostly brush them off.”

Edana nodded, “I see, but that doesn’t mean they’re not uncomfortable.”

“No, they definitely are. I feel nervous, like I’m being watched. That and… I feel like I’m not comfortable in my own skin. Like I need to… to look more like other girls,” Frances stammered. She took a breath to calm herself. After saying it, she didn’t feel so worried, but she didn’t unclench her fists.

“So… from what I can tell, you’re not comfortable with your body, how you look, and how people look at you?” Edana asked.

“Yes! I mean, I like wearing nice dresses and makeup, but the first thing people seem to care about is that I am pretty when I do so.” Frances sighed. “I don’t like that. It’s very strange, especially when I know I’m not beautiful. I’m not ugly, but it’s just makeup and a nice dress.”

Edana took a sip from her tea. “So let’s start with your feelings about other people just seeing you as pretty. I definitely understand how uneasy being just seen as pretty can be. It’s something Erisdalian and Erlenberg social life is obsessed with. My suggestion is that you avoid these people, and only interact with people actually interested in you as a person. It’s not easy, but I found that’s the best way to protect yourself.”

Frances nodded. “That’s a good idea.”

Edana smiled. “Now, about your looks and your body. I thought you said during our portrait that you looked pretty?”

“Well, yes, but that was mostly because of the dress and makeup I was wearing, mom. I need all of that to look alright. You don’t even need makeup to turn heads,” Frances stammered. Because it was true. Even in her monotone White Order mage robes, her mother, despite her twisted spine, looked stunning, with her emerald green eyes and figure.

Edana winced at the tone of Frances’s voice and reached forward to take her daughter’s hand. Frances opened her fist to touch her mom’s fingers and managed a small smile.

“Frances, first off, I think you are very pretty even without makeup and a nice dress. At least, according to Erisdalian and Erlenberg standards, you don’t stand out in your beauty, but you have a lot of natural features that makeup and a nice dress can accentuate.”

Frances’s brow knit together and her lips pressed together even more tightly. So, Edana continued, “I know you may not quite believe me, especially because you know I care about you, so let me break it down. You have a nice skin tone most humans would find attractive. You have really warm eyes. Your nose is cute.” Her daughter snorted, but Edana’s smile didn’t waver. “I’m serious.”

“I’m nowhere near as well-shaped as other girls, though, and I’m short,” Frances replied in a bitter voice. “I know my parents were… wrong when they called me ugly, but I don’t think—I don’t believe I’m pretty. And I’m not going to get any prettier.”

Edana’s smile faded and she pursed her lips as she thought about what she could say, and what she could do to help her daughter believe in herself.

“You don’t know that for sure, though, right?” she said in a soft voice. “You didn’t know anything about Durannon, but you got here. I know things feel strange and you don’t like how you are developing, but there is hope that you can do better.”

Frances blinked and gave a small nod. She didn’t reply, though. Because yes, there was hope, but she was going to be sixteen soon, and she was still short and slender. She was getting taller, but mostly with her arms and legs, which felt like sticks.

“Also, Frances, you can’t compare yourself like that to other girls, much less to me. Everybody’s different and has different talents. Not only that, but it isn’t going to help you to compare yourself to others this way,” Edana said.

“But… how else do I judge how well I’m doing?” Frances asked in a plaintive tone.

Edana blinked and pursed her lips. “Sorry, perhaps I should clarify. It sometimes can be useful to compare yourself, but if you keep comparing yourself to others and find yourself lacking even when others don’t find you lacking, then it’s not helpful to do so.”

Frances nodded once. “I… I see what you mean mom. I just… I don’t think I can put your advice into action though, not now.”

Long fingers squeezed Frances’s hands and she looked up to see her mother’s warm smile. “And that’s fine. Frances, I am sure that you’re still healing from all those years that your parents took away from you. I know that’s frustrating, but you can get through this, and you’re not alone.”

She’s right, I’m not alone. Not anymore. That brought a smile to Frances’s lips. Getting up, she skirted past the table and embraced her mother.

She may still not be pretty, or may not get any prettier. She might get uglier, but she didn’t have to face that alone. That much was true.

