Leon Valoris Honorum stared out at the vistas of Luxanium from the balcony of his apartments, high in the southern wing of the Valouran Citadel. His hair, often a sore point with his father given its ‘unruliness’, was tied back into a comfortable ponytail to the middle of his back, and his clothing was a simple affair; a red high-collared shirt with sleeves to his wrists, black breeches, and matching boots.

His thoughts were turned, once again, towards the whisperings of a plot within the Rubastra Estate. It wasn’t a confirmed report as much as it was the reiterated potential intelligence of various connected parties, but he’d been at the right place at the right time to hear it discussed between his Father and a member of the Church he hadn’t recognised.

“Arcturus Regis Voltaire…” He muttered to himself as he stared out at the shining spires of the Inner City, his ruby-red eyes — a Valouran trademark — marching their way across marbled mansions and glittering aetherically constructed towers to settle on the western part of the Outer City near the dividing wall.

Leon could almost see the lights of the estate, so he thought, if he strained his aether-enhanced sight hard enough. Almost.

Something about Voltaire… It was strange, but Leon had felt so drawn to him. Like he’d found something he’d never known he’d been missing. A part of himself, or a partner for himself, in a way none of the other noble sons or daughters had ever been. Voltaire had possessed a charisma and wit that Leon had found… refreshing. It had been like having a ready-made brother appear in front of him, with every trait Leon himself found to be appealing in such an individual.

And the way he’d fought… Leon shivered.

Even though it had been patently raw, he had felt the potential Voltaire possessed to become something truly terrifying. That advanced use of telekinesis, along with the mystery of those monochrome flames and sparks of lightning… It had been fascinating, and he’d been incredibly disappointed when he’d been unable to introduce himself properly and discuss things with the man. He’d only gleaned his name by charming the functionary that had assisted him.

As for the House offering Voltaire shelter… He sighed.

Tiberius Rubastra had always been a source of stress for him, since his earliest years when he’d felt the old Archon’s disapproval, at times what seemed to even be contempt, for the implications of his existence. He was the last male born of Valouran blood in the Royal Line. His Uncle was dead, childless, and unwed. For all the rumours about Titus and his Captain, Cynthia Starblade; there had never been substantiation nor proof of a relationship.

Nor of a legal heir.

Leon’s fingers curled inwards as he thought about the denouncement Tiberius had made at his coming-of-age, beseeching King Honoris — Leon’s own grandfather! — to refuse Leon’s birthright, out of some misguided perception that Titus was so strong he could defy death. It was madness, and he’d thought as much on the day as well. There Tiberius had been, resplendent as if attired for war, and ready to take any challenger in the face of his perplexingly unyielding disdain for the idea of anyone but Titus ascending the throne.

When Leon’s father had challenged and defeated the old Archon, Leon had felt safe for the first time since he’d first met Tiberius and been old enough to understand his intentions. The old man was conniving, scheming, and dangerous: He had been scared of finding a knife hovering over him in the dark since he’d been old enough to understand the concept of assassination.

“Guess I got the last laugh, old man.” Leon muttered with a mirthless smile, his gaze drifting back out towards the city as he circled his mind once again to what he’d overheard. A budding hint of scheming within the estate, around the same time that Tylariel Rubastra — a famously vicious and snobbish woman — had been rumoured to have taken an Apprentice. Tiberius had returned and now Beowulf Highblade decided to visit the estate, after his daughter declared her intentions to wed Voltaire?

Leon was no intelligence operative, but an idiot could see a plot forming.

House Highblade, unlike House Rubastra, was no small feat to handle: Arguably, they were the only House in Valaria that could threaten — even outmatch — House Honorum in direct power. Were it not for his father’s wedding to his mother, Leon wouldn’t have even been certain that they’d have had the influence to stop Beowulf from whatever mad scheme he was cooking up in his battle-crazed head.

As for Elethea… Leon shook his head. They’d grown up together as friends, even good friends. As they’d aged and developed, her beauty had captured him as it had everyone else. He’d fancied her for a while, when they’d been younger, but she’d rebuffed him the moment he’d made any kind of advance. He’d contented himself to accept that for the immediate future, and yet after seeing the result of the tournament…

He sighed in regret.

He’d intended to fight after Voltaire had presumably been defeated, but that hadn’t worked out. What might have happened if he had stepped into that ring first, instead of contenting himself to watch the strange Noble that had so interested him?

