Clareso’s Carnival was a fairly new and popular traveling group; its crew would perform at large cities, usually around once a year. This summer Garreg Mach was the target for their current event. The troupe carried all sorts of entertainment, from clowns to jugglers, contortionists, daredevils, and of course, carnival games. All of which was there for the viewing pleasure of paying customers. 

 

Out of the lot, perhaps, the most lucrative profits had to come from the games. Anything you could conceive that even remotely resembled a test of skill or chance could be found there. However, few people understood how such games, which masqueraded as skill-intensive sport, were actually more often than not fixed in the carnival’s favor.

 

Take, for example, the simplest of their more popular games: the Milk Bottles. A customer is handed a soft ball to knock down three bottles stacked on top of each other. It appeared simple enough; throw the ball at the right spot and the bottles should tumble over with ease, correct? Perhaps they would, were it not for the lead packed into the lower bottles. Not quite enough to bear the force of a direct hit, but enough to keep things heavily in favor of the one running the game. It would require perfect precision and the right amount of force to knock over all three.

 

Then there was the Ring Toss. Toss a ring at a bottle and try to land it on the bottle’s neck. This game pretended to be a game of skill but in actuality was almost purely chance. Few people could get close enough to inspect a bottle, but if they could they might discern that the bottle’s neck was wider than it seemed from a distance. Not quite so that it was impossible for the ring to fit, but it would require a high degree of skill, or more likely luck, to accurately throw the ring on.  

 

Then of course there is the High Strike, run by yours truly, Hugo Leon, Hugo announced to himself in his mind. It was good form to practice his art of showmanship, particularly when he was bored. He stared up at his game and rubbed his chin, sinking a bit deeper into thought as he did.

 

To Hugo, running the High Strike was a form of art and as such required an eye skilled at appraisal. The High Strike was simple enough in design. Take a hammer and hit the plank to send a weight flying up to the bell. Ringing the bell wins you a prize. 

 

Pulling this scheme off was satisfying work for Hugo. Many people with all brawn and no brains would seek out his little contraption and test their mettle. It was always easy to get going once he could single out the most thick-headed of the bunch that was bound to provoke their friends. 

 

He would let someone obviously weaker than his target come up first. A smaller man or really any woman would do. The first person he chose would hit the plank completely unimpeded and get the weight soaring high, but not quite high enough. His intended target would then saunter up for a turn, only to find they must struggle much harder than the previous contestant just to get even remotely close. From that point, men would line up in droves to try to best one another. They’d pay gold for attempt after attempt to try to claim their prize, not the pile of cheaply made colorful toys at the back of the stall, but the chance to lord their victory over their less virile companions.

 

No matter how strong those contenders might be, it wasn’t their strength that would decide if they got a chance to hit the bell, but rather, Hugo. With a simple gesture that was always overlooked, his assistant would adjust the machine’s resistance, making it impossible for any normal man to ring the bell. Because the machine’s back was lined up against a tent’s wall, no one knew of the man with his wrench, waiting for Hugo’s direction through his peep hole. 

 

Dusk was setting, and this was the prime time for profit for Hugo. At night more men drank, and when they did, they got competitive with one another. The Milk Bottles and the Ring Toss didn’t interest them as much, or rather it wasn’t the highlight of their night. Being able to best their friends and showing off their strength, however? Well, my game is about as manly as it gets for these thick headed louts, Hugo thought to himself with a crooked smile.

 

At that, he decided it was time to alleviate his boredom. Drawing himself up to his full height, he stepped into view of his assistant and puffed out his chest. Extending an arm out for added flair, he launched into his barker routine. “Step right up folks, and try the High Strike! Ring the bell and win a prize. You, sir, are you manly enough to win your sweetheart a prize?”

 

“Me?” The man pointed innocently to himself. He was a bit on the short side and looked out of shape, if not downright pudgy.

 

“Yes, you, good sir! I’m sure the lovely lady would love a prize. Why don’t you come up here and give it a try? Three strikes for just a few gold pieces, of course.”

 

“Why yes sir, I think I will,” the man said as he handed over the gold. He took the hammer and stepped up to the plate, turning around to give a wave to the girl that was with him, smiling as he did. The woman cheered him on, waving and encouraging her lover to do his best. The racket of this lovey-dovey couple did its job in garnering the attention of passersby. 

 

What the audience who witnessed this spectacle didn’t know was that even this commotion was just another gimmick. The man who volunteered and his so-called girlfriend were actors occasionally used to help get the game going. This was merely something Klaus and Loretta would do when they weren’t needed at their post and when there was a noticeable lull in business.

