She only exists—

But yet I still try to resist,

The lure of her siren lips.

What if I could kiss—

The distant pair of lips—

That stare at me across...the waves,

For her I would brave—

The sea and the knaves,

If I only I could resist,

—The fact that she exists—

And the lure of the siren.

Yet she is not my muse—

For her: words I abuse,

Now I can understand,

How they use words so grand,

To describe how you fall into love.

Yet still I stand—

—Still I stand—

Why have I not fallen, I ask myself?

She is more than enough for my self,

I would be gladly fall from the sky

For her; watch the streaks of comet-high—

Why have I not fallen, I ask myself?

Is it because I cannot, even in my dreams,

Say, ‘Come and grow old with me,’

For I can see the lure

She’s placed for me (FOR ME!)

I sing this overture,

To explain how heroic they say love is,

But ignorance is bliss-

After all.

She is a siren, one that heroes love

And we listen to bards sing of—

But I say, 'nay, I am not one

Who loves to love.'

I can neither stand nor fall

To eternal love.

- Eternal Love, Pop Song in Country X

War was strange. She’d never been in a war, of course, but now it was very likely she was the cause of one.

“Well, shit,” Novarra swore, lightly.

“This is...not good,” echoed Evan.

Aidann simply blinked mildly.

The mages at the top of the city gates — which were now reinforced with what Novarra pinpointed as tellar metal — looked down on the three. One of them narrowed his eyes. “Is that Teaching Assistant Rook?” he yelled, a tinny but familiar voice.

Oh, shit, it was Gerald.

“Is that you, br— Gerald?” Varra hollered back, pretending to not see his shrew-like face in the sun. “Gerald Vanahan? Why are Vya students guarding the gates? What’s this about a war?”

Gerald was about to speak up, before someone halted him. “Gerald Vanahan, do not speak,” a vaguely feminine voice interjected. “They are suspicious intruders, and we must all be on high alert, especially now in light of recent events.”

Aidann stepped forward. “Is that you, Lili?” he yelled, peering at the gates.

It was really hard to see the ant-sized dots on the towers as people, but by Lilli—

A silence.

“Dann?” the same voice replied, perplexed. “What in Souveraine are you doing here? And it’s Sir Lillith here, damn you.”

Novarra wiggled her eyebrows at Aidann, who innocently shrugged. Evan jabbed an elbow in the third transmigrator’s stomach.

“Sorry, Lili,” called the former idol, playfully. “But could you please let us in before we talk about why everything’s happening? It’s really hot out here.”

Another silence.

"Can you vouch for the people beside you? I'm not getting in trouble with...Captain Kieran." The last bit was said with noticeable resentment, which made Novarra remember that she'd missed the Captain's Duel. Evidently, Lilith had lost.

"Yeah, I can," Aidann replied, after a pause in which Evan shot him a look. "Do you have those biscuits that you used to like? Back when you used to hide them under your pillow to keep Ki—"

"I'm opening the gates."

"Alright," said Lillith, "hit me."

She looked, like Taylor had said, unapproachable. It wasn't cold-unapproachable, but more of a you-see-your-favorite-supermodel-on-the-street-and-you're-too-shy-to-ask-her-for-an-autograph unapproachable (not that Novarra ever had that problem — she saw most supermodels regularly at parties. She was also sure that commentary like this was what made her insufferable, but she was digressing).

"The Duke asked me to go to the border town, Rook, where the Resilian rebels were camped near," explained Aidann, surprisingly calmly. "I did, with Marquis Vanahan and his — first — son. I didn't want to stay, so I used my magic on them and ran away."

Lillith blinked, but she looked unsurprised. "Right." She leaned back. "Well — I haven't been introduced to your companions yet. From what I gather, that one—" she nodded at Varra "—seems to be a Teaching Assistant at Vya. And that one—" she nodded at Evan "—seems to be a Vya Academy student."

"Ah." The former idol leaned back. "Well, I'm sure you already know that I'd like what I'm about to say to be private. I don't mean if you leak it, but if you do, I'm sure you'll have to handle the repercussions."

