The young princess didn’t go to sleep immediately.
Under lamplight, she read over some of the letters that Elenoa had sorted out as ‘important’ out of the many she’d been getting recently. One in particular stood out to her: an unassuming envelope with a stamped seal depicting a serpent coiled around an anchor—the sigil representing the ducal house of Pergeus.
It held an apology for not being able to attend her birthday celebration, along with a personal invitation to have a joyride on one of the house’s private vessels. Signed by Linda Pergeus, a childhood friend who should be around the same age as her.
After meeting a few times in Christiana’s younger years, they were both swept up in whatever things life had planned for them. Linda had to commit herself towards her role as scion of a naval and mercantile powerhouse, while Christiana dealt with her own demons.
The nostalgia came. She remembered an energetic girl with loosely tied, honey blonde hair. Yes, the Linda then had made it her life’s goal to explore every corner of the world. She was endearing and vibrant as a child; but who knew how she turned out with the passage of time?
It’s been a while since we last talked to each other face to face. I wonder how she’s doing.
Chris sighed, shifting her mind to other matters.
One thing to look forward to was the training journey Elenoa had promised her. On paper, they planned for an expedition into the deep tundra in the last weeks of the summer thaw, surveying the land and wildlife. To any snooping officials it would appear like Elenoa was fulfilling her duties while accompanied by her daughter and a few observing knights. Of course, all those close to them knew the true reason behind the excursion.
Her heartbeat rose in excitement, anticipating the wonder of exploration and the rush of combat with whatever beasts nature threw at her. Then, an idea popped into her head.
Grinning, Chris wrote back to Linda, answering yes to the invitation and suggesting that they meet to catch up. They were going to Aesir in the same year and Elenoa did say that she needed allies. To reacquaint herself with a childhood friend, maybe they could bond over their shared love for adventure.
Chris didn’t forget to add a note about bringing clothes that suited the cold northern climate.
Looking out her balcony window, she saw no sign of Ilias and shrugged. The old demon could take care of herself, and she just hoped that Ilias wouldn’t cause too much of an uproar wherever she was.
Her hand went to the necklace in her pocket. She rubbed the cool gemstone, wondering what she’d gotten herself into. After a moment’s hesitation, Chris set it on a drawer next to her bed.
A sudden bout of dizziness, riding on a wave of fatigue, made her rub her temples. She felt a migraine coming along.
Well, it’s been a long day.
______________________________________
Unlike other boys of his age, Bertram Espard had entered his Bestowal with no illusions of grandeur.
Sure, as a child he daydreamed of valor and of the chance to escape from his ordinary life in the countryside. There were even occasions when he tagged along with his father as they patrolled whatever meager territory they had left.
Rather than sparking an adventurous spirit in the young boy, however, those excursions only reminded him of how small he was compared to the world at large. He saw grown men become crippled in mere moments under the crushing blows of a rampaging monster.
They were no heroes, only people just trying to survive and make a living. They were not warriors, but desperate men who fought so that the knight orders of Lorien could arrive to save their families in the ‘nick of time’.
He was no stranger to the disappointment that sat on his father’s shoulders every passing day, lamenting their fate. The man took to the bottle on occasion, on nights where there was no wind to sweep away dark and lingering thoughts. No one, not his son, his little daughter, their few remaining servants, or his bedridden wife, could understand what went on in his head.
And then, one cold day in the fall, Bertram’s mother said her final goodbyes. Whatever ailment that took her body’s freedom had finally claimed her life.
Your responsibility lies with this family. She whispered those words to a boy who had no concept of them. Only until they fell on his shoulders in full did he grasp their true weight.
As for his father? He was never the same after that. Grief became melancholy. Then resentment.
Perhaps they only saw the hopeful man who cared for his people and family, and not what remained after years of failure and regret. Not until it was too late. Not until his father became a bitter, angry shell of what he once was.
The glory of house Espard had long since dissipated. Now, they were a discarded clan making ends meet in a far corner of their nation. Forgotten by society, and abandoned by the royal family they once served. Bertram had resigned himself to follow the path towards ruin.
No, unlike boys who dreamed of making it big in the wider world, he had come to know the concept of futility from an early age. It was with this sense of disillusionment that Bertram Espard walked up the circular dais on which the statue of Klet stood, having no great hopes for the future.
He was wholly unprepared for what happened next.
