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Chapter Text

“The web of our life is of a mingled yarn, good and ill together” 

— Shakespeare, All’s Well That Ends Well

Mother was gone.

The divine principles that ruled the skies and heavens had deemed her greatest gift a sin. They had sent her back to the source of all things, caged her to the place of her birth charged with a duty with no end. 

Mother would never witness her people prosper among those that shared the land. She could no longer share their joys or ease their sorrows. She could no longer feel their love or their devotion.

So her people wept. They wept for the ultimate kindness awarded with ultimate cruelty.

And among them, fairest Faustine wept the loudest. For she cried not for a god or a leader, but for a mother lost in the truest sense.

For she was the Tearborne, the first daughter of the Lochfolk, the first of her kin.

Mother had told her to lay down her grievances. Faustine had understood why, even if she had no desire to.

No tide-sharpened sword could strike at those that resided in high Celestia. It would only quicker undo the people that her mother loved.

But Mother had told her to never forget. She had told her there were other ways of fighting their foes unseen from the all-seeing eyes of the court above.

That justice, no matter how far removed, would always come for those that transgress against the fair waters.

A blurry and faded mosaic of light danced over her form, her figure nearly translucent against the sandy floor and water broken rays. Only the ever coming and going denizens of the sea knew how long she had lain in solitary contemplation; no other child of the Loch dared disturb her, leaving her own thoughts as her sole company.

And so she did just that. She thought. 

She thought so she wouldn’t feel.

Faustine thought of how mother could be avenged. Thought of how her children, both above and below water, would fair in a world without their goddess. 

She thought and thought until the growing pressure against her core became a crushing weight that had nothing to do with the sheer amount of water above her, growing more cumbersome as more and more of her thoughts betrayed themselves to sorrow.

At the bottom of the ocean-lake, in a sandy basin wide as a country and as deep as a canyon, an oceanid began to cry.

She thought of how the seas already seemed far colder, how the waters that ran like lifeblood across the land already felt the absence of kindness.

She thought about how there would be no more laughter in this sandy meadow she and her mother called home.

She thought about how she was now all alone.

And amidst her cries, unbeknownst to her, Faustine shed a single tear.

This was no ordinary teardrop, as ordinary oceanids could never cry. No, this small azure fragment refused to dissipate into the pure water surround it. Instead, it glittered like crystal, quickly catching the eye that had shed it as it floated into the pure lake water above.

Faustine fell still, the pangs of sorrow momentarily tempered with fascination as she watched the little teardrop swell. Not a lot, but just enough that Faustine could tell something was happening.

Then she noticed something that nearly stopped her core from beating.

Movement.

Colorful shoals dispersed as the water beneath their gyrating schools abruptly stirred for the first time in a year, a massive cloud of sand revealing the regal blue form of a sea angel the size of a whale curling its long-finned body around this little speck of life.

Faustine had aided her mother in nurturing the spring waters that would become her brethren. She had shaped the flowing vessels that the living currents would inhabit as they spread across the land to fulfill the mission given to them by blessed Egeria.

But Faustine had never once created life; she had never given that spark that had turned water into being. 

Until now, it seemed.

Dull fins pulsed anew, shining with hydro revitalized as they oh-so carefully cradled the burgeoning little droplet of water between them. Already, Faustine could see the beginning of two juvenile fins, wiggling around in the clumsy unorganized movement so indicative of newborn life.

After mere minutes, a tiny, truly tiny, oceanid was aimlessly paddling around the tips of her fins.

Faustine’s mind was completely and utterly silent for the first time since she herself was born, completely enchanted as she watched the newborn child struggle not to bump into her gentle, guiding fins. 

Eventually, the little oceanid managed to right itself, gazing up at the gargantuan form of its sourcewater with a curiously shimmering oculus imprinted with the sign of a teardrop. 

A teardrop that mirrored the very own emblazoned in Faustine’s eye.

It was then that Faustine realized that this was not an ordinary oceanid born from the sacred yet mundane act of Helixsplit.

Just like herself, this little sprite was another Tearborne: another in the direct line of Egeria.

This little oceanid was her daughter.

Suddenly, revenge against Celestia became the very least of her worries.

Faustine released her hold on her corporeal form, allowing a part of her essence to bleed into the surrounding water and envelop the little being she had born.

She felt confusion, curiousness, and awe from the young one. In response, she imparted comfort and a single word.

A small, almost fragmented slip of voice tickled Faustine’s consciousness.

Mo…o..ther?

Soft peals of sonorous laughter traveled through the water, bearing with them feelings of confirmation and love.

Mo..ther… The sprite repeated, Mother..!

As the spite gleefully cheered Faustine’s newest title over and over, the ancient oceanid’s mind began actively churning on a new little conundrum.

What, exactly, would this little dewdrop be called?

She would have to have two names. Like her own divine name Focalors, she came up with a title rather quickly. It was her real name however, her true name, that gave Faustine pause.

Her ever present gaze broke away from the child for just a moment, sweeping across the ocean landscape for anything that may lend her inspiration. To her infinite bemusement, she found little but white sands, beautiful as it was underneath the scattered midday sun.

A thought came to her, of an expedition she and her mother had once taken upon land to visit the wonders of the human world.

The world above also had white sands, beautiful white dust born from flowing fields of gold. The humans called it farina and Mother had taught her that it nourished them, that it gave their flesh and blood bodies life.

Just like this little one began nourishing her now, nourishing her ailing will and her soul.

Faustine hummed to herself, then her giant form leaned forward to bringing her crowned head closer to the sprite. The brave little thing didn’t even flinch as it swam up to the teardrop oculus that dwarfed its entire body several times over.

Mother! It said, somersaulting excitedly through the ocean water, Mother!

Calm, little dewdrop, Faustine commanded most gently, And listen.

The child stilled immediately, its little eye unblinking as it regarded her with all of its infant attention.

Faustine pulsed her happiness in the oceanid equivalent to what humans call a smile.

To the world, you shall be known as Vephar, Faustine cooed, But to me, little dewdrop, your name will and always shall be…

Furina.

As the little sprite cheerfully added a second and third word to her growing vocabulary, Faustine wondered if somewhere far in the Primoridal Sea Mother was also smiling.

Twin teardrops of two-shaded blue danced across the myriad colors of petals between porcelain fingers.

Furina smiled to herself, dusting a bit of dirt off her white dress while she inspected the newest of the luxlacus lilies added to a growing bushel of sea-colored flowers. Satisfied, she twirled her finger, tying the bushel with a line of hydro twine before encasing the whole thing with a bubble. It lazily floated up to join two other flora-laden bubbles as Furina stood up, shaking off the sand from the twin fins flowing from her lower back as she surveyed the lakebed and surrounding flora.

These were for her mother, but now she just needed to find some sunflowers. Partly because the large, radiant flowers were Lyris’ favorite, but also because she just loved the color yellow.

That hue of brilliance was rarely found in the world beneath the waves, and it was just one of the many reasons the world above continued to fascinate her.

She also needed a bouquet for that silver-haired girl that just arrived at the village. She had looked so sad…

Furina was brought out of her musing when she felt something nudge softly against her leg. 

Her searching gaze turned downward to find a familiar small purple seahorse nuzzling its snout into her calf. It was a seahorse that by all rights should have been at home. 

Underwater.

“Purpura?” She questioned softly, scooping up the attention-seeking seahorse into her arms.

The answer to her unspoken question presented itself not a moment later.

“And who do we have here?”

Furina’s arms tightened instinctively at the a very familiar voice, earning a surprised little squelp from the little creature in her arms.

Sure enough, she slowly turned around to see the very amused face of her mother looking down at her from the grassy knoll just above the beach.

“Ah, m-mother!” Furina stammered, rapidly commanding the bubble-bound flower bouquets to form a single line that she could obscure behind her own body, “What are you doing here?”

Faustine chuckled as she approached, “Ah ah, I believe that is my line, little dewdrop.”

If Furina had turned around at that moment, she may have caught the slightly evasive oculus of Rhodeia, the Royal Oceanids’ current retainer, dip deeper underneath the lake’s surface. Instead, she focused on what she now had to tell her mother now that she’d been caught.

Mother had taught her if she couldn’t lie, tell a half-truth. So the daughter did just that.

An uneasy smile flickered across Furina’s face, “I was just on a stroll.”

“A stroll. On the surface,” Faustine clarified, “And what have we discussed about coming to the surface?”

Furina remained silent, her voice stayed by a childish reluctance.

Faustine wasn’t going to have any of that and simply tilted her head in daring silence.

Furina winced then sighed through pursed lips, “…That I need to tell you when I go above water.”

“I’m very glad we’re on the same page, as the humans say,” Faustine said as she claimed her victory, “Now, what are you so very clearly hiding behind your back?”

“I… uh, um—“

Furina didn’t have time to formulate an excuse as Faustine waved her hand and the hydro constructs obediently floated out from behind her. When her probing gaze observed the floral contents of each bubble, however, the gentle reprimand she had ready melted away.

Amidst her dear child’s audible pouting, Faustine gracefully beckoned over the bouquet filled with rosmarinus bulbs and luxlacus lillies —flowers clearly tailored to her own tastes— and popped the bubble with nary a thought. The bouquet fell gently into her outstretched arm.

“Furina…” she said warmly, tracing a delicate finger along the petals. Her daughter truly had a good eye.

“It was supposed to be a surprise!” Furina whined, kicking up a little bit of sand with her foot.

“Don’t do that,” Faustine chided, “Especially if you’re still so insistent on wearing my human appearance.” 

“But it’s the best appearance,” Furina defended sourly, “There are truly no mortals that match your divine beauty.”

Faustine just shook her head, an exasperated smile tugging on her lips. 

When Furina had first assumed that form as her human guise so many years ago, she thought it was just a child’s innocent gesture of flattery. She never expected her to officially adopt it as her own appearance.

Usually, she didn’t particularly mind. But today, however…

A far older pair of twin teardrop eyes slowly widened in horror as their owner gradually closed the distance between herself and her daughter, her unladen hand carefully reaching up to caress Furina’s hair.

Or what was left of it.

“By our Mistress the Great Mother,” Faustine murmured numbly, “What did you do to my hair?”

Furina just shook her mother’s hand out of her shoulder-length hair in response.

“It was annoyingly long and it always went everywhere,” Furina explained, “So I changed it.”

“And you didn’t bother concealing your fins again,” Faustine continued fussing, “What, exactly, is the point of looking like three quarters of a human?”

“It’s unique,” Furina huffed, said fins flaring outward at the sudden attention, “And I always feel cramped without them.”

A part of Faustine wanted to protest at the unneeded, unruly, utterly tragic modifications to her beautiful image, but after a second she let it drop. 

Besides, maybe now the humans of that village that had cropped up nearby would actually be able to tell them apart. 

“Travesty aside, I am touched by these flowers, Furina,” Faustine said, returning to the actual issue literally in her hand, “But these rules I set in place are for a reason.”

“I know, I know. It’s for my safety and well being and good health,” Furina recited maybe just a little facetiously, “But I’m 197 years old now...”

Faustine raised an eyebrow in challenge, “And?”

Furina wanted to sigh, but had a feeling that would just land her into another lecture on proper manners and she didn’t want to make poor Purpura sit through that with her.

So she straightened her posture and met her mother’s two-shaded teardrops with her own.

“I’m just wondering if it’s alright if I can have a little more freedom in my actions.”

Faustine stared at her daughter for a few pregnant moments of silence and Furina thought for sure she was going to get a mouthful, even with her honest and upfront appeal.

Then, to the daughter’s surprise, her mother laughed.

“Alright.”

Furina blinked, “What? That’s it?”

“My little dewdrop, rules are always meant to serve a purpose,” Faustine began, “When that purpose no longer exists or no longer applies, neither do the rules.” 

The first tearborne smiled, “You said it yourself, you are not a child anymore.”

“So…” Furina began slowly, “All I actually had to do was ask?” 

“I wanted you to realize you were discontent and then express it. Civilly,” Faustine explained, “Of course, as your loving mother, I would still appreciate the courtesy of knowing where you are.”

Furina’s mind finally caught up to her as she almost dropped Purpura to point an accusing finger at her mother, “You tricked me!”

Faustine giggled to herself as she sauntered off toward the water, maybe a little too amused at how similar Furina’s reaction was to her own when she figured out Mother Egeria had pulled the very same trick on her.

“Thank you for the flowers, little dewdrop,” she said a little too innocently as her human form began melting away, “They’re very pretty.”

The last thing the now-oceanid heard as she tactically retreated into the water was her daughter, indignantly shouting that she wanted the flowers back.

Faustine smiled.

How fun it was to be a mother.

Furina’s expeditions to the surface increased markedly after that discussion. She even became a regular face in the village of Aremorica.

Some things became mundane. Others not. Though out of everything about the surface that had originally enticed Furina, it was her fascination with music that still endured after many, many years after she had first set foot on land.

With seldom exceptions, sound underneath the waves was scarce,  naturally limited by the liquid medium in which all sea life lived. It was why oceanids much preferred the art of movement over any vocal art, expressing themselves frequently with graceful ballads of the body. 

Above water, there were no aquatically imposed limitations; sound cut cleanly through crisp air like any common minnow could slice through water. 

And so, what started as brief fascination with the sharp ambience of birdsong evolved into an infatuation with the complexities of human voice and song. Even before she had the ability to take on human form, Furina spent many a night with her liquid body stretched leaf thin beneath the shallow riverbeds listening to bards of all walks sing their tales. Sometimes they would sing to maidens that had accompanied to them, other times it was a rehearsal for an invisible audience.

Reclined in the branches of an apple tree, tonight’s leisurely bard was of the latter category.

Her candid performer for the evening was a young man with black hair. Eyes closed and lost in song, he carelessly strummed what appeared to be a lyre and was dressed much the part, garbed in green and shawled in a humble burlap cloak. 

She recognized the song as a well-known Remurian hymn, Gloria Contra Decayum, that she had heard some of the villagers humming.

Unlike the villagers, however, this youth’s voice was the most beautiful she had ever heard.

Never before had she heard melody so sonorous that it seemed to still the very tide against the shore. It was a voice so heartfelt and steeped in emotion that the bard seemed to tame the very wind rustling through the late fall canopy.

She wanted to be able to sing like that one day.

Emboldened to hear more, Furina slithered a bit closer, her teardrop oculus bulging ever so slightly against the surface of the water so she could drink in the above-world senses a bit more clearly.

At this distance, there were a few other peculiarities she could make out about this bard. For one, his lyre seemed to be strung with pure anemo. Maybe it was a trick of the light, but Furina swore she saw the ends of his twin braids glowing. 

He also felt… different for lack of a better term. It was a certain purity that was almost more in line with another oceanid than a human, though she just couldn’t put her fintip on it.

Whatever he was, he definitely wasn’t human. Furina was at least sure of that.

The young oceanid became so engrossed in puzzling out what exactly this bard was that she failed to notice that said bard had stopped singing. She had also failed to notice one of his vibrant green eyes had opened and was now fixated on a peculiar looking spot of still water that wasn’t really moving with the tide.

“It’s rude for a guest not to give proper applause, no?”

Furina’s hydro body immediately turned cryo at the playful tone and she immediately pressed herself flat against the sandy bed. For a second, she considered immediately receding; she had never been caught before.

Then, she heard her mother’s voice pointing out in that infuriating, matter-of-fact tone that she had been the voyeur and was very much in the wrong.

With the oceanic equivalent of sigh, she swallowed her pride at getting caught for the first time ever, summoned the dress she always had on hand, and began filling the simple white garment with her already solidifying body.

Her mother said first impressions mattered. So she would make this count.

“I apologize for my intrusion, but I have heard plenty of bards grace these shores with their songs,” Furina said as her head rose above the shallows, “Not one of them compare to the tones of your voice.”

Furina smiled inwardly as she strode onto shore, watching the bard’s expression widen slightly with surprise as the full splendor of her human form finished taking shape.

“I have had many a flatterer, though none of them have ever walked out of a river before,” the mystery bard said, an easy smile gracing his lips, “Might I ask why such a pretty maiden with fins is hiding beneath waves as deep as my ankles?

Furina inward smile quickly disappeared in a small flight of panic as her thoughts quickened. 

She couldn’t admit that she spied on bards as a hobby lest she shred whatever was left of her evaporating dignity. As such, her mind latched onto the lowest hanging half-truth it could find.

“I… uh, please teach me!” she asked earnestly.

The bard leaned forward, “Oho? Why should I do that?”

Furina’s thoughts raced once again.

“My people do not know of song, for there is no such thing beneath the waves,” she said, quickly channeling a fair bit of her mother’s rhetoric, “I was taught that if I do not know something, then I should seek the guidance of those that do.”

Furina tilted her head slightly, a clear notion of challenge, “And you, fair bard, have proven that you know the most.”

The ‘fair bard’ snorted, “I don’t think anyone has called me that, but I kinda like it.”

He swung his legs over the branch, dangling them off his perch as he faced the oceanid fully.

“My name is Venti,” he said, then held out his palm, “And if you want me to teach you, it’ll cost you an apple.”

Furina flicked her index finger and a small string of hydro immediately pulled one of the red fruits above the bard’s head free from its stem. It fell down straight into his waiting hand.

“Vephar,” Furina greeted in turn, “Though those who actually know me call me Furina.”

“Well, you definitely got your wits about you, so that’s a start,” the bard then took a bite of his newly delivered apple, speaking again well before he was finished chewing, “Vephar. Furina. You wouldn’t happen to be a god, would you?”

Furina paused.

Her mother had referred to grandmother as a goddess. Wouldn’t that make herself a goddess, too? But she had overheard many oceanids address her mother as queen...

Furina frowned. She didn’t really want to be a goddess. Or a queen. Especially not if it made her as busy as mother.

“A… princess, I suppose.” 

“Alright Princess Vephar,” Venti said in a way that made Furina immediately regret uttering such a thing, “First things first, why do you want to sing?”

Furina furrowed her brow, “Didn’t you just ask me that?”

Venti grinned, “No, I asked you why you think I should teach you. Now I’m asking you why you want to sing.”

Furina placed her arms akimbo, silently beckoning for the bard to continue his explanation.

“Bard’s sing their songs for many reasons,” Venti said, “Fame, love… freedom. These are all very different things that go on to shape how each bard spins their sonorous tales. So what is yours, princess?”

Furina stilled. Her answer required very little thinking, but a fair bit of articulation.

“Song is beautiful,” Furina began, “It brings joy...”

The oceanid trailed off, looking back to the water and letting the tide continue pulling her thoughts into place.

She and her mother were different from other oceanids; as Tearborne, she had the coveted privilege to walk freely between land and sea even before Egeria had granted her gift. 

She also knew there were still people of the water that yearned to experience the wonders of the surface, those that did not receive her grandmother’s blessing.

“I wish to share that joy with my people who can not experience it above the water’s surface.”

Even though her words were true, a small part of Furina figured a little fame and grandeur wouldn’t hurt. Naturally, she wasn’t going to admit that openly.

Twin teardrops met anemo green as Furina boisterously pointed to the bard high in the tree.   

“And that is why I wish to be… the Singer of All Waters!”

Furina’s mouth creased into a pout when the bard stifled a fit of laughter.

“A noble decree,” he chirped playfully, “But isn’t that basically your grandmother’s title?”

Furina frowned, then huffed slightly. The bard had a point. 

“Then I’ll be the Singer of Many Waters,” she hastily amended.

Then her mind digested the rest of Venti’s sentence. 

Wait. Grandmother?

Furina froze for the second time this cool autumn evening. This time because she realized the bard knew exactly what she was.

Her grand ambitions went forgotten as her fins flared outward, pulsing brightly with azure as she called upon what limited authority she had over her domain.

“How do you know about my grandmother?”

Venti seemed completely unfazed, he didn’t even stop smiling.

Before he could verbally defend himself, however, another voice echoed across the shore.

“Furina?”

Furina whirled around on deeply ingrained instinct at the familiar tone, finding her mother approaching from down the shore. Her traditional veil and much more ornamental dress drifted across the sands, meaning she was here on some sort of business.

The daughter gulped; that usually did not bode well for her.

“Mother?” Furina hesitantly ventured. 

“I told you we’d find her here,” a lighter, somewhat resigned voice said as her mother approached, “She’s probably spying on bards again.”