 

To an outsider, Klaus might not have looked like much but he was perfect for this little ruse, as he knew all the tricks and could hit exactly where he needed to, dead center, every time. He used to be a soldier and still kept up with his training regimen, doubling every once in a while as the fair’s enforcer when the drinking got out of hand. Klaus was good enough to hit the bell with ease, so long as Hugo allowed it. Today seemed like his lucky day. 

 

After purposely botching his first two strikes, Klaus put the mallet down and rubbed his hands together, stretching his arms a bit to put on a show. When he picked the hammer back up, he adjusted his posture and stance properly and brought the hammer down for a final time.

 

DING!

 

He dropped the hammer and pumped his fist while Loretta, “the girlfriend,” cheered. She played up her excitement for Klaus perhaps a bit too much. She made for a decent actress in a pinch but was admittedly, to Hugo’s own humble opinion, a better clown. 

 

Hugo pulled a large stuffed bear from his pile and passed it to Klaus for his prize. Said prize would be returned to him by the end of the night to be won again tomorrow. He just needed that little push to get the crowd going. 

 

Clearing his throat, Hugo prepared his next rehearsed lines. “Goddess above, you’re a tough one, I’ll give you that. That’s well earned, sir. Who else thinks they can ring the bell?”

 

A small crowd had begun to form in front of the High Strike. Hugo could practically count out the coins now, making wagers to himself on who would want to redeem themselves for more chances. Dusk was the best time to catch them, before all their money had been spent on booze and other games. It was going to be quite the haul tonight. 

 

Bless Garreg Mach, the Goddess has never gifted me such simpletons. He nodded in satisfaction to himself. It was true though, the town in Garreg Mach had no real history with swindlers such as him. Whatever stick was caught in the Archbishop’s ass deprived these people the knowledge of what the difference between their local festivals and a traveling carnival was. The regulations alone were tedious for business here, but what was worse was the paperwork and fees needing to be paid. Clareso was right to avoid this place for as long as he did. 

 

Hugo caught himself doing a double take when he noticed the first person in line. A girl, a young one at that, who stood freakishly tall to him. He couldn’t guess a solid age on looks alone since her large size and frame threw him off. He guessed she had to be Duscur; he just wasn’t used to seeing many these days. Notably, the Duscur people usually tended to have lighter hair, but hers was a long and unruly mess of black curls that went to her shoulders in length.

 

After sizing her up, he concluded that she would be the first victim. This boar of a woman would be perfect to get the crowd going. Of course people would want to best her. She was Duscur and on top of that, a woman. No one would think twice if she lost, but everyone was going to want the bragging rights of doing better, even if they were too cowardly at times to voice their boasts. It was the easiest call in his career. “You want to take a go at this, missy? Think you have what it takes to ring the bell? Three strikes for a bit of gold.”

 

She flashed him a cocky grin as she reached into her pocket for her coins. “You’re on!”

 

She paid her fare and stepped up. As she picked up the mallet, she acquainted herself with the weight and nodded in satisfaction. Hugo turned his back to her and got into position to judge while also signaling for the man in the tent to adjust the difficulty. As he turned back to watch, he heard the mallet make premature contact with the plank. She was overeager, and quick, but he caught it in time as he watched the weight rise rather high up. It certainly wasn’t bad for having the resistance up; she had done better than most men he judged, that was for sure.

 

She looked sheepish as the weight came down, embarrassed at her own performance. That was always Hugo’s favorite part: watching the ego of some big gorilla of a man, or in this case woman, get humbled in their humiliating attempts to beat the machine. 

 

“It’s alright, missy. You still have two more hits.” For what good it will do you, he thought. Two strikes, four strikes, or even ten wouldn’t make a difference. The higher up that machine the weight went, the more resistance they would add. She was strong, but someone like her was never going to reach the goal, not when it was stacked so heavily against her. 

 

She nodded. “I guess I made an ass of myself.” Looking serious now, she set herself up in a proper stance. Using her open hand, she grabbed the handle and shifted her grip. “Let me try with both hands this time.”

 

Both hands? he thought to himself, mortified by her declaration. She’s joking, right? He had paid attention to the weight earlier and not to her, so he wasn’t certain if it was a jest.

 

With both hands on the mallet, she swung down with perfect accuracy and form, landing it smack dab in the middle of the plank. Hugo flinched at the sound of the impact and watched in horror as the weight sailed upwards as if it were completely unimpeded.

