Tawhale was not present when Tifalla finally awakened. She didn't know where he went, but she was safe and secluded where he left her. This time, upon waking, she was not overcome with lingering drowsiness. She felt well rested. The moss oil must have run its course.

  She stretched and stepped carefully out of bed. The room she was in was an unfamiliar one. It carried very few of her things, and none of her comforts, yet, it was far larger and more lavish. When she looked at her cot, it was substantially bigger than normal with far fluffier pillows and extra fur blankets. She thought she slept a little better than normal.

  She found additional robes on the desk, a bowl of fresh hollowberries, and a single prescript set nearby. Alongside those were several oils for hair and skin, books clearly untouched, and chilled water.

  Her exploration of this new room culminated in the discovery of a separate room; one dedicated to bathing. It yielded a large mirror, several soaps and incense to burn, many carved hair pins and combs, and a sizable bath. Priestesses ordinarily bathed together. Singular bathing spaces were reserved for specific cases and were exceedingly rare. Tifalla couldn't deny the allure such luxuries had.

  She gathered up her fresh clothes, all the oils she could want, and took to the bath. A new frontier was on the horizon for her. There was so much to dig into. Was it all for her? If she was allowed into the bed, it couldn't hurt to try the bath. She began to, apprehensively, undress. As she slid her dirtied robes off, she caught sight of her coda in the mirror.

  Every mark was the same; four petals in a tilted cross shape. It was a sizable mark that sat at the lower half of her back.

  When compared to every other scar on her body, it almost had a certain beauty to it. It wasn't jagged like the scars down her legs, or warped like the scars on her torso. Touching it didn't yield much discomfort when there wasn't much sensation in the scar tissue. It was yet another accessory to the dark expanse of her skin.

  She looked away from it, turning instead towards the awaiting bath.

  The water, warm in temperature, was scented like eilbore flowers courtesy of its associated oil. It was a sweet smell not too dissimilar to honey, but far more floral. When she entered the bath, she immediately felt her muscles unwind. The warmth, the scent, and the water were a magical combination for Tifalla. After the prior few hours she's had, it was more than necessary. She wanted to bask in it for as long as she could get away with it. But, unlike the public baths, this one seemed to lose its heat quickly. She washed first before she was left with cold water to soak in.

  Tifalla couldn't describe how she felt in the bath besides fluffy. Like being enveloped in the softest pillows, or wrapped in the warmest blankets, her head felt light with peace. It was intoxicating. Though she knew it wouldn't last long, she allowed herself to sink into the comfort of water.

  How long was… another matter.

  She did not fall asleep. She was much too rested for such a thing. A lull felt more apt. Time passed, how much she did not know, and she remained in the bath until—

  “Tifalla?”

  She leapt up out of the water. She was immediately shocked by just how cold it was against her skin. She let out a faint squeak as she escaped the cold clutches around her.

  “Y-Yes?”

  The voice had to be Tawhale. He stood just on the other side of the door.

  She nervously began to scramble towards the awaiting towels.

  “I am here to escort you,” he said.

  Escort? To where? What did she need to do that day? Her prescript slipped her mind.

  “Just a moment, please!” she called.

  A low hum was her only reply.

  She dressed as quickly as she could. Having put on her robes thousands of times before morning prayer, she was used to getting dressed under time constraints. Once she pinned up half of her braids and left some front pieces free, she was out of the bath.

  She opened the door to find Tawhale waiting. In his hands was a book. It was promptly shut so he could regard her presence with the usual grave demeanor.

  “We don't have time to waste. Let us be on our way.”

  He made his way towards the room's exit. Tifalla followed suit, swiping her prescript on the way out.

  “Conduct preparations for The Fall.”

  Of course, she thought, her only true goal would be related to the ritual. No chores, no weddings, no records.

  It was just her and the eight other Virtuosas.

  Tifalla and Tawhale walked through Cantabile. During this walk, Tifalla learned that it was roughly close to sunset. Priestesses were awake, but few were doing anything close to resembling daily chores. Noting her curiosity, Tawhale spoke up.

  “We have granted them a day's worth of rest. The Fall has taken its toll on many.”

  “I see…” she murmured.

  Passing through various corridors, she noted that the conversations among priestesses dimmed as she and Tawhale passed by. Looks at Tawhale ranged from fear to annoyance, but the moment their eyes fell upon her, they promptly looked away.

  Tifalla felt a pit of unease slowly grow. She tried to ignore it.