Novarra watched the lieutenant raise her eyebrows, before the former heiress checked the exits. Good. They were real.

Lilith gestured for Aidann to continue.

"Well," the third transmigrator lied, "this is my long-lost lover, and my bastard son."

Varra gave a light wave. "Hi," she greeted, "my name's Ingrid Signia Rook." She patted Evan on the shoulder. "And this is Evan Signia, known as Evan King. It's nice to meet you— may I call you Lilli?"

"No, you may not," the lieutenant replied, but not malevolently. "Damnit, Dann, what the hell have you done?"

"Impregnated a woman who gave birth to my son," said Aidann, admirably evenly. "I came back to Vya to get someone to officiate our wedding — in fact, I was planning to ask you to find a Souveraine's pastor—"

"That's only if we're not too much of a bother, of course," Novarra cut in, playing the role of a worried mother. "Dann tends to...overstep, sometimes. We wouldn't want to overstay our welcome, no no." She leaned in. "But what's this about a war? Nasty business, but I'd never seen it coming."

Lilith looked from Novarra, to Aidann, to Evan; and back to Novarra.

"The war wasn't supposed to happen," the lieutenant admitted, "and this is a terrible time to get married, but I suppose I won't judge. Maybe you three can find a cottage in the countryside to wait the whole thing out, since I'm assuming the Rellas don't know about this."

"They don't," Aidann agreed, leaning back lazily. "But what exactly happened?"

The lieutenant drummed her finger against the table. "The Captain's Duel happened, you must've heard, and I lost against Kieran," she explained, her fists tightening at the last statement, "and then the shitshow happened in Likator; and Father said it'd be best if I took advantage of the situation and 'took initiative,' whatever political subtext that holds."

Lillith's lips soured, before continuing, "That's why I gathered the Vya students that were either excellent single-elemental mages; or the rare double-elementals that the Count — sorry, Principal Dubois recommended. It's apparently important, now more than ever. Of course, Dubois was pushed to recommend the allies of Amaryllis, but the Vanahans managed to sneak their way in."

She looked at Aidann. "It's bad in the Court right now, Dann. The Anti-Roy 'Narchs are gaining traction, and Father's getting dragged in the struggle. His Majesty needs the vassalage of the Grand Duke to make light of the shit that started the war, but I'm not the Captain, and the Rellas' stance is turbulent."

The former idol interrupted with a frown, "What exactly did start the war? By all means, if it was the Resilians—" he looked at Novarra, before apologizing "—no offence intended, of course, my dear; but if it was the Resilian rebels that started the whole thing, the Guilds would be swift on the attack by now."

Lillith smiled dryly. "But it wasn't the Rebs that sparked the actual thing," she contradicted. "Ironically, it was the fact that the Likatorite chief, High Warlord Wyvern, nearly got assassinated — his vassals are all dead, too. Coincidentally, that day, he was trying to execute some nobles for dereliction of duty; but then the mages in their employ brought out their guns and magic."

Novarra blinked.

Damn.

"What about the Evangelinese?" she felt herself asking. "What's their stance?"

The lieutenant answered, after a moment's pause, "They accused the person who set the Rebel fire — before you left, Dann, you must've known that some vigilante burned the Woods — of being some part of a terrorist organization. Pointing fingers are all over the place — like I said, it's a shitshow."

A massive shitshow.

At this rate, there wouldn't be an Elevyar to be a noble of.

"Damn," Evan said, slowly.

"Bad word," Novarra rebuked, halfheartedly.

This was like an Ultra Enterprises board meeting all over again, but no cheese squares in sight.

Fuck.

Aidann was the first to recover his senses.

"Well," he said, "it's a good thing we're going up further north, then. Likator seems like the least of our worries."

Well, he had been right. Novarra had skipped a very large-reaching stone across a very large lake.

Lilith nodded. "Now," said the lieutenant, "you can explain how the hell you got a new son."