 

The bell rang, but it also made a snapping sound as chunks of wood splintered off of the frame. What was worse, the weight didn’t come down. Was it lodged into the wood or was it trapped between the resistance that was supposed to stop it from coming up that far? It was difficult to tell, and people were beginning to talk.

 

Hugo snatched a prize bear, knowing well he wouldn't be seeing this one again any time soon, and thrust it towards the girl. “What’s your name, kid?”

 

The woman clumsily grabbed the bear that was practically thrown at her, dropping the mallet as she did. “Gertrude,” she said. “Gertrude Albrecht.”

 

“Well, Gertrude Albrecht, you’re banned from this game from here on out. No monsters allowed.” He grabbed her by the arm and began to usher her away from the machine.

 

“Huh? Hey, wait a minute, before I go…”

 

Hugo stopped to hear her out. “What?” he snapped.

 

Gertrude gave him a coy smile. “Don’t I get a third hit?”

 

Hugo pushed at the girl with renewed agitation and pointed towards the exit. “Get out!”

 

Gertrude was pushed back out into the crowd, where she was met with both boos and cheers alike. Some of them were bitter that she’d broken the machine; others were simply impressed beyond words. Their opinions didn’t matter to her, but her father’s did. 

 

Balthus was easy to spot in the crowd. He was the largest man there and the only one Gertrude had to look up to. His hair was short and manageable, since it was trimmed as such by his daughter. It carried a salt-and-pepper look to it these days, but he wore it well. He wore a grey set of slacks and an old jacket he kept open, displaying his prized abs , or so he called them. He would often swear up and down that this was a service for his community. Wrapped in one of his arms was an assortment of stuffed animals that they had won for today.

 

As soon as Gertrude was close enough, her father put his free arm around her and walked her out of the crowd. He was practically glowing the whole way through, with a smile so big and bright that it was infectious. 

 

Gertrude smirked. “I take it you enjoyed the show?” 

 

Balthus let out a bellowing laugh. “I don’t know what’s more impressive, Prince. Your acting skills or how strong you’ve gotten. Either way, nice job, you little shark.” He then pulled her in close and kissed the top of her head.

 

Prince was one the nicknames he liked to call her. It used to be the Princess of Grappling, but Gertrude took offense to it. She was insistent on being called Prince instead, thanks to the stories she grew up hearing that revolved around the Emperor that her father seemed to be buddy-buddy with. If Empress wasn’t good enough for a strong woman who sought to be the absolute power, then Princess or even Queen was simply not going to do. 

 

Gertrude smiled wide. “It felt good getting some payback.” 

 

“Ha, he used to really get under your skin! It was three years ago when this started, right? I was spending so much gold because you had it out for that thing. Just banging and banging around and losing your cool.”

 

Gertrude side-eyed her father, unamused. “You could have told me from the start that it was rigged, you know.”

 

“And miss out on such a good learning opportunity? You were fourteen and felt like you had the world already figured out. You were due for a little humbling, Prince.”

 

She shrugged her father’s arm off and pouted. “Whatever, I showed him.”

 

“You could say that again. I can’t believe what you’ve accomplished in such a short time. Putting the bell aside, you're starting to make me work for it in the ring, kiddo.” 

 

Strong as she was, she had to admit that she had a weakness for honest praise, especially from her father. It wasn’t something that always felt genuine from other people and she was often guarded with others when she heard it. Her father was just different. There wasn’t anything he wanted from her other than to be happy.

 

She scratched her cheek and tried to hide her smile. “No kidding?”

 

“Oh yeah.” He groaned as he stretched his right arm a bit. “Shoulder’s still aching from last time.”

 

Gertrude frowned after hearing that. “Are you going to be okay? It’s not going to be like the time with your back, is it?” She remembered that last time he had spent nearly the whole day with his back on the floor because he’d pulled something in it. It would have been longer if she hadn’t hunted down a priest to heal him. He still needed to take it easy for a while after that.

 

“Nah, it’s nothing like that. It’s fine, I promise.”

 

“Alright… You know I can carry the prizes myself though.”

 

Her father grinned and put his hand on her head. “You’re a good kid, Trude, but you’re still my little girl. Let your old man have this, alright?”

 

She couldn’t find it in her to argue. Being the oldest sibling and growing as tall as she had meant she was always looked up to and expected to be more than what she was. With her father came the opportunity to feel like a kid, one that was allowed to screw up from time to time or be the one getting comforted instead of doing the comforting. She had always adored that quality in him. If life was more fair, she would rather live with him instead of with her mother, but life just hadn’t played out that way.

 

Her thoughts were interrupted when her father nudged her. “Everything alright, kid?"

