TYND 9

TL: Motokare

It was then that Chungnip realised they’d spoken too freely in the child’s presence. Just because Rothy always sat there quietly, as still as a porcelain doll, didn’t make him one. Yet, without intending it, they’d treated him as though he were. Rothy fidgeted, his small hands attempting to form fists, but lacking the strength, he could only manage a faint, anxious wringing.

In a low, measured tone, Theon asked.

“You know about PLEIN?”

“Yes, Master… hated them… He was always cursing them…”

Indeed, it was no secret that PLEIN mages and Yolone Sirin had long been at odds. 

Mages with affiliations and those from the Tower rarely saw eye to eye. To the institutional mages, the Tower’s mages seemed a selfish breed, hoarding their magical knowledge for personal gain rather than sharing it for the greater good. Meanwhile, the Tower mages regarded the other side as nothing more than a group of freeloading opportunists trying to steal their research. 

“I was told if PLEIN catches me… they’ll hurt me a lot… but I’m going to PLEIN soon, aren’t I? That’s why you’re giving me…all this nice food…right? Because Theon’s kind… you’re giving me one last good meal…” 

It was the most he’d ever spoken at once, and he gasped, winded from the effort. Ultje’s hand moved gently to stroke his back, while Chungnip, unsure of what else to do, offered him a cup of water. Rothy seemed to view this meal as his last before the axe would fall, which explained his earlier reluctance to leave the bed. And in truth, he wasn’t far from wrong; if not today, then in a few days, he would indeed be handed over to PLEIN. Sympathy softened Ultje’s touch, while Theon watched the boy in silence.

He’s rather articulate.

His command of words wasn’t as lacking as Theon had assumed, and his voice was far steadier than before. Most boys his age would barely manage a single word in front of Theon, even without enduring the hardships Rothy had faced. Yet here was Rothy, meeting his eyes and stringing together sentence after sentence, despite being visibly frightened, withdrawn, and intimidated.

This was what had puzzled Theon most from the beginning. 

The child was clearly frightened of him, yet there was something else, a strange familiarity in his tone, as he though drawn to him. But why? What had begun as mere curiosity in Theon now unfurled into a deeper interest. 

“Did your master perhaps talk about me? Is that why you feel a connection to me?”

Theon and Yolone’s relationship hadn’t been particularly smooth or close, but this seemed the only plausible explanation.

“Master… likes you. But… because I like you… he didn’t talk about you much.”

It was a completely unhelpful answer. 

Theon opened his mouth to press further, only to pause, sensing that the child had more to say. As if picking up on Theon’s expectation, Rothy slowly continued, still holding the cup of water Chungnip had given him. 

“I tried not to let him catch on… but he did. About liking Theon, about liking Chungnip and Zey… and Xeon, and Barry… Ultje and Dierm… Irène and Meleena… Romerie, Megan, Ken… I like too many people, so he found out…” 

Ultje and Chungnip stared in shock, and even Theon couldn’t keep his face straight for a moment. He could accept that Rothy had heard Chungnip’s, Zey’s, and Ultje’s name in passing, but how did he know about Xeon Hart, the Knight-captain of the Black Lion Knights; Barry Ribbler, the Vice-captain? Or even Dierm, the crown prince; Irène, the Captain of the Imperial Guards; Meleena, the princess of Toran… Romerie, the Saint of Solten; Megan Rhys, the Battle Machine of Droight; and Ken Bane, the Swordmaster of Givarche. None of them had ever mentioned these names in front of the child. Had that solitary, prideful archmage actually spoken so fondly of his comrades behind closed doors? 

“Listen, I don’t want to go to PLEIN…… I promise I’ll be quiet and good…… I want to stay with Theon……”

“……”

“But I can’t, right……? I can’t, can I……?”

He knew the answer before he asked it. When Theon remained silent, Rothy’s small frame seemed to shrink even further, his head bowing as though to hide within himself. Theon could only watch him, silent, unmoved.

***

The coronation unfolded with surprising modesty for a day marking the birth of the empire’s new emperor. It was meant to be grander, but after holding two national events—the victory celebration and the archmage’s funeral—the crown prince argued against further draining the treasury. The ministers had also pushed to properly hold funerals for the previous emperor and empress who died in the war, but Dierm refused that too. Instead, he announced far and wide that next month’s coronation of Christelle would be magnificent. 

The expectant empress was currently in frail health, convalescing at a retreat within her family’s territory, the Duchy of Les. Her return to the capital was set for next month, once her condition stabilised. But given Christelle’s temperament, even if Dierm insisted on a grand ceremony, she’d likely forgo it for something simpler. 