_______________________________________
The moment he received the letter, Bertram’s blood ran cold. It was a summons to a cafe in the wealthy district of the capital, a place hostile to all but the most privileged. Signed by Nathan Espard.
His father.
Bertram’s coffee tasted bitter as he glared at his father sitting across from him. He felt the urge to spit it out, even, just to spite the man who’d paid for it with his own coin. The two of them sat in a private booth, with the privacy to do and talk as they pleased.
“That’s an Ash’raan special blend, boy.” His father drawled. “It’s almost worth its own weight in gold. You’re supposed to savor it, not glare at it.”
Similar to his son’s vagrant looks, the man with the name of Nathan Espard was far from well groomed. His hair was greasy and unkempt, his eyes rimmed with disillusionment and fatigue. But within that visage was a monster.
There’s nothing ‘noble’ about this pathetic bastard. Not anymore.
Bertram slammed his cup down, and felt a small amount of satisfaction seeing his father’s eye twitch in irritation.
“Not a coffee person I see.” Nathan mumbled.
“How many times are you going to spend money that we don’t have?”
“What? So I can’t even treat my own son now and then?” His father snorted. “Think of this as a gift from me.”
The boy continued to glare before relenting with a click of his tongue.
“Why’d you call me here? You’re obviously not here for small talk. Don’t say you want me to build more connections with those asshats in the knight order.”
The man didn’t answer immediately, instead nonchalantly swirling a silver spoon in his drink. He tapped the cup's rim with an audible clink.
“So you realize how undeserving all these fools with overinflated egos are.” He sneered. “You did well in joining the royal knight order. You’ve opened many more opportunities for yourself.” The man said without the barest hint of pride in his voice, though Bertram had taught himself to stop spying for any such affection a long time ago.
“Don’t make me laugh. You threatened me with Celia’s safety.” He spoke accusingly. Nathan raised a brow.
“Did I? I don’t quite remember ever saying anything like that. Although she does feel much more at ease knowing that her dear older brother’s a rising star of the royal knights.” Nathan laughed. His gaze softened almost imperceptibly. “She would have been proud of you.”
Bertram clutched at the knife in his pocket. His mother’s heirloom. What would she have said? He struggled to remember her voice.
“You’ve caught the eye of some important figures. And someone in particular desires your service. As a knight, of course.”
Bertram didn’t like where this was going.
“What did you do, old man?” He asked in a low voice.
“If you’re really wondering about it, then I’ll have you know that I made a deal. Surely even a brat like you can appreciate the lengths I went to talk to the Ducal house of Bregan on—”
A chair violently slid over the floor. Bertram stood up in a rush of adrenaline that surprised even him.
“Are you insane?” He exclaimed. “Don’t you know the animosity between them and the royal family?!” He slammed his hands onto the table. “Do you want to paint a target on our backs?!” He vehemently whispered.
“Watch your mouth.” His father said in a threatening tone. The cups rattled in place on the table before he took a sip of that bitter luxury to calm himself down.
He felt a chill as his father slowly stood up. The man advanced towards him, slowly to draw out the seconds of dread. And Bertram remembered all the nights as a child when he feared those steps. When he feared the promise of punishment and pain. When his mother left, so too did all hope of deliverance.
“Everything I do,” Nathan glared at his son. “is for the good of this family. Our family. So what if they’re on bad terms? Behind Bregan is a force that not even those petty royals can touch easily. All these pretentious knights will fall under its legions.”
He held Bertram’s arm in a vice-like grip. Nathan smiled, though it lacked warmth.
“I hear rumors that you’ve been getting closer with that useless princess. The one who disgraced her family.”
“She’s a far better person than you’ll ever be.”
“Bah,” his father spat. “You’re blinded from the things that matter.”
“Look around you. See all these pigs in their fancy jewelry, indulging themselves without a care in the world for those who spill blood, sweat, and tears to fill their coffers?” Nathan seethed. Bertram followed his words reluctantly. It was true –he felt out of place from the moment he entered. He would much rather have been to a local bakery in the capital’s outer district.
“Do you know what a nobleman did on this table yesterday, with a gaggle of all his companions?” He sneered. “This place doesn’t just serve coffee. It provides all manner of ‘entertainment’. Everything, from this tablecloth to the very air, reeks of opulence. Decay. Look at what these royals have done to this country. Look at what this society you protect looks like.”