 

“Huh? Yeah, sure.”

 

Her father didn’t buy it. “Why don’t we take a break?” Balthus pointed to an empty table.

 

She nodded and went along with it. Gertrude decided to keep the giant stuffed bear on her lap, finding some comfort in hugging it. Her father put their earnings on the table and made it a point to sit right next to her. “What’s on your mind, Prince? You’re looking too glum for a kid who’s clearing out a carnival.”

 

She looked down at the table and sighed. “I just wish things were different. I really don’t want to go back. I want to stay with you.”

 

Balthus frowned. “I take it that things aren’t great back home?”

 

“Not really, no. Mom’s got a new deadbeat boyfriend who’s making life hell. If I could just take my sisters to live with you, it would make things so much easier.”

 

“I’m sorry Trude. I wish I could do something about it, but she seems pretty keen on keeping things how they are. They’re not mine, so the law’s on her side. I’m just happy she at least lets me see you.”

 

“Because of the money you pay her,” Gertrude muttered.

 

“Hey, be fair. I’m not paying a ticket to see you, I just want to make sure I pull my weight. Your mother’s raising three girls, that’s not easy or cheap. Nothing wrong with wanting to make sure my kid gets fed.”

 

“I guess… I’m just tired, Dad. Every time they argue, I have to grab the girls and hide in our room because I don’t know if it's going to be one of the bad ones again. I think they’re both crazy.”

“I should talk with her again.”

 

She shook her head. “There’s no point, it’s just going to make things worse. I’m just going to stick with the plan: wait it out and get through this school year. Next year I’ll be old enough to finally take the placement exam and see if I can qualify to get into the officer academy here. Then I have a chance of making some real money.”

 

She eased up, caught in the throes of her own ambitions. It always made the days easier to swallow when she felt like she had a plan. “I could make enough where I can take care of the girls on my own when they’re old enough to leave. Maybe even move out of the city, finally put this place behind us.”

 

“So long as you’re happy, kid.” Her father gave her a warm smile. He nudged her shoulder with his. “You’ll still write to your old man when you make it big, right?” Balthus chuckled.

 

“Won’t need to, you’re coming with me,” she said, as if it was a matter of fact.

 

“Heh, yeah?”

 

“You’ve done a lot for me, Dad. Maybe I want to take care of you, too.” She scratched her cheek, feeling a little embarrassed by how the sentiment came out.

 

“I’m your dad, Trude. I’m just doing what I can. You don’t owe me anything.”

 

“Well, yeah, but–”

 

“Seriously, kid. You’ve done a lot for me, more than you’ll ever know. When your mother found me and told me about you, it flipped my world upside down, or maybe right side up. I was just going to live my life out gambling and getting into fights, but you really shook me out of it and gave me direction. I swallowed my pride and got a proper job and a good one too. I can take care of myself.”

 

He wrapped an arm around her and pulled her close. “You’ve got a big heart, Gertrude. It’s big enough to want to take care of everyone, but don’t forget you have to leave room for yourself too, alright?”

 

She squirmed in his grip, not quite satisfied with his answer. “Alright… But will you think about it some more, maybe? At least, you know, considering moving with us? I still want you to be a part of my life, Dad. I know the girls would love you too if they got the chance to properly meet you.” 

 

She tried to swallow a lump in her throat before whispering, “I just don’t know if I can do this without you.” She waited in silence for his answer, reading his expression carefully.

 

“I’ll put some serious thought into it,” Balthus said after a moment. “That’s a promise.” He lowered his hand to her back and began to scratch it in that way he knew she liked. It was a small gesture that always seemed to bring her comfort. 

 

“Okay,” she said, her voice tight. She didn’t know why she felt the way she did. The lump in her throat was still there and it was difficult to swallow, but each scritch of her father’s fingers on her back made it a little easier. She hated having a future that felt so uncertain. 

 

“You alright?” her father asked.

 

Gertrude nodded, taking one deep breath to calm herself. “Yeah… Thank you.”

 

Balthus smiled, satisfied with her answer. He kept scratching her back, making sure to get all the spots he knew she loved. “Since I’m meeting Ingrid later tonight, want me to set something up with us again? It’s been a while since we all got together, maybe we're due. She was a pretty smart student back in the day. I bet she could give you some tips for your studies.”

 

Gertrude was delighted by the change of subject and chuckled to herself. She gave her father a devious look. “Yeah? I’m all for a study date.”

 

Balthus raised an eyebrow as he scrutinized his daughter. “You know, we talked about this little crush of yours before. She thinks it's cute but wants me to remind you that she’s old enough to be your mom.”