Would Elethea have been in his bed, that very night?

“If wishes were warriors, I’d have a forever army.” Leon murmured to himself, thinking of his father’s patented sayings.

The Crown-Prince of Valaria. That was his title. That was his birthright.

So why, standing there thinking about his dead Uncle, did he feel like an imposter?

Leon grunted to himself and pushed off from the balcony, turning and entering his rooms, only to curse in surprise at the sight of the armoured woman lurking near his doorway.

“Damn it! Don’t scare me like that.”

“My apologies, Your Highness.” She replied, her beautiful features distant as she looked at him — and then past him. Pale skin, jet black hair, and a pair of blue eyes that would make most men throw their fortunes away for her favour.

From the sacred steel embracing her shapely legs and toned, athletic body, to the uncommon grace with which she moved from foot to foot; Amélie Delacroix was a rising star among the Valkyries of the Cathedral of her namesake. Due to her Nephilim origins, she was hailed as a gift from the heavens for the Church’s forces; a relentless and unyielding warrior-maiden whose ferocity and tenacity in battle were matched only by the indomitable faith that drove her.

A tragedy had occurred somewhere in her past, that much was known: The exact details, however, were not.

She had been the newest addition to Leon’s royal guard for months, and more recently, had become something between a friend and a potential romantic interest. Valkyries were forbidden by the Church to have attachments or romantic entanglements outside of very specific circumstances, such as perpetuating valuable or rare gifts that were bloodline-inherited. The juxtaposition of this ruling was that Valkyries became a highly sought after prize for many higher echelon Nobles, and Leon was a little ashamed to admit that Amélie’s unattainability was a large motivator in his desire for her, such as it was.

“You never usually interrupt me in my bedroom, Amélie.” Leon continued as he dismissed lascivious thoughts from his mind with a mental dose of self-recrimination. “Is there something you needed?”

“There have been… developments.” The Valkyrie said as her gaze refocused on him.

“If you are trying to be suspenseful, you’re succeeding.” He jested as he folded his arms.

“You are in danger.” She continued without even the ghost of a smile. “House Rubastra has committed a Cardinal sin.”

“...What do you mean?” Leon asked as his old fears resurfaced, and his heart-rate spiked.

“Tiberius Rubastra has been involved in the summoning of an… abomination.”

“I don’t understand.”

“There is a creature in the Rubastra Estate claiming the rights of Titus to your throne, Leon.”

“That’s impossible, Titus is dead.”

Something indiscernible passed over Amélie’s face, and had he not known better he almost might have called it regret.

“As far as anyone is concerned that is reality, yes. But our Agent in the Rubastra Household has confirmed it.” The Valkyrie said as she continued. “My Seer has also peered into the Great Tapestry, and there is a creature within the Rubastra Estate that controls Aether without a Thread.”

“In Aquilan?” he asked glibly. He understood what she meant, but he covered nerves with humour, and damned if he was about to stop now.

A flat look followed his jest. “Creatures that wield Aether without threads do not possess Souls, Leon. Without the Thread, it is impossible to be part of Order’s great design. Only Simulacrums and inanimate creatures like Golems are of that nature.”

“So they have a Golem,” Leon said warily “so what—?”

“It wears Titus’ face, Leon!” She said finally, her voice sharpened and elevated by rare emotion. “They are defiling your Uncle’s visage with an abomination that has neither Thread nor true independent will. By all reports, it is controlled and directed by the Rubastras personally.”

“But that would never hold up.”

“Beowulf Highblade has been seen plotting to join them.”

Leon felt himself turn pale. “Beowulf…? I thought the old bear was there to speak with that Lord Voltaire—?”

“It doesn’t matter who he was supposedly meeting, Leon.” Amélie cut him off coldly. “What matters is that House Rubastra has Sinned, and done so at the Cardinal level. The Church has spoken with your father, and will take action. In the interim, you are to remain here await the neutralisation of the threat.”

“What about Beowulf and Elethea?” Leon asked as he ruminated over what she’d said.

“Their fates will be decided by the Inquisitors.” Amélie iterated flatly.

“Elethea doesn’t deserve that.”

“Her fate—”

“—is to preserve her lineage when Beowulf is punished.” Leon said firmly. “I understand that the sins of the Rubastras may have transferred to Highblade’s Patriarch by association, but I cannot believe that Elethea would be party to it. She and I have been friends since the crib, Amélie. All the other scions and I grew up with her, as she did us. She’s one of us. I can’t accept that she’d just go along with some mad plot to use a Simulacrum to try to usurp my throne, no matter how solid the intelligence might be.”

