There truly wasn’t a point in being here at all. Gwyn stared at the wine glass in her hand. Her only purpose was to help Sybil locate Father Laurent, but the man had gone and pleasantly displayed his own throat to the crowd. Since the future Duke of Violet had been her date, she couldn’t afford to leave early either.

Absolutely bothersome. That’s what this was. Her eyes scanned the ballroom, eventually landing squarely on Alton and Zaniyah. She squinted for a minute as she felt a headache form deep within her temples.

She had heard that Vincent had come to Fogbloom. Gwyn couldn’t receive a man as a guest at the university, not unless he was someone prestigious or single. Though she still had her letter, it had surprised her that no one had bothered to contact her through it.

Then again, Lady Till’s weekly letter hadn’t arrived. Alton or Vincent were likely supposed to contact her on Lady Till’s behalf, but they somehow thought it wiser to leave her in the dark. More specifically, make certain that Sybil didn’t find out what they had been up to.

Patterfall was also troubled. “I don’t see my brother.” He had absolutely been certain that Viokern would’ve been at Laurent’s side during the welcome speech. It was bizarre that Laurent would welcome the guests alone. If the king could not be present, then one of his grandsons should have been on stage.

Then again, Duxton always arrived late to parties. He wasn’t dependable when it came to such things. Duxton would be better off avoiding the palace completely. Events such as this one were perfect for stirring up the imaginations of the noble class. Such dreams as outcasting the current uncontrollable prince for one who was more humble and obedient.

“Your cousin, Alton, is here,” whispered Gwyn.

“Is he insane?” Patterfall frantically looked about. Did he have a deathwish?

“Yes.” Gwyn quickly confirmed his fears. He, like much of his squad, frequently rushed into situations without much thought towards consequences. More importantly, Alton was likely to cause a scene the moment he spotted Sybil on stage. “... I need to speak to him.”

“Where is he? I should be the one to speak to him.” Patterfall flashed Gwyn a nervous smile. “We’re partners in this operation. You worry that he poses a risk. Isn’t that right?” Gwyn gave a hesitant nod. “Then let me handle this battle.”

Alton was oblivious to the world around him. The stage performance had begun and he was already mentally nitpicking the orchestra. Someone in the violin section had played a flat note just then. This was Selina, wasn’t it? The tempo should’ve been a little faster, and the wind section should be louder. Drifting petals. Breathe some air into it!

The curtain opened to a passing crowd. They were all dressed fancifully, but a theater budget couldn’t compare to the extravagance of the banquet’s guests. Rather than silks and jewels, the actors and actresses focused on loud colors for their attire. They twisted and turned about the stage until two figures could be seen standing still among them.

Sybil held the fan open, hiding half of her face. She posed dramatically before snapping the fan shut. The tip of it rested gently against her lower lip. “What a chore it is to be courteous!”

On the other side of the stage, Kogin flipped his hair away from his face. “What a bore it is to be polite!”

They then moved gracefully along the stage, moving in perfect tandem with each other as they sang. It was as though they were dance partners, moving easily from one role to another. The perfect princess and the charming prince, the haughty noble and the obedient woman. Kogin and Sybil moved in tandem, despite being unable to see the other.

The crowd on stage moved with them, an ever-shifting wall that was keeping the soon to be lovers apart. The pair continued to lament about noble culture and society, how everything was bedazzled and fake.

“Is my only purpose to match a man? Am I no better than any other accessory?” Sybil’s face twisted with disgust.

“Is the weight of my wallet the only part of me that matters? Why should it matter what titles I carry?” Kogin cried with despair.

Alton’s eyes were locked on the stage. They chose to go big for the opening number, choosing to do the long format for this performance. The modern productions often chose a shorter version due to the early strain that it put on the leads. Those two would have to keep this up for ten minutes. Yet every motion and note had been as lovely and sharp as the edge of a new blade. Gleaming with possibility and promise.

Kogin was sparkling. Alton had worked with many artists in the past, but this was only the second time in his life that he desperately wished to write a song for this man to sing. The first person to make him feel this way was Sybil. However, she hadn’t been fond of singing. If only she had, Alton would’ve dedicated entire operas to her.

His gaze drifted to Kogin’s partner. Alton’s heart was instantly struck with intense jealousy. He took a step forward. What was the orchestra doing? They had completely gone off course with the music.