A familiar girl with long silver hair stepped out from behind Faustine. She was dressed simply and wore a similar non-plussed expression. A sheathed sword, austere in its design, hung faithfully at her hip.

“Erinn!” A scandalized Furina fumed at her, “You said you wouldn’t tell!”

Errighenth, or Erinn as everyone called her, simply huffed back with crossed arms.

“Did you expect me to lie to your mother? The Queen of the Lochfolk?”

“Children,” Faustine said. Her voice may as well have been her blade since the girls in questioned silenced themselves immediately.

Satisfied, the queen looked upward, toward the bard.

“I do hope my daughter was at least entertaining, honored guest?” 

Furina’s eyes went wide, darting between her mother and the lackadaisical bard still up in the tree.

“Honored guest!?” Furina sputtered loudly.

Her mother didn’t even have to flick her on the forehead. Erinn did that for her.

“Inspirational,” Venti chirped at Faustine, pushing himself off the branch, “Nothing troublesome. She just wanted me to teach her how to sing.”

Venti’s shoes never hit the ground. Instead a gust of pure anemo cushioned his descent, letting the bard touch down with delicate grace.

Faustine suddenly turned to Furina, a familiar expression of disbelief mixed with amusement crinkling her eyes.

“You pestered the God of Anemo into teaching you how to sing?” Faustine wondered aloud, not quite sure whether she should be proud or mad.

Probably both, she figured.         

Furina’s saucer sized eyes turned back to find said God of Anemo, eyes and hair now glowing with his authority, holding his cloak open to bow in tandem to her mother’s impromptu, borderline haphazard introduction. 

“Barbatos,” the bard reintroduced, mirroring Furina’s earlier words, “Though those who actually know me call me Venti, miss princess.”

Now Faustine’s eyebrow visibly raised, “Princess?”

“Oh wow!” Furina exclaimed, creeping red of deepest regret crawling up her pale face as she grabbed her friend by the arm, “Erinn, I think the village springs need tending! Let’s go!”

The mortal among them exchanged a dry look with Faustine as Furina dragged her away in hasty egress. They both knew Furina had purified the spring water earlier that day, but neither felt compelled to correct her.

Erinn for her friend’s sake. Faustine for her timetable’s sake.

Once the duo was out of sight, Faustine sighed.

“I apologize for anything my daughter might have put you up to,” she said to the god of Mondstadt with a slight bow of her head.

“Oh please, I’ve received far worse welcomes than that,” Venti chuckled, “Though, I think I will be teaching her a song or two before I leave.”

“It would make her year,” Faustine conceded, “But pleasantries can wait.”

“Yes,” Venti agreed, “So what has earned my humble self the personal summons of the Queen of the Lochfolk.”

The Queen continued striding down the shoreline, motioning for the wind god to follow. She decided to cut right to the chase.

“I am in need of advice,” Faustine began.

“Like mother, like daughter, huh,” Venti japed, though something akin to warning edged his tone, “This isn’t about godhood, is it?”

Faustine’s long locks swayed as she shook her head, “No. I care not for the false laurels of Celestia.”

“Good,” Venti said, pressing the subject no further as he lightly strummed a wandering tune on his lyre as they walked, “So… do you want to learn how to sing too?”

Light laughter escaped Faustine’s lips, “The thought has crossed my mind once or twice, but right now that is unfortunately not a priority.”

The Queen’s expression then sobered, “Remuria, the kingdom that borders my lands, is expanding. Alarmingly quickly, according to my people who inhabit the southern waters. It is only a matter of time before they reach us… and against their forces we are scattered and woefully unready.”

Venti’s tune changed as his hand instinctively changed to a more somber key. He knew where this conversation was going.

“Barbatos of Mondstadt, you lead a rebellion outnumbered ten-to-one, and yet you felled a god,” Faustine observed, “Tell me, how did you do it?”

For a few long seconds, the only sounds were the running river beside them and the insects in the nearby underbrush. Even the constant night breeze had come to a sudden halt.

When Faustine turned to her side, the jovial light living in Venti’s eyes had vanished, replaced with something unreadably turbulent.

“I can tell you what it took to topple Decarabia, I can tell you of the hardships of my people and how we fought to free ourselves from the tyrant’s rule,” Venti said, “But before that, I… need you ask you one thing.”

Faustine said nothing. She only nodded her head.

“War takes. War takes, no matter how noble the pursuit,” Venti said, “Are you prepared for that?”

Faustine didn’t need his words to know that war had already taken something from him. She could read it clearly from the brewing hurricane in his eyes.

The queen fought the urge to look back in the direction her child went, instead steeling her own eyes to meet the god’s hurricane with a storm of her own.

“I am.”

Faustine knew she could be ready. She knew she had to be ready.

But she could only hope for her own naive sake that she never would have to be. 

The bard or anemo did end up teaching Furina a single song, Gloria Contra Decaryum, before he returned to his kingdom. It turned out she had quite the talent for it too. 

No, it wasn’t cheating if she adjusted her vocal chords until her voice sounded just right. She even had Venti’s tacit approval as a wind spirit who had done so similarly. 

Elemental beings just rolled that way.

Still, when she asked Venti to teach her another song, the bard declined.

“The rest is for you to figure out,” Venti had said, “That’s the fun part of being a bard!”

He then melted into the wind before Furina could protest, leaving only lingering laughter and a pouty oceanid.

Nonetheless, time marched on. And with time brought newer flavors of her mother’s lessons.

Including, apparently, swordplay.

Furina winced as she felt a blunt length of solid water hit her shoulder.

“Good reaction, though that form was sloppy,” her mother chided, lazily withdrawing her own water-forged practice sword.

Furina muttered something unintelligible to herself. She knew what she did wrong, but she didn’t need to hear it.

Today’s objective was supposed to be simple: hit her mother with her sword without getting hit in the process.

Unfortunately, her mother seemed dead set in making this objective very not simple. And she was making her look bad in front of her precious little Purpura, who was watching on the edge of the grassy clearing they had chosen for today’s session.

“Ugh,” Furina groaned, retreating backwards to nurse her now aching limb, “What’s the point of this, exactly?”

“There are many points in this world, my little dewdrop. Articulate.”

Furina’s fins curled upward from her lower back in response, the edges sharpening as she did so.

“You already trained me how to fight with these,” Furina said, her fins wiggling in protest, “Why something so mundane as… swords?”

Two thin cords of hydro suddenly shot from the moisture in the grass, curling lightly around her fins and pulling them to the ground.

“And now what will you do?” Faustine challenged, “Die?”

Furina’s sharpened fins cut through her restraints with a single fluid flick of movement, but her mother had (annoyingly) proved her point.

“Moreover, the art of subversion is perhaps an oceanid’s greatest strength,” Faustine continued, “What tactical advantage would be afforded to you if you revealed your most powerful weapon first?”

“Shock and awe,” Furina said quickly.

Faustine mentally chewed on her answer for a few seconds before eventually nodding. 

“Fair enough,” she conceded, “But remember the effectiveness of that strategy is heavily reliant on the risk-benefit of making such an omission.”

Any moral victory Furina thought she had crumbled away as Faustine raised her sword again, “Regardless, my previous point still stands. Again.”

“Fine, fine” Furina huffed, relaxing her fins as she raised her own sword.

And so they locked blades again. And again and again with little progress made on Furina’s side.

It was when Furina failed her fourth attempt with her mother remaining uncharacteristically silent did she start to get the hint that this was one of her mother’s ‘layered’ lessons. As such, when mother said “again” for the fifth time, Furina engaged even though her mind was wandering elsewhere.

She knew it wasn’t about persistence, she had already that drilled into her previously via another inane task involving those damnable conch octopi. Plus, her mother would have said something by now.

Those productive thoughts quickly vanished after getting thwacked for the sixth and seventh time. The eighth time, her mother’s decisive strike knocked her straight off her feet, forcing her to course correct mid-air using her fins to avoid a full body tumble.

“Arrrgh!”

Furina’s fins whipped in agitation, kicking up dust as they scraped against the ground to steady herself. She nearly threw her sword down in frustration at her mother’s still infuriatingly blank expression, but that would earn her a different lecture of the tangential sort and she wouldn’t subject Purapura to that.

She was doing everything she had been taught. Perfect balance, perfect grip, perfect swing. Everything was as her mother expected it.

So, by the Primordial Sea, what was she doing wrong?

Furina grit her teeth as she crouched down, coiling like a spring before she launched herself at her mother. If Faustine noticed this marked increase in aggression, it didn’t show. 

That was fine with Furina.

The rules were that she couldn’t use her fins. There were no rules dictating what she could do otherwise.

Faustine’s eyes widened by a smidge when she watched her daughter leap off the ground to dodge her stabbing strike. She then watch Furina continue to violate several principles of proper sword form as she hopped off the ground again, using her momentum to spin around Faustine’s blade to thread an attack straight past her guard.

Wizened twin teardrops glowed. Furina’s victorious smirk vanished.

The attack that would have connected was sourly interrupted by a geyser of water abruptly erupting from underneath her. The sudden torrent hit her dead in the midsection, sending her spiraling backwards.

Furina crashed onto grass as a wet, soggy lump. Her sword landed a few paces away, dissolving into a puddle as she lost concentration. It must have looked pretty bad, because Purapura wafted over to nuzzle her faceplanted head in concern.

Before she could give voice to the various obscenities buzzing around her head, she heard her mother’s voice.

“Well done.”

Furina’s teardrops blinked with slight incomprehension as her angry thoughts gave way to puzzled ones; she had expected something along the usual lines of: ‘A disarmed opponent is a dead one.’

“Huh?” She sputtered eloquently as her mother offered her her hand, letting her sword float obediently in the air next her.

“The goal of that exercise was to see how long it took you to realize your approach was not effective,” Faustine explained cooly as she helped her daughter to her feet. She then snapped her fingers and the water bogging down her daughter’s clothing evacuated itself from the fabric, leaving her dry once more.

Said daughter fought back an indignant puff, but instead focused on venting her stress by appeasing her seahorse’s increasingly attention-seeking behavior. She could very well do that herself, but she appreciated the gesture. The loose white blouse, black trousers, and knee-high leather boots she wore were a recent gift from Erinn. All so she could look ‘something like a proper swordswoman.’

Furina did think they suited her a bit better than the flowing white dresses her mother favored, but she recognized each had their merits.

“Repetition without reflection begets insanity,” Faustine continued when her daughter was sufficiently dry, “Why did you seem so adamant about not breaking from your sword form sooner?”

Furina frowned, earning a disappointed squelp from Purapura as her petting hand paused, “I thought you would deem it improper.”

For a split second, her mother’s ever-present serenity darkened with something unpleasant. Still, even if Furina hadn’t noticed the minute fluctuation in her expression, she would have definitely noticed the uncharacteristic pause

Her mother rarely hesitated, especially in her lessons.

“When your life is on the line, there is little that can be considered improper.”

Furina understood that, even if she didn’t want to. And it was a very valid sentiment. 

However…

“If that’s so…” Furina ventured, “Then why did you restrict my fins?”

When her mother’s lips flattened ever so slightly, Furina’s eyes narrowed.

She hadn’t lived with her mother for 150 years to not know when the Queen of the Lochfolk was fibbing.

“You just made this exercise up on the spot, didn’t you?” Furina accused.

Faustine shrugged.

“I did not want to make the task too feasible,” her mother explained easily, “There are plenty situations where you may not have access to everything at your disposal.”

Furina’s eyes narrowed even further. Especially when her mother discretely clasped her hands behind her back.

The ultimate telltale sign of Faustine’s flavor of motherly evasion.

“When?” Furina pressed undeterred.

Inquisitorial teardrops clashed against feigned innocence for several seconds.

Then, Faustine’s postured shoulders sagged slightly, the prideful part of her bemoaning that her daughter was getting too perceptive.

“The fourth time I knocked you over.”

“I knew it,” Furina nearly shouted, voice full of the childish type of vindication that could only be gained when one won against a parent.

Faustine sighed, “Does it really matter, my child? The lesson still stands either way.”

Furina’s smug (admittedly petty) grin was still plastered wide on her face, “No. But you still got caught.” 

Despite herself, Faustine bit back a chuckle, “Then it seems we both have something to improve upon.”

The queen made an upward motion with her hand, summoning forth another dull blade of water for her daughter.

“I must ask,” Faustine mused as she floated the new armament over to her daughter, “Did you try and overwhelm my guard with a flying pirouette?”

“Ah… uh,” Furina murmurred as she took her new sword in her non-Purpura occupied hand, “You noticed that?”

“Of course I did,” Faustine said, “I taught you how to dance before I taught you how to fight. Though I never expected to see that movement on land.”

Well, that was because it was an oceanid dance maneuver. Meant to be performed underwater.

“I’ve been experimenting,” Furina admitted at her mother’s unspoken question, “Ever since you taught me basic footwork as part of swordplay, I was seeing how well our people’s dance could be… replicated, more or less.”

She enjoyed dancing as much as she enjoyed singing. She also didn’t like having to choose one or the other whether she was above or beneath the waves.

So she made do.

“I see,” Faustine said, her floating sword finding her hand once more, “I am interested. Show me what you have developed.”

Furina felt a contradictory mixture of anticipation and hesitance swell in her chest as she shooed Purpura off to safety.

“Are you sure?” Furina said, raising her blade, “I’m afraid it’s not very elegant yet…”

“Then let us make it so,” Faustine said as she readied her own blade, “Perhaps with this you will finally best that budding swordmaiden in a duel.”

This time, however, her own two fins sprouted out from her lower back, extending to full length as they pulsed with hydro. 

“Again.”

Furina recognized her tacit permission, grinning as her own aquatic pinions flared to mirror her mother’s.

There were no rules. Not anymore. 

It was the most fun sparring session she had ever had.

Furina’s bastardized sword dancing did not end up beating Erinn in a duel, though she did come a bit closer.

That was fine, she was more than happy to keep losing to her friend as long as Erinn was happy helping her refine her singing voice. The singer-turned-swordmaiden had even invited her along when she gave one of her spontaneous performances in the village square.

Though Erinn could have gone without introducing her to the townspeople under the title of the increasingly embarrassing moniker Singer of Many Waters.

She could just hear a certain green bard laughing his smarmy bum off in her hindsight.

Despite her friend’s attempt at a practical joke, the sheer outpouring of praise that she received was unexpected; she literally froze up when she realized her first verse received a round of applause from roughly half the village. 

“Do you think they actually mean that?” Furina had asked afterwards, “Or are they just saying that because I’m Lady Vephar?”

“I think you’re worrying about it too much, oh Singer of Many Waters,” Erinn japed, cheeks already rosy over a mug of post-performance ale, “With you around, maybe I can finally hang up the mantle so I can focus on swordplay.”

Thankfully Furina had convinced her not to. Solo performances were infinitely less enjoyable, after all.

And so, the occasional performance was added to the ever-growing litany of things Furina spent her time on. On the bright side, her singing had begun garnering her quite a reputation, enough that someone (usually the children) would always ask when the next time she was going to sing whenever they saw her.

Though fame was new to Furina (if it could be called that given the humble population of the village). Her foray into performance had even reached the ears of her mother, who had quickly warned her that she better not let such things get to her head.

Furina wasn’t an idiot; she knew that full well before her mother told her. And while she certainly enjoyed the thrill of applause in the moment of performance, she could easily do without the attention outside of it.

It was for this reason that she had begun to appreciate a one of those certain duties a bit more and more.

“Purpura, please. I’m concentrating.”

The seahorse at her feet did not stop nuzzling her lower leg. She tried nudging her away with her big toe, but the seahorse just wrapped her tail around her foot.

With a quiet little sigh, Furina opened her eyes, revealing the still, glasslike surface of the spring she was in the midst of purifying. 

One of the first duties her mother had taught her was purification. She had called it every oceanid’s god-given task as living beings in Teyvat, and that Furina was no exception Tearborne or not. The entire reason why Furina had ever become involved with humans at all is because the spring that mother had tasked her with as a fledgling was just a bit closer to Aremorica than she remembered.

They would have departed posthaste, but it was just a happy accident that their neighbors were Egeria faithful. 

As such, Furina had been tending to this spring for nearly half a century just as she was now. At the start of every stellar cycle she could be found here, standing vigilantly upon the surface of the water as she channeled purest hydro to work its wonder on the wellspring and the land it nourished.

It was also quite a perfect opportunity to indulge her growing need for some peace and quiet. 

Or as least it would be if not for her persistent little pet.

“This is the last time I’m bringing you here,” Furina chided to the purple seahorse for what was probably the hundredth time before she scooped her up into her arms, “I swear you’re growing needier by the—“

“Furina, we must flee!”

Agitated ripples broke across the tranquil surface of the spring as Furina whirled around, nearly dropping Purpura as she found her friend walking out of the brush toward her.

No, wait, she was staggering toward her.

“Erinn? What’s wrong?” Furina shouted back, hurrying across the water toward the tree line her friend had appeared from.

It was only when she got close enough to realize her garb was stained red did she realize something was very, very wrong.

“Is that blood?!” Furina almost screamed, “Are you hurt?!”

Furina abandoned the notion of running at the horrifyingly red hue. The water’s surface buckled beneath her as her fins flared outward, pushing her into the air with a powerful, singular stroke.

Erinn had fallen to one knee by the time Furina skidded to a stop next to her, grass stains on her trousers be damned. 

“You are betrayed!” she managed though pained grunts, staying upright only by steadying herself on her bloodied sword.

Furina didn’t really care much for that at the moment, her hands releasing Purpura as they began to glow with fervent blue.

“Move your hands!” Furina commanded. Erinn did as told, revealing a bleeding sword wound across her left flank.

It was a clean gash, luckily not too deep. Furina had handled far worse when the villagers brought her those injured in farming accidents.

Erinn’s breathing slowed as Furina pressed her hand against her side, weaving life-giving hydro into her body as the injury began to knit itself together.

“Remurians arrived in the village an hour ago. The chief greeted them. Welcomed them into our home,” Erinn explained, her normally measured voice as quick as rapids “I overheard them. He wants to turn you over to the Empire in exchange for Aremorica’s safety. Sent his people to stop me.” 

Furina‘s heart dropped. Along with her stomach.

“Cunoricus?” The oceanid repeated, voice nearly strangled with disbelief, “But he’s… he’s like your father.” 

Erinn’s eyes hardened to such a degree that not even the golden might of the Deus Auri could break them.

“Not anymore.”

Furina fell deathly silent as she pulled on her boots.

Could the people of Aremorica, the same people that smiled at her everyday, gifted her flowers after every performance, and treated her like one of their own really have truly betrayed her?

Furina quelled her emotions the best she could. As mother would say, they had no use here.

“How… how many are complicit in this?” Furina said after a numb second.

“I’m not sure,” Erinn said, testing her sword arm with two experimental swings, “I killed two trying to get to you.”

“If it was hidden from you, it can’t have been many,” Furina observed, her own sword of hydro coalescing in her hand.

Erinn’s eyes narrowed. If she hadn’t been so trained in reading her mother’s expression, Furina would have easily missed it.

“I can not in good faith let you return to the village,” Erinn said, “It’s too dangerous.”

Furina’s lips twitched downward, “Well, as the source of your good faith, I’m returning to the village.”

Her mother had told her that rulers did not abandon their people.

And, until proven otherwise, the people of Aremorica were hers just as much as those who dwelt beneath the waves.

Before Erinn could protest, Furina spoke again, “You know better than most what happens when Remurians fail to get what they want.”

Perhaps Furina had spoken too sharply when Erinn looked visibly struck, but her burgeoning emotions were making it very hard to restrain herself. Still, her words had the intended effect as the sword maiden averted her gaze, reminded of the blood and ashes that had turned her from song to sword.

Furina knew Erinn understood. Furina knew Erinn understood too well.

When their eyes met once again, a different if begrudging resolve colored the sword maiden’s cool blue. 

“Do you at least have a plan?”

“Improvisation is my strong suit,” Furina answered plainly. Then she knelt down to Purpura.

“I need you to go and get help,” She asked simply, “Can you do that?”

The seahorse let out an affirmative squelp before diving into the spring and down tributaries Furina knew eventually bled into the Loch.

The deed done, the pair exchanged a brief nod and began a breakneck descent down the well-trodden path toward the village. 

Furina came to a sudden pause when they reached the edge of the forest, coming to a stop at the sight of a freshly slain corpse.

