It was the first week of the search for the missing general.

Duchess Agnes received more visitors than the manse normally did; most of them donning the usual gray and blue of the Imperial Army. They were sometimes mixed with the teal and black colors of Imperial Navy sailors. This was the only time that the lax maids and butlers of the Schild Manse exerted more than what was needed during the day; not only did they have to accommodate the various officers requesting an audience with the elderly head of the house, but also the company of soldiers or sailors who mostly stood still while waiting on their superior. Very few lines were spoken to the duchess, and conversations mostly ended with handing sealed envelopes of varying sizes to the noblewoman before the military men took their leave. Agnes often disappeared into the confines of Lord Cecil's study; with her were the contents of the envelopes she never opened until reaching the privacy of her husband's administrative chamber.

Her daughter, in the meantime, drew an air of concern over the matter; not once did the old woman come out of the study with a smile.

Euphemia's bedroom was filled with soft, yellow brightness; the sun exploited the open balcony window that gave her a view of the Antikwald's southeast holdings. A tangy scent from the ancient clusters of trees afar was carried by a breeze that blew from the north of Kriemreich. She loosened the rope that belted her bathroom gown and hung it on one of the bedroom chairs; leaving her with only the towel and a cooled bodice made even colder by the blowing air.

A line of five dresses was left by the servants on a wheeled clothes hanger. All of them were tea dresses of different designs and colors. Euphemia chose the dark green dress made of a somewhat light fabric. It looked more breathable than the rest since it was the only article that lacked the neck or wrist frills. She put on the dress fairly easily; the back hooks posed not much of a challenge for the woman's arms to reach for them and fit those to their parallel eyes, though one might consider accomplishing to close a dress in five minutes slow. Her arms were spread, examining each wrist if the sleeves covered them well enough but had not gone beyond the wrists. An assured smile etched on her face when the dress was a proper fit.

It was the towel's turn to be freed from her head. Partly-damp locks dropped in crooked, uneven lines; some fell beyond the shoulder, covered Euphemia's ears, and blocked a part of her sight. The next few minutes were spent combing her hair back in order and thinking of whether braid, a bun, or a simple ribbon to tidy up. None of the three won though, for the cleric thought best to leave her hair as it was. She continued with rolling up knee-length socks followed by putting on a pair of greenish-black slippers.

More of the sun reached into the blue corridor as solid, yellow pillars that came from the estate windows. Many of the wall-mounted frames were kept obscure either by the light their glass coverings reflected or by the darkness cast by afternoon shadows.

Euphemia stopped by the door of Lord Cecil's study – her father's place of work when not wearing his armor. She went inside and heard a low whistle made by the air that passed through the upper wall window. Pages from opened books were rustling as the wind's fingers played with them. The books had gone beyond the desk; some were on the chairs the old duke used on visitors. The cleric proceeded with closing the open window before leaving the study. It was the master's bedroom's turn to be visited. The door was left noticeably ajar when the cleric got hold of the knob. Two layers of sheets were left dog-eared by whoever slept there before. Duchess Agnes should be awake by now. Euphemia left the master's bedroom without touching anything inside but did not go a step farther from the now-closed door.

She almost forgot that her magical affinities were reawakened. Now was the time to test one of her simplest skills with magecraft.

Her eyes were closed, tapping into the mind's imaginative faculties. She drew a picture of the estate courtyard - an exact section of the area just a few yards after the right guesthouse. There was a small shack right behind a tea table with four chairs adjacent to each side. Not far from it was a small five-layered rack where pots of flowering plants were kept. Euphemia focused on the area between the wooden construction and the table. A radiating white halo formed on the ground and rose up to swallow the cleric in a column of brightness.

Shimmering blips formed on the area Euphemia imagined; the same halo was formed in midair and formed a curtain that fell and blinked out of existence. Euphemia was now standing on the location she envisioned. There was a difference between what she imagined and what the area was at that time. One of the chairs was pulled out and sat on by somebody, and her bespectacled eyes met with the cleric's gaze, unaffected by the sudden appearance of Euphemia in front of her.