  On their silent walk, it became easy to hear the talks of others. That is, before they passed by.

  Two priestesses spoke inside their rooms. One cried in the arms of another.

  “Lady Kaho… it just isn't fair.”

  “Just be glad it isn't us.”

  “I suppose. But still… she was there when no one else was.”

  “I know. I know.”

  Another group of three spoke in a far more lively tone. It seems not even the dour events would bring them down.

  “I heard Michi got selected.”

  “Really? Way to take the trash out.”

  “Shhh. She might hear!”

  “Who cares? She's going to die anyway. Now she won't destroy our hall anymore.”

  Tifalla kept her head down as she neared them. Their whispers felt loud to her.

  The next group she came across gave her pause. She lingered behind Tawhale, and stared into the crowd that formed around one individual. The moment she saw her dark red hair, Tifalla took off.

  “Laeti!” she called.

  Tifalla managed to meet her eyes. They widened at the sight of her. Just before the two could reach one another, hands narrowly touching, a body stepped between them.

  “Laeti~ c'mon!”

  It was Rhea.

  She managed to cut through the crowd with ease, reaching Laetitia's side in order to hold her hand.

  “Let's eat at our usual spot tonight! There won't be so many people there,” she giggled.

  Laetitia's eyes narrowed. “I told you, I was looking for–”

  “Don't worry about that! You just relax before the big day. We don't need you to be so stressed out before you win,” Rhea said.

  “I'm not stressed, I'm looking–”

  “Laetitia! Can we join?”

  “Yeah! Let's all have dinner together! I heard you got access to the Virtuosa rooms~ we should eat there.”

  Tifalla could barely see Laetitia amidst the sea of people. When she tried, standing at the tips of her toes, she was promptly blocked by another priestess.

  In the center of it all, hand in hand with Laetitia, Rhea watched her. Her gaze was distant; cold. The light escaped her eyes. She looked at Tifalla as if they had never met.

  And she wasn't alone.

  Every eye that landed on her, all from people she once knew, seemed detached. Whatever fleeting looks she was given were cold and rife with disgust.

  Tifalla took a step back, a shudder running up her spine. The unease she felt before shifted to something different; fear. The malice she felt the night she woke up made her step back. She felt… dizzy. Hurt.

  But why did it hurt? She should have expected this, no?

  She was not Tifalla to them, she was the Virtuosa of time.

  A body destined for death.

  Still…

  Her hands gripped the fabric of her clothes, balling up into fists.

  All she was left with was Laetitia's expression as the group pulled her away.

  She looked angry. So terribly angry. Not at her; never at her. Laetitia's rage was directed towards something greater. Something that clung to her friend and refused to let go.

  Tifalla took a deep breath. When she raised her head, she smiled and waved goodbye. Maybe, somehow, her calm could temper Laetitia's storm.

  It hurt to see her face shift to sorrow. She tried to reach out, but the tides were too powerful. Both knew then that this was simply how things were now.

  Tifalla continued to wave until not a single soul was visible.

  At some point in time, Tawhale reached her side. She looked up at him, and he stared down at her.

  “You shouldn't waste time with them. They see you only as a casualty.”

  With those words, he turned and left, expecting Tifalla to follow. She did, quietly and obediently.

  Tawhale gave a reminder she didn't need. She was well aware of her position. Not every Lord was treated equally.

  All Lords, in theory, stood on equal footing. They were concepts, rather than people with relationships. As such, none could truly exist without the others. Light did not exist without darkness, and life did not exist without land, air and water. They had to work together in order for Fantasia to not just survive, but thrive. With the Lords all needing one another to hold purpose, one would expect their worship to be equal.

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  This was anything but true.

  The Lords were regarded by mankind very differently.

  Each Lord fell into a rough ranking. This rank is based on their individual Arias. With thousands of years of history to look back on, humans chose the Arias that brought prosperity and growth for mankind. One hundred years is a long time. If humanity was to be ruled by one Lord for that duration of time, it had to be one that would bring safety and prosperity.

  Lord Ophirius was the best choice for most. His Arias were marked by prosperity and protection against darkness. Virtuosas chosen by him were almost guaranteed to be victorious in The Fall.

  Lords Yua and Phi were the only ones who ever inched close to Lord Ophirius’ number of victories. Respectively, their Arias were marked by greater technological advancements, and prosperous health.

  Lords Verbana, Ishamar, and Cyphan led the middle of the pack. They each carried some victories, but not nearly as many as the more dominant Lords. Nevertheless, their Arias have been documented as bringing prosperity towards the land, sea, and skies.