 

Gertrude’s lips curled into a grin. “That’s a strange way to tell me that it's okay to call her Mommy.”

 

Balthus snorted and pushed his daughter away from him, trying his best not to break out laughing and failing to do so. “Oh no, you’re definitely my daughter. You might be in some trouble after all.”

 

Gertrude giggled and found herself hugging the giant bear she won tightly. This was a good day for her. She got payback on that scammer, won several prizes for her sisters back at home, and was allowed to simply be herself around her father. She felt at peace.

 

Balthus eventually nudged her for attention. “Hey.”

 

She gave him a curious glance. “Yeah?”

 

“Are you happy?” There was a hint of worry on his face.

 

The question lingered overhead. This was something he would ask every so often when the mood dropped down like this and they could have a serious talk. Gertude understood. He wanted to be a good father and knew it was better to ask than try to read what was on her mind. She knew the stories about the Grappling King; he wasn’t exactly a paragon growing up, but worked hard for what they had and made sure she knew that he cared. 

 

“Yeah, Dad,” she said with a warm smile. It wasn’t a perfect life, sure, but she had a plan and things could be worse off. She could keep the more concerning things to herself, so he didn’t have to worry about every little detail he couldn’t control. “I’m happy.”

 

Balthus once again wrapped an arm around his daughter and leaned in, kissing the top of her head. “Good. Just know that I’m proud of you, Gertrude.” 

 

She relaxed in her father’s grip. Though they might roughhouse a lot, physical affection was the love language she grew up speaking. Whether it was embracing or sparring, this was simply when she felt closest to her father. He was one of the few people she could let her guard down around and feel safe. “Thanks Dad… and I know.”

 

She knew she would cherish these moments the most, and they were only made better with how right the scenery felt: the look of the night sky beginning to take over, the speckling of stars that could be seen clearly between the clouds drifting aimlessly by. The night gifted them a rare and precious cool breeze to wash the warmth of a summer day away. 

 

Moments like these never lasted long enough. Whether they had minutes or even hours, there would come a point where they had to come to an end. One of them would have to break away, but it was never Gertrude.

 

Cruel fate proved her right when the sound of clanking metal from a set of armor broke their amiable silence. An Adrestian soldier marched up and halted before them to salute Balthus. “Sir,” he called out. “The witness is awake.”  

 

“Witness?” Gertrude questioned, but the soldier didn’t answer her.

 

Her father rubbed his temple and sighed. “And they want me to question him now? I’m with my daughter, can’t it wait until morning?”

 

“I’m sorry, sir. The orders are outside my station.”

 

Balthus groaned, picked himself up, and began gathering the toys they had won. 

 

Gertrude began to look worried. “What’s going on, Dad?”

 

He grimaced and shook his head. “I’m sorry kid, I’ll have to cut it a little early tonight.” He looked back at the soldier. “I’ll go, but I’m taking my daughter back home first.”

 

“Uh, sir, it is a matter of–”

 

Balthus raised his hand to interject. “Enough of the ‘sir,’ jeez. Sorry pal, this isn’t up for negotiation. Let them know I’ll be there in an hour. Drag your feet if you have to.” 

 

The soldier was confused but realized he wasn’t going to get anywhere with him. “Um, well… Right, yes s– er, Mr. Albrecht?”

 

Balthus rolled his eyes and waved him off. He picked up the last of the toys, hearing the clinking of the soldier’s armor fade away as he left them. 

 

With reluctance, Gertrude sighed and pulled herself up. Her father frowned. “This guy’s been knocked out for a little over a week and decided now was the best time to wake up, isn’t that just our luck?”

 

She shrugged. “I don’t know. If it was our normal luck, I feel like it would have happened earlier in the day. I guess it's alright. We were pretty much done here anyways, right?” Though her words were meant to smooth over the situation, she still appeared irritated.

 

“Hmm, not a bad way of looking at it. It could have been worse. I’ll just have to make it up to you next time we meet.” He smiled warmly and held out his open hand for her to take.

 

She tucked the bear under one arm and took her father’s hand. Her eyes flickered to the floor. “You promise?” she mumbled.

 

Balthus’s smile broadened as they began the trudge back home. He gave her hand a gentle squeeze, rubbing the back of her hand with his thumb for comfort. “Absolutely. You know that the King of Grappling always keeps his promises.”