"Phemie Dear. You have arrived just in time. These biscuits are wonderful with the jams. Come, try them."

Euphemia sat with the duchess and took one of the round flour creations and spread a thin layer of strawberry jam on it. The warm biscuit crumbled and melted with fruity sweetness after the younger woman took a bite of it.

"You made these Mother? I could taste a hint of milk in it."

"Of course. I have to do something other than read through paperwork all the time."

Euphemia finished her first biscuit in five bites before taking her second. Mother and daughter ate without a word, sipping teas with closed eyes. Three-fourths of the biscuits were eaten right before Agnes of Schild saw an envelope of whiteness being consumed by Euphemia's hands.

"It has been a long time since I have laid my eyes on your powers, Phemie." The duchess minutes ago became one with a partly-worried voice. "Do you plan on using it?"

The cleric was not able to answer right away, although neither tea nor biscuit was in her mouth. She blurted, "Yes, Mother. I... want to help the family. This, I think, is the best I can do."

"I would be honest with you, my daughter. I intend not to involve you in your father's situation as much as I could. There are other ways to find him. You do not have to go this far. I wish you would reconsider this, for the thought of losing Cecil is hard for me to take. I... I do not want to lose you as well."

"Father is still there. We just have to find him. I will bring him back and we will be whole again. Please Mother; you must let me help you. I may be... I am the only one who can bring Father back to us."

"I want to believe in you. I really do..."

What did Euphemia know about the incident? How would she track Lord Cecil or deal with his captors if she found them? The young lady had been under the aegis of the Schild clan since birth, only to be transferred to another protected sphere when she decided to be in the Creator's service. Studies and housework were staples in the houses of the devout, but how would those test her ability in a world where neither the Church nor the Schild clan could do much to protect her? Would Cecil's teachings equip Euphemia with what is needed to deal with the ill-willed?

Agnes met her daughter's eyes again. Stirring in those deep blue irises was a will to prepare and take on the challenge. She last saw and felt that gaze during the Grand Invasion when her husband would ride to the front. Cecil would return after every battle to her embrace.

Only this time, the duchess was not as aware of his missions as before, and Lord Cecil did not return from the operation.

Agnes started feeling the same determination manifesting in her daughter. Euphemia was not as strong as her father, nor was she skilled in the combative faculties as Agnes believed to be. No, it was too dangerous to let her daughter gamble in this venture.

"I fear that gaze very much: brave, obstinate, and foolish. It was just like your father's when we were younger." Agnes let out a deep breath. Her streaks of tears were cut off, fading into clear marks only the sun can reveal. The duchess kept a stern stare at the daughter's determination. "But, in the name of this family, I cannot allow you to risk your life searching for him. Your father will certainly agree with me on this."

"But Mother, I... who else can we run to?"

"Do not make this harder for me than it already is, Euphemia." The duchess' eyes straightened; her gaze was nowhere near anger, but she was not to back down anytime. Euphemia's equally resolved yet pleading look somehow managed to soften her guard. Minutes of silence passed between the two; one's eyes did not break from the gaze of the other until Agnes said:

"Very well, I will give you a chance to prove to me that you are capable of this task."

Agnes stood up and looked at the sky before she affixed her sight at Euphemia. "I am going to have you represent me on investigating the place where your father was last seen. You will gather anything that can give you a lead to where he is. Should you be unable to get anything from the scene, you are going to stay with me until we find your father."

"I understand..." Euphemia's eyes looked away from her mother and were cast to the floor. "Thank you... for still giving me this chance."

"I would not approve of this, but if this is the only way for you to realize how dangerous this path you're trying to tread, then it must be done."

"I... will not fail you, Mother." Euphemia said, "I must make my preparations for the journey then."

"Godspeed to you." Agnes' tone started to soften up while watching Euphemia leave the courtyard. Her lips barely moved while saying, "you may be hurt with what I intend to do, but this is all for your safety. I'm sure that you will understand someday."