Speaking of which… she needed to let her mother know about something rather important.

---

The next evening, Tawantinsuyu Memorial Stadium …

Robert nervously scanned the streets as he waited at the entrance of an alleyway close to the stadium. He was in his most inconspicuous dark clothing, a dark brown doublet, black trousers and navy blue cloak.

Except two people were walking right towards him—a girl and boy. Both were wearing your typical clothing however, though, the boy was armed with a sword.

“Robert Windstorm?” the girl called out at a distance.

“Yes, who are you?” the troll demanded.

“It’s Elizabeth. You remember me. I was with Frances,” said the girl, approaching slowly.

Robert blinked and recognized the Otherworlder girl by her black hair and exotic features. Nodding, he glanced at Martin, who Elizabeth introduced quickly.

“Are you really just going to sneak in there just wearing that?” Robert asked, frowning as the pair entered the alleyway.

“Of course not,” Martin said. He rapped his chest and Robert realized that the surface of his doublet looked rather hard. He was wearing a cuirass underneath and his arms were too. Elizabeth was also wearing armor underneath her clothing, and produced a war hammer from where it was hanging on her back.

“Well, I hope you can keep up—” Robert blinked as Elizabeth stepped right up to him. Her eyes were narrowed and hands on her hips.

“First things first, you’re not leading this mission. We are. Yes I know you’re the mage, yes I know you know the stadium, but we are the ones fighting the Great War. You need to do what we tell you to do and if things go south, if you disobey our orders, or you will die.”

Robert stepped back, head clacking on the wall behind him, he yelped and grimaced. He turned to Martin, but found the boy giving him an icy look, blue eyes as cold as the snow they trod upon.

“Is that clear?” Martin asked, crossing his arms.

Robert nodded, his eyes wide. “Clear as glass.”

“Good. Now let’s get to business. How can we get in the stadium?” Martin asked.

Still somewhat taken aback, Robert started to explain, watching the pair listen intently. They said nothing as he finished going over the main entrances and then the smaller doors the servants and logistics personnel used. They only glanced at each other.

“But do you know how to get into the stadium with one of the side-doors?” Elizabeth asked.

Robert shook his head. “The larger entrances have passages leading off to it, though. They’re also only closed by gates which we can cut through.”

“It might be watched. Worth a try, though,” said Martin.

That was how the trio found themselves creeping up into one of the entrances the stadium’s audience would use to enter and exit the facility. It didn’t look guarded from the outside, and as the three quickly peaked around the iron gate, they found nobody there.

“This is weird, they have guards on patrol usually. I don’t see anybody,” Robert remarked.

“That’s probably because the Pacha family are actually in on it,” muttered Martin.

Robert used a card he prepared to unlock the gate and undo the chains. With Elizabeth in the lead, the trio snuck into the stadium.

No sooner had they walked about fifty paces into the hallway, did Elizabeth raise her hand.

“I hear something. Voices. Stay quiet,” she hissed. Martin only smiled grimly, but Robert swallowed. He wasn’t sure how the Otherworlder could hear them, but he could hear them too, but not well enough to make them out.

Elizabeth gestured to a door. “Can this take us to the stadium stands?” Robert nodded and the Otherworlder pursed her lips for a moment. “Right, direct us, quietly! We’re relying on your eyes!”

Robert nodded and following the pair, he whispered instructions. Even in the darkness, Martin and Elizabeth, two non-mages, were moving as if to the same tune. Weapons in hand, they were covering for each other’s blindspots as they snuck around corners in the dimly lit corridors.

They finally reached the stands and shuffled behind some seats where they observed the area.

Robert could see something going on. Figures were moving in the darkness, lit by individual lanterns. As they watched the troll strained his eyes, but couldn’t figure out what he was seeing. They seemed to have removed some of the stadium seats and were putting things underneath them. He couldn’t tell what the objects were, though.

He did notice however that there were a mix of humans, harpies and orcs who were doing this. The harpies were odd. He didn’t think that they, with only claws, could help with this task.

There was a flap of wings. The trio looked up to see more harpies flying into the stadium through the open roof, carrying some long, heavy-looking bags. They deposited them and flew off again.