The oceanid was no stranger to death; there were plenty of cases where her healing wasn’t enough and she had come across the remains of a shipwreck multiple times when swimming beneath the waves. She didn’t find it pleasant in the slightest, but that wasn’t why she stopped.

She stopped because the soul ended by Erinn’s sword hand was wearing clothing surprisingly similar to hers.

“Furina?” Erinn called.

Furina didn’t answer immediately as a plan started piecing itself together around one of her mother’s most important tenants.

The art of subversion is perhaps an oceanid’s greatest strength. 

“Erinn, act wounded. I’m going to capture you.”

Erinn’s features scrunched up in confusion until Furina’s form began to lose cohesion. The oceanid’s fins disappeared as her body liquified then resolidifed, leaving the sword maiden was face-to-freckled-face with the brown-haired woman she had run through with her sword less than twenty minutes before.

Furina didn’t need to explain. Erinn understood. But she had one burning question.

“Gisela’s voice was lower than yours,” she pointed out, “And what will happen when things inevitably go wrong? You can’t let me keep my sword.”

Furina-But-Not twirled her finger and a tendril of hydro crawled underneath Erinn’s long sleeve and circled around her sword arm, held in place by the oceanid’s will.

“You will have a sword when the time comes,” Furina assured, “If the time comes.”

After a brief second, Erinn nodded, “Alright. I’ll manage. Let’s go.”

When they reached the village perimeter, Erinn passed Furina her sword and allowed her friend to tie her wrists behind her back with easily breakable twine they had scavenged from a nearby barn.

“Ready?”

“As I’ll ever be,” Erinn said.

It wasn’t hard to figure out where to go from there.

They found the entire population of Aremorica corralled in the village square. On one side, the villagers were seated, held under guard by two towering living statues that were synonymous with the Empire’s dominance. On the other side, dozens of weapons and farm tools were haphazardly piled together. Separating them was three armed villagers and a group of six or seven Remurian soldiers, made obvious by their marble-white stone skin. One of them, seemingly the leader based on the golden embellishments that decorated his armor, was in hushed conversation with the village chief. If her mother’s lessons were true, he was a centurion.

Furina had expected more given what she knew of the structure of Remurian rank and file, but she wasn’t going to complain.

She cleared her throat quietly. It was time for a performance.

“Chief!” Furina shouted in a voice not hers.

An older man broke off his conversation. His expression neutral, almost painfully so, when he viewed Furina pushing forward his bound adoptive daughter.

“Gisela,” Cunoricus addressed, ignoring the scathing blue daggers directed at him from Erinn, “Where is Pepin?”

“Dead,” Furina reported, “Your stray here did him in.”

Cunoricus frowned, still refusing to make eye contact with Erinn, “And Lady Vephar?”

“She was not at the springs,” Furina lied, silently filing away the fact that the old man still referred to herself as Lady.

Erinn, however, growled at the usage of her formal title, “How dare you speak her name you miserable piece of shi—“

Furina ‘struck’ Erinn in the back of the head with the pommel of her own sword, then made a show of tossing the armament into the pile of weapons nearby. Erinn convincingly played along, whipping her head forward with faked violence.

“Enough!” Cunoricus bellowed, notably at the person Furina was pretending to be more than than Erinn herself.

He then finally brought himself to look at Erinn, a tired sigh seemingly aging him by fifty years, “One day, Erringheth, you will understand why I have made this choice.”

“I hope I never do,” she spat, her fierce glare cowled darkly by her long silver hair.

Any further discourse between them was interrupted by sound of the centurion coughing loudly.

“Explain yourself, Cunoricus,” the centurion muttered, “We were promised an oceanid, not a familial spat.” 

“Peace, Aulus,” the village chief placated, “Lady Vephar is surely close by. Today is the first day of the stellar cycle, and she has never missed a purification ritual.”

The centurion’s glowing eyes darted between the chief and Erinn unreadably.

“‘Close by’ is not here, and I find it hard to believe that your Lady would happen to be absent on the one day we choose to arrive.”

“There is no conspiracy,” Cunoricus assured, “The only ones aware of our agreement are present here, and they have told no one.”

A hushed whisper from the villagers captured Furina’s attention and she briefly allowed herself to glance at where they were held captive. She heaved a silent breath of relief when she found many faces burning with anger and the sting of betrayal.

“Agreement? You sold our Lady to the Empire?!”

“A stain upon your name, Cunoricus!” 

“May the sea’s wrath take you, you traitor!”

Furina had to fight down her smile. The people of Aremorica were still her people.

The rabble was silenced when the two golems shook the earth by slamming their man-sized swords into the ground.

Aulus shook his head, “Conspiracy or not, we are burning daylight, and I have given you more than enough time.”

The centurion then motioned to one of his men, “Take one of the elderly and make an example of them. Someone here is bound to know our little oceanid’s whereabouts.”

Furina felt Erinn’s shoulders tense under her grip. It was a visceral panic that was mirrored in her own.

Cunoricus unsheathed his sword, “You said the villagers would come to no harm!”

The centurion scoffed in the face of the weapon.

“Phobos cares not for the sentiments of barbarians,” Aulus muttered, “Be grateful I am being merciful in my selection.”

The name Phobos rang across Furina’s mind louder than whale-song. 

She would remember that name, for justice would always come for those that transgress against the fair waters.

A few villagers screamed as a soldier began rooting through the crowd for an acceptable sacrifice. Gently, Furina squeezed Erinn’s shoulder and steeled herself with what she was about to do.

It was time.

“Wait!” Erinn shouted, “I know where she is!”

Aulus motioned for a sudden stop to the proceedings. He then pushed past Furina as he approached the still bound sword maiden flanked by two of his soldiers.

“Ah, and so the rebellious little canary sings,” Aulus crowed, “Do tell, girl.”

Erinn didn’t answer immediately, but when she craned her head upward, what Aulus saw gave him pause.

A vicious grin, wider than a river, was plastered across her face.

“She’s right behind you.”

Aulus and his men whirled around, coming face to face not with Gisela, but with one vengeful Princess of the Sea, her true body newly reformed with fins and all.

“Hi.”

Furina silently apologized to the village children.

Then two delicate fingers trailing sharpened hydro cut across Aulus’ neck, spraying golden ichor across the commons as he died instantly.

To their credit, the two soldiers standing next to Aulus responded to the literal and figurative decapitation of their leadership remarkably quickly, forcing Furina to curl her already sharpened fins around her body to block the two gladiolus aimed to strike her down.

Erinn snapped her binds, the water hidden beneath her sleeve already solidifying into a one-to-one recreation of her preferred weapon in her ready grip.

The two soldiers soon fell limp, their stone heads separated from their shoulders by two decisive strikes from Aremorica’s sword maiden. 

Furina summoned her own hydro blade as she turned to face the rest of the Remurians. She quickly noticed the golems had abandoned their post, thundering toward what they perceived to be the greatest threat on the battlefield.

“The villagers!” Furina shouted, seizing the opportunity.

“Right!” Erinn responded, making a swift dash toward the villagers that were already fleeing.

Furina only had time to pulverize one of the encroaching soldiers with a pressurized blast of water before the rest were upon her. 

Unfortunately for them, Furina didn’t fight. 

She danced.

Gracefully sidestepping a sword strike, Furina twisted into a spin as her flowing twin tails of hydro carved through the first and second soldier with oceanic agility. She then fell to her knees, using her momentum to carry herself underneath a horizontal strike and slashing out the legs of the third soldier. Instead of coming to a stop, Furina let herself tumble into a roll to get her back on her feet, immediately hopping into an airborne pirouette that was rapidly becoming her signature. The last soldier died as her sword buried itself into his chest.

Rather than waste precious seconds pulling her sword free, Furina let the blade fall with the crumpling soldier, another blade rapidly forming in her empty hand. It was a wise maneuver as a second later, she was beset by a flaming greatsword.

Furina lightly backstepped the golem’s heavy blow, taking advantage of its slower movement to use its flaming blade as a step to platform into a whirling leap. Tucking her arms across her chest, she spun like a wheel midair, bringing her sharpened fins across the golem’s front at least six times.

She felt her fins find no purchase, bouncing off ineffectually as she fell back to the ground.

Furina bit back a curse as she landed, watching the golden glow of what was clearly a shield of geo energy flicker away as the second golem began it’s assault. She leapt aside its far more rapid strikes before putting a healthy distance between herself and her opponents with a fin-assisted leap. 

She didn’t have an answer for geo, but maybe she didn’t have to have one.

Sparing one last glance to ensure the village commons was empty, she turned to the hulking golems as her blade dissipated.

Furina didn’t need to beat them, she just needed them as far away from the villagers as possible.

So she pivoted on her foot and ran, her fins billowing like ribbons behind her as she sprinted in the direction of the Loch’s shore. As expected, she soon heard thundering footfalls chasing after her, but to her surprise and infinite chagrin the two stone golems were keeping pace. She kept up her sprint nonetheless, staying ahead of her pursuers all the way to the shoreline.

When she got there, however, Furina nearly swore against Celestia, the Hydro Sovereign, and even her grandmother for her misfortune. 

An entire cohort of Remurians were standing between between her and the water that was her freedom, accompanied by three more of their stone golems. Unlike the soldiers she had dispatched earlier, these were mortals through and through; their lack of immortal bodies signified they were the more base soldiers of this company.

The only exception was their leader, who was none other than the centurion she had just killed minutes prior.

Aulus clapped slowly as Furina drew to a halt. She heard the two golems close in behind her, sealing her between them and the rest of Remurians. 

“I do not know if I should be impressed or enraged that a mere barbarian forced me to waste a vessel,” the centurion drawled, “But I suppose you aren’t just some barbarian.”

His golden eyes narrowed, “I suppose divinity, no matter how fledgling, is divinity. This mistake is mine and mine alone.”

Furina blocked out the man’s words as he continued waxing poetic, her teardrop eyes darting around her surroundings for any way out. She had no idea how the centurion was still alive or how the enemy knew where she was headed, but there would be tine to parse out that mystery later.

There were now five golems and maybe forty mortal men. The mortals were of no issue, but the golems posed a significant obstacle. Not to mention how skilled the centurion could actually be given that she no longer held the element of surprise. 

Their formation had tightened, leaving little opening to slip by. She wasn’t strong enough to assume her true oceanid form outside of water in any advantageous capacity, leaving her options of egress sorely limited to one option.

Furina forced her hand steady as she summoned a sword to her hand once more. She would have to keep playing this by ear.

The centurion ceased his pompous prattle at sight of the blade, his marble face twisting into a scowl.

“Enough of this farce,” Aulus grated, “Men, seize her. In the name of Phobos, we have wasted enough time.”

It was only only when the circle began closing in around her did Furina have difficulty swalling her the swelling panic in chest.

“Stay back!”

Her fins flared longer with her emotions, pulsing angry blue as they whipped around her in warning. 

The human soldiers faltered at her display. The golems did not.

“Resist all you like, lochfolk,” Aulus continued on, “Perhaps if you come peacefully, we will spare the rest of those peasants you hold so dear.”

Furina’s eyes widened. Against her better judgement, the edge of her sword fluctuated. 

He was bluffing. There was no way that they had caught up with Erinn. Not if he had brought the rest of his forces he—

The land shook as a column of water exploded from the lake, forcing all present to turn around as the area was drenched by a cloudless and unexpected rainfall.

“Fools who trespass upon these lands.”

Furina’s sheer relief formed a single coherent thought upon hearing the booming voice she had grown up associating with the very definition of safety.

Purpura was the best little seahorse. Ever.

Aulus took a step back at the sheer ire emanating from the large oculus that revealed itself as the sudden deluge began to abate.

“I am Rhodeia, Guardian of the Loch.”

Furina almost shouted in joy when she saw the brilliant fins of her mother’s retainer sparkling in the sunlight. She made brief eye contact with the oculus of her savior, who dipped her head slightly in reassurance.

“The power of water is its ability take any shape. For thy transgressions, it shall take the shape of your deaths.”

Unlike his proud sentiments moments before, Aulus’ ensuing command to his men was simple and brief.

“RETREAT!”

The five golems immediately broke formation, thundering forward to put their hulking bodies between the wrathful oceanid and the rest of the fleeing Remurians.

The great oceanid scoffed as hydro bubbles born from her opening display already finished coalescing around her, spreading feathered wings as they gained faux-life. Eagles the size of men swooped downward at the soldiers, sharpened talons of water poised to strike. As they fled, Rhodeia herself swiftly descended, shielding Furina under her fin as she unleashed blasts of aquatic wrath upon the golems.

“They’re shielded by geo!” Furina yelled up at her retainer.

She assumed Rhodeia heard her as several of her newly formed flock diverted course toward the stone soldiers. They made a singular pass, talons ineffectively clawing at their shields before somersaulting back into the air.

Furina watched in fascination as the eagles suddenly swept low, the water constructs bubbling and reforming as they flung themselves forward as an airborne stampede of bulls.

Expecting to guard against far weaker strikes, the living statues had no time to turn their guard into evasion. They were instantly reduced to rubble, swords and shields easily giving way against the sheer force. 

Furina redirected her attention to the panicked screams of the other soldiers as they were beset by the hydro birds. Some of Rhodeia’s summons had landed, morphing rapidly into tigers and lions that were more than eager to join the hunt.

The Remurian rank and file disintegrated in the chaos, though Furina was able to spot more than a few survivors around their centurion leader. Aulus’ gleaming gladius was the only one skilled enough to fell the beasts of hydro as he carved a path toward the nearby treeline.

Furina’s sword hardened in her grip, though her own advance was halted when she noticed Rhodeia’s summons vanish. 

Confused, she looked up toward her guardian, finding her silent oculus nodding toward the forest.

Along with the Remurians, Furina easily found what Rhodeia was motioning toward.

Standing in front of the forest was a veiled woman in flowing white and dark blue, the colors contrasting starkly with the foliage behind her. She was almost disturbingly serene in the face of the bedlam before her, though even more at odds with her appearance were here eyes.

Cold, two-shaded teardrops brimmed with storms primordial.

Mother had arrived.

Furina watched as Aulus took a cautious step back, obviously recognizing the being in front of him from the sheer aura she emanated alone. She took morose satisfaction that the expression on his marble face most likely mirrored her own just moments before.

Faustine didn’t even introduce herself, eyes flashing blue as she opened her retaliation with only with a nonchalant wave of her hand. Furina was confused until one by one each of the mortal soldiers staggered, then collapsed to ground.

Twenty three men died by having the life choked out of them, drowning on land as the blood in their veins was arrested by a mere gesture.

Aulus’ golden gaze swept across his dying cohort before settling on Faustine.

His gladius raised and he charged.

“You barbaric monster!”

Faustine’s unfazed hand raised, then swiped across her body.

Formed in the blink of an eye, a hydro claymore the size of a small tree sliced through the air with force unparalleled. It crashed into Aulus with a sharp crack, leaving nothing but rubble and a golden spray of ichor as if the centurion was nothing but an insect.

And just like that, it was over.

Rhodeia’s fin pulled back a degree. Furina took that as her permission and ran.

“Mother!”

Faustine’s eyes snapped upward, the storms within melting away instantly as they softened with sheer parental relief.

“Furina!”

The adrenaline of the ordeal faded with each step Furina took to close the distance, instead replaced with the weight of what had transpired.

The dead bodies of the men scattered around her became nearly impossible to ignore. As well as the golden ichor that she just realized stained her clothing, hand, fins—

By Celestia, it was everywhere. Why was it everywhere?

By the time they met each other halfway, Furina’s trembling legs could barely carry herself as she laughed, cried, and tried not to throw up at the same time. 

Faustine caught her before her legs gave out, cradling her daughter gently in her arms.

“What did I do? What did I do?” Furina said through a tear-soaked smile twisted by hysteria, “Oh, mother, what did I do?”

“Hush now, little dewdrop,” Faustine cooed, holding her close as her delicate fingers combed soothingly through her hair, “You did what you had to do. I’m so proud of you.”

Furina took what minuscule comfort her mother’s words held and clung to it. It did little to slow her breathing or her tears.

“Why… why was it so easy?” Furina continued hoarsely, “I killed them. I killed them so easily, mother...”

Faustine didn’t say anything; there would be time for that later. Instead her grip tightened around her daughter, drawing her as close as she could.

Remuria had more than overstepped. She could tolerate an attack on herself, even an attack on her people as a whole.

But an attack on her progeny? Her daughter? Her innocent flesh and blood that cared for little more than what flowers her friends would enjoy most or what song she would sing at her next performance? 

For that, they would suffer a mother’s justice ten-thousand times over, Egeria’s prophecy be damned.

On a white sand beach surrounded by the dead, Faustine came to a decision. She did so because she realized she no longer had a choice.

Remuria must be stopped.

And because of that, Faustine would know war. Egeria’s children would know war. Aremorica would know war.

In the shadow cast by Rhodeia, Faustine herself began to weep.

Their idyllic days were over.

Remuria had come.

And, because of that, her little dewdrop would know war.

—

Furina de Fontaine sighed, manually stirring her tea if only to avoid looking at the reports littering her desk 

Snezhnaya had wronged too many nations. They had mugged Mondstadt’s archon in broad daylight, nearly turned Liyue into an early coming of the prophecy, and degraded Inazuma to a feuding war-state.

And now, if her people within the Akademiya were correct, had played an active part in an attempt to usurp the Dendro Archon’s authority.

Furina wanted to bury her head in her hands.

Fontaine would know war. A very big one should the Tsaritsa’s ambitions keep fueling her seemingly unending provocations. 

It was a war her nation could ill-afford if the prophecy was actually on Fontaine’s doorstep.

Furina pushed herself up from her ornate desk, taking her steaming tea cup to the open window of her office.

From the top of the Palais, if she squinted her teardrop eyes, she could almost see Aremorica from here.

Or, at least where it used to to be, given that it was now several hundred feet beneath the waves.

She shook off such morbidness, turning over to far more productive lines of thinking. Like organizing the Marachausee Phantom to prepare for a Fatui crackdown, ensuring that a new set of bylaws was passed effectively next week, trying to figure out what in the world was going on with that problematic golden travel—

A polite little knock sounded on her door.

Furina raised an eyebrow. Then she put on the ‘mask’.

“Come in~”

The door slowly creaked open to reveal the short silhouette of a teal melusine. 

“Sedene?” Furina greeted, placing her tea on her desk as she strode to the door, “What brings you to my office at this ungodly hour?”

“A late night gift, madame archon,” Sedene replied dutifully, “Somebody delivered a bouquet of flowers for your birthday today.”

Ah, right. Her birthday. The reason why she was currently up late catching up on work delayed by the full-day celebration that had eaten up her schedule like an aberrant shark.

“Oho! Please give them my heartfelt thanks,” Furina said, taking the bouquet of flowers from her faithful receptionist, “As you were.”

Sedene bowed politely and quietly egressed, closing the door behind her. Only when she was gone did Furina run a tired hand over the delicate stems of the blue flowers and sigh again.

Today wasn’t even her birthday. It was technically her mother’s birthday.

But nobody knew that, nobody but herself and her mother, wherever she might be.

She placed the bouquet on a table littered with several dozen gifts she probably wasn’t going to open any time soon before returning to her midnight vigil.

Maybe one day, she could put this farce behind her.

Maybe one day, someone would celebrate her real birthday.

Maybe one day, she would be greeted not with lakelight lilies or romaritime bulbs.

But with the golden hue of sunflowers.

Chapter Text

Furina couldn’t look at her hands.

Mother decided it would be safer for her to remain in the village while she handled official matters as apparently she had come across Erinn and the other townsfolk before making her deadly appearance to the now-late centurion. As such, the Queen had whisked her daughter back inland, depositing her quickly and quietly at the small villa on the very outskirts of town.

The out-of-the-way villa was the abode the Tearborne oft used when staying on land, built long enough ago that green moss sprawled across timeworn stone-brick and sturdy but far rarer marble. Notable for a central courtyard pond and the paned windows, it was probably the most prestigious structure in the village and several hundred miles around it.

The home was a gift of devotion from an architect (and by extension, the rest of the village) that had fled from Remuria a generation ago. Its unusually precarious location perched practically three paces away from a nearby creek bank allowed for ease of access to the Loch because the builders knew the divine occupants would never let the space flood.