“Leon…” Amélie said impatiently.

“No, I won’t budge on this. This whole thing makes no sense, anyway: Why would a simulacrum be enough to convince anyone, when a simple test would be able to tell it wasn’t real? There’s no way that they’d be able to take the throne, not like that. Something else is happening.”

“You’re overthinking it.” Amélie said, though she herself sounded doubtful.

“I am not.” Leon said. “There has to be another…” He trailed off, and his eyes widened. “I knew he seemed familiar.”

“What are you talking about?” She asked.

“The Rubastras have a new Apprentice named Arcturus Regis Voltaire—” he could have sworn he saw her flinch at his use of the first two names “—that appeared out of nowhere and crushed Elethea Highblade in a fight. All this time I’d thought him some prodigal Apprentice Archon from Regalia, but what if he’s not? What if he’s some sort of Amalgam?”

“Amalgam?” The Valkyrie asked in confusion.

“Yes! They’re old, old things. I only know about them because of my Aunt’s adventuring and stories about things I cross-referenced in the family knowledge vaults.”

“You’re not supposed to go—!”

Leon waved a hand to dismiss her objections as he paced excitedly. “If this Voltaire is an Amalgam, using Titus’ blood and perhaps Tylariel’s? That would mean he could be imposed as a valid heir to take the throne. They could claim he’s Titus’ son, or something equally ludicrous, from a secret union between him and Tylariel. Heavens know that Tiberius’ mad daughter has been lusted over by half my father’s generation.”

“You’re raving, Leon. This isn’t some fiction where your mad theories turn out to be some greater truth. You are searching for clues and connections where none exist.”

Leon shook his head. “If anyone had the genetic material left over from Titus to make a Simulacrum, it would be Tiberius.”

“So you believe me.” Amélie said.

“Yes, but I think you’re missing the mark. An Amalgam is what happens when you use the Simulacrum of a person to create a child with an actual Terran.”

“That should be impossible, Simulacrums are at their core made of Aether—”

“Only Simulacrums created by a chamber, not ones that are grown, Amélie. You’re forgetting that there are multiple and abhorrent ways to imitate someone. Soul voids are the only way to tell a Simulacrum from the person they’re mimicking. It was a favoured form of assassination in Mourndren about two thousand years ago. They were called Homunculi then, though.”

“So what, Tylariel Rubastra let this thing impregnate her?” Amélie asked in revulsion.

“Or they artificially did it, somehow, but yes.” Leon said with a growing level of horror, disgust, and excitement. “Tiberius was obsessed with Titus being alive, and when he was disgraced by my father, he set out to try to find evidence… If he found a way to make an Amalgam…”

“It would be an easy thing for a man of Tiberius’ resources to forge documents proving a sanctified secret marriage, and King Honoris would be overjoyed to see a child of his firstborn…”

Leon wrestled down the pain and imposter syndrome that arose when she mentioned his morose grandfather’s love for the dead Arcturus Titus. He had been dealing with being the unworthy replacement his whole life; it was old hat by that point.

“It isn’t about the Simulacrum at all. I’ll bet it’s only there so that they can use it as a means of ensuring ‘Voltaire’, if that’s even his real name, is as close to Titus’ preserved personality as plausible to gain my grandfather’s favour. It also explains Beowulf’s consent: If his daughter bore the Amalgam’s child, it would allow House Highblade to take the Throne for themselves. More than that, their backing would mean it would be much, much harder to dispute the fake’s heritage!”

“This still seems incredibly unlikely and out of left field, Leon…”

“But is it remotely plausible?”

Amélie bit her lip in a way that almost distracted him entirely, with how beautiful she looked. He shook his head a moment later, forcing the thought out of his mind.

“It’s… not impossible.” She admitted as if she hated herself for doing so. “But still, I can’t just go to my Highmaiden with this. She’ll think I’ve gone mad.”

“So we don’t. When does the Church plan to hit House Rubastra?”

Amélie’s eyes narrowed. “Why?”

“Just tell me!”

“Leon, don’t even think—!” She started to say in warning, before the door to his room burst open.

Her divinium lance was in her hands faster than he could think as she spun, aetheric wings flaring out with white-gold light behind her as she activated her powers. Upon seeing who it was, however, she relaxed immediately.