  Lord Raunas, much like Lord Ophirius, protected against darkness. He, however, carried the danger of uncontrolled flames. His Arias were… few and far between. They were prosperous times, but Lord Ophirius was simply more desired.

  Tifalla and Tawhale reached the inner chamber. It was empty, a fact that did not surprise Tifalla.

  “Please be patient. The others shall arrive in due time,” Tawhale said.

  When he took to the stage, Tifalla found herself a seat.

  Would it have been strange to pray, she wondered? She was so used to doing so that refraining felt unnatural. Yet, just as much, praying felt disconcerting. Tifalla could still smell the scent of burning skin in the air. As far as her mind was concerned, the inner chamber was tainted with the cries of hundreds. Being alone inside left her unsettled.

  She looked up towards the statues. The butterfly of Lord Eiwar greeted her.

  He, unlike nearly every Lord, did not have a prosperous Aria.

  His Aria was one of destruction and catastrophe. It's something every priestess of Lord Eiwar knows. The lone Aria of Chaos was the reason he never saw another victory. His subsequent Virtuosas were always killed quickly.

  Though, Tifalla supposed that was far better than how Lord Wyrmot fared. He never had a successor. As the Lord of darkness, the people feared what his rule could bring. His Virtuosas were similarly slaughtered.

  It only made sense to Tifalla that people clung to the safety of light. Even if Laetitia didn't want it, even if she didn't want it, they were no longer people. They were representatives; symbols. Their choices did not affect just themselves, but the countless others who would have to live within this new Aria.

  To live or to die was thus a more complicated equation. No clear answer lie in sight. All Tifalla had in that instant was her own instinct. Her selfish, selfish, instinct.

  How could she, even now, consider the desire to keep living?

  “Do they bring you distress…?”

  She jolted, head whirling about to try and find the words’ source. She relaxed a tad when she recognized the voice, and quickly went still under Tawhale's quizzical gaze.

  “My Lord?” she thought, nervous in her engagement. Could her voice truly reach him outside of her dreams? Her answer came faster than she expected.

  “I have never left your side… though you have left mine…” he said.

  Tifalla lowered her head in a vain attempt at being inconspicuous. “Of course they do. Who wouldn't feel such stress?” she thought.

  “Then their time should be cut short.”

  Tifalla flinched at such a suggestion.

  “I couldn't possibly do that. They're friends– people! I've known them for years.”

  “Are they not… aberrations? Do they not threaten the stability of your operation? It's dangerous to let them…”

  While his words were devoid of anything resembling humanity, there was an almost genuine innocence to his questions. It felt sincere and curious to Tifalla. He spoke as if he couldn't fathom an alternative. As if it were natural to follow his line of thought. Tifalla couldn't, in her heart, leave him without an answer.

  “My Lord, people are more than obstacles to be avoided or removed. It– it's illogical, I realize, but how could I just take another's life? To prolong my own? What right do I have?”

  Every word she spoke cut deeper into her heart. Though her reality set in long ago, the weight, the burden of it all, was a heavy stone pressing against her back. What once seemed so distant and light was now unbearable. She could feel light tremors shake her muscles.

  “A disruption on the path will lead only to agony… an eternity lost is an eternity of endless errors… they should, thus, be removed… they should be fixed… no?”

  Tifalla shook her head. It began to ache. Her head, her chest, everything. She couldn't stop her shivers.

  This place, these people, they shouldn't make her feel this way.

  “Stop. No more… I don't understand what you mean, I–”

  What did she expect? This was the Lord that chose her to fight for him. Did she expect understanding and kindness? Did she expect humanity? She was being sentenced to die by him.

  Tifalla could not fully parse the meaning of his words. He spoke in an unearthly manner. He discussed the topic of killing with the same focus as one conducting daily work. Yet, at much the same time, there was a strange push to his words. It was uncanny, and not quite human. Like the calls of a magpie mimicking human voices, the Lord may have used the same language, but no meaning stood behind it.

  She was terrified. To have such thoughts expressed within her own head made her feel terrible. It stood against all she had known. She knew he was a separate entity from her, but it didn't feel that way. They felt connected; close. Like her body simply wasn't her own anymore. It felt as if a single slip could turn Eiwar's words into her own. She couldn't bear it.

  “You can take them into your own being… they will live on as fragments… they will live on as…-”

  “ENOUGH!”

  It was too much.