“What are you getting at?” Bertram growled.
“We just need to take a side –the right side. When this royal family meets their end; when their supporters leave them one by one and their allies die with them, we’ll be there to reap the rewards with the winners, with new glory to our name. They will die. We will live.”
“You sick, twisted fuck.” Bertram said lifelessly. “Why do you think that will change anything? You’re just inviting more death and destruction into this kingdom. You’re completely insane.”
His father looked at him strangely, as if he was the one that had just been plotting treason.
“It’s your responsibility. Your loyalties lie in family. Not in something as abstract as can be called a ‘nation’.” The man said while shooting his piercing gaze at Bertram.
“Don’t you remember what that girl’s ilk did to us? We were loyal vassals once; blind servants to the crown! And look where that got us: the previous king cast us aside. Left us to waste away. And the current royals? With no aid, no attention or assistance of any kind, they condemned your mother to die.” His eyes were alight with the spark of madness. “We can finally get back at them.”
“Shut the hell up, you bastard.”
“Still all bark, and no bite, I see.” Nathan smirked in disdain.
“Keep your distance from the girl. It’ll hurt you less when you drive a blade through her.” His smile faded, replaced by an almost palpable pressure that made Bertram tense. “Do not let me down, boy.”
But Bertram had enough. He stood up and threw his cup at the hopeless human trash in front of him. The coffee left a large stain at the front of the man’s shirt.
Nathan made no immediate response, instead he approached his son with a stare that could kill. Bertram refused to back down.
*Smack*
The boy didn’t bother to nurse his reddening cheek. He glared hatefully at the man in front of him.
“Is this a game to you?” Nathan asked.
*Smack*
"Do you enjoy humiliating me in public like this, you useless piece of shit?”
Bertram flared his nostrils. His fists clenched. He could feel the blood pumping fervently through his veins, see the creases on the face of the man staring him down.
“You’re nothing. Never have been. Never will be. So what if you lucked out in your Bestowal? So have many others. Even a brat like you should notice that people still reject you.” He leaned down to whisper his next words into his son’s ear. “No namesake and no backing. Without me, you’d be alone and helpless. Chewed up and spit out like every other child from the backwaters.” He put a hand on Bertram’s shoulder and began whispering into his ear.
Stay calm. He felt his canines grow ever so slightly, an instinctual itch for violence knocking on his mind’s door. A prickling sensation swept through his back, his hackles rising. Red colored the edges of his vision.
It would be so easy to TEAR this man’s throat out. All it would take was a swift motion. He just had to let his claws do the work. Or should he crush his neck in between his jaws instead? A low, rumbling growl nearly ran through his throat.
A flash of pain tore through his soul. He cried out, pain being mistaken for anger by the man beside him.
[You almost let your bloodline control you. Again.] Albiel said in monotone. The boy ignored him, and, shaking off his father’s grasp with a strength he didn’t think possible, he ran off, ignoring the petty man’s shouts and orders. In the streets of the capital, people directed odd glances at him.
What am I thinking?! What was I about to do? He panted, feeling throbbing in his head.
[Mortals. So driven by emotion.] His spirit sighed. A soothing sensation assuaged his flailing state of mind. [How troublesome. You are undeniably the least compatible candidate. I fail to see how Lord Klet allowed this union.]
Bertram stopped to catch his breath in between two large buildings, staring into a trembling hand. His nails were halfway transformed into claws.
“What’s happening to me?” He muttered hoarsely.
Making sure no one saw him, he left the alleyway towards a different district of the capital. After exiting, his eyes widened in surprise. He saw a girl, seemingly around his age and in an eccentric black frilled dress, performing magic tricks in front of a growing crowd. She was juggling balls in between multiple portals, creating a spectacle that grew more complex over time. Some audience members then slipped coins into a pocket in space.
But no, what shocked him the most was that she was staring directly at him. For the briefest of moments, he thought her black eyes flashed a deep crimson. As she smiled, he caught sight of a mouthful of sharp teeth.
Hello. She mouthed.
He ran in the opposite direction.
Yarny Hi! Sorry if it's been a while. Was sick on and off for a few weeks and then had to get ready for college.
This is actually looking to be a LONG arc. Sorry to all of you looking forward to school life. I don't wanna rush this, because this might be a pivotal point for the rest of the story going forward.
