Misadventures Incorporated

For the first few thousand years, all went exactly as the elders had claimed. The beast occasionally ventured into our holy land and watched as we continued to prance through the fields and bring our blessings upon them. He'd become such a constant, in fact, that the others lost their sensitivity to his gaze. The hungry look in his eye, they claimed, was simply an unfortunate consequence of the way his face was arranged.

Even I began to let down my guard.

It only made sense. We were the ones who spread Primrose's boons. Hunting us would have earned the lion her ire and despite looking the part of a ravenous wolf, he had never truly attacked us.

I discovered, at a later date, that it began with a corpse he happened upon. He unearthed one of our freshly fallen and partaken in his flesh no more than a day after we held the funeral. At the time, none had so much as a clue. After all, we were hardly the sort to check on our fallen to see if their corpses remained.

Perhaps, if we did, we might have been better prepared.

For having relished the taste of our flesh, he held back never more.

___

Claire spent the better part of the evening in Rubia's body. She accompanied her for dinner, watched her paint for about two hours, and put her to bed before returning to her own flesh. Though she fell asleep soon after, she didn't remain unconscious for long. It took about twenty minutes for her to rise again. She wasn't exactly feeling restless, but neither was she tired—her body simply didn't need nearly as much sleep as it used to. She had yet to test exactly how long she could go without it, but it was at least two weeks. That was how long she'd spent fighting equitaurs nonstop.

Changing out of her nightgown and into a shirt and pants, she teleported above the city, spread her wings, and basked in the midsummer wind. When she stretched her ears, she found that many of the others were still wide awake. Jules was meditating in his room, Lana was doing drills in the courtyard, and Krail was working on a new spell with the stupid rabbit. Arciel was at her desk, tapping a quill against her chin while Chloe prepared her a fresh cup of tea. Even Boris was awake. He was out on the balcony, gazing lazily at the moon as it sparkled off his metallic surface. Sylvia was the only one sound asleep, completely unconcerned with the upcoming battles.

Claire smiled as she turned her attention to the many shops that dotted her hometown. She had to buy the fox's birthday present, but she wasn't too sure what to get her. She'd already done fish the previous year and she wasn't too keen on an immediate repeat. It was as much a matter of pride as it was one of safety. The snoose had gone a year without practice and she doubted that she'd be able to pull off anything nontoxic on such incredibly short notice.

Cadrian customs dictated that a weapon was never inappropriate, but Sylvia was unlikely to appreciate anything in such a vein. And more importantly, relying solely on tradition was lazy, thoughtless, and perhaps even insulting.

An accessory would have been a decent choice had the fox not just revealed that she'd gone accessory shopping already. With the idea freshly ingrained in everyone's minds, it too would seem boring and unoriginal.

Claire sighed. Taking a breath, she imagined the advice that each of their companions likely would have offered, but found nothing decent. At least in her mind, Krail was likely to recommend either an article of clothing or a toy. Jules would probably scoff and be at a loss, Lana would suggest something expensive, and Chloe would advise her to provision a pair of used panties. Arciel would float the idea of creating something herself, and Boris would no doubt be at a loss. For a second, she even considered asking Alfred, but shook her head. He would no doubt be even worse than Chloe.

It wasn't like all the suggestions were terrible, but none were quite right either. She wanted to give the silly orange dog something a little more personal, something practical she could always keep on her person, and preferably, something that would serve as a constant reminder. In that sense, imaginary Arciel's suggestion wasn't too far off, but ice was the only thing that she could make from scratch and the fox had never exactly liked the cold.

"Maybe she'd like it if I added some extra material." Claire muttered under her breath as she forged a tiny flame in the palm of her hand and wrapped it in a layer of ice. Though the conditions suggested that the elements would clash, neither the primordial fire nor the true ice showed any signs of distortion, for they were in their ideal forms.

She spent a few moments shaping the object, turning it into a pendant, a brooch, and a gem before crushing it in her hands. It too was a poor choice; it was far too easily made to be a thoughtful gift.