  Tifalla's breaths came out in short, loud, and relentless puffs that only worsened her vertigo. With nothing to ground her, Tifalla held her own body. Her nails found purchase deep in her sleeves and skin, while her legs tucked close to her chest. She could feel the sweat pour from her face. She didn't care if someone saw her. She didn't care if someone heard her. Her heart continued to race and she feared it would burst.

  Within only a matter of hours, her world had crumbled around her.

  She knew now that would never return home to her grandmother. The warm food, the comfort of her bed, and the gentle stillness of her sleepy village were all out of reach. Her friends would never speak to her. She would depart, never hearing their laughter and never seeing their smiles on her ever again. The people she thought would remain by her side were gone in an instant as her tainted existence drove them away. What friends remained would surely be the cause of her demise.

  She was a dead woman walking; a corpse shambling towards the afterlife. She could greet her approaching death with grace and obedience, but that too worsened her despair.

  Death was painful; frightening. It seldom came easy, and Tifalla still had so much she wanted to see. It was a selfish wish to prolong her life, and it came at the cost of millions.

  Even so, she didn't want to die.

  Her pupils were shrunken into dots. They wavered, but never drew away from looking forward. Nothing sat before her, but she could only wonder how long this would be.

  She thought she was human. She felt the emotions and experienced the suffering, but all of it was, and would remain, meaningless.

  Ever since she took those vows, she was marching to her doom. She never even realized it. What a fool she was. A bright eyed, lovesick fool.

  Pathetically, she was not angry at Lord Eiwar. She remained willing to listen to his voice. She should have been angry. He placed her into this predicament. But she found no true rage in her heart. Just despair, longing, and a weak, lingering emotion she just couldn't name. She wondered then, why couldn't she carry Laetitia's anger? Why did she feel sorrow for Lord Eiwar?

  He asked her another question. It was posed as innocently as a child's.

  “What is it that you see…? Could I… see it too?”

  The gentle Lord she thought she knew was still the same in her mind. He did not cease being those things.

  Tifalla only now understood that there was a difference between the human and lordly. There was a difference between her mercy and his.

  Lord Eiwar could not possibly understand what she saw or felt. If an existence spanning across multiple millennia could not grant him the intricacies of a human's heart, Tifalla felt that nothing would.

  He was time itself. Though he had a shape resembling a human, a voice that copied, it was all for nought.

  They were fundamentally different beings.

  “The Lords are a bit strange, aren't they?”

  Tifalla's eyes shot to the side. Her breaths refused to even out, but the woman beside her didn't seem to mind. She gave her a firm pat on the back.

  “You were talking to Lord Eiwar, no?”

  Sat beside her was a woman one could only describe as enchanting. Her warm brown skin was flawless, marked only by small moles that dotted her face and neck. She was angular, a hooked nose and sharp jaw, but her eyes conveyed a faint softness. Her hair, a deep forest green, was kept in a short and tousled cut that framed her soft and narrow amber eyes. It was hard not to recognize her, and Tifalla reacted accordingly by staring like a doe caught by hunters.

  It was Harriet.

  “I was. I-It wasn't him, I was just troubled, that's all.” Tifalla mumbled, her eyes darting between her and the ground below.

  “Relax darlin’~” she said. “I'm just playing. You should really leave that headspace though.”

  Tifalla finally blinked.

  “Wh– What do you mean?” she asked.

  “You aren't just some follower anymore,” Harriet began. When Tifalla's eyes met hers, she leaned back, propped up by her arms. “His power is yours. You command him. Stop treating him as if he's above you. He isn't. He's beside you. Think of it… like a buddy! That's how Lord Phi and I are.”

  Her suggestion felt like a lofty prospect. She felt fairly certain about their differences. Even if she hadn't, four years worth of her life treating the Lord as a Lord was difficult to unlearn.

  Still, even his words matched Harriet's.

  His path was her path. What she chose to do, he would follow.

  So? How was she meant to change her approach?

  Harriet eventually laughed, prompting Tifalla to stare at her.

  “You look adorable thinking so hard. Gotcha breathing right again.”

  She didn't notice the change until Harriet pointed it out. She really was calming. Sweat still clung to her skin, and her tremors didn't cease, but she could breathe more easily. Her head didn't spin so hard when she did.

  Harriet clicked her tongue. “You know, you sorta talk like an old lady, anyway. Maybe you can just keep talking to him how you usually do.”