It was this ease of access that Furina took full advantage of as soon as her mother left, stumbling outside and falling to her knees in the ankle-deep water of the creek. She drenched her arms, fervently attempting to rid herself of the remnant ichor clinging to her mortal skin. 

When it wasn’t enough, Furina pushed farther into the water, letting her whole body roll under the flowing surface to dissipate into the gently flowing current. She wouldn’t have to worry about looking at her stained hands if she had no hands, after all.

Furina didn’t quite know how long she remained in the creek, sitting in the afternoon shadows with her body half between human and oceanid. She figured if she sat their long enough then maybe she’d be able to look at her hands again.

Unsurprisingly, Purpura found her first.

The seahorse nuzzled her large heard against Furina’s currently translucent body, blowing several surprised bubbles when it passed through effortlessly. Then, it looked at her with beady, pouty eyes. Furina let out a stifled, watery giggle despite herself, solidifying just enough if only to validate her little seahorse’s effort.

Another presence soon swirled in the water around her. It wasn’t mother, but she still felt a familiar blanket of emotions wrapping her in feelings of warmth and assurance that didn’t quite reach her.

“Lady Vephar,” she ‘heard’ Rhodeia through the water, “Lady Focalors insists you remain indoors.”

The listless current comprising Furina’s body stirred.

“The Remurians can swing their swords at the creek-bed until day turns to night,” Muttered Furina, “I’d like to see how far they get.” 

“You speak true,” intoned her guardian , “But I believe your human friend is currently at the door. She is now shouting and is disturbing the wildlife.”

Furina scooped up Purpura as she rose, barely remembering to summon her white dress to wear as her mortal form took shape once again. She didn’t know where her other garments went, but it’s not that she particularly wanted the bloodstained clothing anymore anyway.

She stepped out of the creek, leaving Rhodeia to continue her guard duty. She made sure not a single drop of water clung to her person as she snaked back into her house via a door left ajar.

“Furina, open the door! I know you’re here!” She heard Erinn shout as she headed toward the door, “Your mother sent me!”

Furina took one last breath as she dropped Purpura into the central villa pond, using the air in her lungs to push down any lingering bile before opening the plank of wood separating her and the rest of the world. She found her friend looking playfully annoyed, standing between patches of sunflowers she had planted on a whim a month prior.

“Erinn, we’ve been over this since you were fourteen,” Furina grated at the sword maiden standing between rows of sunflowers, “The word ‘please,’ have you heard of it?”

Erinn rolled her eyes, “I said please the first, second, and third time. Here.”

Furina felt something wet and soggy shoved into her arms. It took her a second to realize it was her wayward clothes.

“Found them on the bank on the way here,” Erinn said, crossing her arms, “Figured you’d want them back?”

Furina scowled as several stains left gold splotches on her previously clean hands before making somewhat of an over-the-top show of rearing back her arms above her head. 

The wet clump of leather and cloth went flying somewhere into the front of her garden, flattening one of her sunflowers as it returned violently to the earth with a heavy, sodden thud. 

“Or not,” Erinn observed dryly.

Furina huffed as she used one of her fins to push the door open behind her, “You gift me three sets of everything, anyhow.”

Erinn slid into the villa after her, closing and bolting the door as she sighed. 

“Those garments weren’t exactly cheap.”

“They served their purpose and served it well, that’s all that matters,” said Furina, beckoning forth a tendril of water from the courtyard pond to cleanse her ichor-dirtied arms with. Again.

After a full minute of watching the oceanid wet her hands, Erinn spoke.

“Your arms are clean enough.”

“Are they?” Furina quipped, willing the rest of the water slip back from whence it came. As she watched the small cloud of ichor it carried dilute to invisibility in the pond beneath her, Furina noticed Erinn cross her arms from the corner of her vision. 

A quiet huff from the swordmaiden followed suit.

“Are you really beating yourself up for killing Remurians who were going to start executing our elderly?” Erinn said, “Most Remurians don’t even bleed red anymore.”

Furina found she couldn’t care less if they bled red or gold or grass green for that matter.

“That’s…” Furina began, “That’s not the point.”

Furina turned back to Erinn, her still somewhat dilated two-shaded gaze meeting the swordmaiden’s hardened one.

“Why was it so easy?”

Why was it so easy for her two fingers to glide through a stoneflesh neck like freshly curdled butter? 

Why was it so easy to for her sword to slice through people like her body danced through the air?

Why was it so easy to feel nothing but relief as she watched her mother strangle the life out of more than a dozen men with nothing but a gesture?

Something in Erinn’s expression widened in realization as Furina let herself slump onto a nearby cushioned bench.

“Don’t tell me…” Erinn said, a mixture of disbelief and incredulity creeping into her voice, “Was this… your first?”

Furina nodded stiffly, numbly.

Erinn hesitated, an odd occurence for someone usually as blunt as a club.

“But you’re… you’re a god.”

Furina scoffed, her fins flaring in agitation.

“Erinn, do you think I was born with a sword in my hand? In case you’ve forgotten, I can’t even beat you in a duel.”

Her mother had made no illusions in regards to her childhood; she knew how fortunate the early years of Vephar had been to those of most mortal children. It had been the one constant warning that had her mother had given her since the time she could first comprehend speech.

Still, the look on her friend face told her the answer wasn’t ‘yes,’ but neither was it ‘no.’

Erinn’s now wandering blue gaze crossed the floor several times. Then the long curtain of her silver hair swayed uneasily as she exhaled something that sounded like a bitter laugh.

“I owe you an apology, then.”

Before she could process what she said, Furina suddenly felt a pair of arms around her.

“I thought you threw those clothes out because they were a little dirty,” Erinn admitted, her voice leagues and bounds softer than it had been just moments before, “I mean, they were dirty, just… just not in the way I thought.”

The swordmaiden (somewhat hastily) pulled away before Furina, shocked as she was, could fully reciprocate. That was fine, Erinn wasn’t really a hugger.

“Do you ever stop caring, at some point?” Furina asked quietly.

Erinn readily opened her mouth to answer, though the voice that cut across the air was not her own.

“You do. And because you do, you must always remind yourself why you must care.”

Two pairs of eyes turned around, finding Faustine’s graceful form striding through the villa through the back door. The edges of her body still shimmered ocean blue, a telltale sign she had quite literally just walked out of the Loch moments prior.

“Thank you, Erinn, for comforting my daughter,” Faustine said as she closed the distance, “I don’t wish to come across as intrusive, but I believe some of the villagers are asking for your whereabouts.”

Erinn’s lips flattened, “Is it about—“

“Indeed,” Faustine answered succinctly.

Erinn’s lips creased deeper into a frown.

“I see,” the swordmaiden said as she rose to stand, “Then I have no choice.”

“There’s a feast tonight… celebrating the defeat of the conquerors,” Erinn said, mostly to Furina, “Will you be there?”

Furina smiled weakly, “Of course.”

“Great,” Erinn said, returning the smile with one of her own, “We’ll go over the songs for your next performance then,”

Erinn exchanged one more brief nod with Faustine before turning toward the entrance and leaving quietly. The far older pair of twin-shaded teardrops followed her until she was out of sight, and, as soon as she was, Faustine’s rigid posture softened considerably.

The Goddess Focalors crossed the remaining distance between her and her daughter with uncharacteristic haste.

“Are you alright, little dewdrop?” Faustine asked in that soothing tone that always seemed to quell whatever happened to ail her mind.

“I…” Furina began, “No… no, I don’t think so.”

Faustine knelt down and drew Furina into the second hug she received in the past five minutes.

“Oh, Furina…”

This time, the daughter returned the gesture readily and for a moment she just let her mother hold her.

“Erinn helped,” Furina offered.

“Did she?”

Furina shrugged against Faustine’s shoulder.

“She tried to, I think.”

Her mother’s grip around her loosened as a pregnant pause settled between them. It was a measured silence that Furina knew well meant her mother’s mind was clearly at work.

Faustine gently pulled away, moving to take a seat next to Furina. For a moment, they both watched Purpura scare dragonflies into flittering dances above the pond like they had countless times over the past decades.

“About what I told you before. About caring?” Faustine began, “I do mean it.”

Despite herself, Furina fought an urge to roll her eyes, “You always mean what you say, mother.”

A quiet ghost of a laugh escaped Faustine’s lips, “No, my daughter. This time I truly, truly mean it.”

There was something much heavier in her mother’s quiet voice, something so profound that it held Furina in silence. Even her ever moving fins went reef-still.

The Queen of the Lochfolk extended a delicate hand, letting a lone dragonfly perch on one of her slender fingers.

“Life is fragile,” she said softly, “In the hands of us gods, life is still fragile…. but also so very small.”

Faustine’s fingers twitched and for harrowing moment Furina through she was about to crush the hapless winged insect. Instead, she just raised her hand and allowed the tiny being to return to the pond.

“This is the most important thing I can teach you, or ever will teach you, because this will not be the last time you are called upon to take life.”

Her mother never was one for mincing her words, but Furina had a feeling there was a lump in the eldest oceanid’s throat that mirrored her own.

“I teach you this because the line between god and monster is thinner than the smallest blade of sea grass.”

Furina nodded, because it was the only thing she could even think of doing in the face of her weighted words.

“I understand.”

The searching look that had taken Faustine’s expression lingered for a few seconds more before fading into relief.

“Good,” Faustine said. “Now, Errighenth informed me of how you rescued the villagers, and I must say —despite how difficult it may have been — that I am very proud that you came up with a plan like that on the spot.”

Furina blinked and some of the usual gleam returned to her eyes.

“Oh,” Furina said, a little taken aback at how forward the praise was, “I… it was nothing you would have done.”

“On the contrary,” Faustine assured, “I would have simply killed them all. You did that and managed to deceive the Remurians into providing key information.”

It didn’t take long for Furina to realize what she referred to.

“You mean Pho—“

“There will be another time to discuss this,” Faustine interrupted, halting her with a hand before she could continue, “For now, we rest. We celebrate. Just like your friend said.”

A thought struck Furina.

“About Erinn...” Furina asked, “Why did you interrupt her?”

The Queen’s lips flattened and suddenly Furina thought she had made an err. However, Faustine simply looked toward the door, toward the direction the swordmaiden left, and sighed.

“What do you think Errighenth’s answer to your question would have been, Furina?”

Furina found that she arrived at Erinn’s most likely answer to her initial question with very little thinking at all.

“Yes.”

“Yes, and only yes,” Faustine repeated, placing extra emphasis on the word ‘only’ “Even though her answer is similar to what I’ve told you myself, there is a distinction in that simplicity that worries me.”

Furina tilted her head, “Distinction? What distinction?”

Her mother’s answer was succinct. Almost disturbingly so.

“Hatred.”

Furina blinked in confusion. Faustine took that as a silent question.

“You surely know how Errighenth came to this village?”

“I do,” Furina said, “Though she doesn’t like to talk about it. Rightfully so.”

“Well, has she ever told you the manner in which Cunoricus found her?”

Furina shook her head.

Faustine’s frowned and Furina knew she wasn’t going to like what her mother was about to say.

“Cunoricus found her buried beneath the bones of her village’s dead,” Faustine said gravely, “She was hiding from the Remurians that had slaughtered a tribe of over a hundred down to two.”

Twin teardrops widened at another pair of teardrops that remained hauntingly neutral.

Erinn had never told Furina this; she had only ever told her that village had been ‘attacked by Remurians’ and the she had ‘fled.’ It was no secret to anyone that knew her that she hated Remuria, but now Furina found she could hardly be faulted.

“Two?” Furina almost choked.

Faustine nodded and the shock seizing her chest turned into a new feeling entirely.

A feeling that burned, that roiled, that coiled up and whirled across her heart like the fiercest of storms upon the Loch.

“Furina.”

At her mother’s singular warning, Furina’s eyes widened a second time. This time in realization as her furrowed, near twisted, expression rapidly faded in some measure of numb horror.

“Hatred,” she repeated quietly.

Faustine nodded sadly.

“If there is one thing in this world that can turn a god into a monster with a single push, it is hatred,” Faustine said, “And I would know.”

Furina spoke before she could stop herself.

“Have you ever become a monster, mother?”

Faustine became distant, but only for a moment.

“Once,” Faustine told her shamelessly, “Back when your grandmother was sealed away into the Primordial Sea, I told myself there were no amount of lives I wouldn’t give to watch Celestia burn and fall from the sky.”

Furina’s heart skipped a beat hearing her mother admit something like that so candidly.

“What… what stopped you?”

Faustine just ran a motherly hand through her hair and smiled.

“You did, little dewdrop.”

True to Erinn’s word, there was a celebration held that night.

To Furina’s infinite chagrin, however, what Erinn failed to mention was that the celebration was for her.

“Congratulations,” Furina heard her mother muse loftily behind her, “They truly held nothing back.”

The festival was massive. From the edge of the village’s cobblestone square, Furina could literally feel the bonfire’s near building-high blaze lick against her skin. The village’s sole lutist was hard at work nearby, providing the musical fuel for an ongoing dance that rhythmically circled around the bonfire.

Lush, beautiful bushels of sunflowers were everywhere, golden hued petals further illuminated by dancing flames. Furina’s favored flower, adorned buildings and hung from garlands in such excess abundance it proved beyond a doubt that Erinn had a direct hand in this debacle.

Furina sighed, suddenlyg regretting her decision to add a few of her own sunflowers to the white dress she wore this evening. She couldn’t keep the growing pout off her face even if she tried.

Her growing internal diatribe against her friend came to an abrupt end when she heard someone shout.

“Lady Vephar is here!”

All the festivities jarred to a halt, only to roar back into motion a second later with twice the fervor all directed, to Furina’s personal horror, in her direction.

Furina had responded to the oncoming wave of praise and cheers that shook the town with her arrival with a few polite waves and bashful smiles. When she finally reached her limit and turned around for her mother’s aid, she found the Queen of the Lochfolk had disappeared.

The daughter sighed again ( though this time mentally), easily envisioning the mischievous little grin infuriatingly plastered on her absent mother’s imaginary silhouette.

Luckily, her salvation came in the form of a different silver-haired woman.

“Break it up, everyone!” Erinn yelled, her singer’s voice cutting through the rabble with ease, “This is her celebration, let her enjoy it.”

Even wearing the silver dress she did for performances, Furina couldn’t help but notice the somewhat out of place sword still strapped to her hip. Still, the crowd that had gathered around her dissipated with impressive speed, leaving the two of them mostly alone.

Furina turned to her friend, met her blue-eyed gaze with her own, and spoke her truest feelings from the bottom of her heart.

“I hate you.”

Erinn’s light melodic laughter became the loudest thing in the square.

“I thought so,” the singer said easily, “Though I will admit, the celebration isn’t all about you.”

“Obviously,” said Furina, her gaze sweeping over many smiling faces that had seen twisted in cowering fear mere hours before, “That’s why I’m still here.”

A part of Furina wanted to ask Erinn about her thoughts on Remuria if only to try and prove some sort of falsity in her mother’s words; that the lopsided grin currently beaming at her was capable of the monstrous hatred she spoke of. 

Another part of her hastily overrode that line of thinking. There would be another time for that, and tonight certainly wasn’t that time.

“Is this what you and mother were referring to? Back at the villa?” Furina asked stiffly after a moment, 

Erinn shook her head, “Not quite.”

Furina tilted her head quizzically when her friend failed to elaborate. In response, Erinn sobered just a little bit.

“I was going to wait until tomorrow to tell you,” the swordmaiden said, her hand resting on the pommel of her sheathed sword, “But… I’m chieftain of Aremorica now, Furina.”

It was only then that Furina recognized the sword as the ceremonial armament passed down for generations. Even so, however, something tight about Erinn’s expression stayed the ‘congratulations’ on the oceanid’s tongue.

Erinn’s grin returned, but this time far more wistful and accompanied with a near inaudible sigh.

“All the village elders chose me to replace fath— Cunoricus… so tonight will be my last singing night, at least for while,” Erinn continued, glossing over her slip of the tongue before Furina could comment on it, “So! I was hoping the Singer of Many Waters would be willing to share the stage one last time?”

Suddenly Furina’s own grievances felt like minnows.

“Of course…” she said softly, “I’d be honored.”

Erinn’s smile broadened and Furina suddenly found her hands being dragged toward the bonfire festivities,.“

Well, we can’t have you performing looking all down and such, so let’s get you in the mood!”

Furina didn’t know if it was comforting or unsettling how easily it was to fall in step with the other villagers, but somewhere in the whirlwind that Erinn and had thrown them into, she simply became grateful she could still smile and laugh. True to Erinn’s words, she was dancing soon enough.

And that, for now, was more than enough.

The moon was high in the sky when Furina escaped the stage long enough to find her mother with some of the older villagers. From the heady blush dusting her cheeks, it was obvious she hadn’t strayed more than five paces from the wine barrels that had been rolled out for the occasion since they had arrived.

“I see you’ve been busy,” Furina half-greeted, half-accused as the Queen of the Lochfolk finished sipping what was absolutely not her first cup of wine.

“Oh, Furina dear,” cooed Faustine in a concerning offbeat cadence, “We were just discussing you.”

The oceanid blood in veins suddenly ran cold.

High levels of alcohol and her mother usually only mixed into one thing. 

The death of her dignity.

“Oh, worry not, Lady Vephar,” one of mother’s current drinking partners assured her, “It’s not like any of us will remember a lick of this conversation by sunrise.”

The oceanid blood in her veins suddenly froze solid.

“Is it true you spent a whole day chasing after conch octopi?” One woman asked, “And then found yourself trapped inside a giant clam until Guardian Rhodeia found you?”

“Bah, who wants to hear about that?” interrupted another, whom Furina realized with absolute horror was a village elder, “Did you really get the Anemo Archon to call you a princess!?”

Furina felt herself burning with a different flavor of (probably harmless) hatred as she hastily egressed with a flustered scream, fleeing from the haunting sound of her mother’s echoing laughter after she tossed herself back into the crowd.

“Furina!” She heard Erinn call to her. The oceanid barely had a moment to turn around when a frothy mug was shoved into her hand.

Usually wine was her drink of choice, but Furina eagerly took what she could get given that the wine barrels were guarded by a foul demon that preyed on her mental health.

“I’m going up,” Erinn said, “Are you coming?”

Her remaining reservations drowned in ale as Furina wiped foam from her growing smile.

“A glorious stage awaits us, my dear friend.”

Erinn scoffed lightly, though her smile betrayed her relief at the return of her theatrics.

“Whatever you say, Singer of Many Waters.”

It was testament to their reputation that the entire square immediately quieted to a hushed silence as soon as the pair stepped onto their ‘glorious’ stage: one of the many oak tables that had been dragged out for the celebration. This same reputation preceded them, so with nary more than a nod, both songstresses immediately launched into their craft without even an introduction.

They opened with a few work songs, melodies familiar to everyone who worked the fields, and they had the village singing along with them after a few mere notes of each selection.

Erinn took the lead after the crowd pleasers, blazing through the fast-paced rhythms of the tribal folk-songs she favored. Soon enough, Furina’s feet hurt from using their table as makeshift instrument.

When the audience was sufficiently tired out, Erinn tossed the vocal baton to Furina, who was more than eager to pull from her litany of arias. Most of them were Mondstadtan, a clear homage to her first teacher. However, when Furina arrived to her closing piece, she found herself with a novel problem.

Her favored closer of choice, Gloria Contra Decayum, was thoroughly a Remurian song, and she wouldn’t dare dishonor her people by singing a Remurian song at a festival celebrating the defeat of said Remuria.

Turning the spotlight back over to Erinn crossed her mind for a split second before another far more attractive possibly alcohol driven option presented itself in all its impulsive glory.

Furina just closed her eyes and sang, words flowing like water from her soul to lips to form a new hymn. She let the lutist guide her, structuring her piece with well-crafted chords as she filled out the rest with all manners of her life, from her mother’s small lullabies she remembered as a child to the melodies of the forest, sea, and village.

She sang of the ever-flowing tides of the waters.

She sang of justice yet to be wrought.

She sang of triumph of the divine and her people.

She sang so she would not feel the weight of the past, nor the weight of the future.

She sang so she could, in that fleeting moment, simply be.

When she opened her eyes again, she was greeted not with adoration or cheer, but with silent awe. Even Erinn stood speechless beside her, leaving nothing but the crackling flames to serve as her applause.