"You see," Aidann began. He was a good liar, he supposed, but he needed both Novarra's backstory and Evan's history to count. For Evan, he could base his knowledge off REBUILD, but Novarra…

"Aidann wasn't the most savory character when he was younger, I'm afraid," his fellow transmigrator cut in, shooting a small but affectionate glare at him. "Although it's a bit crude, we were under the influence of alcohol at a Festival. He'd been there to see his childhood friend, and I'd thought him pretty. We'd shared a bed, I hid my pregnancy very, very well; and Evan was born."

Novarra messed up Evan's hair, and beamed with such affection that even Aidann was convinced. Since the moment he'd fed the original body's 'friend' to the story, he'd already slammed some illusions up on Evan's face, adding features that resembled both his and Novarra's.

"I'm a Resilian noble," she explained without further prompting.

Aidann was sure she wouldn't spill her guts, but—

"From the Signia Barony," continued Varra, smoothly. "My legal identity is of Ingrid Signia, but I fled my home when things in Resilia became...turbulent." Her features conveyed a melancholy that Dann was tempted to carve out of her face and study — how did she do it? "I had to leave my noble title behind to become a mayoral assistant in Rook, and I lived a good life there, before someone very dear to me died."

The sadness deepened.

"And then I came to Vya, for a new job; but I returned to Rook because I'd heard about the Rebels there, since I'd left behind Evan and I wanted to get him out as soon as possible." She looked guilty (damn, how was she doing that?). "I fled when I heard about the fire, because I didn't want Evan to get caught up in the aftermath," Novarra admitted. "In the middle of fleeing, I met Aidann again."

"We fell in love," Aidann cut in. He didn't want to seem suspiciously silent. "The spark ignited, again, in a sense." His lips curled. "I never thought I would use silly metaphors to describe stuff, but love does mellow people out — I mean, if you can call it love."

"If you can call it love," agreed Novarra.

She tapped Evan on the nose playfully.

"But that's enough of the romantic stuff," she said.

That would be enough for an alibi and backstory to spread.

"We're planning to go further north, to start a family— well, technically, live as one," added Aidann, leaning over and twirling Novarra's hair. The other simply looked amused, and it was entertaining to see Evan keep the look of disgust off his face. "I just—" Aidann let the smallest sliver of genuine exhaustion appear on his face "—want to leave everything behind. It's...tiring, and— well, I'm leaving where the Rellas can't give chase."

"But Adelaide," Lilith protested weakly.

"Adelaide," Aidann agreed. He let a forced smile appear on his face. "I guess I was always too selfish, after all."

Well, that was enough of a sob story.

He slammed the floodgates down.

"Well." He stood up from the couch of Lillith's office, briskly. "It's time to get going. 'Grid, Evan."

He — not he, but the other Aidann — held memories of Lillith, the Grand Duke's daughter, simply blinking at him when he'd given a dead butterfly to her. Does your father make you kill them, too? she had asked. As Aidann Ehwa, he would've felt sorry for her. But as the current Aidann Rella, he could do nothing but hold out his closed hand.

Inside, he visualized a vivid butterfly inside his curled-up fist. The curlicues and stems that streaked its wings bright and hazy like a childhood memory, and he felt it take form. Aidann opened his fist, and let it flutter on Lillith's shoulder.

"For you," he said.

The other Aidann's friend merely looked at the insect, still, the butterfly illusion perched on her shoulder.

The three left the room.

It took a few more days to reach the Hog's Wart.

And when it did, Evan wasn't impressed.

It was an architectural abomination, like some rich guy had given their architect-aspirant kind sway over the construction over an inn and the kid was the kind who tried to slam circular pegs in square holes. Some bits were alright, he guessed, but the entrance looked like some had stuffed a piece of wood from a medieval penthouse (did penthouses even exist, here?) into an empty doorway and hoped for the best.

An admirably-drawn hog stared at him from a wooden plank that hung from a nearby pillar. The scrawl that accompanied it — 'the Hog's Wart! Best beer in Beartown!' — was slightly less unsightly.