Something had changed about the melody. It somehow felt familiar to him, but it also felt cruel and painful. If only he was the one on stage… Alton put his hand to his mouth. Was he jealous? Him? Now? But who was he jealous of?

Was it Kogin, who sang and danced with passion? Or as the woman whose eyes sparkled like sapphires? They were such a brilliant blue… Like an ocean that he desired to drown in for all of eternity. There was something oddly cold about her, but Alton couldn’t help but to feel himself drawn in.

Zaniyah grasped onto Alton’s shoulder. “We should go.”

Alton turned his head. It took a moment for his eyes to focus on Zaniyah, but more importantly, he could see Gwyn and Pattefall quickly approaching. “... We need to run.”

He grasped onto Zaniyah’s wrist and began to place the crowd between himself and Gwyn. Zaniyah pulled a ribbon on her shoulder and her heavy tabard unraveled into a gown. She unwrapped the first layer of her silk skirt and used it as a shawl over her head.

… And now that the bouncing blue ball had disappeared from the crowd, Gwyn had completely lost them. She spat out a curse as she looked around. How was it that Zaniyah, of all people, was able to easily elude her like this? That blasted paladin always made a scene wherever she went!

Patterfall caught up to her. “It’ll likely be fine,” he said reassuringly.

A Grimstone member randomly vanishing from the group was anything but fine. It often happened moments before some extreme event. “... I suppose I will have to simply wait to see how catastrophe will strike this time.”

Patterfall didn’t hear her. He had been distracted by the stage performance. Sybil was absolutely brilliant as a dancer. Wait, that was the priestess that was in her, wasn’t it? He had trouble comprehending that a soul could be placed into a living human being, but Sybil was proof that it was possible.

“She moves like Miss Emily,” he whispered.

Gwyn glanced his way. “Who?”

“A performer from Grand Temple whom my mother was quite fond of,” replied Patterfall. “Mother always made time to see her performances. There was even a time where she would come over and teach Viokern and myself how to sing.” He smiled weakly. “Mother had wanted us to sing well enough to do a performance with Alton… Ah, but Miss Emily died in a carriage accident when I was young. Alton had already left Fogbloom at that point, so I suppose that dream of mothers was an ill-fated one”

Gwyn’s lips drew into a thin line. The way he stared at Sybil with odd fascination was making her feel uncomfortable. Maybe it was only him reminiscing about an adult he had greatly admired in the past? She quietly hoped that it wouldn’t lead to anything awkward in the future.

Alton glanced behind him. Excellent. Zaniyah’s quick-change had successfully lost Gwyn. She had gone back to talking to Patterfall. Good thing Alton read up on disguises before tonight. People were surprisingly easy to fool.

His eyes drifted to the stage for a moment before he shook his head. “We need to leave.”

Zaniyah felt tense. Go in, grab a sword, get out. She had enough skirt fabric to wrap it up and make sure that it didn’t look too strange when they carried it back with them. The worst part would be having to drop it off backstage. Other than that, everything should go smoothly.

“Let’s go,” she said with a cheeky grin.

The two left the banquet hall and managed to evade the guards long enough to get near the throne room. Opposite of its entrance was a massive mural. It was said to be part of the original construction of the spire, back when it served as a home for sirens and not as the Fogbloom palace.

A mural was made of polished glass, stones, and seashells. Images of sirens swirled about in an ocean of precious gems. Alton rested his hand on the back of a sea turtle. It had felt like an eternity had passed since he had last been here. He felt a sense of dread was weighing down his heart.

His mother wouldn’t be waiting for him on the other side. His father wouldn’t be stopping by to say a kind word or two. The only parental figure that Alton had left was Enzo, and the man was on the other side of the country. If only Alton could ask for his guidance now.

He leaned forward and whispered a sweet melody into the turtle’s ear. The mural let out a cracking sound before the stones shifted apart, revealing an entrance. Alton walked in first while Zaniyah dragged her feet behind him.

This place was so much smaller than Alton remembered. He paused. Someone had redecorated. There were glass cases with internal lights placed here and there, like this was someone’s personal museum. The cases had random trinkets inside them, like a dagger, or a mummified hand. One was a jar with a strange eyeball inside. It was kind of like a squid, but prismatic colored.