The sound of a wooden chair against cobblestone scraped through the air, drawing all eyes to the Queen of the Lochfolk who had risen for the first time that night. The people of Aremorica parted like the waves as Faustine strode quietly across the village square.

She stopped only a few paces in front of the table her daughter was standing on, an unreadably placid expression on her still flushed face. At first, a small flare of panic welled up in Furina, quickly concluding she must have done something wrong. 

Then her mother smiled. Unlike the leering, teasing one from a mere hour prior, this one was different — smaller, thoughtful, weighed down by something almost solemn.

This was not Faustine. This was Focalors. And when Focalors spoke, Aremorica listened.

“Hail Lady Vephar, Princess of the Loch, The Singer of Many Waters.”

Furina inhaled sharply at the titles that once horrified her now hung in the air over her head as a verbal crown. She knew the moments her mother’s words passed through her core and roused the very currents of her being that the titles had reached far and wide beyond the village, riding the radiating decree to all of the Loch’s deep-dwelling denizens.

Pride, disbelief, fulfillment, trepidation, all sorts and manner of emotions overwhelmed her to the point of choking when she realized exactly what the woman in front of her had done.

Focalors had acknowledged her.

Mother had acknowledged her.

A sword unsheathed next to her, the sliver of silver catching the light of the bonfire as its owner held it high in the air.

“Hail Lady Vephar!” Erinn bellowed, looking at her with grin wide and teeth barred, “Princess of the Loch, The Singer of Many Waters.”

Like a spell broken, the people of Aremorica roared, carrying her name to Celestia and beyond. Furina even felt the very Loch stirring around her, a combined resonance of countless oceanids filling the air with an all-compassing hum of reverence.

Furina still couldn’t quite make sense of a single one of her burgeoning emotions as her gaze remained transfixed on the ocean behind her mother’s. Even as villagers rushed around her and toward her table like a rock in a billowing stream, she couldn’t tear herself from the mirrored twin-teardrops that seemed tinged with farewell.

She steadied herself with her fins as the townsfolk lifted her and Erinn’s ‘stage’ higher. Her mother became lost in the crowd, though it did not detract from the daughter’s dawning awareness of a singular truth: a truth that deafened her to the celebratory parade and even her own tumultuous emotions.

Today, the sun rose on a girl named Furina. Tonight, it set on a Goddess named Vephar.

And there would be no going back.

For better or for worse.

The celebration stretched far into the night, but all good things must end and the morning brought reality crashing back with it.

“You let that bastard LIVE?!”

Along with a lot of shouting, apparently.

Furina winced as a fresh pang of pain spoked through her skull.

“Erinn…”

The swordmaiden wilted with a huff at Furina’s hissing protest, keenly aware at her mistake.

“My bad,” Erinn said, “I keep forgetting you’re a lightweight. Somehow.”

With how many mugs of ale she put down last night, at least according to Faustine’s (all too happy) recollection, Erinn could be somewhat excused.

Unlike traditional oceanid mimicry, an overlooked facet of the human form granted by her Tearborne lineage was that it was physiologically almost one to one with any other humans. That meant while she could enjoy the pleasure of alcohol like any other commoner, it also meant she experienced a list of physiological drawbacks.

That list, as Furina was intimately familiar with, included hangovers.

Her mother, who seemed serenely unaffected by the entire barrel of wine she had reportedly drunk last night, tsked lightly as she stood up and crossed the table that had been plated with this morning’s breakfast by one of the villagers her mother employed to help maintain the villa. 

Furina heard a sharp finger snap by her ear and suddenly the pounding thunderstorm in her head receded. She blinked, catching only half of the smile on her mother’s face as she sat back down. It was a smile she had seen a thousand times, one that was synonymous with the phrase ‘figure it out yourself.’

Some things would never change, it seemed.

True to her intuition, Faustine glossed over her apparent miracle cure and moved to address Erinn’s original complaint.

“Mens rea.”

Furina tilted her head at the familiar term. Erinn just stared at Faustine blankly.

Faustine sighed quietly; it seemed a lesson was in order.

“A perpetrator’s state of awareness of the committed crime should affect the sentence,” Faustine further elaborated, “Cunoricus knowingly committed a crime, but did not purposely seek to cause undue harm.” 

“And how do you know that?” Erinn rebuked.

“Because I talked to him, Errighenth,” her mother said sharply, “And I do know when someone is lying to my face.”

Erinn wisely shut up, allowing Faustine to continue.

“Cunoricus truly thought that no harm would have come to Furina and that what he was doing was in the best for the village,” Faustine said, “My mother would never kill a man for doing something in the best interest of others, so neither will I.”

“He didn’t even invoke a Blood Trial?” Erinn said, her simmering anger mired by an almost forlorn sense of disappointment, “That’s… that’s not like the stubborn old man.”

Furina frowned. Anyone who knew the prideful chief for longer than three minutes knew he the man would have jumped at the chance to defend his honor. As distasteful as Furina found the idea of trial by combat, she wouldn’t begrudge Aremorica of its sacred traditions.

“He did not,” Faustine confirmed, “Furthermore, he made no other efforts to defend his innocence or his honor, and his decision not to do so played a large part in why he still draws breath today.”

The new chief of Aremorica wasn’t particularly pleased, but channeled some of her anger by stabbing the sausage on her plate a bit more forcefully. If Furina’s gaze lingered a bit longer on her flared expression, the swordmaiden didn’t notice.

Mostly because her glowering shade of blue never left Faustine.

“Besides, exiling Cunoricus to Remuria saved me the pain of sending one my messengers,” Faustine elaborated, “They are to remove their presence from North of the Rubicundus River by the next stellar cycle or there will be war.”

Erinn’s brow furrowed, this time in concern.

“You’ve essentially already declared war,” Erinn pointed out, “There is no chance the Empire cedes their gains above the Rubicundus. The land they’ve taken has become their second breadbasket.”

And Erinn would know; it used to be her land after all.

Faustine’s expression remained placidly neutral, “Then we will see how much they truly value peace, or I will excise this rot from my mother’s lands as I should have long ago.”

Furina’s was confused at the surprisingly forward statement until she saw Erinn’s lips twitch upwards. She glanced at her mother, surprised to meet her mirrored-teardrops already pointed in her direction that confirmed what she expected but didn’t really want to think about.

Faustine had baited a verbal hook, and Erinn had taken it clean through the mouth.

Furina averted her eyes from her mother’s knowing glance and suddenly cleared her throat.

“You mentioned key information yesterday, mother,” Furina said, “Something regarding the name the centurion mentioned?”

If Faustine noticed her daughter’s forceful commandeering of the topic, she didn’t comment on it. She only nodded.

“Phobos,” Erinn clarified in the Queen’s stead, though the name rolled out of her mouth more like a curse than a statement.

“Indeed,” Faustine repeated, “Phobos, the one unknown variable.”

“Unknown?” Furina asked more than said.

“Phobos can be anything,” Faustine continued, “Did you assume it was a who? Because it could very much be a what.”

Furina’s pout proved she did, in fact, assume it was who. Erinn hid her own assumption behind a light peal of laughter at her friend’s expense. 

Still, Faustine pursed her lips behind two fingers curled in thought.

“I haven’t the faintest idea of what Phobos is,” Faustine admitted upfront, “I know of the God King Remus, but not of how he came to this land. I know of Scylla, The Fell Dragon Prince, because Celestia tasked him to be my mother’s eternal prison guard. How he became involved with Remuria is beyond me, but he must be involved since Remuria rose on the Vishaps’ land and, contrary to what I had hoped, the two haven’t killed each other yet. If they are in allegiance, then our problem has doubled.”

“Is that all you really know?” Erinn asked bluntly, “You’ve ruled this land for centuries.”

“Two centuries,” Faustine curtly corrected, though without much heat in her voice, “My mother didn’t exactly have the time to lecture me about every minutia plaguing her lands before she was marched back to the Primordial Sea. And, among my other priorities, I have had very little time to do any investigations of my own.”

Furina figured raising a daughter was one of those priorities, but to Faustine’s credit it remained unsaid.

“Remuria was a humble civilization when I took over my mother’s duties, a far cry from what it has become,” Faustine continued, “I’m afraid such a meteoric rise in power can only be attributed to some divine will beyond a single foreign god and a dragon prince. It is why I have been hesitant in dealing with the Empire until they forced my hand.”

“And you believe this to be Phobos?” Furina ventured. 

“Potentially,” answered Faustine, “Or related to it.”

Then the Queen of the Lochfolk turned back to the Chief of Aremorica with a hardened gaze.

“As the Anemo Archon has informed me,” Faustine said, “We will not win this war unless we are united and informed.”

“And we are not united, or informed,” Erinn finished for her gravely.

“Surely you’ve sent oceanids to the Southern Waters,” Furina pointed out.

“I have, though reaching the Capitolium has become exceedingly difficult,” Faustine said, “Somebody knows of our people’s tricks because the Empire is damming more rivers in favor of their manmade water system; a system we can not reach.”

“The aqueducts,” Erinn supplied, “I’ve heard of them. They’re sourced from wells, so there’s no way you can get to them directly from a river.”

“Indeed,” Faustine said, “There’s also the repercussions of getting caught. I wasn’t quite willing to start a war over espionage, but I will certainly finish it if need be.”

An exceedingly simple solution came to Furina’s mind. One she blurted out without reservation.

“Then what if I went?”

Two sets of blue eyes swiveled to Furina, each equal in intensity. One gaze was widened in surprise, while the other was tightened with concern.

“You would deliver yourself to the enemy, right after they failed to take you by force?” Erinn said with hefty incredulity.

“That is… incredibly risky,’ her mother began hesitantly, almost wincing as if she was forcing herself to continue her line of thought, “…But not without its merits.”

Erinn frowned, “That’s too dangerous.”

Furina opened her mouth to protest. Her mother was faster.

“It is dangerous, but certainly not too dangerous,” Faustine said staunchly, though her usually sharp expression seemed to be at war with itself as she turned to her daughter, “Explain yourself.”

Furina took a moment to collect her forming logic into coherent logic, than answered to her mother’s request.

“The problem is accessibility. Unlike other oceanids, I can just walk from the river to the aqueduct and slip into the capital unnoticed to become any other nameless bard,” Furina explained, “If what you said is true, they aren’t expecting anyone to use that method of entry, and they certainly aren’t expecting the royal oceanid they just to failed to capture.”

For a moment, Faustine’s gaze remained piercing, as if she was looking for something. When it was clear she didn’t find it, she sighed.

“Furina,” Erinn said, “You’ve already proven—“

“The logic is sound. It is a bold plan, but not one born out of childish ambition,” Faustine interrupted, prompting a glare from the swordmaiden.

…Okay, maybe Furina was being a little ambitious, but mother didn’t really need to know that.

Faustine let out another sigh, one that carried nothing but motherly woes.

“I gave you my blessing yesterday night. I do not intend to renege on my decision less than a day after,” said the Queen of the Lochfolk, “If you feel you are capable of such a task… then I will accept such a proposition despite my own reservations.”

Erinn looked poised to say something, but backed down a moment after. From there, the conversation turned entirely to logistics.

Furina would infiltrate Remuria, solving the information part of the conumundrum. Meanwhile, Faustine and Erinn would remain behind to rally nearby other nearby tribes in an effort to address the issue of unity. Hopefully by the time the princess returned, Aremorica would have a fighting force capable of standing against at least Remuria’s initial assault.

By the end of the conversation, Faustine’s reluctance had receded by a great measure, but, from her occasional glances, her daughter knew it remained like the outbound tide.

Regardless, Furina would be leaving within the month.

Between all the preparations, the day of departure came frighteningly quickly.

Furina gazed at her reflection in the villa pond, making sure her appearance was in perfect order.

The village had helped assemble a suitable outfit fit for a bard of higher standing, specifically a doublet dyed in fine dark blue and a white tunic with flared cuffs. One of the retired bards in the village had even given her his trusty chaperon hat, telling the young oceanid amidst aged guffaws that she certainly needed it more than him.

All in all, Furina was very confident in saying she looked quite fetching, pleased with the image that looked back at her from motionless water stilled by her own hand. She struck another pose, giggling slightly when she noticed a pair of beady eyes staring at her from behind the water’s surface. 

“Purpura, you’re ruining the view.”

The bemused seahorse spewed a few gurgling bubbles, her aquatic equivalent to a pout, as it receded deeper into the pond at Furina’s request.

Furina made a few more adjustments with her hat to let her hair breathe, particularly that one strand of air was going to be the death of her. Not even her mother had an answer for it.

“Furina! Stop ogling yourself and let’s get going!” She heard Erinn shout from somewhere in the front yard, “The caravan isn’t going to wait for you forever!”

Relinquishing the pond from its temporary duty as a mirror, Furina huffed as she turned to the door.

“Give me a minute!” Furin shouted back, “It’s not like mother will let them leave without me.”

Her only responses was some exasperated noise, but Furina knew she won her few minutes of time when the swordmaiden didn’t come barreling into her home.

“Purpura!” She called, summoning the purple seahorse from the pond and beckoning her into a leather satchel.

“We’re going to have to get you a bigger bag soon,” Furina mused as she slung the bag over her shoulder, playfully booping the seashore’s snout. Purpura only blew two bubbles at her, assumedly in affirmation.

Furina made it to the door, stopping only briefly to drink in one last view of home for the road. When she was ready, she reached out to a nearby table for her gloves only to find something quite odd.

Sitting innocently next to her gloves was a note written in not-so-neat script, something she was absolutely certain wasn’t there a mere fifteen minutes before. Confused, Furina picked up the note and read as fast as she could, if only for Erinn’s sake.

The winds whispered to me a wonderful new song the other day, so here’s a little something to commemorate your graduation, Miss Princess. Wear it with pride.

There was a small arrow pointing to the other side of the paper. When she flipped it over, she gasped.

Gently annealed to the backside of the note was a feathered brooch. The pinion was tinged the lightest shade of sky-blue, laced with the fresh scent of apples and windwheel aster.

Bards that hailed from the windswept kingdom of Mondstadt were almost always seen wearing a feather, a tradition borne out of respect for the Windborne Bard they drew inspiration from. It was also a tradition Furina knew very well because it had been educated about it by said Windborne Bard the day he had first taught her how to sing.

A misty-eyed Furina gently pried the brooch free from the paper, smiling as she told herself she definitely owed a certain god an apple for his troubles the next time she saw him.

“FUR—I—NA!”

Furina scowled lightly, wiping her eyes as she ran toward the door, “I”M COMING!”

She stopped, doubling back to grab her gloves, before she finally exited the villa.

Erinn was waiting for her, hands akimbo on her hips.

“Finally,” Erinn said, though her exasperation didn’t quite stop the corners of her mouth from tugging upward, “Damn, you look good.”

“Why, thank you,” Furina said with a little curtsy, “Is mother—“

“Waiting for you at the exit of the village,” Erinn answered, “Did you forget anything?”

Given that Furina didn’t need to eat, the only thing in her imaginary inventory was a few spare pairs of clothing. The bag she carried was mostly just for Purpura. 

“Yep,” she said after she was done checking, “Let’s go.”

The walk from the village was the same as ever. Mother hadn’t exactly publicized the date of her departure, so most of the villagers simply waved as they saw her. 

Still, the town was a bit more busier than usual for a different reason.

“Is the new forge done?” Furina asked as they passed by a large stone building buzzing with activity.

It was a pure stroke of Egeria blessed luck that the first village that had joined their cause happened to have a master blacksmith capable of armor and weapon smithing. Mother had already agreed to provide both the location and the materials to begin teaching apprentices. 

“Not yet,” Erinn said, “Close though. Did your mother tell you what she was able to get her hands on?”

Furina tilted her head, “She hasn’t.”

Erinn grinned, an uncharacteristically broad smile brimming with excitement.

“Starsilver. From Mondstadt.”

Furina hummed in thought. Apparently, the Anemo Archon had a gift for her mother has well.

They reached the edge of the village soon enough. As Erinn had said, they found the Queen of The Lochfolk discussing something quietly with the caravan master.

As Faustine had drilled into her over and over again, Furina would travel with Aremorica’s monthly supply caravan until she got closer to the main tributaries. From there, she would split from the main group and take the river and follow the currents down to the nearest aqueduct. It wasn’t the most direct route, but there were several towns along the way, just in case she needed rest.

Faustine glanced at her approaching daughter, turning only to dismiss who current conversation as the two girls drew closer.

“The caravan is ready,” Faustine said, “Are you?”

There was still a stiffness in her voice the Queen couldn’t quite hide. 

“I am,” Furina assured.

Once again, Faustine’s teardrop gaze became sharp and searching.

“Have you memorized your route?”

“Yes.”

“What is the one thing that you need to find out?”

“What is Phobos?”

“And everything else is?’

“Tangential.”

“What are you going to do if you get discovered? On any leg of the journey?”

“Come right back.”

“Straight back,” Faustine stressed. Then her gaze shifted downward, “Fins?”

Furina’s fins unapologetically swayed freely from her back, “I know. Just for now.”

Who knew when the next she’d be able to have them out in the air again?

Her mother’s gaze shifted sideways, toward the feathered brooch still in Furina’s hand, and the tightness in her expression loosened a degree.

“The Anemo Archon gave you his blessing and you’ve yet to display it proudly,” Faustine observed with amusement, “That is very unlike you.”

“Huh?” Erinn sputtered, leaning over to take a look at the feather that Furina now displayed to her mother.

“It would feel a bit weird to… uh… ‘bless’ myself with this,” Furina admitted sheepishly, “So I was wondering if you could do it in his stead.”

A breath of a laugh escaped Faustine as she took the brooch from Furina’s hand, “What a silly notion…”

There was a soft flash of summoning magic and suddenly Furina felt herself being encircled in deep blue as Faustine drew a beautiful sash of soft layered fabric around her torso.

“Mother, what—“

“For you,” Faustine said softly.

Undoubtedly weaved by her own hand, Faustine pinned the mantle in place with the feathered brooch, letting it fall neatly in place. It draped almost perfectly between her fins, making it very difficult to distinguish her Tearborne appendages from the layers of fabric in a masterful and certainly intentional illusion.

“The waters of the Loch will always be with you,” Faustine said, her delicate hands smoothing out any wrinkles as she fashioned with a fluid practiced motion, “Use it well.”

Furina’s hand traced her mother’s, feeling the dampness between the threads, and the princess quickly realized her mother’s words were no mere sentiment. She had crafted a sash from the fibers of rosmarinus bulbs, an absorbent material that turned the article of clothing into as much as a weapon as the sword currently strapped to Erinn’s hip.

Furina lurched forward, capturing her mother in a deep hug that was quickly returned.

“Thank you, mother.”

“Be safe, little dewdrop.”

Her mother’s voice was brittle, almost startlingly so.

“I will. I promise.”

Her mother receded, rigidity quietly returning to her posture as she did so. The three of them heard the foreman shout something. It was time to go.

“Good luck out there,” Erinn said, “I doubt you’ll need it, but this is Remuria.”

“Please,” Furina said, “I’ve always wanted to see the Capitolium anyway.”

“Might as well,” Erinn said with a laugh, “Because we’ll probably end up burning it down!” 

“With luck and Egeria’s good grace,” sternly added Faustine.

“And don’t forget about Purpura,” Erinn added as Furina boarded the rearmost wagon, “Make sure she doesn’t cause too much trouble!”

The seahorse poked her snout out of her bag, gurgling at the swordmaiden with something that sounded indignant.

They shared one last round of shared laughter before Faustine made a gesture to an unseen observer. With another shout of the foreman, the wagon lurched forward.

Furina hung on to the back edge of the cart, waving until both her mother and her best friend were well out of view. 

Only when the rolling fields gave way to the dense forest of cypress did she let out a deep breath she had been holding the entire morning.

Furina felt a nudge at her side. She pet Purpura’s head with hand that was trembling from far more than exertion.

“Just us now,” she said softly, “We’ll be fine, won’t we?”

The seahorse snorted as if she was silly for even thinking otherwise.

“Infallibly confident as always,” Furina said, smiling despite herself.

But Purpura was right, wasn’t she?

Furina would be fine.

Because Mother was depending on her. Because Erinn was depending her and so was everyone else.

Because she had both the blessings of water and wind at her back. 

Because she was ready.