The young princess didn’t go to sleep immediately.
Under lamplight, she read over some of the letters that Elenoa had sorted out as ‘important’ out of the many she’d been getting recently. One in particular stood out to her: an unassuming envelope with a stamped seal depicting a serpent coiled around an anchor—the sigil representing the ducal house of Pergeus.
It held an apology for not being able to attend her birthday celebration, along with a personal invitation to have a joyride on one of the house’s private vessels. Signed by Linda Pergeus, a childhood friend who should be around the same age as her.
After meeting a few times in Christiana’s younger years, they were both swept up in whatever things life had planned for them. Linda had to commit herself towards her role as scion of a naval and mercantile powerhouse, while Christiana dealt with her own demons.
The nostalgia came. She remembered an energetic girl with loosely tied, honey blonde hair. Yes, the Linda then had made it her life’s goal to explore every corner of the world. She was endearing and vibrant as a child; but who knew how she turned out with the passage of time?
It’s been a while since we last talked to each other face to face. I wonder how she’s doing.
Chris sighed, shifting her mind to other matters.
One thing to look forward to was the training journey Elenoa had promised her. On paper, they planned for an expedition into the deep tundra in the last weeks of the summer thaw, surveying the land and wildlife. To any snooping officials it would appear like Elenoa was fulfilling her duties while accompanied by her daughter and a few observing knights. Of course, all those close to them knew the true reason behind the excursion.
Her heartbeat rose in excitement, anticipating the wonder of exploration and the rush of combat with whatever beasts nature threw at her. Then, an idea popped into her head.
Grinning, Chris wrote back to Linda, answering yes to the invitation and suggesting that they meet to catch up. They were going to Aesir in the same year and Elenoa did say that she needed allies. To reacquaint herself with a childhood friend, maybe they could bond over their shared love for adventure.
Chris didn’t forget to add a note about bringing clothes that suited the cold northern climate.
Looking out her balcony window, she saw no sign of Ilias and shrugged. The old demon could take care of herself, and she just hoped that Ilias wouldn’t cause too much of an uproar wherever she was.
Her hand went to the necklace in her pocket. She rubbed the cool gemstone, wondering what she’d gotten herself into. After a moment’s hesitation, Chris set it on a drawer next to her bed.
A sudden bout of dizziness, riding on a wave of fatigue, made her rub her temples. She felt a migraine coming along.
Well, it’s been a long day.
______________________________________
Unlike other boys of his age, Bertram Espard had entered his Bestowal with no illusions of grandeur.
Sure, as a child he daydreamed of valor and of the chance to escape from his ordinary life in the countryside. There were even occasions when he tagged along with his father as they patrolled whatever meager territory they had left.
Rather than sparking an adventurous spirit in the young boy, however, those excursions only reminded him of how small he was compared to the world at large. He saw grown men become crippled in mere moments under the crushing blows of a rampaging monster.
They were no heroes, only people just trying to survive and make a living. They were not warriors, but desperate men who fought so that the knight orders of Lorien could arrive to save their families in the ‘nick of time’.
He was no stranger to the disappointment that sat on his father’s shoulders every passing day, lamenting their fate. The man took to the bottle on occasion, on nights where there was no wind to sweep away dark and lingering thoughts. No one, not his son, his little daughter, their few remaining servants, or his bedridden wife, could understand what went on in his head.
And then, one cold day in the fall, Bertram’s mother said her final goodbyes. Whatever ailment that took her body’s freedom had finally claimed her life.
Your responsibility lies with this family. She whispered those words to a boy who had no concept of them. Only until they fell on his shoulders in full did he grasp their true weight.
As for his father? He was never the same after that. Grief became melancholy. Then resentment.
Perhaps they only saw the hopeful man who cared for his people and family, and not what remained after years of failure and regret. Not until it was too late. Not until his father became a bitter, angry shell of what he once was.
The glory of house Espard had long since dissipated. Now, they were a discarded clan making ends meet in a far corner of their nation. Forgotten by society, and abandoned by the royal family they once served. Bertram had resigned himself to follow the path towards ruin.
No, unlike boys who dreamed of making it big in the wider world, he had come to know the concept of futility from an early age. It was with this sense of disillusionment that Bertram Espard walked up the circular dais on which the statue of Klet stood, having no great hopes for the future.
He was wholly unprepared for what happened next.