The redecoration wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. It meant that it was unlikely that they had moved Bellia’s sword. Alton stopped by a crevice in the wall. This had been the spot where he had kept his personal treasures. They were likely still there, but he doubted that there was anything of value to be found.

Mostly because the crevice was so thin that only a child could squeeze through it. All the treasures inside were things like polished glass or pretty pebbles. Alton glanced over to the pool that his mother had lived in. It wasn’t even large enough for an adult.

This wasn’t a home, like Alton had remembered, but a prison. No wonder Enzo looked so sad whenever he visited. Wulfric had imprisoned Emogene in here, rather than the open just outside the palace, and acted like he had been doing her a favor.

“Alton!” Zaniyah’s shrill cry was a mix of shock and panic.

Something had gone wrong. Alton darted between the displays. Zaniyah had wandered off in the direction opposite from where the sword was normally hung up. This was his fault. She likely touched something. He was already having flashbacks of being attacked by artifacts at Volo Refuge, and prayed that she hadn’t angered some gauntlet or sword or cursed necklace.

Zaniyah had fallen to the ground. Her legs had weakened to the point where she could no longer stand. Not from lack of power, but because of how frightened she was. “A-Alton,” she whined as she looked over her shoulder. “What is this?? What did they do to her?”

Alton’s heart had dropped to the pit of his stomach. He couldn’t believe the sight himself. “... Lydia.”

Her body had been displayed on an altar. Alton had guessed that they had done something to her, but her body had been mutilated. It was broken and battered, twisted and gnarled. Her eyelids had sunken into her head, marking the absence of eyes. Either they had been taken while she still lived or had been the first to rot out her corpse.

And with her was the sword of Bellia, buried upright in her chest. They couldn’t move her off the altar if they wanted to, because the sword was pinning her to it. Strange metal veins were growing out of her body and growing along the sides of the sword. They were slowly pulsing, as though the sword was feeding upon her body.

“Please don’t tell me that it’s her,” whispered Zaniyah. She shook her head and grasped at the sides of her head. “Who would do this? Why..? I-I don’t understand why they would do this, Alton!”

Alton didn’t either. “... We need to get the sword,” he quietly replied.

“We need to find whoever did this and cut them to pieces!” Zaniyah cried out.

Although he didn’t entirely disagree, there were more pressing matters. They needed to fetch the blade, even if it meant yanking it out of Lydia’s body. He shifted his foot to keep himself from staggering backward. “Wait,” he stammered as his eyes locked onto Lydia’s hand.

Her fingers had twitched.

Was she still alive? The Lydia he knew had often commented that she was dead, but she had made some strange complaints towards the end of her visits. She claimed to be able to see events that had taken place centuries before her birth. Alton looked at the strange veins wrapped around the greatsword. Was it the swords doing? Had Bellia’s memories somehow merged with hers?

“Zan,” he whispered. “I need you to take a step away from her.”

“I’m not leaving her,” spat back Zaniyah. “We’ll go find Duxton, okay? He’ll tell us where Sybil is and we can bring her here. Maybe she’ll know how to fix this!”

“Sybil doesn’t need to see this,” replied Alton.

“Of course she does! Look at her!” Zaniyah reached up and tightly grasped Lydia’s hand. “I don’t think she’s dead, Alton! Dead bodies don’t look like this!”

Alton was afraid. He had to agree. She was skinny, but she wasn’t a dried-up corpse either. There was some weird magical thing going on. Maybe it was preservation magic that had nothing to do with the sword. Either way, they couldn’t risk retrieving the weapon now. Something bad might happen.

“Sybil doesn’t need to see this,” he repeated.

Zaniyah’s hand tightened on Lydia’s. “But she’ll know what to do! Chi will too! They’re super smart, Alton! They’re so much smarter than us!” Had this not been a stressful situation, Alton would’ve resented that comment. “They’ll be able to save Lydia!” She then tensed up from surprise. “... Lydia?”

Lydia’s dry lips parted for a moment. Her voice came out as a harsh whisper. “You’re far too loud, Zani... It’s difficult to sleep.”

Alton clasped his hand over his mouth, if only to prevent himself from screaming. What was happening? This wasn’t supposed to be happening. She was supposed to be dead and they were supposed to just get in and get out with that sword that was stuck into her!