One of the harpies however, snagged her claw on the long bag and ripped it. This spilled some black sand-like mixture all over the seat. There were grumbles, but the harpies staying behind fanned the powder to disperse it, whilst others used several brooms to pick up the larger heaps. They seemed to take special care to keep the powder away from the lanterns, though.

“Wait, hold on a second—” Robert’s yelp was stifled as Martin clamped his hand over his mouth, but the sound in the quiet had turned the heads of those in the stands. The young knight dragged him under as Elizabeth drew something from her pocket. It looked like an oversized pistol.

Yet, as the three waited, barely breathing, listening for either footsteps or wings, nobody came over to check. The voices returned and slowly, Elizabeth, Martin and Robert peeked over.

Robert leaned to Martin, and much more softly, whispered, “I think they’re gunpowder charges, probably linked to a magical trigger. Really advanced stuff.” Elizabeth, who had put her head close to the pair, nodded in agreement.

“Why those seats, though?” Martin hissed.

“They might be targeting someone. Maybe the Windwhistlers. But how would that start a House War—” Robert blinked, hard. “Shit, the Windstorms and Seaskimmers trade gunpowder and the Voidsailors make complex magical devices like magical triggers.”

“Right I think we’ve seen enough, we need to get back and let everybody know,” whispered Martin.

Robert frowned. “Wait, why don’t we just attack them. I can hit them with a fireball and you can charge in.”

“No. This is an information-gathering mission. We are not attacking. Come on, let’s get out of here,” Elizabeth hissed. She glanced over the chairs again.

“You’re not my superior!” Robert retorted.

But while his voice had been quiet, he’d been too loud. Elizabeth ducked back down, but as she exchanged wide eyes with Martin, and the horrified Robert, the trio knew their cover was blown.

“You there, show yourselves!” demanded a harpy.

Elizabeth glared at Robert. “Damnit, ready your best spell to hit as many targets as possible when I yell, mark. Martin, can you stall?”

“Will do.” Martin stood up, hands up. “We’re just wandering, curious people. Just interested in what you folk are doing this late at night.”

“None of your business! Which House do you serve?” an orc demanded, drawing a sword.

Elizabeth was examining the oversized pistol she had pulled out. Robert wondered what it was, but she offered no explanation. She only slowly cocked it and glanced at the opening in the stadium’s roof, and whispered, “After you fire your spell, Robert, don’t stop.”

Robert blinked but nodded.

Martin meanwhile, shrugged, “Well actually I’m just a plain old visitor so I don’t really serve a house. I suppose you can say I’m helping out a friend so that makes me family? Or not? It’s a little confusing.”

The harpy cawed, “Enough talk! I’m coming out to get you—”

“What did you do to the stadium’s guards? Or are you the stadium’s guards?” Martin asked airily.

The strangers were silent, but they were starting to move.

Elizabeth moved. Standing up, she fired the pistol. A dull crack echoed through the stadium and a red projectile trailing flames arched up into the night sky, soaring high through the stadium’s roof. It had all the saboteurs staring at it.

“MARK!” Elizabeth yelled.

What Elizabeth had shot was a prototype flare gun designed by Jim. Jim was a mutual friend of Frances and Martin, and another Otherworlder with a fascination for history. He’d been working with Erisdalian designers to try to implement Otherworlder weapons technology and while modern firearms still escaped them, they had, using some fancy magic and manufacturing, created a makeshift flare gun. One of the first prototypes had been given to Elizabeth as a gift and to get some feedback on. For as Jim had said, “You three will definitely have use for it.”

The red flare that had soared into the sky was seen by Frances and Ayax, who’d been waiting outside the stadium, and had watched Martin, Elizabeth and Robert enter. It made Ayax stiffen with dread. For they’d all agreed that the flare would only be used if something went really wrong.

“Something’s gone wrong. Hurry!” Frances snapped. She was in her new war gear, which included her brigandine armour, helmet and estoc. Ayax was borrowing a quilted jacket and a bascinet helmet.

Ayax pounded behind Frances who kicked the unlocked gate open. “Shouldn’t we call Edana—”

“Yes, but not now! We don’t have time!” Frances yelled.