 

His little girl smiled bashfully to herself. It warmed Balthus’s heart to see. Trust like this was both rare and precious for him. His carefree attitude and the debt he had incurred over the years had destroyed such things for him, even with close relatives. As free as he thought he was, there was an undeniable comfort in the stable living he’d carved for himself. He did it for her, but he also learned to do it for himself. And for what she unintentionally gave him, and the way she made him feel?

 

Well… This was one debt that would be impossible to repay.

It wasn’t often that Balthus would have to make a report in person, but after having finished his interrogation he thought it best to pass on the information as directly as possible. He couldn’t believe his rotten luck tonight. It looked like Ingrid was going to have to wait another day before they could spend time together. Since it was late already and he hadn’t even given his report yet, it would be quite some time before he could make it all the way back out of the Abyss and return home. These hikes weren’t getting any easier over the years either. 

 

Eventually he did make it into the city that slept underground, a haven under Garreg Mach’s foundation that was full of the unwanted and the rejected. The Abyss was home to all sorts of people from different walks of life, and many journeys would often end here, as the climb out was near impossible. 

 

It wasn’t the road itself that was difficult, though that did pose its own dangers, from its twisting maze-like corridors to the occasional roaming monster. No, the true difficulty for a person from the Abyss was to find someplace that would accept them. What greeted you on the other side of those tunnels was a world that preferred it if you had simply stayed in the dark. It made no room for the likes of anyone who carried the reputation of being an Abyss dweller. 

 

When Balthus was younger, the Abyss was a paradise for a man such as himself. He had a high bounty on his head and a lot of debt, but so very few people were bold enough to try to collect and find him when he was there. It was a place where he was free to live the way he wanted, a place that was safe enough to get some of the best sleep he’d had in ages. When he met the rest of the Ashen Wolves, it only made the place feel more like home. 

 

As fate or maybe even the Goddess would have it, the Abyss couldn’t stay his home forever. Hapi returned to her village and Constance married into the House of Aegir. Yuri on the other hand? Well, Yuri had never truly left, and that’s why he was here. 

 

Then of course there was Balthus, who perhaps never had a choice. The Abyss was no place to be if you wanted to support a daughter. He needed to be on the surface, and he needed to be in one place instead of roving around and avoiding bounty hunters while suffocating himself with more debt. Gertrude needed more than what that life could provide, so he had no choice but to accept a job that Yuri had been encouraging him to take for years. The irony that his big break had also come from the Abyss did not escape him. 

 

In time, Yuri made the debts disappear. It wounded Balthus’s pride that he couldn’t do it on his own. He had faith in himself that was rooted deeply in the strength of his body. He was the King of Grappling after all, and the opportunity to seize all the wealth he needed would be there one day, or so he believed. 

 

For the first time in his life he’d finally felt a clock ticking when he met his kid. Suddenly it was difficult to ignore what were the very slightest hints of age. Some things didn’t bounce back as quickly as they used to, and he hurt himself more easily than he remembered. Colder days reminded him of older wounds he thought he’d recovered from years ago, and of course the salt-and-pepper look in his hair was becoming more noticeable. Over time, the harsh truth had begun to settle in. The King of Grappling was becoming old.

 

“We’re here,” said one of the guards escorting Balthus. The King of Grappling blinked in surprise and looked at the man next to him. He had forgotten he was even there. Balthus was in his own head for so long that it seemed the clatter of their armor had become white noise to him. 

 

“Right, well, I’ll take it from here.” He waved the guards off. He approached a large wooden structure that he would call a building if he was feeling generous. This part of the Abyss was much more open than the town they used to frequent, and after clearing out the nest of beasts that resided here, it was safe to begin extending the settlement. 

 

This place was an orphanage, but inside near the back entrance there were stairs that led up to Yuri’s room. There was, of course, the issue that it was late at night and no one was there to greet him, but that was fine. After all, he was one of the few people who had a key.

 

Moving along to the back of the building, Balthus used his key to unlock the door and let himself in. After he closed and locked the door behind him, he used a small amount of his magic to create flame to light the way. His steps felt heavy as he climbed the stairs, each move he made causing the sound of strained wood to creak under his weight. In the dim light he could make out the numerous drawings that the children undoubtedly had created. 

 

Many were simple stick figures of kids holding the hands of a couple of adults, one of which more often than not bore a resemblance to Yuri. There were other pictures, however, of more complicated works. Some were sketches of the building and a few were of people the kids had met at one time or another. Some were of Matilda, the woman who primarily ran the orphanage. Then of course there were the ones of Yuri, with striking enough detail that Balthus would doubt they recalled his friend’s visage only from memory. This orphanage had talented kids. It was criminal that circumstances beyond their control brought them here in the first place.