Sighing again, Claire floated through the sky. She crossed the city, landed beyond its temporary outskirts, and entered the forbidden sanctuary. As usual, the tunnel that led to her mother's so-called grave was in perfect condition. The moon reflected through the subterranean chamber, illuminating the almost mystical meadow in its stolen light.

The flowers were beautiful beneath Griselda's grace. Their gentle swaying alone sufficed to put her heart at ease. But at the same time, she found her lips twisted into a frown. Because the scene before her was hardly what she had imagined.

Staring at the tombstone, she couldn't help but wonder what she'd find if she decided to unearth it—if her mother's original body was really present, or if her uncle had stolen its materials away for use in her restoration, not that there'd be many left.

Violet had been given a traditional Sthenian funeral, wherein her closest relations partook in her flesh and blood. Claire had also taken part in the ceremony and she'd even been given her mother's all-important heart—assuming it was hers at all. It was always possible that Panda had already made the swap ahead of her supposed death and that the corpse was already unoriginal.

Claire wasn't privy to all the details of their scheme, but it didn't seem unlikely. It would have been easier for him to create a fresh body for Allegra to curse than it would have been to emulate her gradual decline.

A faint chuckle escaped her lips as she traced her fingers over the letters upon the headstone.

"You weren't even dead." She said, quietly. "Why didn't you tell me that you were just in hiding?"

It was an idle, pointless complaint. She knew that she couldn't. The moment anything went off the rails was the moment they would deviate too far from Vella's prediction.

At the end of the day, her reasoning was the same as her father's.

She needed her to suffer.

She needed her to suffer so that she would be strong.

Logically, it made perfect sense. It was the only way to ensure that she could protect herself. And it was the same reason that her uncle had played the part of her father's antagonist even though it meant dancing in Vella's web. It wasn't like he really had a choice. After all, those that managed to break free of her strings would only find another net wrapped around their ankles.

Still, Claire wasn't sure how she was supposed to feel.

At the end of the day, she was nothing but another piece to be played, something that her parents and uncle hadn't wanted in their enemies' hands. It was like Claire Augustus, the individual, was ultimately irrelevant, like everything was decided on her behalf, and she was simply manipulated into thinking and feeling the way she did. Like she didn't have any agency over her fate.

The whole thing with Greymane and Flux was very much the same. Someone had decided for her that Kael'ahruus was her enemy and that they would play a game of cat and mouse.

The hunt wasn't something she minded in and of itself.

She would have gladly accepted the god's ire had she done something to deserve it and she would have readily sought a method to deny or defeat him. In fact, had she not already been involved with the stupid lion god, she would have picked a fight with Tzaarkus the moment she became an aspect. She was fairly certain that she could take him. His concept was worthless and the man himself was nothing but a cocky piece of garbage.

Shaking her head, Claire looked at her mother's grave again.

As much as she wanted to be mad, as much as she wanted to fight back against the rampant, lifelong manipulation, she found that she simply wasn't all that angry.

It wasn't her parents' fault. She wasn't about to blame them for the circumstances they were stuck in, nor was she about to wish to be born beneath another star. It was funny how frequently playwrights and authors wrote noble ladies who wished they were mere peasants. For one to truly believe in such a ludicrous claim was to have a mental dysfunction.

Sure, perhaps in such a case, she would have been freed from the responsibilities wrought by her lineage. She could have gotten away without needing to study. And in Cadria at least, the state would ensure that she was able to live out her days without worry so long as she wasn't a lazy deadbeat. Hell, it would even encourage her to relish in combat, to use the freedom that stemmed from her origin to become a knight or spelunker. There were public schools that taught all of the necessary skills and she very well could have progressed down whatever path she wanted. But surviving Llystletein would have proven impossible if not for the natural durability and resistance to pain afforded by her father's blood, just as how she would have struggled to deceive as many as she had without her mother's sculpted features. It wasn't just her nature. The education that came with her early years had allowed her to develop a sense for battle and a thorough understanding of magic and its manipulation. Without it, she would have never unlocked her vector mage class, and it likely would have taken her years just to produce the tiniest blade of ice.