_______________________________________
The moment he received the letter, Bertram’s blood ran cold. It was a summons to a cafe in the wealthy district of the capital, a place hostile to all but the most privileged. Signed by Nathan Espard.
His father.
Bertram’s coffee tasted bitter as he glared at his father sitting across from him. He felt the urge to spit it out, even, just to spite the man who’d paid for it with his own coin. The two of them sat in a private booth, with the privacy to do and talk as they pleased.
“That’s an Ash’raan special blend, boy.” His father drawled. “It’s almost worth its own weight in gold. You’re supposed to savor it, not glare at it.”
Similar to his son’s vagrant looks, the man with the name of Nathan Espard was far from well groomed. His hair was greasy and unkempt, his eyes rimmed with disillusionment and fatigue. But within that visage was a monster.
There’s nothing ‘noble’ about this pathetic bastard. Not anymore.
Bertram slammed his cup down, and felt a small amount of satisfaction seeing his father’s eye twitch in irritation.
“Not a coffee person I see.” Nathan mumbled.
“How many times are you going to spend money that we don’t have?”
“What? So I can’t even treat my own son now and then?” His father snorted. “Think of this as a gift from me.”
The boy continued to glare before relenting with a click of his tongue.
“Why’d you call me here? You’re obviously not here for small talk. Don’t say you want me to build more connections with those asshats in the knight order.”
The man didn’t answer immediately, instead nonchalantly swirling a silver spoon in his drink. He tapped the cup's rim with an audible clink.
“So you realize how undeserving all these fools with overinflated egos are.” He sneered. “You did well in joining the royal knight order. You’ve opened many more opportunities for yourself.” The man said without the barest hint of pride in his voice, though Bertram had taught himself to stop spying for any such affection a long time ago.
“Don’t make me laugh. You threatened me with Celia’s safety.” He spoke accusingly. Nathan raised a brow.
“Did I? I don’t quite remember ever saying anything like that. Although she does feel much more at ease knowing that her dear older brother’s a rising star of the royal knights.” Nathan laughed. His gaze softened almost imperceptibly. “She would have been proud of you.”
Bertram clutched at the knife in his pocket. His mother’s heirloom. What would she have said? He struggled to remember her voice.
“You’ve caught the eye of some important figures. And someone in particular desires your service. As a knight, of course.”
Bertram didn’t like where this was going.
“What did you do, old man?” He asked in a low voice.
“If you’re really wondering about it, then I’ll have you know that I made a deal. Surely even a brat like you can appreciate the lengths I went to talk to the Ducal house of Bregan on—”
A chair violently slid over the floor. Bertram stood up in a rush of adrenaline that surprised even him.
“Are you insane?” He exclaimed. “Don’t you know the animosity between them and the royal family?!” He slammed his hands onto the table. “Do you want to paint a target on our backs?!” He vehemently whispered.
“Watch your mouth.” His father said in a threatening tone. The cups rattled in place on the table before he took a sip of that bitter luxury to calm himself down.
He felt a chill as his father slowly stood up. The man advanced towards him, slowly to draw out the seconds of dread. And Bertram remembered all the nights as a child when he feared those steps. When he feared the promise of punishment and pain. When his mother left, so too did all hope of deliverance.
“Everything I do,” Nathan glared at his son. “is for the good of this family. Our family. So what if they’re on bad terms? Behind Bregan is a force that not even those petty royals can touch easily. All these pretentious knights will fall under its legions.”
He held Bertram’s arm in a vice-like grip. Nathan smiled, though it lacked warmth.
“I hear rumors that you’ve been getting closer with that useless princess. The one who disgraced her family.”
“She’s a far better person than you’ll ever be.”
“Bah,” his father spat. “You’re blinded from the things that matter.”
“Look around you. See all these pigs in their fancy jewelry, indulging themselves without a care in the world for those who spill blood, sweat, and tears to fill their coffers?” Nathan seethed. Bertram followed his words reluctantly. It was true –he felt out of place from the moment he entered. He would much rather have been to a local bakery in the capital’s outer district.
“Do you know what a nobleman did on this table yesterday, with a gaggle of all his companions?” He sneered. “This place doesn’t just serve coffee. It provides all manner of ‘entertainment’. Everything, from this tablecloth to the very air, reeks of opulence. Decay. Look at what these royals have done to this country. Look at what this society you protect looks like.”