 

As Balthus finally made it up the stairs, he saw light from underneath Yuri's door. Whether he was up already or was simply alerted by wards he’d placed that were suddenly breached from Balthus’s entry was a mystery. Only one way to find out, Balthus thought to himself as he knocked on the door.

 

“Yuri, you in there? It’s Balthus.” Balthus could hear some shuffling around and creaking from the other side of the door. He stepped back when he heard footsteps approaching from the other side.

 

The door opened, and Yuri stood before him with a slight smile. He looked as poised and elegant as usual, but his hair was ruffled as though he were still in bed. His nightgown was another hint that he had just woken up.

 

Balthus couldn’t help himself as he gave a cursory glance at Yuri’s sleeping attire. The silken dress didn’t leave much to the imagination since it hugged his figure nicely. It was purple, or rather, lavender , as Yuri would describe it, while acting miffed that Balthus could not make such an obvious distinction. 

 

That was Yuri for you. He didn’t put much stock into his living conditions, finding that his excess wealth was better spent on other people or other luxuries. Clothing was one such example, as he bought what suited him and wore it proudly. It didn’t matter if they were women’s clothes or men’s. To him they were simply his clothes, and he loved to flaunt them. He only seemed to get more adventurous with it with age.

 

Everyone needs a hobby, Balthus thought, with just the slightest tinge of jealousy over Yuri’s youthful look. The man didn’t look like he had aged at all since they had been in school together, while he was starting to grow grey hair. The Goddess could be cruel sometimes.

 

Yuri raised an eyebrow. “What? See something you like?” Yuri teased. 

 

Balthus rolled his eyes, clearly too tired to entertain his jest. “I’m here about The Spear of Assal.”

 

“Ah,” Yuri backed away from the door. “Must be important if you came all the way down here to see me yourself.” 

 

As Yuri stepped back, Balthus noticed at once that Yuri’s hand was adorned with the Fetters of Dromi, and along with that he pulled his sword into view. That was also Yuri for you. If someone ever did approach him with the intent to harm, they could easily wind up dead if they took his looks for granted. Deception was something that came as naturally to Yuri as breathing.

 

Turning his back to Balthus, Yuri reached for the sheath on his bed and slid his blade in, discarding it atop his dresser. Balthus stepped inside and closed the door behind him, then walked towards Yuri’s desk, pulling out the chair to sit in. As he did so, Yuri moved to light more candles to brighten the room a bit more. “How bad is it?” Yuri asked.

 

Balthus sighed deeply. “Francisco, the man who was attacked, thinks his assailant was Almyran.”

 

Yuri sat on the edge of his bed, crossing one leg over the other along with his arms. “So they did see the attacker?”

 

“Not entirely. It sounded like their man wore a mask, carved out to be the face of either a drake or a dragon. The guy had a weird mix of white robes and light armor. The description doesn’t match any class or uniform we’ve heard of. Not all of their skin was covered though and he thinks they were Almyran from what he’s seen.”

 

Balthus gestured dismissively with his hand. “He doesn’t actually know for sure they’re Almyran. The description could have even been someone from Brigid. We only think they’re Almyran because it's a known fact that drakes have some significance in their culture. It’s a nice enough theory, but officially we have no idea who this guy is.”

 

“I see. It was a good call to come to me first. This is going to be a big problem if it gets out. The Dagda and Brigid communities have suffered enough trouble already since their skirmish with the Empire. The Faerghus territory is a mess right now. I don’t want to think about what the Almyrans who live there will go through. What do we have for this guy, Baltie? Do we even know for certain they’re a man?”

 

“He believes so, not that he had much more to go on than grunts. One thing of note is that Francisco thinks they are unusually fast. Maybe even the kind of speed that comes from a Crest.”

 

Yuri hummed in consideration, then nodded to himself. “I trust your insight. What are your thoughts on his claim? Think he’s spinning a tale to cover his wounded ego?”

 

Balthus paused for a moment and mulled it over, checking with himself if he’d asked all the right questions, but then shook his head. “Thought about that angle too, until I started talking more to the guy. I didn’t know this, but he was a prisoner of war captured by the Adrestian Empire during the Church’s invasion; he was even one of Seteth’s men.

 

“He did his time and reformed but came back to Garreg Mach to serve the Goddess despite everything. Had a drastic change in perspective, or so he says. Regardless, having worked for Seteth, I don’t doubt that this man knows what a speed enhancement from a Crest looks like. More than that, if Seteth was the one who stole the staff, I doubt Francisco would risk drawing similarities to the guy if he’s trying to cover for him. Almyran description or not, we're going to have to look into everyone we know with a Crest ability like that.”