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Her blood had enabled her to take greater risks and reap greater rewards, to become more than just another nameless face in the army. And at the end of the day, Claire was proud of who she was. She had always been proud of who she was.

Having finally psyched herself up, she took one last breath before turning to face the man that had just entered the space—the man that she once feared.

"Father."

"Good evening, Claire," he said, quietly.

Looking at his face, she could tell that he was tired. He had bags under his eyes and his steps weren't quite as disciplined as usual. Even more obvious was the flash in his eyes. Though he normally showed no emotion, she could tell that he was surprised to see her.

There was something hollow about him, something broken. Something he never let out while under the public eye. Something that almost made her want to tell him.

But she couldn't.

Her uncle's plan—her mother's plan—needed her to keep her mouth shut until everything was over. Until they finally struck down the goddess.

A faint smile crossed Claire's lips as she realised that she was doing to her father as he had done to her. It was laughably ironic, so much so that she had to fight to keep any more of her amusement from surfacing.

The moose seemed to recognize that something was off. He raised a brow and scrutinized her expression, but she managed to fix her face before he grew too suspicious.

"Do you always come here so late?" she asked.

"Not necessarily." He walked up to the gravestone and gave it a loving brush. "I visit when I have time. Or when I need a moment to think."

Claire nodded, but said nothing. She simply watched as the man gently touched the grave. It was strange. For the longest time, she'd forgotten that he was ever gentle, but thinking back, there was a time, before her mother's death, where he would spoil her in secret. Where he gave her rides on his back and shoulders and frequently offered his guidance.

It was only really about a decade.

But somehow, it felt much longer.

"I really did love her." His voice was almost uncharacteristically shaky, so much so that he paused for a moment to steady it. "I loved her more than anyone, anything."

"I know," said Claire.

"I never wanted to be away from her. Especially not when she was ill." He clenched his fists. "But I was too weak."

"I know."

"I'm sorry. I wish things could have been different."

"I know, Father," she said, quietly. "I know."

There was another glimmer of shock in his eyes. Another moment that made her want to break down into laughter.

"I'm not a child anymore. I'm not about to complain about a little discipline." She paused for a moment, both to catch her breath, and meet his gaze. "I always thought you did it because you hated me, because you felt no love for a needless heir, because I never once lived up to your expectations. But now, I understand." Claire smiled. She gave her father the first genuine smile he'd seen in over eight years. "You did it because I was your daughter."

Her father said nothing.

He only stared in stunned silence.

"I wasn't really sure what to do at first," continued Claire. "When you disowned me, I tried to find my own path. I tried to live a quiet life in a faraway land. I thought I could get away from all of our family's stupidity. But Vella wouldn't have it." Her voice was steady and her eyes unwavering. "She killed one of my closest friends. She sicced your dogs on one of the others. And she even tried to murder my fox."

"I'm sorry." Virillius lowered his gaze. He'd known that Vella would attempt to intervene. But he hadn't known of any ways to stop her.

"Don't be. It's not your fault," said Claire. "I know that not all the gods are malicious. Some are truly benevolent and graciously offer their boons upon the mortal realm. They extend their aid, save for when they do not feel like it is their right to interfere in our business. But to the rest, we're nothing but pieces to play with. The truly malicious find joy in our struggles and relish in our displeasures. When we cry out, they only reply with laughter." She took a breath. "And Vella is chief among them."

Finally, her father's mask truly broke.

He bit his lips. He bit his lips and clenched his fists.

"It can't be helped," he said, quietly. "The gods are almighty. There's nothing we can do but bend to their whims."

"There is something." A smile crept up onto Claire's lips. A warm, teasing grin. The smirk that she'd inherited from her mother. "We can seize their thrones."