Furina exhaled the rest of her unease and smiled; a smile that set a stage built from the experiences of two hundred years.

It was time for the performance of a lifetime.

And Remuria wouldn’t even know what hit them.

Justice’s Fair Waters. 

That was the name given to Fontaine’s national anthem.

Justice’s Fair Waters was also somewhat of a national puzzle.

The thing about the hymn that comprised Fontaine’s most important of melodies was that no one could agree on its origin. The historical annals within the Palais Mermonia lent nothing to its creation so people naturally began to speculate.

Some people thought it was a glorious battle hymn, sung in defiance of the Remuria at the final battle for Fontaine’s freedom.

Some thought it was the genius composition of one of Fontaine’s many great composers, created in secret as not to undermine its sacred purpose.

Others thought it was a combination of many things, an evolution of song that weaved its way so naturally into Fontaine’s history that its origin had been forgotten because there was simply none to speak of.

Of course, interest in this topic wax and waned over the years, but this year in particular the question seemed to have gotten an odd chokehold on the public attention-span. So much so that Furina found herself was faced with the very question that plagued the nation during one of her private archon interviews, the highest echelon of journalism in Fontaine.

Before she could stop herself, she spoke.

“I made the song, of course! It was made in the spur of the moment, after one two many drinks at a village party.”

The interviewer had laughed. Then Furina had laughed, too.

Furina read the freshly published article the next day. Her statement was framed as mere jest, a product of their beloved archon’s well-known eccentricities.

It stung, just a little. But only as long as it took for her to open up her personal first edition of the official Fontanian legal codex and turn to page 210.

There lay a small feathered brooch, wedged between the yellowed pages numbered with the year of her life she had received it. 

It was still tinged the lightest shade of sky-blue. It was still scented faintly with the aroma of apples and windwheel aster.

It was proof. 

Proof that, somewhere out there in Teyvat, her truth remained; the truth of a fledgling bard was remembered by someone far more ancient that she.

Furina smiled, running a finger over the soft feathered edge of better days before she closed the book and returned to her ever-eternal stage.

One day she would stand on wooden tables with her only drunken care in the world being what song she was going to sing next.

But for now, this simple sentiment was enough. More than enough.

Because Mother was depending on her. Because her people were depending on her.

And she wouldn’t let them drown.

Chapter Text

In a small swimming hole about 400 miles south of the village of Aremorica, a small current of water yawned it stretched her limbs. Its drowsy, teardrop oculus opened with a few bleary winks, letting the dancing mosaic of the morning sun filter from the surface and across her transparent form a few seconds longer before she roused herself properly.

This was day twelve of Furina’s southward journey. And quite a journey it had been.

After she had been dropped off at the river, Furina had ridden the downstream current far faster than any man could travel on foot or even cart. She probably could have been going even faster, but tending to little Purpura’s need to sleep kept her breakneck speed in check.

That, and the sheer monotony of it drove her to her wits end by day two.

For the sake of sanity, she had stopped by the next village she saw, just to a sing a song for some coin, eat some food, then slip away before anyone could ask too many questions.

She indulged again the next day. And the day after that. Soon she was hitting every village along the river, even if it was just for a quick snack. It was a habit she thought she would have to break the farther she moved into Remurian territory, but Remuria’s influence was surprisingly light. Sure, she was speaking far more in Remurian dialect these days and had to slip out of sight of a few patrols… but there were no golems, no immortal stone-bodied centurions, no villages suffering from the iron-grip she had expected from a nation known as an empire.

It was… strange. And when she had finally caved in to her own curiosity and had asked a slightly inebriated fisherman boiling some crabs by the river what he thought of the conquerors, she got the following answer:

“By Egeria’s tits, they tax us bone dry… but if it get’s us protection from the barbarians up North, so be it I guess.”

Colorful invocation or her grandmother’s bosom aside, Furina —apparently a princess of barbarians—  found that the drunkard’s story was more or less the same for each village she visited thereafter. It was puzzling, likely propaganda, but she would have plenty of time to discuss politics with her mother when she returned to the Loch.

Now, though, it was time to get up for the day.

Furina unfurled her aquatic body, sending a quiet pulse of positive energy to the seahorse she had curled around. The waters echoed with a giggle when Purpura responded with a single bubble, her typical acknowledgement that she’d be awake within the next thirty or so minutes.

Leaving her temperamental companion to her beauty sleep, Furina spread her fins and made for shore. Quietly, she peeked her still transparent oculus above the rippling surface, making sure that no one was around before she began shifting forms.

She had camped on an island last night, but her mother taught her there was no such thing as paranoia in the wilds.

A moment later, the princess of the loch stepped out of the water, not bothering to summon her usual ‘transitional’ white dress in favor of savoring the feeling of the sand beneath her feet and the early morning sun against her skin as she went about appraising the freshly washed clothing she had left out to dry overnight on a nearby tree branch. Again, she wouldn’t have dreamed of doing something so risky on land proper, but the island she had stumbled upon provided ample opportunity to tidy up her few belongings.

Satisfied, Furina fetched her accoutrements with a hooked tendril of water before spending some time getting dressed, smoothing down wrinkles to make sure everything was as prim as could be for the next village she came across. Unlike her trusty dress, she had learned the hard-way that these clothes were much harder to manage while half-formed underwater — thank the Loch she hadn’t lost her pants to the current that one time. Besides, they looked much better if they didn’t have several pounds of water sucked out of them multiple times a day.

Once she determined that today was still not the day she would win against that errant strand of hair that always stood proudly atop her head, she then reached into her bag, fetched a bright red apple and a bit of preserved meat, and plopped down on a stump.

Like sleep, eating wasn’t a strict necessity for her biology… but a little sugar never hurt anyone. Certainly not her, at least.

With a snap of her fingers, a swirl of morning dew —pure, easy to control, but not as easy as lochwater— answered to her call. It coalesced into a ball of churning water rising about a heads length above her before floating toward the very edge of her influence.

Then she took a bite out of apple and proceeded with one of mother’s many exercises.

It was easy to form constructs when applying the entire depth of one’s focus. Unfortunately, applying the depth of one’s focus to a water construct in the middle of combat often resulted in unsavory outcomes, as her many attempts to catch her mother off guard with a flying water projectile mid-spar had taught her.

Thus, in between bites of apple, she tried shaping the floating liquid into a sword. Once it was successfully formed, she began moving it, the blade flitting to and fro only ever in the corner of he—

“Lady Vephar.”

Furina stifled a squeal, her hydro sword immediately flinging itself toward the shore. It missed its mark, splattering helpless against a nearby tree as she whirled around with a new sword already half formed in her non-apple hand…

Only to find she had reflexively pointed it at the unfazed oculus of her kin.

“O-Oh, Callirhoe,” Furina said, dispelling the blade leveled toward one of her mother’s many forward scouts, “You startled me.”

“Deepest apologies, Lady Vephar,” the oceanid said from the creek, “Your mother requested that I find you for a status report, but you were much farther along than I expected.”

“I see,” Furina said neutrally, her fins flicking not quite in irritation. This was the third time mother had sent for her.

It wasn’t annoying, per se, quite the opposite actually. But she did feel a bit bad every time another oceanid had to go momming for her mom’s sake. Especially when she had nothing to report.

“Nope. Nothing to report. Still ahead of schedule. Still plan to be,” Furina said between alternating bites of fruit and jerky, “Aren’t you supposed to be east?”

Callirhoe was one of the many oceanids that comprised the Aremorica—Mondstadt information line. For her to be out here was… odd.

The oculus bobbed, “Indeed. And your mother said if there was nothing to report, I should return directly to my post at Cider Lake.”

She felt marginally less bad at hearing that, given they were at least somewhat on the way to the eastern tributaries. Maybe it as remiss for her to think that her mother wouldn’t keep her subordinates in mind.

“I expect to cross over to the aqueduct by noon and reach the Capitolium by next morn,” Furina explained, “Is there any reason to be concerned?”

“No, Lady Vephar,” said Callirhoe, “Only that once you are beyond the Remurian’s structure, you will be out of our and Lady Focalors’s reach.”

Furina shrugged her shoulders daintily, “Perhaps that isn’t quite a bad thing. It would certainly save you all the trouble.”

The oculus folded inward slightly, the oceanid equivalent of a stern look of disapproval.

“Lady Vephar,” she protested, “Your safety is hardly an inconvenience.”

Furina waved her off perhaps a little more flippantly than she intended. 

“It isn’t, yet I will hardly shrivel up and die a single day out of our domain,” she said, “Thank you, Callirhoe. But please, be on your way.”

At least, she hoped not. Either way, they’d find out in about four or so hours.

Regardless, the oculus bobbed once more.

“As you wish it, Lady Vephar. May the fair waters guide you.”

Exchanging nods, Callirhoe disappeared beneath the water’s surface, leaving only Furina with her reflection for company.

Speaking of her reflection…

Furina tossed her apple core aside, stilling the water’s surface until she could appreciate her white-haired reflection against the mirror sheen.

She had adopted the name Yves for her numerous riverside field trips, and while she had become somewhat fond of the boyish name, she wasn’t silly enough to not take standard precautions. Sometimes Yves had hazel eyes with ruddy brown hair. Other times, Yves sported Erinn’s shade of silver hair and matching gaze of piercing sea blue.

Today, Furina decided that Yves was going to have raven black hair and emerald green eyes — somewhat of an inspired homage to the master of the winds who’d probably just laugh at her if he ever found out. 

Just as she finished touching up her appearance with a few well placed freckles, a purple snout broke the surface of the water. 

Furina smiled. Right on cue as always.

True to her intuition, they did reach the aqueduct at noon.

“Wow,” Furina mumbled to herself, looking up at the large structure that towered over her and the forest around her.

It had been a bit of a trek from the river, but finding the aqueduct was very, very easy. She was glad she had stopped at that one village along the way so that her morning preparations hadn’t gone to waste.

Furina had been expecting an artificial river or something. Not a bridge carved from polished stone rising several meters off the ground that extended both directions farther than she could see. She stopped thinking about the implications of such a grand structure being built in the middle of literal nowhere in favor of conjuring up a thin line of hydro twine from the lochwater stored in her sash. Tying it around a boot dagger she kept for backup, she gave the makeshift grappling hook two experimental swings before flinging it upwards with practiced aim.

Her first attempt missed by a slight margin. Her second struck true, wedging firmly between two of the heavy stone bricks along the waterway’s edge.

Satisfied after two tugs, Furina wrapped one arm around the bag carrying her traveling companion.

“Hang on!”

Furina pulled both her sleeve down and her glove off using her teeth, then softened her left arm as she looped the twine around her exposed skin twice. She let the foreign water comprising the twine mingle with her liquid limb, then willed the water upward. 

The net effect was upward propulsion. The lochwater within her arm easily pulled the rest of her body into the air fast enough to vault cleanly over the aqueduct’s stone edge. She used her fins to steady herself, finding her legs nearly knee deep in flowing, crystal-clear water.

Dissolving her trusty climbing tool back into her sash, Furina crouched down and surveyed the stream with two dipped fingers.

It was completely, utterly pure. Pure enough for Furina to easily pinpoint the source.

“Groundwater…” Furina murmured, letting her glove fall straight back into her inventory given she wouldn’t really need any clothing in about forty seconds.

Furina frowned as she stood. 

The Loch provided ample fresh drinking water through several hundred different rivers to hundreds and hundreds of surrounding square miles of land. She was by no means an engineer, but something about this construction was too intentional, too deliberate.

Mother and Erinn were right; someone thought of this long enough to design something to keep them out.

Furina looked upward, quickly calculating north from the direction the sun was headed, then oriented herself south. She couldn’t imagine the utter shame for her to come all this way and then go gallivanting off in the complete wrong direction.

She let human form dissolve, the oceanid that remained whisking her discarded clothing back into her magical inventory before it was swept away as she hooked her tail fin around Purpura’s bag and started the second aquatic leg of journey.

Although she found the aqueduct was easily swimmable, the pure water was suffocatingly quiet, even by wellspring standards. The oceanid tried humming to herself, but even then it was like singing with no echo.

Eventually, Furina settled on focusing on Purpura’s occasional playful gurgle and then her bubbly snores once night fell.

There was no human disturbance along the aqueduct. Even when she passed through a manmade cave dug through a mountain lined with unlit torch sconces, she found no life other than her. Furina counted herself lucky; even though she herself was practically invisible in the clear stream, her bag, and by extension the seahorse within it, were certainly not.

She lost track of time very quickly, only stopping to take a break once the sun’s rays poked through the water’s surface. Carefully, she stepped into human form, donning only her simple white dress for the sake of expediency, and peaked over 

There was a road now stretching beneath her and, more importantly, people on that road walking alongside carts and horses.

Furina withdrew hastily, pressing her back against stone as she summoned her last apple more so she could focus on the sweetness to get her through the last leg.

“We’re getting close now,” she said quietly, using her foot to playfully splash the seahorse currently stretching her fins against the continuous flow of water. She got a retaliatory bubble for her efforts.

Furina finished up breakfast, leaving the apple core behind for some enterprising bird to find before melting into the water as Purpura settled back into her bag. Then they were off again.

The sky was obscured again as they passed underneath another mountain an hour later. Unlike the previous mountain channels, this one did have a maintenance crew at work, and Furina ended up wasting an hour holding Purpura’s bag outside the dim range of their lamps. Thankfully they left without Furina needing to backtrack all the way from whence she came. 

For a brief moment, she considered following them up the dark maintenance shaft they had disappeared from, but decided against it not knowing exactly where it went. Those workers could have been prisoners or slaves for all she knew.

As such, she pressed onward for another hour, and soon enough her efforts were blissfully rewarded with sun’s rays once more.

Furina used the last of her suffocated restraint to ensure the coast was clear. Then she flew out of the water like a dolphin desperate for air, filling out her white dress —the quickest thing she could don— with her human form before her bare feet touched down on wet stone.

The sight that greeted her at the edges of the aqueduct stole the well-earned breath right back out of her lungs.

Hadn’t she known better, Furina would have thought she was looking at a colony of ants.

A great sea of stone and marble sprawled out beneath her wide, twin-teardrops. It was far too vast to be a village, yet no word existed in her vocabulary for anything larger. Multi-story buildings were packed so densely she could hardly tell one from the next, let alone even think about navigating between them. Streams of mortals, in number more than she had ever seen across all 210 years on Teyvat, flowed in constant, bustling motion beneath the shadow of several gilded aqueducts that soared over them in a elegant web of artificial tributaries. 

How in grandmother’s name was Erinn expecting to burn this down? Furina doubted there was enough fire in Natlan to accomplish such a task.

Once the initial amazement of the spectacle ebbed, Furina began feeling crushingly small. A large part of it was literal, but but the growing weight of the task at hand certainly contributed a few hundred pounds.  She also felt a little horrified, maybe a bit panicked. Did she mentioned overwhelm-

Furina felt something nudge against her toe, prompting her to look down and find her companion —just a slight too short to peer over the threshold— expectantly peering up at her. 

She gave Purpura a hoist and, upon seeing the alien realm of Remuria, promptly released three bubbles in an almost dismissive fashion.

Furina giggled at the blasé seahorse. She should’ve expected as much.

The princess of the Loch broke away from the edge, depositing her seahorse companion back into the water so she could replace her dress with proper clothes and sort through her own thoughts.

Given the rock face she just exited from, tt was clear she was on the outer edge of the massive settlement which seemed to be built in the largest sinkhole Furina had ever seen. Whether it was divinely made or not, it didn’t quite change the fact that the answers that Furina sought were likely toward the center. One glance as she was tightening her sash confirmed this, her gaze briefly spying what seemed to be a central clearing or basin of some sort.

The roads she could see from her perch did not seem to be converging in that direction, but she mentally shelved that oddity in favor of taking things one step at a time.

“Phobos. Get out. Phobos. Get out.” she said quietly, glancing at Yves’s raven-haired reflection one last time as she picked up the bag that Purpura had already boarded, “Simple, Furina. Simple.”

With a deep breath, Furina began the lengthy walk down the aqueduct, following it down for ten minutes until she was mostly at roof level. She scanned her surroundings and chose the first square she spotted mostly out of impulse.

Lady Vephar would not return empty handed simply because she stalled too long overthinking where to start.

As discreetly she could manage, she transferred from the aqueduct to a nearby rooftop, slicking the wall she stood over with a judicial application of lochwater before she slid down into a narrow unpopulated space between buildings.

In the time it took to recollect her water, Furina gave herself one last once over, checking to make sure her fins were tucked in. Then, she allowed herself one last breath before stepping into the narrow street of a world that wasn’t hers.

She had a general idea of what she was getting to from her prior bird’s eye view, but the wall of sensation that slammed into her almost made her recoil.

Loud was the understatement of her mother’s reign; even the loudest applause in Aremorica simply didn’t compare to Furina to the rancorous cacophony of a hundred passing mortals bouncing back in forth between stonefaced buildings. Moreover, the sheer number of people very quickly overcrowded her already heightened threat awareness.

She felt Purpura nestle just a little deeper into her bag. Lucky her, Furina was afforded no such luxury.

Furina didn’t know how long she stood there debating whether to recalibrate the sensitivity of her own eardrums to grant herself temporary deafness — a trick she had employed only once against her mother before she was found out and promptly punished. She couldn’t exactly collect info if she couldn’t hear, so that idea was quickly dismissed. She also considered playing drunk to mitigate her awkward loitering, but didn’t when she realized most of the Remurian citizens that passed her by didn’t even pay her a glance.

She pressed onwards once she could hear her own inner voice again. Thankfully, the noise level abated a bit once she reached the open square, and what she found there made her cheer inward.

It was a full-blown open air market. Markets meant merchants. And merchants meant unfiltered information loosened from lips via everyday mundanity. 

Lucky her. Genuinely this time.

Furina singled out a spot near an elegantly carved fountain depicting a woman strumming a lyre and began to sing. It wasn’t her best work, but the thing about being a bard was having the unlimited social license to loiter wherever she wanted for however long she wanted by just opening her mouth. She also tried her very best to ignore the fragrant scent of cooked food. She wasn’t here to indulge. 

Not a mere thirty minutes later, she had already begin stitching together a coherent picture from the busy words of  Remurian that filtered past her acclimating ears.

The city, as such a grand settlement was called, was split into two distinct sections. Right now, she was currently standing somewhere in Machimos, a district of the outer city. The Capitolium proper was actually the inner city, and, based on how most mention of said area were for various fineries to be ‘sent down’ from where they currently were, Furina easily inferred this was the central area she had seen from atop the aqueduct. Palaces and temples were also regularly mentioned by merchant’s clarifying destinations to that area, which gave her a pretty good inkling of where the true affluence of the empire lay.

Speaking of affluence, Furina also noticed that most of the populace shuffling by were mortal. Only occasionally would a stone-bodied individual appear, and when they did they hardly spoke for themselves — deferring to their flesh and blood attendants to do most if not all of the haggling for them. 

Suffice to say, Furina didn’t think she was going to get a lick of information out of the apparent higher class in this city. Doubly so when she watched another immortal strike a beggar across the cheek for even approaching him.

She spent another half-hour firming up basic cultural knowledge and city structure terminology before counting up her coin (a far heftier sum than she had expected for her paltry, absent-minded performance) and enacting a more active approach. 

Furina began with a few merchants she had singled out for being a both a bit more affable and who sold small trinkets she could bring back for the village kids. She chose to be earnest, introducing herself as a foreign bard simply visiting the city. The coin she earned served well, loosening lips at the prospects of business.

Aside from the small assorted doodads, her queries regarding Phobos yielded mixed results.

Most thought Phobos was a god of guidance or similarly higher power, though some had never heard of it at all. Others explained that it was a prophet or oracle. It reaffirmed what Furina already knew from her unpleasant experience a few weeks ago, but still left her frustratingly at square one — maybe one and a half if she was being kind to herself.

What she did discover was that there was some cultural significance regarding a likeness of a ‘golden bee’ given how many of peddlers try to sell her various paraphernalia either made in or bearing its winged image. She didn’t press the topic, given it seemed too much of an obvious knowledge gap to be worth the risk.

Before she knew it, however, Furina was out of coin, and therefore out of an excuse to bother people. 

Purpura eyed the slightly-larger-than-intended pile of metal occupying her bag, then leveled an unimpressed unspoken ‘really’ at the oceanid princess.