  Tifalla balked. Did she talk that strangely? She thought she was just being polite! Her hands went from her arms to clasping over her chest as her head turned away. To make a fool of herself in front of Harriet. Oh, she shuddered to think of what she saw of her.

  “How long have you been here?” she asked, refusing to meet the other woman's eye.

  “Good while now. Saw you losing it in the corner and thought I'd say hello,” she said bluntly.

  Tifalla held back a groan. There was not a hole deep enough for her to adequately bury herself into.

  “Maybe you could have used a shoulder to cry on. You don't seem to need one though,” she added.

  Tifalla had to pinch herself. Not to determine if her reality was, well, real, but as punishment for her own outburst. What was she thinking shouting out like that— like a child!

  “I'm honored you would consider such a thing. Thank you. I'm alright, I think, but…” she trailed off.

  “Dunno what to do, huh? Neither do I,” Harriet said.

  “You too?”

  “I don't think any of us have a plan. Most of us are just sheltered priestesses thrown into a sandbox. We aren't exactly building up any master plans here.”

  Harriet shifted to sitting cross legged. With her hands balled up in the center of her lap, she leaned to and fro, swaying roughly in tune to Tifalla's breaths.

  “How are you so calm about it all?” she asked, curious about her lackadaisical tone.

  “I think it'll be interesting.”

  “Interesting?”

  “Yeah! Get to see some sights, travel, and do whatever I want before I kick the bucket. Not the worst way to go out.”

  “You don't want to win?”

  “It would be nice, but I care more about living than winning. That's all I can handle. All this stuff about ruling is too big for my head.”

  Tifalla gripped the hem of her robe, thumb toying with the soft fabric.

  “I… want that too. I want to live.”

  “But?” Harriet asked.

  “But, I don't know if it's right.”

  Harriet fell silent for a spell. So much time passed between her next words that Tifalla mustered up the courage to look at her once more. She met her gaze, showing off a cocky, relaxed smile.

  “Right or wrong is meaningless for us, if you really think about it.”

  Tifalla's stare was prompting. Harriet took one look at it before continuing.

  “Who cares what anyone else thinks? They aren't fighting for their lives, are they? As far as I'm concerned, the only one with the right to challenge my desire is another Virtuosa,” she said, punctuating her words with a laugh. “And she better be stronger if she wants me dead.”

  Strangely so, her words didn't feel like a particular threat against her. Tifalla even nodded along.

  All she had were her instincts to keep going. Selfish as they were, that didn't mean they were wrong, were they?

  A part of her still felt uncertain about the logic. Perhaps Harriet could believe it easily, but Tifalla just wasn't her. Even so, under the face of unbearable weight, Tifalla could either let it crush her or push back against it.

  She had already given her word. She would return. Perhaps not the same, perhaps never the same. She would still find her way back.

  Home was waiting for her.

  “Harriet, I hope to go back home. To my family. They live in Cadence.”

  Harriet's eyes never left her. She quietly let Tifalla continue speaking, only showing her attention through her actions.

  “I want some of the bread and jam my aunties used to make. I want to play in the creeks and pluck apples from the trees. I want to nap in the fields again.”

  To have her final resting spot be those golden seas…

  “If I can just make it there, I think I could do it. Fight, that is. Is that… okay of me?”

  Harriet chuckled. A small and breathy noise that slowly shifted to a burst of joyful laughter.

  “Really, you're making me jealous! That sounds amazing. Perfect, actually.” she said.

  Tifalla looked down. Not out of shame or embarrassment, but a bashful joy of her own. She held pride for her little slice of Fantasia. Eventually, she mustered up a smile of her own.

  “It's alright. It's normal, reasonable, and okay. Never forget that your wishes are wholly yours. No one can take them from you.”

  Tifalla felt that emotion resurface. The one she just couldn't name. It began as a small ember. With more fuel to the flame, she felt it grow.

  “It seems both of us are returning to our families,” Harriet said. “Let me tell you this, Tif. I have no intention of fighting you. If you don't plan to fight me, we can both focus on going home. How does that sound?” she asked.

  A deal? Though she sat confused for a moment, Harriet extending her hand to Tifalla became all the confirmation she needed. She was indeed making a proposal.

  It felt obvious for Tifalla. If she wanted to return home, she needed as few obstacles as possible. She thus didn't hesitate in joining hands with Harriet.

  “It's a deal,” she said. “Let's both go home.”

  When their hands shook, Tifalla felt that emotion again. This time, it was a wildfire, large and all consuming.

  It was hope.