“I’m sorry, but…” Zaniyah’s eyes erupted with tears. “I’m so sorry, Lydia. If you can just wait for maybe a day or two, I can get Sybil here, okay? She’s so brilliant now, Lydia. I know she’ll find a way to help you. Oh! And Alton is here too! He’ll find a way to get Sybil here.”

Lydia furrowed her brow. “... Alton?” She then nodded as she remembered. “Oh, Emogene’s son. I remember now. She was so happy when I told her that I sometimes saw him around Carapace. I used to pat his head whenever I could… His hair was always such a pretty color.”

“Right, the head patting. That’s him.” Zaniyah bobbled her head. “His head is very pattable.”

Alton’s face went pale. “... What’s happening?” Was that all Lydia remembered? He continued to backstep until he couldn’t hear Lydia’s harsh whisper. Was the Lydia he knew some sort of fevered dream?

“It’s troublesome, isn’t it?”

Alton spun around. Lydia was floating behind him. Unlike the broken mess on the table, this woman was young and vibrant. She smiled weakly at him as Alton staggered backward from shock.

“I distinctly remember when it all began to crumble away. For clarification’s sake, when our fun came to an end,” whispered Lydia. “We were in that cave that Chickadee had built, to keep us safe from the would-be. I watched Semira teaching you the song of blades. I distinctly remember telling myself, ‘even after all these years, she still remembers the melodies I taught her.’

But that was such a strange thought. I was simply Lydia Larkin, a simple human. There wasn’t a way for me to be alive all those centuries ago, yet I clearly remembered her bright and shining face as she cheerfully asked me to teach her the songs of the sirens. She claimed that she could see a way to work those songs into blood. She then became so interested in blacksmithing only a week later… It’s so strange how children can so easily flit between one interest to another.”

“Bellia,” whispered Alton.

Bellia nodded. “Yes, that’s right.” She nodded again as she put her hand against her chest. “That’s who I must be.” She then frowned. “I’m sorry, Alton. There was never a single time where I ever was the real Lydia Larkin.”

“Yet you seemed to know everything about her,” replied Alton. “You even wear her face while claiming not to be her.”

Bellia paused before continuing. “You know… Semira was only nine when she was converted into a would-be. Her human form died when men kidnapped her and little Dekar. They told her that her brother was the only one that held value alive, while a princess was better off dead and left as a message. She ended up killing all of them by making their blood boil out their eyes.”

What did any of this have to do with what was happening now? Alton was so stressed that he found himself unable to yell at her. He wanted to screech and cry out that she was wasting his time during an emergency, but he had also realized at that moment that he had missed her so much that he was desperate to hear her say anything at all. Even if it was only another one of her confusing rants which she always claimed to be educating lectures.

“It took her father two years to find me and Crea. He begged for us to return her to normal.” Lydia pressed her hand against her cheek. “There was nothing either of us could really do about it. A would-be is always a would-be. Semira had lost her place among humanity, so we offered to adopt her and raise her as our own child.

Though I took my job seriously, it wasn’t long before Crea wandered off in search of other little monsters. She brought Iath to me only a year later and told me to take him in. He was eleven when he first died. That boy would never tell me what his human name was. I had to make up a new one for him… Oh, and then there was Katya when she was six and Felix when he was two… Crea found ways to send them all to me.”

“Why are you telling me this?” Alton quietly asked.

Bellia weakly smiled. “Lydia Larkin was forty-four when Prince Wulfric ordered her to transform into a god. How well did you think that went?”

Obviously not well. He couldn’t understand what they had done to her, but the torture and sword impaling seemed to be acts of desperation. “She was forced to suffer,” he whispered.

“Let me tell you something about adults,” replied Bellia. “Even at their worst moments, they tell themselves to be stronger. They grit their teeth and fight to remind themselves of who they are and why they are strong enough to survive this.

But not children. Never children.

Children know that they are weak. So when they feel threatened, they imagine themselves to be something that isn’t a child. Something that is strong enough to save them. A dark witch from a fairy tale, or a raging bull. Some may even think of mist cats or fearsome dragons.