OK… maybe those purchases at the pendant vendor weren’t necessarily for the children. But in her defense, they looked great with basically every outfit she owned.

(Mother also had quite a weakness for tasteful jewelry, but she wouldn’t dare even think that aloud, much less speak it.)

“Don’t look at me like that,” Furina protested under her breath, hastily heading toward the closest alley to dump her spoils into her pocket spell, “I’ll clear out your bag once we—“

Furina stumbled as someone clipped her shoulder. With her fins unavailable to balance her, she almost fell over.

She didn’t, but nonetheless braced for the social fallout based solely on the brief glimpse of embroidered fine fabric she registered in her peripheral vision.

“Ah, pardon me.”

Furina paused, mostly because the hasty yet gentle voice did not match her expectations.

“Oh,” she said, rapidly adjusting to courtesy while pushing Purpura’s tote behind her back, “It’s fine.”

The young man that had shoulder-checked her briefly appraised her with pale-gold eyes framed behind a parted curtain of silvery blonde, assumedly ensuring she wasn’t hurt before nodding with a polite smile and turning away to resume whatever his course had been.

Furina was about to carry on in much the same way when something glinted sharply in her eye.

A golden brooch —shaped like a lyre and laureled with golden leaves— lay on the stone street, clearly freshly dropped by the man that had just departed. Furina plucked it up before any other enterprising soul could pounce upon it, her eyes widening the slightest when she felt the familiar twinge of elemental energy course through her fingers. It was not an element she could recognize, but that mattered not.

Her market spoils were quickly forgotten as the cogwheels in her mind tripled their pace staring at her warped reflection in its sheen.

The gold length of cloth that was draped over his shoulder spoke clearly of higher status, but the rest of his outfit was practical. He wore a simple shirt and trousers underneath an undecorated, belted white robe. Plain boots instead of the usual open-toed sandals of almost all of the others Remurians.

Most importantly, though, he wasn’t made of stone.

Furina began slowly pacing in his direction.

Debt was an extremely effective vector of getting what she wanted. The question remained, however, if returning the enchanted brooch in her hand was enough of a favor to risk exposure to a scholar at best, a statesman at worst.

And even then, this could always be an elaborate bait for a tra—

Furina yelped as a bubble splashed against the back of her head. She swiveled her bag around to her front as her (currently) green eyes narrowed into a glare.

“Purpura!” She hissed, “I’m thinkin—“

The seahorse ignored her protest, jabbing her snout down the road at the golden shoulder cape that just vanished around the corner.

Furina cursed under her breath as she finalized her choice by sprinting down the street. She skidded around the corner, spotting a flash of gold down the narrow alley. The only slight problem was the two-directional flow of bodies separating her and her quarry.

Subtly, she freed her fins beneath the folds of her sash. Not enough to be obvious, but just loose enough to aid her balance. One of mother’s favorite drills was having her maneuver through coral reefs obscured by undulating schools of fish. If she could do that, she could easily navigate this. 

Well. Hopefully.

Furina pulled Purpura’s bag tight against her shoulder, took a deep breath, then dived into the hustle.

With her fins, she embraced the ability to properly spin again as she danced with the flow of mortals. The oceanid weaved in and around slower city patrons, dropping the occasional ‘excuse me’ as she gracefully slipped between bodies with deft, almost otherworldly fluidity. She momentarily dipped into oncoming traffic to avoid clipping her forehead on a stack of chicken crates, responding to the few odd looks she earned with a sheepish smile before quickly disappearing into an even tighter street in the direction of her target.

Furina caught a brief glimpse of gold amidst the sea of drab plainclothes before it disappeared again across a narrow bridge. 

She sighed. Time to quicken the pace.

Furina abandoned all subtle pretense, using a convenient puddle to launch a full sliding-kick to get underneath the linked hands of some unobservant young couple. She let momentum carry her between and sometimes under the next several people at breakneck speed, at this point only hoping she didn’t knock over someone or something important.

A wooden pallet served as a suitable springboard for her to step onto the bridge’s stone railing, bypassing a whole length of obstacles as Furina tightroped over the canal. She shouted a rushed sorry as she disembarked behind a rightfully disgruntled food vendor’s stall.

Another corner. Another glimpse. Another muttered sigh before her sprint began anew. This chase continued for the next ten minutes. She humored it for another five before her patience finally wore as thin as Purpura’s dwindling resistance to motion sickness. 

When Furina stepped into an entirely different plaza that must’ve been halfway across Machimos, Furina snapped. Mostly because she didn’t want to tempt the imminent seahorse vomit that threatened to hit the back of her head any second now.

She filled her bard-sized lungs with as much air she could fit post-hustle and seized her chance consequence be damned.

“HEY! YOO-HOO! YOU! GOLD-CAPE! GOLD-EYES! WHITE ROBE!” 

By the divine grace of Egeria, Focalors, and herself, the man paused. She ignored the looks her outburst earned and capitalized.

“YEAH! YOU! TALL-MAN WITH BLONDE-ISH HAIR! PLEASE TURN AROUND!”

Furina thrust the brooch up into the air. Even from this distance, she saw his eyes widen when he saw what was clutched in her hand, and almost cheered when he started pacing toward her.

The oceanid only half-faked being out of breath as she approached him, hoping she adequately pulled in her fins by the time they were face to face.

“Is that mine?” The man inquired politely.

Furina internally mused she was probably going to hurt her neck looking up at him. She sadly determined it was a necessary sacrifice.

“I think so?” Furina feigned naively, “I found it on the ground after we bumped into each other.”

She passed the lyre brooch to him. He gave it a passing glance before he chuckled.

“Well, there would be no getting past the Initium Iani without this,” he declared, hastily pinning the brooch to his robe, “So to whom do I owe the favor for saving me quite the headache and days worth of paperwork?”

Initium Iani. Form her brief time in gathering information, she understood that as the sole passage into the Inner City.

Furina’s lips formed a quiet oh as her eyes sparkled; she had struck a figurative (and somewhat literal) goldmine.

Quickly she steeled her expression back to neutral before he noticed.

“My name is Yves,” Furina introduced herself with a quick curtsey.

He smiled, “And your friend?”

Furina blinked, then realized with some mild horror that Purpura had poked her head out of her bag to glare at the source of her most recent agony.

“Purpura!” She half-answered, half-exclaimed in panic.

“I’ve heard of, but have never seen such a creature before,” he said, leaning toward the disgruntled seahorse sticking out from her bag, “Is she from the Loch?”

Before Furina could even pull the bag away, Purpura reflexively blew a single bubble from her snout toward the invader of her personal space. A bubble that innocently floated over and exploded upon the man’s nose, along with all of Furina’s hopes, ambitions, and dreams.

The princess of the Loch was going to strangle this seahorse to death.

The man’s surprisingly soft laughter was the only thing that prevented Furina from doing something heinously impulsive.

“My apologies,” he said, wiping the moisture off his face with the golden fabric of his cape, “I tend to get ahead of myself.”

Furina steadied herself quickly. 

“No, she’s usually house-trained,” she said with a pointed glare at her very uncaring companion, “And yes, I hail from up north.”

Furina was very careful not to confirm exactly where, but a part of her knew there was probably no use hiding it. 

This person was sharp. She could see it in his eyes.

“I see,” he said, “My name is… Mel, though I suppose in your dialect it would be Miel.” 

Furina filed away his minute hesitation and instead tilted her head curiously, “Miel… as in honey?”

“Indeed,” he confirmed, “Now, as for your payment—“

“No, no, it was nothing,” Furina (falsely) assured; she couldn’t make her intentions too obvious.

The man shook his head, “If I recall, we collided with each other in Agone Square. That is roughly a league away from here. That is not what one considers nothing.”

Miel paused for a thoughtful second, then amended himself.

“Well, certainly not I, at least.”

It took Furina twenty years’ worth of trained restraint to keep the grin off her face.

“If you insist…” Furina began, clasping her hands behind her back in a conscious effort to play up the good old damsel-in-distress angle as much as she could, “I did just arrive this morning… and I do find myself a little overwhelmed…”

The best lies were laced with truth. The same principle rang true with the best bait.

“It is not my primary area of expertise, but I do occasionally serve as a guide,” he said.

Furina’s enthusiasm faltered a little, hiding her slight scrutiny with an even slighter smile. This offer seemed terribly convenient for someone who was clearly headed somewhere.

“I hate to impose taking up that much of your time,” Furina probed with protest, “You seemed quite busy earlier…”

“Miss Yves, I am a scholaris mechanicus from the Collegium Phonascorum performing a monthly visual inspection of the public aqueducts,” Miel assured, “My superiors will hardly suffer from a day’s delay.”

He then chuckled to himself yet again. He seemed to do that a lot.

“That… and I could use a little break myself,” he admitted, “It’s not like these aqueducts are going anywhere. They better not be, at least.”

Furina drowned out her own laugh with a mental cheer of complete and utter victory. 

Yes. Yes. Yes!

The first meaningful person she chanced upon was a young scholar who had access to the inner city. Not too important because he was clearly mortal, but important enough to have access to the College of Phona-whatever it was.  

Was she making assumptions? Probably. But the plan had survived Purpura-branded sabotage, so she’d see it through if only for that. And besides, all she had to do was play this right and she’d have what she wanted by sundown.

“I see…” she pretended to concede, “Then, only if you insist.”

A smile graced Miel’s lips. From what Furina could tell, it was entirely genuine. 

“I would be happy to oblige,” said the scholar, “To what can I provide, Ms. Yves?’

Furina decided to start with the lowest risk topic she could think of. It wasn’t her fault it just so happened to coincide with the one thing she had been tangentially interested in since she had arrived in the bustling city.

She was in Remuria, had a good lead, and was on track to getting at least closer to what she wanted. A little enjoyment could hardly be a detriment, despite what Erinn might think of it.

So Furina batted her eyelashes, smiled shyly, and put forth her first request with as much delicately coy charm she could muster.

“…I am a bit peckish.”

Miel’s eyes brightened visibly, and Furina knew she was probably going to enjoy riding out the next hour or two.

“As a matter of fact, the topic of Remurian cuisine was a recent topic of the census…”

As the man began an impromptu lecture on one of her master’s most glaring weaknesses, a seahorse in a bag just rolled her eyes and settled in for a very long nap.

This was going to take a while.

It all started with a glass of honeyed-wine.

Their first stop was a taberna, which was basically just a nicer village bar to Furina. Miel had ordered two glasses of a sweetly fragrant wine as soon as they pulled up to the humble counter, which he promptly described as a honey and cheap wine concoction referred to as mulsum.

The drink was delectable to say the least, though one question lingered along with the taste.

“Honey? In wine?” Furina said, peering into her cup, “My village typically only uses it for mead.”

Her guide’s cup paused mid-ascent. 

“…Only for mead?”

Furina shrugged, “We do keep bees. But more for the wax than anything.”

Miel’s face turned a shade aghast, and Furina felt like she had made a critical error.

He set his glass down, met her at eye level, and declared, “Honey is one of the most fundamental pillars of Remurian cuisine.”

Furina quickly realized that she had indeed made an error, but whether it was a critical one was debatable depending on one’s appetite. Miel ordered posthaste of her ignorance, rattling off a litany of entrees in such rapid Remurian that Furina couldn’t keep up after the third dish.

Basted chicken with honey and fish sauce, honey glazed boletes, and about half-a-dozen other honey-related samples. There were also several different types of drink that Furina had to secretly dilute because she wouldn’t dare get drunk on the job.

She also noticed how her guide didn’t pay for the food, or was even asked to for that matter. Curious, but Furina wasn’t going to turn a small feast for free —not after living in the wildness and subsisting off of village handouts for the past two weeks. 

Everything was criminally, borderline divinely delicious. Delicious enough that she made sure to remember the street name so she could steer clear of the establishment in the event they really did end up sacking the Capitolium.

Her absolute favorite dish was the golden honey glazed fritters Miel ordered at the end of the meal: bits of wheat dough dropped in boiling oil in a process Miel called frying. It was far simpler than the other pastries that she had a chance to try, but there was no such thing as frying in the north. Nor the concept of crispness really.

“So…” Furina said between mouthfuls of what was probably her second (third?) plate of the delightful morsels, “Are you… uh… just an expert on honey because you’re named that?”  

Please be related to the golden bee. Please be related to the golden bee.

Miel put a pause in his efforts to coax out a still displeased Purpura with a fritter peace-offering to regard her question.

“Honey is such a cultural staple in Remuria mostly due to the collateral symbolism surrounding Sybilla’s depiction as a golden bee.”

Furina rewarded her pinpoint intuition with two more pieces of fried dough, munching away in silent self-celebration as Purpura took his minute moment of distraction to swipe the treat right out of his hand and scurry back into her bag.

Miel was aware she was a bard from up north, so Furina might as well play up the cluelessness while she had license to.

“Shbilla?

Her mother had the right to care if Furina was unladylike. She couldn’t, however, nag about the mannerisms of a traveling bard named Yves. Moreover, her guide seemed wholly unbothered by her indulgence. Amused, perhaps, but Furina could live with that.

“It’s poor manners to speak while chewing,” he still pointed out, though he punctuated his observation with another easy chuckle. 

Furina ignored him to lather her still half-full plate with more honey.

“One, you’re not my mother. Two, I’ve been called a barbarian enough around here that I might as well take advantage of it,” she said a little flippantly, “Before you enlighten me, of course.”

At the word barbarian, Furina watched Miel’s eyes flatten at the seams, the very start of a grimace. He decided not to dwell on it, but his expression told  more than enough.

“Fair,” he said, “To return to the topic at hand, Sybilla is the divine envoy that lead our God King Remus to this promised land.”

Furina keyed in behind her front, steadily absorbing what Miel imparted to her about the second most important figure in Remuria’s divine hierarchy.

Sybilla: The Divine Prophet, The Golden Bee, the builder of the grand golden vessel that ferried the God King to this land from the ancient city they were found in. Most of this was interesting, but ultimately the most alarming thing she learned was that this god apparently had the ability to to scry the future. 

Furina dismissed this notion after another fritter, at least in terms of immediate consequence; If this ability of future reading was authentic in the truest sense, the raid against her village would have surely succeeded if Remuria considered it an operation of remote importance. 

For the sake of the pains it put her through, Furina sure hoped it did. 

“As for why they’re depicted as a golden bee… even I’m not quite so sure how that started.”

Furina’s ears perked up at the slightest hint of a lie, but eventually let the matter drop as she polished off her plate. Either way, she was still at square one-and-a-half regarding her true objective.

The oceanid in disguise made the painful decision to decline any more food in favor of moving the day along (and to get Purpura to stop side-eying her from her bag), though it was only after they were walking away from the taberna that Furina realized Miel still never paid.

Curious

“What are those people doing?”

Miel followed her dainty finger toward a stage where two people were engaged in some sort of singing exchange. Furina pegged it as something performative, but didn’t want to assume.

“Ah, that is a prime example of Remurian theater,” Miel observed, thumbing his chin,“They’re enacting a story… I believe this one is a comedy about a rope?”

Furina tilted her head, mostly because she wasn’t finding much comedic about the whole thing. 

“Are they bards?” She asked. For Venti’s sake, she really hoped they weren’t.

“Performers or actors would be a better word,” Miel said, “They train long hours to perfect their roles down to the letter.”

Furina shrugged, “I could do that, and I’m a bard.”

She was, after all, currently playing a role named Yves.

They lingered at the fringe of the audience as they watched the play continue on the marble platform, long enough for Purpura to actually fall asleep. It took a little while, but Furina finally pegged what felt off about the whole performance.

“It could use with a little more… I don’t know, movement?” Furina said after a moment, “I feel like it’s too static.”

Maybe she was letting her own experience with oceanid dances and Aremorica’s own lively tradition of vocal performances color her viewpoint, but she still felt like she was just watching two people stand around and aggressively sing at each other.

Miel hummed in thought, “That idea has been brought to the attention of the Harmost who created the guidelines for the tradition, but he has repeatedly stated that such things detract from the purity of the music and poetry.”

Furina raised an inquisitive eyebrow.

“Music is highly celebrated in Remuria,” Miel hastily added, “It is considered by King Remus himself to be the element that ‘differentiates humans from other living beings.’”

The way he quoted the ruler made it sound like he personally didn’t believe such a thing, but it certainly explained to Furina why she got so much coin for a paltry hour of singing work this morning.

Still, that wasn’t the question she was trying to ask.

“What is a Harmost?” She clarified.

“Ah. Apologies,” Miel said, “The God King appointed four individuals to eliminate all manners of discordance from the divine symphony of his eternal rule. These scholar-musicians are the four Harmosts, and they are entrusted with all manner of Remurian governance.”

Part of that explanation sounded fairly rehearsed. Furina didn’t comment on it. Still, she was more interested of his explanation of the vaulted figures than the play they were supposed to be watching.

Boethius, the prideful Marshal who directed the nation’s military might with unparalleled oversight.

Cassiodor, the steadfast Governor who guided Remuria’s municipal interests with honeyed words.

Euergetia, the kindhearted Benefactor who curated the arts and cultures of Remuria’s vast peoples with boundless curiosity.

Aurelius, the humble Architect who built much if not all of Remuria’s infrastructure with unrivaled intellect.

Oddly, Miel didn’t seem to go into as many details about the Harmost Aurelius as he did with the others; in fact, it was almost as if he looked reluctant to praise him any more than he had to. However, a different matter that demanded Furina’s attention far more. One that caused her to gloss over his peculiar behavior for the present moment.

“Boethius and Cassiodor were not native to Remuria?”

Miel shook his head, “Indeed. They were both from tribes taken into Remuria’s fold. In fact, Cassiodor’s ascension occurred less than a decade ago.”

Her guide cast his gaze back toward the play. No, beyond it.

“It’s an idea the empire of Remuria prides itself on, that deeds, not origins, determine the measure of a person. Anyone, from the lowest street urchin to the wealthiest landlord, can become a Harmost.”

Furina wanted to comment that this was the same Remuria that referred to herself and her people as barbarians, but held her tongue. Mostly because she couldn’t bring herself to shatter the wondrous smile on his face no matter how true the verbal barb was.

Instead, she just jerked her head back to the travesty of a play.

“So, who’s the Harmost that thinks that is entertaining?”

Miel returned to the present conversation with a few blinks.

“Boethius, I believe.”

Furina tsked. 

“Of course. Only a military hardass could create something so boorish that the God of Bards would probably consider it a weapon… then have the gall to pass it off as art.”

She then flicked her own feathered brooch for emphasis.

”And I would know. I met the fool once.”

Miel answered her truth-spun-as-a-joke with a surprisingly loud burst of laughter. Then Furina started laughing, and soon they were loud enough that the crowd had to shoo them away.

Furina felt a singing breeze caress her hair, a slight gust that was far too deliberate to be mere chance. In joined their raucous chorus as they made their escape.

The princess smirked more than smiled, turning her head skyward for just a moment to bask in the validation hidden in the wind’s favor.

Glad you think so, too.

For second time today, Furina found herself speechless. 

Not at any grand palace, gilded temple, or gold monument. Miel had pointed out enough of those in Machimos already.

No, it was at the bustling sea of colors that was spread out before her.

Miel turned to her with his arms spread wide, seemingly basking in the sheer glow along with her.

“Welcome to Little Malikata, the largest flower market in Remuria!”

Furina stepped straight past his grandiose gesture, wandering into the market a little numbly. Even Purpura’s constant bustling in her bag ceased momentarily. 

There were flowers she of course recognized: rosmarinus bulbs, luxlacus lilies, rainbow roses that looked like they had just been plucked from right from her villa garden.

But there was so, so much more. So many blossoms that she had only heard about from her mother’s accounts. Only seen from the occasional journal scribble provided by kind adventurers passing through her village.

Delicate Liyuan glaze lilies that looked like they could crumble to dust a mere touch. The bold, flaming petals of Natlan embercore flowers. The tall-stemmed padisarahs from Sumeru that danced with the breeze. 

“These are a favorite of King Remus,” Miel said, pulling Furina out of her episode of reverie watching the line of padisarahs sway with the breeze, “Apparently these are just recreations created by the Dendro Archon, but they are still quite beautiful…”

Then the man shrugged, “And that’s the extent of my floral knowledge. Apart from personal preference, of course. Plants aren’t my forte.”