Virillius brought a hand to his face and slowly shook his head.

"That's not something you should say so frivolously. Or really say at all, for that matter," he said, with a sigh. "I would not advise challenging the go—" He froze midsentence, his fingers trembling as he recalled a certain recent event.

"I won't meet his fate, Father." She met his eyes, her gaze confident and unbroken. "Because, as you might've recalled, had you been a better parent, I happen to be your daughter."

He paused for a moment before shaking his head and throwing his horns back with a cackle. It was a side of him that she had never seen. Perhaps the one that her mother had loved.

"So you know?"

"I know all of your secrets," said Claire, with a shrug. "I know all about Sirius and how he was to wield the primordial flame. I know that you keep Mother's ring by your bedside and whisper it good night before bed every day. I know you also happen to have deluded yourself into thinking that your bed still carries her scent. It doesn't really matter how much you sniff it. The only thing you're smelling is your own swea—"

"Stop," he said in a half-shout. His face was burning red. The man was so uncharacteristically embarrassed that he had hidden his face. "I don't know how you know any of that, but please stop."

Claire laughed. "Oh, and I also know that you've tricked this whole nation into thinking that your ultimate is something that it isn't."

It took him a moment to process her words.

All of a sudden, his mood shifted. His face paled immediately as he quickly checked their surroundings.

"I wouldn't be so worried," she said. "Vella already knows. She saved off the skill's text just before you managed to edit it."

Virillius frowned and opened his mouth, but Claire cut him off.

"Before you ask, yes, I'm sure. You aren't the only one capable of outprocessing the system."

The older moose sighed. "I thought as much. She would've been more suspicious if it'd worked."

"Only because that fabrication of yours is far too weak and boring," said Claire. "I almost can't believe anyone believes that you of all people would be stuck with a useless, defensive ability."

"You should. It's one of the first lessons I taught you."

"Yes, yes, I know," said Claire, with a shrug. "Repeat a lie enough and people will start to take it as the truth. It's still weird that no one's ever voiced any doubts."

Virillius smiled. "Things tend to stick once you've repeated them for a thousand years."

For a while, the two sat in silence.

They simply stood, together, in front of Violet's grave and looked upon the field of flowers.

"I don't think I would've wanted you to do anything differently." Eventually, Claire spoke. "The only thing I regret now, about the way my life was, was that I gave up so easily." She paused for a moment to take a breath. "I almost wish I kept at it. I'd probably have become even stronger if I took Durham's and Allegra's lessons to heart."

"Maybe," said Virillius. "But you might not have tried to run away if you were any stronger. You might've tried to confront me and potentially wound up worse off."

"I guess so." Claire smiled. "You were the one who left me that scroll, weren't you? The one that described the lost library's ritual."

"I thought you said you knew all my secrets."

"Only the ones that matter. Like how you secretly fantasized about drinking Mother's uri—"

"For the love of the gods, please do not finish that sentence."

"As it so happens, I have no love for the gods," said Claire. "And neither do you."

"Perhaps not, but I don't go around flaunting how dark and broody I am," he said.

"I don't do that."

"...You just said that you had no love for the gods and that you would like to usurp their thrones," said Virillius. "That's not something normal people do."

"I'm not the one on a thousand year quest for vengeance."

"Remind me. How many Polluxes are you planning to kill?"

"Only the reasonable number."

"The reasonable number would be maybe half a dozen."

Claire shrugged. "Clearly, we have different definitions of reasonable."

Virillius shook his head and sighed. "How did you end up like this?"

"Easily. My mother died and my father forgot how to parent. Children from broken homes tend to turn out a little twisted. You should know."

"My home wasn't even that messed up."

"Your brother killed both your parents."

It was strange, foreign even. She'd never once considered that she'd end up cracking jokes with her father. But somehow, now that they were trading blows, it seemed so impossibly natural that she couldn't help but laugh and smile.