The whole thing offended him.

Really, the only thing that offended him more was the name of the town and how cold it was; the latter ranking higher on his list than the former.

"Fuck, it's so cold here," Evan King spat.

"Bad word," chided Novarra, before adding, "you're dressed in, what, three layers of fur?"

"Four," Aidann corrected.

Easy for him to say. He was wearing mittens.

"Why does he get mittens and I don't?" Evan muttered, shoving his bare hands in his companions' faces. "Look at them. My fingers are turning blue."

Aidann smiled. "Because I don't whine every four seconds," answered the third transmigrator. "Make advantageous decisions, my dear son. Advantageous decisions."

Evan grumbled. "Excalibur can't provide fires if we go any further north," he said, turning serious. "It's an ice Holy Sword, and none of you are armed. I'm sure both of your mana's filled since you guys already farmed a couple weeks ago, but getting both of you armed will be a chore if both your descriptions leak out as 'suspicious people.' I sure as hell don't want to see your faces on any WANTED posters."

Novarra's eyes gleamed. "The Guide'll take care of it," she promised. "Probably. I haven't had any contact from the System or Souveraine, so I'm pretty sure this is it. We'll have to follow this quest trail — no more hints."

"Agreed," said Aidann. "Well, I guess, what's left now is to enter."

We'll see what a Guide of Souveraine looks like.

"Another cup!" boasted a man with fiery hair. It stuck out in admirably many strands all over his head, like he'd been electrocuted by a hairdryer or struck by lightning. Novarra would've assumed the former had been the case if this world didn't have hairdryers.

He and his friends occupied a large portion of the room, and the atmosphere inside was raucously boisterous, indistinct music playing in the background.

"[Evan, use your ability]," she whispered from the edge of her mouth as she took a seat, gesturing for Aidann to join her all the while.

The barkeep swung by, narrowing her eyes at the child but not saying anything. "How many?"

"Two," Aidann assured her. "One for me, and my wife; and a glass of water for my son."

Evan was looking at the crowd with that glassy look in his eyes that meant he was, in fact, looking at people's Status Screens with his All-Seeing Eyes; but he turned and shook his head. Nothing.

The voices came back again, unbidden. There had to be SOMETHING, THERE hAs TO BE SOMETHING out of nothing out of-ex nihilo— nihilo, nihilist, 'nothing' — deus ex machina— "I, your father!" — xianxia's 'xian,' 仙, also could be used in— "eat my pants!"-

Scattered fragments of random words, and Novarra frowned.

Something was bothering her.

"Damn," she muttered, her hands going to her ears.

Her ears.

She only exists— the music —

Yet I still try to resist—

"The lure of her siren lips." Varra whirled, finishing the song. Damn it, the bard.

The musician looked up from his lute, meeting her eyes.

She smiled back at the Guide, and waved.

The three sat down on a table.

"Who are you?" asked Evan, first.

The Guide shrugged. "I have no name," he said, smiling, "but I have many. The Guide, The Bard, the Discover of Durendal—"

"Your status screen says your name's Leon."

Novarra kicked Evan under the table, and the Kingbreaker hissed in return.

Did he not recognize a shitting dramatic moment when it hit him on the head?

"Let the man have his mystery," Aidann cut in with a laugh. "It's nice to meet you, Guide. When do you plan to set out?"

The Guide inclined his head. Amber eyes glinted in his face as he smiled. "Don't worry, I'm only in mysterious-persona mode until you've unlocked my character backstory," he assured us. "And then I'll be regular old Leon, insulting your taste in companions."

"Riiiight," said Evan, slowly.

"Back to the main topic," the man said, switching on the supposed mysterious-persona mode, "I think that tomorrow will be alright. Since Souv— sorry, Souveraine gave me a heads up— wait, I'm character-glitching. Fuck. Jacques warned me about this." He held up a hand.

Novarra, Aidann, and Evan waited.

A beat.