“What are you getting at?” Bertram growled.
“We just need to take a side –the right side. When this royal family meets their end; when their supporters leave them one by one and their allies die with them, we’ll be there to reap the rewards with the winners, with new glory to our name. They will die. We will live.”
“You sick, twisted fuck.” Bertram said lifelessly. “Why do you think that will change anything? You’re just inviting more death and destruction into this kingdom. You’re completely insane.”
His father looked at him strangely, as if he was the one that had just been plotting treason.
“It’s your responsibility. Your loyalties lie in family. Not in something as abstract as can be called a ‘nation’.” The man said while shooting his piercing gaze at Bertram.
“Don’t you remember what that girl’s ilk did to us? We were loyal vassals once; blind servants to the crown! And look where that got us: the previous king cast us aside. Left us to waste away. And the current royals? With no aid, no attention or assistance of any kind, they condemned your mother to die.” His eyes were alight with the spark of madness. “We can finally get back at them.”
“Shut the hell up, you bastard.”
“Still all bark, and no bite, I see.” Nathan smirked in disdain.
“Keep your distance from the girl. It’ll hurt you less when you drive a blade through her.” His smile faded, replaced by an almost palpable pressure that made Bertram tense. “Do not let me down, boy.”
But Bertram had enough. He stood up and threw his cup at the hopeless human trash in front of him. The coffee left a large stain at the front of the man’s shirt.
Nathan made no immediate response, instead he approached his son with a stare that could kill. Bertram refused to back down.
*Smack*
The boy didn’t bother to nurse his reddening cheek. He glared hatefully at the man in front of him.
“Is this a game to you?” Nathan asked.
*Smack*
"Do you enjoy humiliating me in public like this, you useless piece of shit?”
Bertram flared his nostrils. His fists clenched. He could feel the blood pumping fervently through his veins, see the creases on the face of the man staring him down.
“You’re nothing. Never have been. Never will be. So what if you lucked out in your Bestowal? So have many others. Even a brat like you should notice that people still reject you.” He leaned down to whisper his next words into his son’s ear. “No namesake and no backing. Without me, you’d be alone and helpless. Chewed up and spit out like every other child from the backwaters.” He put a hand on Bertram’s shoulder and began whispering into his ear.
Stay calm. He felt his canines grow ever so slightly, an instinctual itch for violence knocking on his mind’s door. A prickling sensation swept through his back, his hackles rising. Red colored the edges of his vision.
It would be so easy to TEAR this man’s throat out. All it would take was a swift motion. He just had to let his claws do the work. Or should he crush his neck in between his jaws instead? A low, rumbling growl nearly ran through his throat.
A flash of pain tore through his soul. He cried out, pain being mistaken for anger by the man beside him.
[You almost let your bloodline control you. Again.] Albiel said in monotone. The boy ignored him, and, shaking off his father’s grasp with a strength he didn’t think possible, he ran off, ignoring the petty man’s shouts and orders. In the streets of the capital, people directed odd glances at him.
What am I thinking?! What was I about to do? He panted, feeling throbbing in his head.
[Mortals. So driven by emotion.] His spirit sighed. A soothing sensation assuaged his flailing state of mind. [How troublesome. You are undeniably the least compatible candidate. I fail to see how Lord Klet allowed this union.]
Bertram stopped to catch his breath in between two large buildings, staring into a trembling hand. His nails were halfway transformed into claws.
“What’s happening to me?” He muttered hoarsely.
Making sure no one saw him, he left the alleyway towards a different district of the capital. After exiting, his eyes widened in surprise. He saw a girl, seemingly around his age and in an eccentric black frilled dress, performing magic tricks in front of a growing crowd. She was juggling balls in between multiple portals, creating a spectacle that grew more complex over time. Some audience members then slipped coins into a pocket in space.
But no, what shocked him the most was that she was staring directly at him. For the briefest of moments, he thought her black eyes flashed a deep crimson. As she smiled, he caught sight of a mouthful of sharp teeth.
Hello. She mouthed.
He ran in the opposite direction.
Yarny Hi! Sorry if it's been a while. Was sick on and off for a few weeks and then had to get ready for college.
This is actually looking to be a LONG arc. Sorry to all of you looking forward to school life. I don't wanna rush this, because this might be a pivotal point for the rest of the story going forward.