At dawn, the coronation rites commenced with prayers to the Creator God, Seará, and continued late into the night with final offerings. By the end, Dierm Addir Halphaeus Zibiah, now emperor, shrugged off his ceremonial mantle with a weary sigh.

“I thought I was going to keel over from the weight of this thing. If this is a ‘modest’ affair,” he muttered, “then I dread a full ceremony.” 

Captain Irène Zoua, head of the Imperial Guard, caught the mantle instead of the chief steward, and promptly placed it back on Dierm’s shoulders. 

“Didn’t you hear me say it’s heavy, Irène?” he chided.

“There’s a blizzard raging outside, Your Imperial Majesty.”

True enough, stepping out of the chapel, Dierm was met with the bite of the midnight storm, snow whipping around him. It wasn’t severe enough to be dangerous, but the mantle was indeed necessary. As he drew it tighter, Dierm’s eyes fell on the ranks of House Falsen’s Black Lion Knights, standing steadfast in the storm, shoulder to shoulder with the imperial guards—both had guarded him throughout the day. 

“Congratulations on your ascension, Your Imperial Majesty.”

As the head of the line, Theon knelt on one knee, his cloak swirling around him. With a clang, the knights behind him in their black armour knelt as one. It was an impressive sight—this formidable force, capable of bringing down a city in a single night—was now kneeling before him. But Dierm, who’d seen their good and bad while fighting together on the battlefield, just scratched his cheek awkwardly. 

“None of this nonsense. Get up, all of you. Actually, shouldn’t you be the one celebrating, Archduke Theon? Now that the coronation’s done, you can finally go home. When do you leave?”

“We’ll depart in two days along with the foreign dignitaries.” 

“My, how eager to leave.” The emperor pouted, feigning hurt. 

“Are you really planning to make that brutal journey back by horseback? It’ll take at least a month overland. You could be home in three days once we fix the warp system.”

“Rebuilding the warp will take at least half a year, Your Imperial Majesty. Our knights could hardly be expected to wait that long.”

“Rebuilding the warp will take at least six months, Your Imperial Majesty,” said Chungnip, jumping into the conversation with a smile. No one minded his boldness—he’d been Dierm’s friend since childhood. 

“The knights can’t wait that long.” 

“I’ll miss all of you terribly. How will the poor, helpless me survive alone in this treacherous and dreary lair…?” 

“Oh, cut the theatrics. Every minister, from the consuls to the secretaries, everyone’s your loyal subjects. What’s there to worry about?” 

“That was wartime loyalty. In peace? Who knows what they’ll do?” 

“If they switch loyalties simply because the war’s ended, it’d be your fault, Your Imperial Majesty, for not winning them over.”

“Chungnip, you shower the rest with honeyed words, but save your sharpest words for me.” 

“And who else can I be candid with if not Your Imperial Majesty?”

Theon’s aide, Zey, and the knights who were listening, laughed along with Chungnip. Even the Imperial Guards couldn’t hold back their amusement. Only Theon and Dierm weren’t smiling.

“Theon, did you see how your subordinate behaved towards the emperor? You better watch your back. He might turn on you next.”

“It’s getting late, Your Imperial Majesty. We should return.”

“It seems the Archduke of Falsen and his underlings are just as insolent. Now they’re even hustling the emperor along.” 

Dierm grumbled as he walked, escorted by his entourage, the Imperial Guards, and the Black Lion Knights. 

“Hmm? Why’re they—…?”

Half a dozen PLEIN mages, including their leader, Harrié Geelin, were waiting anxiously at the palace entrance. When they spotted the emperor, they hurried over and knelt like Theon had, but their movements showed clear urgency. 

“You may rise. What brings you here?”

“Tremuhle’s reaction stone is ready.”

Harrié held out a tiny orb that looked like a child’s marble. Even the emperor, who’d seen his fair share of artefacts on the battlefield, had never seen such a thing. 

“So this is the magic stone detector. It finished faster than I’d expected.”

“Yes. If we take it to the child, we’ll have the results within a minute. We should go now.”

Theon’s eyebrows rose slightly. Since it was already well past midnight, Rothy would be fast asleep. 

“There’s no rush.” Dierm replied, waving a hand dismissively.

I’ve had my fill of headaches for the day. We shall check tomorrow morning—Oh, no, I’ve a meeting with the foreign dignitaries. Make it tomorrow afternoon.”

“But—”

“I’m tired and my head’s pounding. After the day I’ve had, the last thing I want to deal with is anything involving magic stones.”

What could they say to that? Harrié quickly hid his frustration and bowed. 

“As you wish, Your Majesty.” 

The emperor and his group walked past them into the palace. Theon’s cold gaze lingered on the reaction stone in Harrié’s hand, but the mage was oblivious to the scrutiny.