No matter what situation they are in, nothing can damper a child’s imagination. A child that has been buried and left to starve to death may even imagine themselves to be a burrowing badger. Children of the mist will always be guided by the magic of this world. It will tear apart their human forms and allow them to be reborn as the creatures their imaginations conjured. Not quite gods, but certainly something blessed by foul divinity.

… And that is the final lesson I shall give you.” Bellia went to boop Alton’s nose, but her finger phased through the tip of it. “This is a lesson that Father Omiro never learned. Aeneas made his father pay for his sins, but he failed to end the painful cycle.

His daughter ended up meeting the same dreadful fate that so many Alcea met before her. Tortured and left broken. The weight of either time or mist magic is too painful to bear. It’s better that both magics, that both the Alcea and Fogbloom families, be left either hidden or buried.”

The Order of Alcea. That’s who had done this to Lydia. It may also have been the reason why they held an interest in Sybil. Realization slapped Alton across the face. If the Order was after Sybil, they would’ve sent someone other than Buttonweed. Whoever had sent him must have become desperate when they realized she wasn’t needed. That’s why the paladin sided with slavers instead of the church.

And the reason why they had lost interest in Sybil was that they never needed to see if they could turn her into a would-be. They had failed with Lydia and would likely fail with her too. There had been several who held a lot of interest in Sybil when she first came to Braytons, but that interest quickly fell after the war started.

That would be the answer to Duxton’s question. The church was purposely holding back the military and delaying the war in order to give themselves time to capture a would-be. If Duxton got a hold of this information, he could easily have King Howell and the leaders of the church deposed.

“You look tense.” Bellia folded her arms and knowingly nodded her head. “Ah, I see. Your thoughts are likely clouded with conflict. You always make that strange face whenever you’re thinking too hard.”

What strange face? Alton scowled at the god.

Bellia did her best to look innocent. “Well, it can’t be easy being you. At least let me do something to ease your troubles.”

Their form began to shift. Lydia’s cheerful looks sharpened as her hair shortened and turned black. The soft curves of a woman straightened out to the form of a thin man. He had a somewhat familiar appearance, but Alton couldn’t place his finger on it. There was, however, something unnerving about his red eyes.

“Do you like it?” Bellia still had that childish grin that Alton had seen so many times on Lydia’s face. “I didn’t have a solid form before King Morales requested me to take in Semira, but I did try to look like a member of her family. We tried to make her adoption as easy as possible for her.

If only you could see what her father looked like, you’d claimed that I could be his younger brother. I did quite a good job coming up with this body.” He put a finger against his chin. “I suppose that does make me Veximarl’s grandfather. Quite a shame I won’t get a chance to talk to him.”

“What are you talking about?” Alton glanced behind him. Zaniyah was still babbling with Lydia and completely oblivious to what was happening over here.

Bellia, ever floating, shifted to a mid-air sitting position. “Regrets, Alton,” lamented Bellia, “I speak of regrets… After I discovered my true nature, I became unable to visit you. That spell that Semira cast on Lydia’s rapier was for her to speak to her daughter after her death, and as you can see, Lydia isn’t alive but she isn’t dead either. I do assure you that I desperately wished to talk to you about my concerns and to tell you what had happened to me, but I was completely left unable to do so.

I’ll tell you what.” Bellia floated closer and hovered their hand near Alton’s cheek. “My best intentions have done nothing but left a trail of despair for both you and Sybil. I do not desire your forgiveness, Alton. My only wish is for you to choose your own fate. Never settle for a future that another has given you.”

Bellia’s hand dropped and pressed against Alton’s chest. Alton could feel a tight, icy grip form around his heart as Bellia’s fingertips pierced through. His eyes widened as his vision began to fade.

“What are you doing?” He asked weakly.

“Thank you for being my friend, Alton,” replied Bellia. “Please do well in the future. Learn to live free this time.” That dreadful tightness in Alton’s chest began to erupt in pain. “Today was certainly a pleasant surprise… Unlike the last time, I feel like I’ve been able to give you a proper goodbye.”

A chill ran up Zaniyah’s spine as she heard Alton collapse to the ground. She looked behind her and saw that he had fallen over. “Alton!” Her grip tightened on Lydia’s hand. “I need to check on him.”

“Take him and run away,” replied Lydia. She gently loosened Zaniyah’s hand from hers. “This isn’t a wise place to linger in.”