 

“I don’t suppose he can confirm if he drew the power of the Spear out by chance?”

 

Balthus shook his head. “He never landed a hit on the guy, so no. It’s not a relic so it wouldn't glow either, but it is possible that it’s someone with a Crest like Cichol pretending to be a proper wielder, for whatever reason. Of course, there is a problem with that.”

 

Yuri picked up what Balthus was saying and added his own input. “If it isn’t the Crest of Cichol, then you would be looking at the Crests of Flames, Goneril, and Aubin. The Crest of Flames is impossible, and Goneril would be… a nightmare with its implications.”

 

Balthus pointed a finger at Yuri. “But your Crest is unaccounted for.”

 

Yuri glanced down at his hand where he kept the Fetters of Dromi. He raised his hand to get a closer look. “You’re right, but I wouldn’t even know where to begin finding answers if that was the case. The Goddess knows I’ve been looking into it since long before the Spear had been an issue. I can take a closer look at Goneril and see if something comes up, but if I had to tell you where my instincts are pointing me? I’d say that we might need to look more into the Crest of Cichol.”

 

Balthus raised an eyebrow. “So you think this guy is the real deal, huh?”

 

Yuri shrugged. “I can’t say for certain, but Seteth has always irked me. His and Flayn’s papers were fabricated, so we have no real history to go on. The man just showed up one day already a fully trained advisor, and a capable warrior at that, with not a single soul to vouch for his skills other than Lady Rhea. We’re missing something there and I can’t help but feel that it’s connected.”

 

“It would be nice if it were as simple as that. The alternatives are… not really pretty. That leaves us with a scheme from Those Who Slither in the Dark or Claude, and I don’t know who would be worse.”

 

Yuri gave him a coy smile. “You want to make a wager for old times’ sake?”

 

“Ha, no way. You know I don’t gamble anymore, especially with you, pal. I like my money where it is.”

 

Yuri tutted. “How unfortunate.” He paused for a moment. “Was that all you wanted to tell me about?”

 

Balthus pulled some papers from his jacket and set them onto the desk. “Yeah. I wrote more about the questioning and my thoughts on it here, but I’m going to have to follow up with the guy tomorrow. I thought it was best if you got to sit on the important stuff now.” 

 

Balthus began to stretch, sensing the conversation was nearing its end. “It would be fine if it was only an issue of some lost Cichol Crest line, but being Almyran complicates things, you know? Here’s hoping those hungry dogs we’re calling reporters don’t weasel their way into the story anytime soon. They’ve been relentless.”

 

“And speaking of the tenacity of a hungry dog, look at you getting ahead on your paperwork. Will it be legible this time?”

 

“Ha, rub it, why don’t you?”

 

“Speaking of work at the Monastery, why don’t you say hello to Mercedes when you visit next?”

 

Balthus’s eyes widened. “Mercedes is here? Since when?”

 

“Ah, you didn’t know, huh? She just blew into town a couple of days ago, with a kid, mind you.”

 

“What?” The surprise pulled Balthus up out of his chair. “What’s the deal there? Who’s the father?”

 

Yuri shrugged. “Believe it or not, I don’t know a thing, which is pretty unusual. I haven’t greeted her myself yet but I’m dying to know.”

 

Balthus stood for a minute wracking his brain but couldn’t piece together any answers, not this late at night at least. “Huh, looks like tomorrow is going to be a busy day. I better head out now so I can catch at least some sleep.” 

 

Yuri eyed Balthus as he walked towards the door. “It’s a long hike back. Could sleep here if you wanted to.”

 

Balthus gave Yuri a tired look. Yuri…”

 

Yuri appeared nauseatingly cute and innocent. “What’s the matter, friend? We have plenty of beds downstairs. What were you thinking?”

 

Yeah, that’s what you were talking about . Balthus rolled his eyes. “Goodnight, Yuri.”

 

The door closed, leaving Yuri alone in his room. A smirk pulled the corner of his lips and he chuckled. Eventually he got up and moved to his desk, pulling some papers out to jot down notes. Vestra was going to want to hear this news as soon as possible, and he had people of his own he was going to need to consult. If something did end up happening that involved Almyrans, then that would drastically affect the Abyss when people started seeking shelter. 

 

He sighed deeply to himself as he glanced at his Fetters of Dromi and began taking it off. Balthus wasn’t the only person who would be missing their beauty sleep tonight, it seemed. Setting the relic down, he began to write.