A beautiful blonde woman stood panting in the doorway, her pale cheeks flushed with exhaustion as she bent double to catch her breath. A pair of glasses that only enhanced her charm sat on her elegant nose, and she was heaving in air in a way that made her bust jump out below her form-fitting dress robes.

“Alanna?” Leon asked the Seer as she stood there panting, and tried to ignore the instinct to stare at her chest again. He was better than that, damn it!

“They’re going—” she panted “—to attack the—” another gulp of air “—Rubastra estate!”

“Yes, we knew that—” Amélie started before being cut off.

“Adam, Danica, and Andy are there!” Alanna said desperately.

Amélie’s face flashed with shock. “What?”

“They’re in the Rubastra estate, under the auspices of the Rubastra Patriarch!”

Amélie whipped her head around to look at Leon, who just felt confused. He was out of his depth with this development.

“Are you certain, Alanna?” Amélie asked carefully. “Absolutely?”

“Yes!” Alanna said plaintively, leading against the doorframe and pushing her glasses up angrily as she stared at Amélie. “I scried their Threads, Amélie! They’re going to be killed with everyone else if we don’t do something!”

“They must have a reason, they wouldn’t try to get him back this way. Not this way…” Amélie muttered to herself.

“Amélie?” Leon prompted with mild impatience.

“If Tiberius was given a means to find a Soul that had moved on, could he create a Homunculus with its echo?” She demanded suddenly.

“I… Well, I’m not an expert, but if there’s a sufficiently massive event that can be used as an empathic bridge to the Afterlife between the living and deceased, and enough people for the seance to be conducted properly—…”

“I’m going to the Rubastra Estate.” Amélie said decisively.

“I’m going with you!” Alanna declared.

“You are not!” The Valkyrie said harshly.

“I absolutely am!” The Seer shot back indignantly. “Don’t fricking tell me what the heck I can and can’t do, Amélie Delacroix! I’m going and that’s the end of it!”

“Alanna…”

“They were my friends too!” Alanna said more tremulously. “They were my friends too… I can’t just stand aside. I can’t.”

Leon saw Amélie’s expression soften and then the nod that followed. “Fine, we’ll head out as soon as—”

“Not without me.” Leon said as he made his decision, walking over to grab his Aetherblade from his armoire.

“No chance, Leon.” Amélie growled. “No way.”

“Either you take me with you and let me try to reason with Elethea,” Leon said far more calmly than he felt “or I start hollering about your mad plan to anyone that will listen.”

“Or I just have Alanna put you in an induced slumber until we get back.” Amélie said coolly.

“I’m not Sanguinated, Amélie, but I’m still an Archon. The last line of defense has always been my own power. I’m a son of Valoura, not some common baronet. You can’t threaten me with something that pedestrian.”

“I am not pedestrian!” Alanna said indignantly.

“I didn’t mean—!”

"You are not going." Amélie cut over Leon.

“You’re going to save your friends!” Leon snapped at her. “Let me try to save my own. Elethea deserves a chance to tell her side, and there’s no way the Inquisitors will have that kind of forethought. Use whatever dogma you want to justify it, they’re a bunch of cut-first-talk-never zealots.”

Amélie pursed her lips, and Alanna looked between them as the Valkyrie stared at him.

Finally, she relented. “Fine.”

Leon’s heart had stopped for a moment when she opened her mouth, and it resumed beating after her consent had been given. “Good.” He said, feeling more relieved than he’d ever let her know. “Then we can leave as soon as we know when the attack is.”

“About that—” Alanna started, before her head whipped Westward.

“It’s about to start.” Amélie said after a glance at Alanna’s face, which Leon noticed had taken on a distant expression. “She’s having a vision. Watch.”

Leon, curiously, did as suggested and watched Alanna as her eyes darted back and forth and rolled into her head before she abruptly snapped back to her normal self. “They’re attacking any minute now, we have to go!” She said dramatically.

She blinked when the Prince and Valkyrie showed no reaction.

“Did you not hear—?”

“We did.” Leon said with a wry smile. “You just got beaten to the punch by Miss perceptive over here.”

“Darn it!” Alanna mumbled.

Amélie flashed the Seer a small smile, and turned back to Leon. “We need to get there quickly.”

Leon thought for a moment, rummaging through his mind until the answer appeared.

“Have either of you ever heard the term ‘Cloud Jumping’?”

At their raised eyebrows, he grinned.

This was going to be fun.