Zaniyah frantically looked between Lydia and Alton. “I’m going to be back as soon as I can, okay? It might take a while, but I promise. I’m going to find people who can save you.”

Lydia somehow managed a laugh. “Zani… Zaniyah. It’s alright if you can’t do it.”

“I’m going to!”

“No, no… It’s alright if you can’t.” Lydia rested her hand on the side of the blade. “I’m already dead. Bellia and I had plenty of time to talk, and we decided that we’d only hold on long enough for them to get a chance to say goodbye. We always knew, Zaniyah. We knew it wouldn’t be long until Alton found us. How fortunate we were that he chose to bring you too.”

Even with all of Zaniyah’s strength, she couldn’t stop her eyes from being wet. “... Please don’t talk like this. I’m not loving the things I’m hearing.”

“Thank you, Zaniyah.” Lydia sighed. She was feeling tired. “I’m truly thankful that it was you who came to see me off. I know you’re the one strong enough to deal with this.”

Zaniyah shook her head. “I’m really not.”

“I’m certain that Chickadee would’ve blown up half the palace at the sight of me and the stars only know what goes on in Sybil’s head. She’d likely come up with some overly complicated assassination plot. Her heart always ran a little cold and crazy.” Lydia laughed again, but it was painful. “She really is my daughter.”

Zaniyah went to grab Lydia’s hand again, but she was brushed aside. “... Lydia.”

“I loved both you and Chickadee as though you were my own children. You two and Sybil were my moon and stars. Never forget that.”

Zaniyah hiccuped. “... I know.”

“Thank you for being her friend.” Lydia tensed her jaw, struggling not to cry herself. Her throat was forming a lump. “Will you pass a message for me?”

Zaniyah nodded. “A-anything.”

“Tell my Stallis that he doesn’t have to live alone. He’s free of sin. If he still feels like he’s wronged me or Meredith, tell him that I’m the one who will carry his sins with me to my grave. That should be enough.”

“You’re not going to die,” whimpered Zaniyah.

“I’m already dead,” repeated Lydia. “Now go tend to Alton. Take him out of here.”

Zaniyah nodded again. “Okay.” She wiped up her face with the sleeve of her gown. “I’ll come back as soon as I can. I promise.”

She rushed to Alton’s side and scooped him up. After a moment of adjusting, she managed to balance him on her back. He was cold, but he was still breathing. Going back to the party like this would be difficult. Should she say that he fainted and ask where an infirmary was?

She approached the entrance and realized that she had no idea how to open the door. Zaniyah looked around and found a button on the side of the wall. After a moment of deliberation, she settled for bonking it with her forehead.

The door opened up and Zaniyah felt her body froze. It was like she had walked into a web that had tangled up her limbs. There was a stiffening sensation that choked her limbs when she tried to move. Even her throat felt like it had a rope wrapped around it. Zaniyah’s eyes struggled to focus in the sudden brighter light of the palace. Something had gone wrong.

“Now this is a surprise.” Dr. Lavender adjusted his glasses. He hadn’t expected the thieves to come out empty-handed. “It seems like the siren couldn’t handle the core.”

Protea flexed his hand. The threads tightened around Zaniyah’s throat. Now she really couldn’t breathe. The prey had been caught with too much ease. How boring. “Should I cut off her head?” Might as well end it early since she didn’t seem able to put up a fight.

“I’m certain that that’s the new Arbutus daughter,” mumbled Lavender. “She’s supposed to be a close friend of Alton’s.”

“I’m aware,” replied an annoyed Protea. Zaniyah opened her mouth, but Protea tightened the strings again. Blood began to ooze from the cuts they made. “This is bothersome.”

Lavender made a subtle motion with a set of fingers, signalling for the royal guard to move in. “Nicolas is powerless in the palace but his allies would prove annoying.” He let out a sigh. “Restrain her. If she fights back, kill her. We’ll lock her up in the White Palace and use her as a hostage against her allies.”

A hostage? Protea grinned. Now that seemed interesting. “So be it.” He wrenched his hand to the side and Zaniyah felt a shock of pain rattle her senses. Her body crumpled to the ground just as easily as Alton’s had earlier. “It’ll be fun to watch them squirm.”