Furina made to respond, but a flash of yellow captured her already shortened attention span before words were able to escape her throat.

Sunflowers. 

Sunflowers that were the triple size of her head and stood twice as tall as she did. Sunflowers with so many petals she could’ve mistaken them for the fluffy plumage of a bird. Sunflowers that were not yellow gold, but rather ruddy red, royal purple, and cloud white.

She stopped at a batch of golden sunflowers ringed with a striking corona of red, absolutely remarkable blossoms that truly did justice to the name.

“…How?” murmured Furina.

“As in?” Miel queried. 

“How does this market exist?” Furina asked carefully, “Are these… spoils of war?”

She hadn’t meant to blurt that last part, but her filter was still somewhat compromised with equal parts wonder and shock.

“War? What does war have to do with flowers?” Miel said, sounding a little scandalized, “No, this market was made possible by the Harmost Euergetia.”

“The Benefactor?” Furina repeated, eyeing a particular ringed sunflower that seemed just ready to seed.

“Benefactrix,” Miel corrected softly, “But yes. She deemed it necessary to import these flowers for cultural reasons.”

Furina bit back a scoff, “Eye-candy for the inner city, surely.”

“True. And some of the more exotic specimens certainly do cater to some nobles’ more eccentric tastes,” Miel confirmed, “But Euergetia’s decree specified the need of a variety of flowers that were culturally significant to several of the recently annexed tribes. This notion was also supported by the Harmost Cassiodor, which is why you see luxlacus lilies in particular abundance.”

He then sighed, the very first hint of bitterness Furina heard from him all day. 

“When I put it like that, I suppose war does have something to do with flowers after all…”

Countless hours toiling away in her garden meant Furina knew first hand how hard caring for flowers were, not to mention transporting them. And she was a water goddess for Celestia’s sake. 

To see this many in one place, and so healthy as well… the logistical undertaking must have been massive. And for a matter as benign as cultural appeasement?

Furina pursed her lips, not sure quite what to think. So she decided not to at the current moment.

“Thank you for showing me this,” she said. 

That, at least, was earnest gratitude for letting her see such as sight for the first and likely last time.

Miel just smiled, “Of course.”

Furina hoped the shopkeep didn’t notice leave with a few plucked sunflower seeds hidden in her palm, though she was sure Miel noticed. 

Of course, he didn’t make a fuss. 

The sun was soon setting over the heart of Remuria. It was also setting on the last of Furina’s patience.

Miel had taken her what felt like all over Machimos, teaching her enough that she could now name every aqueduct that fed the area, and still there was not a single mention of Phobos. Grant it, the man could hardly be held accountable for her own clandestine objectives, but Furina was starting to get a little… twitchy.

They had somehow returned to where Furina started, stopping briefly at the very fountain she had begun her little operation singing in front of. The market was long over and it was far quieter now — in fact, they were some of the only people in the square.

“Ah…” Miel said, appraising the marble centerpiece of the lyre-strumming woman, “This fountain is fairly new if I remember correctly.”

“What is it of?” Furina said a little absently as she continued mentally hacking at a way to start a conversation that could lead to Phobos and/or politely end the current engagement so she could move onto greener pastures.

As delightful and informative as Miel was, she had a timetable and an increasingly irritated seahorse keeping it.

“I think it was meant to commemorate the official creation of Phobos,” Miel answered, “Though that matter is not something those in the outer city would quite know of yet.”

Furina slowly creaked her neck toward the blissfully unaware Remurian, trying her very damned best to ignore the fact that a green bard was probably laughing his ass off a thousand miles away (if he was listening).

Her mental voice groaned, then carefully selected a few words from Erinn’s more… youthful vocabulary.

Are. You. Fucking. Kidding. Me?

Furina cast subtly to the cackling wind and went straight for the proverbial kill.

“What’s Phobo—“

Her question was rudely interrupted when Miel’s head abruptly swerved left, a sharp and sudden movement at odds with the calm demeanor he had displayed all day.

Then he frowned.

“Apologies in advance.”

“Huh? For wha—“

Her guide placed his hand on her chest, then with a surprising amount of force pushed her backwards. 

Right over the edge and into the surprisingly deep fountain.

By the time Furina overcame her shock at what had just occurred, she felt more than heard a rumbling cohort of heavy footsteps. She pulled down Purpura’s bag, stilled the water’s surface with a quick application of her will, and waited for them to pass for the sake of her dignity.

“My lord!” 

…Huh?

She heard a sigh pierce the water. It was Miel’s.

“Aulus, for what reason under the good moon and everything its pale light shines upon are you stomping around the city with an entire contubernium of golems?”

Underneath the water, Furina furrowed her brow.

Aulus? As in the stoneflesh centurion she had personally watched die twice?

Her worst fears were confirmed when a nauseatingly familiar voice reverberated through the water.

“Lord Harmost Boethius reported you missing after you failed to appear for today’s assembly. He ordered us to search for you when they failed to reach you through the symphony.”

Another sigh sounded through the water, leagues more tired than the last.

“Yes, that’s because I turn my symphonia off as I am wont to do when I desire a day of peace and quiet,” Miel muttered, “Is such a day too much to ask from the Grand Marshal?”

“He understands your preferences, and normally would leave you be,” assured the centurion in panicked tone that would have been amusing in any other scenario, “However, there has been a grave development and he as personally requested your presence, Lord Harmost Aurelius.”

Furina blinked as the last two words sank like lead to the bottom of her brain, then exploded into a hydrothermal vent that sent her thoughts into a mile-a-minute scramble like that time she poked that electro-eel.

Lord…

Lord Harmost…

LORD HARMOST AURELIUS!?

Furina quietly slammed her back against the fountain’s inner wall as she suddenly struggled to do anything but curl her hand over Purpura’s furiously thrashing snout.

She spent this entire day gallivanting around the Capitolium with a Harmost?

Furina couldn’t believe it — she didn’t want to believe it, but the side of her that mother beat into her started putting things together against her wishes.

Miel wasn’t just a scholaris mechanicus, he was THE scholaris mechanicus. He was inspecting the aqueducts that kept her kind out because he probably built those aqueducts. He didn’t need to pay for meals because he literally couldn’t be charged for it. He laughed with her because he knew that the Harmost Boethius really was a hardass. He could tell her everything about the Capitolium because he literally pieced together the place with his two hands.

He didn’t like talking about Aurelius because he was honest-to-Egeria-Focalors-herself Aurelius.

There was a seething hiss from Miel at the mention of his formal title. Furina had a fairly good guess why, but Aulus continued.

“Workers discovered traces of hydro elemental energy in the Aqua Appia. There’s a credible chance that the Lochfolk have infiltrated the city.”

A new jolt of terror coursed through Furina’s body as a terse second of silence stretched for an eternity. Her hand had just finished forming a hydro sword when her guide spoke once more.

“I did a personal inspection of the Appia this morning and found nothing,” Miel— no, Aurelius said after a painfully thoughtful moment, “And even then, I am more than capable of taking care of myself. You may tell Boethius as such, and that I will return when I am finished with my duties.”

Another pause. He was covering for her?

Question why as she might, Furina remained deathly still.

“…As you wish it, my Lord Harmost.”

“Grand. You are dismissed, princep,” Aurelius ordered curtly.

There was a clanking of metal, likely the result of a hasty salute, before the heavy footfalls resumed and faded off into the distance.

Five seconds. Then ten. Then fifteen. Then a sigh.

“…Well, I suppose that makes things a little awkwar—“

Furina burst out of the fountain, swinging her sword in a wide arc that cast a swath of hydro toward her deceiver.

Aurelius hopped backwards, crouching as his shoulder cape swung with his guarding arm. The way it moved to cover his front was too gracefully natural to be of mere fabric, reminding Furina of a bird’s wing as it easily staved off her preemptive strike with a soft gold glow. 

Furina brandished her thin blade of hydro as she swung Purpura’s bag behind her back.

“You know what I am,” she spat more than said.

An unreadable hum echoed through the notably empty square as Aurelius stood straight, his cloak pulling back to reveal a two-pronged dagger that pulsed gold in his right-hand grip. 

“That was deserved, though the intention was never to deceive.”

“Then what exactly was the intention, oh Lord Harmost Aurelius?” hissed Furina.

“I don’t prefer that name. It’s gaudy, grandiose, and I never really asked for it. I’m fairly sure Sebastos gave it to me as jest.”

“Answer the very simple question!” Furina yelled.

The man frowned, but acquiesced, “To show you firsthand that Remuria is more than just a den of conquerors.”

“A ploy to gain my—.”

“I do not wish for a war between our kingdoms.”

Furina’s sword faltered not at his words, but the way in which he nearly shouted them.

“You know my mother’s demands,” Furina countered nonetheless, “If you don’t want war, then withdraw from above the Rubicundus.”  

“Trust me — as little as that sentiment means currently— that I would personally vouch to do so were it so simple,” Aurelius said, “If we do such a thing, a quarter of our nation starves within the season. That is a quarter million people, Ms. Yves.”

Furina pursed her lips. Then, after a moment of contemplation, lowered her sword.

“…How did you know?”

The knife in the Harmost’s loose grip flipped, the blade now pointing away from her as he answered.

“It’s not obvious, but while your eyes are a lovely shade of green, they are not quite dark enough to hide the teardrops within,” Aurelius explained, “I am well-read on Euergetia’s research of the Northern tribes. I know what those teardrops mean… and what their owners of capable of.”

Furina glanced toward her reflection in the pool, making sure to keep him in the corner of her eye.

Sure enough, she cursed when she could just make out the emblem of her heritage staring back at her. How she had overlooked such a detail was beyond her, but a problem for another time.

“So you knew from the very moment I bumped into you?”

“Indeed.”

“Your brooch?”

“Intentional.”

Furina let out a bitter laugh in spite of herself as she felt her pride crack like an egg; here she thought she was doing such a swell job, only to find out she was outed in the second hour she had arrived.

With a sigh of her own, she let raven black fade to blue-streaked white; allowed green to bleed into their true shade of twin-colored blue and her now glowing fins to flow freely from her sash. 

It was the least she could do to repay the man who had, from what she could tell, earnestly marched her around the city all day instead of capturing her the moment they had met.

“If you value any of my trust, you will answer the following question as truthfully as you possibly can.”

Aurelius nodded, “Very well.”

“What is Phobos?”

The answer was immediate. Surprisingly so.

“Phobos is a system I designed and built alongside King Remus in order to serve as a collective consciousness for the Remurians graced with immortal bodies,” Aurelius said, “It is designed to serve as moral guidance. A proactive measure to maintain order, in other words.”

“Moral guidance?” Furina repeated incredulously, “Then why did it order my personal kidnapping and the execution of my people?”

Aurelius’s pale-gold eyes doubled in size.

“…What?”  

Furina almost raised her sword again. She would’ve, had not the sheer, unfiltered disbelief laced in his single word not stayed her hand.

“You didn’t know?” Furina pressed, “That centurion you just spoke to? He was the one that was about to kill our elderly to draw me out of hiding. Explicitly in Phobos’ name, by the by.”

“No… That’s… that’s impossible,” Aurelius said, his measured cadence rapidly quickening to a fervor, “That shouldn’t be possible.”

Furina kept her eyes trained on him as Aurelius began to pace.

“I created Phobos to prevent another Cassiodorean Tragedy,” he practically shouted, “Not cause another one!”

“Aurelius,” Furina called out. Upon having no effect, she tried again, “Miel.”

The man must have realized what he was doing because he drew a sharp breath, steadying himself.

“My deepest, most utmost apologies,” he said gravely, “It was not, and never was, my intention to harm your people.”

For what it was worth, Furina believed him. Unfortunately that didn’t change the current situation.

“So now what?” Furina said, waving her sword tiredly, “Do we fight?”

“Only if you wish it,” Miel said, stepping forward with an equally tired shake of his head, “Otherwise, you go home, and preferably take this to your mother.”

Furina found a glowing vial of golden, iridescent liquid being offered to her. She scrutinized it, then locked eyes with Miel’s pale-gold gaze.

“Focalors will know what it is,” he explained cryptically, “What she decides to do about it is up to her.”

“Fine.”

Gingerly, she took the vial, turning it in her hand twice before sending it straight to her pocket spell. Based on the burning sensation it left on her fingers, there was no way was she letting Purpura sit next to the unidentified liquid for any amount of time.

“There will be no personnel on the Appia until morn,” Miel said, motioning with his dagger toward the aqueduct Furina had arrived on, “It is your best way out of the city.” 

“Thank you,” Furina said. 

Then she stepped out of the fountain and pivoted homeward without another word. She made it exactly seven steps.

“Lady Vephar?”

She paused despite the constant nudging on her back from Purpura, turning back toward at the Harmost to whom she had certainly never told her name. He was still standing where she had left him.

“For the record, it was truly a pleasure meeting you.”

Furina’s lips pursed, and only after a moment did she allow herself the very slightest of smiles.

“…It’s Furina.”

Her gaze lingered on him just long enough to see him return her gesture, then she disappeared into the alleyway. She didn’t dare look back.

It was only when she was well on her way swimming up the river back to the Loch did it occur that she forgot to pursue one curious if glaring detail — the entire crux of why she trusted him in the first place.

Aurelius, one of the four most important people in the Empire of Remuria, the Harmost architect of the Capitolium and the builder of Phobos himself… wasn’t immortal.

Why was he flesh and blood when by all rights he should’ve been stone and ichor? 

She found she had no answer and the paradox bothered her the whole two weeks home.

Miel Lunam watched the Princess of the Loch disappear in silence. Only when the glowing blue of her fins faded into the inky evening shadows did his posture give way to a shuddering release of tension.

“Furina,” he murmured, “As in farina… hmm.”

A charming name, though curious for oceanid. She wonder if she had chosen it herself, or if it was chosen for her.

Either way, it was fitting. At least based on the amount of baked good she could consume.

The architect banished any further thought of the girl in favor of focusing at the immediate task at hand. He held out his left hand, let his symphonia appear in his palm with a muted flash of gold, and watched as the lyre strings glowed a soft of shade blue as he attuned it to the correct frequency.

“Aulus,” he spoke into the device, “Return to me at once. There’s been a development regarding the city’s safety.”

With that, he banished the infernal object he regretted ever inventing, electing to spend the last dwindling moments of quiet watching the sun dip further below the Aqueduct Appia.

Miel did have a better ring to it.

Alas, the thunderous footfalls of marching golems returned and with it his current headache.

“Lord Harmost!“ Aulus shouted with a salute.

“Princeps,” Miel began cordially, “Recount to me the events that occurred on your failed diplomatic venture to the northern tribes.”

The centurion’s unmoving stone face betrayed nothing, but his slight tilt of confusion did.

“Pardon, Lord Harmost?”

Miel stifled his pained sigh. He hated repeating himself. 

“Give me an abridged report of the day you were attacked by the Queen of the Lochfolk.”

“We were invited into the village by their the village leader, found no audience with the Court of Loch, and were betrayed,” he explained, “We were then savaged by rebellious barbarians and the Queen herself, resulting in the entire loss of our cohort.”

“Yes, yes. I’m well aware of that,’ Miel said, “However, what did you do while you were in the village, Princep Aulus.”

“We waited patiently for three hours,” said the princeps, “Nothing of import occurred until we were ambushed.”

Miel breathed in, then out — the only way he could maintain his polite facade.

Either the centurion was lying directly to his face, or the immortal in front of him truly counted taking hostages as a matter that was ‘nothing of import.’ 

He didn’t know what was worse. 

“I see. Thank you.”

Without warning, Miel’s right hand shot out from underneath his cloak, lightly tapping the blunt pommel of his still drawn dagger into the man’s stone chest before he could utter another word.

The two twin prongs of his attuning dagger chimed like struck crystal, casting a paralyzing ripple of pale-gold across the stone Aulus’ immortal body. The centurion froze, suddenly finding himself a prisoner.

For the martial giants, Miel utilized a different approach.

“Lunae lumine respondebis.”

The eight golems comprising the contubernium stiffened as the immortal souls within were immediately evicted, forcibly sent back to the Grand Symphony as Miel supplanted them with his own influence via a phrase he wish he never had to use. He’d apologize to the soldiers for the unpleasant experience when he himself returned to the Inner City.

“I have rather compelling suspicion to believe that you have not been forthright in your reports, princeps,” Miel said dryly, knife disappearing once more into the folds of his robe, “As such, we are going to be having a nice talk about what is and is not a matter of import.”

One of the golems easily plucked the frozen centurion off the ground. Miel silently commanded the other seven to bring him the recently exiled village chief — he was very much not excused from this deception either. 

As the stone sentinels thundered away, the Harmost Aurelius looked back toward the Appia one final time.

As Sebastos would say, the die had been cast. Now all he could do was pray that final gambit bore a peaceful fruit.

He only hoped that the tree it grew on wasn’t already rotting.

Cooking for Furina de Fontaine was often a challenging affair.

Escoffier— the blessed Fairy of Fondant Felicity, the feared Towering Tyrant of Taste— would never turn down a culinary challenge. That was why she basically served as the Palace Mermonia head chef, even with her official title of Pattissiere Supreme.

Managing the archon’s turbulent whims of taste was manageable, if not a bit stimulating. Certainly far more engaging than the Iudex’s unchanging preference for dishes that often resembled flavored water more than proper food.

However, there was one vexing part of the palatial dinner that even the celebrating Escoffier faced with some measure of professional dread.

Dessert, the very reason she had been granted her position in the first place.

The hydro archon’s preference for the sweeter side of cuisine was infamous, enough that she had a whole desert column in the Steambird named after her. What wasn’t so well known were her peculiar set of standards that were less standards and more… fixations of the day.

When Furina de Fontaine asked for a dessert, she wanted that dessert specifically the way she had envisioned it to the letter. She would never send back savory courses, but if even one thing was not to her satisfaction with her meal’s sweet ending, Escoffier could expect that plate right back in her kitchen with an ever polite ‘try again’ attached to whatever aspect of it offended her tongue that day.  

Escoffier personally prepared the archon’s desserts after her kitchen failed four straight times in a row to create a satisfactory Fontinalia mousse. She was usually lucky with her first try, but even then she had days where it would take her two or even three attempts to appease the archon of sweets.

That was until one Furina asked for ‘fried dough fritters’, offering no further insight other than those three words.

Escoffier had mentally shrugged. Easy enough.

She had never been so wrong. 

Her first attempt — Too fancy.

Her second attempt — Too sweet.

Her third attempt — Too much sauce.

She had dismissed the rest of her cooks by fourth attempt — Not enough crisp.

Escoffier was about to throw in the towel after her seventh attempt had been rejected for not ‘tasting right.’ That was when a rather helpful Melusine who was fielding her recipes from various Fontanian culinary literature stumbled across a curious method for honey fritters in an old Remurian history book.

Fuck it. It took ten minutes to make since the oil was already hot. Might as well try.

Escoffier threw together milk and flour for an incredibly basic dough, threw it in oil, and lathered what came out with enough honey to kill a bear. Then she personally delivered the hot mess to the waiting archon only because she expected it to be rejected on sight.

It was not. In fact, the archon’s expression became nigh unreadable as she reached over from her left to present ‘Honey-glazed Fritters - Remurian style’ before her twin-shaded eyes. 

Furina took a single bite, and happened next would remain with Escoffier forever.

The words promising her very best for the fated ninth attempt never left her throat as, for the briefest moment, the archon’s expression shattered… Except, it wasn’t disgust that broke through the surface, no, it was a countenance that Escoffier was far more familiar with adorning veiled widows at meals she cooked for funerals.

Haunted sorrow. Escoffier was no literatuer, but it was the only way she could describe the way her eyes —so bright mere moments ago — seemingly drained of all of their light.  

Then, as quick as it came, the expression vanished, replaced once more by the polite, slightly whimsical smile that Furina quickly hid behind a napkin as she wiped honey from her lips.

“This… will do,” Furina had said, “Thank you. You are dismissed.”

Escoffier numbly excused herself, more from tonal whiplash than anything else. She then dismissed the rest of her staff, personally cleaning the kitchen that’s ight in order to afford herself a little time to process what had just occurred.

Eventually she decided it was not her station to pry, and that what those little squares of fried dough meant to Furina de Fontaine was best left between the dessert and the divine.

Either way, the request for ‘fried dough fritters’ never came again.

For Escoffier’s sake, It was probably for the best.