"Since," the man began anew with a grandiloquent tone, "Souveraine, our mighty Elf King, has informed me ahead of time about your arrival. It is a matter of checking that I have the right supplies, which can be done in several minutes."

Varra blinked.

"Right," responded Aidann, briskly. He seemed a bit off, though. "If you don't mind...how did you know that song? I'm aware it doesn't exist here, so—"

"See, this is enchanted," said the Guide, holding out his lute. "It was passed down from Souveraine, who received it from the System, to me. It plays whatever the person needs to hear, or wants to hear — the mind synchronizes what you hear and see me playing, with the sound of your desire."

"So it's an illusion," guessed Evan, "that gets in our heads, but doesn't disappear with doubt like Aidann's does." He didn't seem alarmed, but more...nostalgic. Aidann looked visibly haunted, which, to Novarra, wasn't a good sign. The former heiress herself was shaken up, too — not visibly, but she had the irresistible temptation to smile sardonically.

The bard shrugged. "Perhaps," he replied. "I wouldn't dream to guess what the System has on its mind — however, I am, frankly, curious. What songs did you hear, now that you've listened, properly?"

"At first I didn't hear it." Aidann's voice was surprisingly mechanical. "It sounded like regular tavern music — but then Varra pointed you out, and then I heard it under the music, and eventually what I thought I heard changed." He flexed his fingers. "Sibelius' Concerto. Violin music."

Novarra had heard of it — the composer's first and only concerto. She was tempted to poke fun at him and call him a classical music nerd, but it wasn't the time, she knew.

"Is there a personal story behind it?" asked the Guide, his eyes glittering.

"Yes," supplied Aidann, in a clipped tone. "It's personal."

A small silence.

"Fair enough." The Guide moved on surprisingly easily. "You, with the damaged soul. What did you hear?"

The damaged soul in question shifted at the title. "I'm Evan," corrected the Kingbreaker. "But yeah, I heard the tune of a lullaby my sister used to sing to me when I was younger." His expression grew wistful. "I guess I did want to hear it again, so you're probably right. It's unlikely I will, though."

Novarra didn't wait for the Guide to ask. "Eternal Love," she answered. "Janice Allard. It's a pop song, where I'm from. Sachia and Navven— ah, sorry, Mom and Dad liked listening to it when they were younger. When I was younger — like around three or ten, the numbers are pretty vague since the memories are a blur — they used to put it on the stereo and sing to it."

The Guide tilted his head. "That sounds like an intriguing title. What is it about?"

There was something off about the way he only asked her, but she complied, anyway.

"It's about a person who falls in love with a beautiful woman. Or at least, they think that they're in love with her — they say, in the song, that they're able to cross the seas and brave enemies to kiss her." Novarra smiled. "But, in the end, they realize that she's not their muse — the concept of falling in this heroic love, an eternal love, is what they crave. They realize that, in the end, they don't see themselves growing old or grey with her, or spending an eternity with her."

The Guide paid surprisingly rapt attention, and even Evan tilted his head.

"And?" the Guide asked. "What did they do?"

The former heiress shrugged. "It doesn't say," she said. "But they say, in the last verse, that they're not one who 'loves to love,' that they don't see themselves being able to sacrifice their eternity — or life, really — for one person; the requirement that comes with a heroic love." The song itself ended with the line, 'I can neither stand nor fall to eternal love.'

It was a sappy song.

"And?" the Guide pressed. "What do you think happened to them?"

She shrugged again. "I think," Novarra replied, "that if they died alone, they died without regrets."

Sometimes, she wondered if Navven felt that way about Sachia. But either way, the fact remained that they were better off apart then together. Novarra had grown up without a warm family, but at least it wasn't a broken one.

Love was a strange thing.

"But, I mean," she continued, "my mother ran away after stealing some of my father's money. I'm not one to judge someone's character."

The moment was ruined, but, for once, Novarra was glad as Aidann moved the conversation away.

It still unsettled her, though, that somewhere, deep inside of her, she wanted to hear her parents singing together again.