The Weight of Legacy

Haldenhwīlō's artificial lighting might have been considered one of Grēdôcava's wonders, but getting to find out what being woken up by stray rays of light felt like was not among Otto's favorite experiences. Had he been a fickler man, he would have sworn it was as if they found new and innovative ways to get past his curtains with the passing of each day.

Well, Steyg's curtains, at any rate. While absolutely no one would miss the man, they still had a charade to keep up. As far as anyone was concerned, it was business as usual in the old Lord's territory—the Principality's spymaster was still sending his reports to the Capital, so nothing could possibly be amiss.

Otto pulled the silkiest blanket up, fully sliding under it. That damnable light still sought to make falling back asleep impossible. Worse yet, someone was absent from his bed already.

Up so early? He did not question it much, though the lack of an answer confirmed Munnehilde was far away enough to not hear that thought. They'd moved the Peregrine Wheels into a nearby mountain—literally into it, thanks to its peculiar properties—so Otto could finally afford to sleep in and still be back in time for the weekly address.

His staff was leaning against the wall next to the bed, burned into his senses as always. At least some measure of comfort remained. Drifting off, he knew not just how much time might have passed between that moment of awareness and what he next heard, a voiceless whisper that shook him awake.

"Are you awake?"

"…I am now."

He got the faintest impression of abashment as response, and he would not deny feeling a bit smug about it. Perhaps his years of trying to get Munnehilde to learn how to have some tact were finally paying off.

"They are not."

"Because you still have no tact, or because I cannot claim credit for it?"

"Yes."

Otto laughed as he emerged from the blankets, taking his time to get up slowly. With how Haldenhwīlō's light worked, its daily cycle had pushed it past the point where it disturbed him indoors, leaving the feylights within to take over. These ones in particular mimicked candlelight, with an illusory flame and everything. They might also have been the only evidence they'd found so far that Steyg had been capable of having good taste, even if situationally.

Most of this property was tacky beyond words, and Otto had to keep Munnehilde from just redecorating the whole of it and gaslighting every witness into thinking it had always looked like that.

He did not hear the door opening—Munnehilde's presence was, however, much more difficult to miss. When one knew what to look for, and was not prevented from doing so by her Affinity, she stuck out like a pyre in a dark cave.

"Something just occurred to me," Munnehilde said, joining him at the edge of the bed. Her form blessedly shifted away from Steyg's ugly mug before she leaned closer. "Though I shall be curt about it—you might not like the idea."

Otto narrowed his eyes, half of his focus on wiggling his toes—he was not yet done with his early-day stretching routine. "Share, then. I sincerely doubt it can be worse than what happened at the mill."

"That was just the one time."

"And if it had ended at that, we would not be talking about it to this day."

Munnehilde's exasperated sigh was remarkable in its apparent sincerity. "What if she isn't in this world?"

Otto felt his blood run cold despite the brevity of the statement, and he failed to immediately form a coherent response. "Huh?"

"Your sister—I mean not to brag, but I reckon that if she were within reach, I would have found her already."

"She could be beyond Grēdôcava's borders—Steyg's circles only went so deep."

"…I suppose that is correct," Munnehilde blanked, looking off to the side. "My apologies—I should have put more thought into it before making the suggestion."

"Never apologize for speaking your mind," Otto placated her, reaching out to twirl a strand of her hair around his index finger.

While the idea had been absurd, she was not the type to instinctively understand what was realistic. The last thing Otto wanted would be for Munnehilde to start doubting herself—years of progress might backslide.

"Eloping, are we?" Luitgarde Maryem asked as she put the barest of efforts into cloaking the two young adults that sat atop the boxes. She'd been a master of deceit—according to herself—even before {Sunset} had come into her life, so relying on its power for this wasn't necessary.

As time went on, she'd taken to doing more odd jobs around town. It was almost shameful—to think this had never occurred to her alone. Baldur might have held more sway over influential people than his unstable sister-in-law did, but it wasn't as if she'd ever done much beyond staging confrontations.

If nothing else, she'd leaned into the rumors wholeheartedly, seeing as it gave her some leeway to act however she wanted. With {Sunset} now by her side, she felt even less restricted, even if she did need to gather power for the both of them to thrive.

It was almost funny. Beneath the waves, this was a foreign concept—but perspectives were malleable. Rather than focusing on some distant concept of how the sun might have set in the surface, Luitgarde could lock in on its more… esoteric aspects. That was considered perfectly valid.

Experimentation had led her to realize she could stretch its more symbolic applications far, though consistency seemed nonexistent. Healing was the most confusing example there. The sun setting upon a period of ailment, however small, could very well herald the renovative properties of it. But it did not always result in gains for them.

That much annoyed Luitgarde—her understanding of {Sunset} was intrinsic now, but at times, it proved too much for her to parse, seeing as she was not, in fact, a sunset herself. If anyone heard her musings, they might have questioned her sanity—actually, considering who she was, they would have been unlikely to.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

She was just being who she was.

As for aiding people who wanted to leave the area unnoticed—be it for legal or social reasons—that did almost always trigger the growth she desired. Kept in that strange location for so long, {Sunset} had burned up a great deal of its accumulated power, with it dissipating by mere virtue of being so far from anything that aligned with it.

Luitgarde was basically starting from scratch here.

"No," one of the younglings insisted, shooting her a glare. Though it must have only been seconds, his reaction felt so slow to Luitgarde that she found herself wondering just how many more daydreams she could explore before the wagon carrying these two left. "We just so happened to both want to leave."

"Keep telling yourself that," the old woman shrugged. This wasn't her problem, but she'd lived for long enough to know that song and dance all too well. If there was nothing there, there would certainly be something by the time they made it to their destination. A lot of things could happen in a year of traveling. After she was done shaking her head disapprovingly, her eyes locked in on the female escapee. "I wonder—why leave? The closer to the cities you get, the less tranquil your existence will become."

Seeing as her early life had mostly consisted of preparing to succeed her father, only for him to declare some no-name mercenary was now his son-in-law and heir, Luitgarde had no firsthand experience with that kind of freedom.

Not for the first time, she felt as it {Sunset} were really wishing she would just shut up about that and keep working on their power acquisition, but she paid it no mind. Their task here wouldn't be gone until the wagon had made its exit, so she was doing no wrong by taking the time to talk.

"My parents want me to take over their bakery," the young woman said. Though both of them wore hoods—or curtains that had been fashioned into hoods, Luitgarde couldn't tell—hers specifically was oversized enough that her expression couldn't be made out.

Oh, the joys of youth, where your alternatives for a better future are either inheriting a bakery or fleeing the country.

"And you?"

For the other one, his face was visible enough, simply obscured to varying degrees by the shadows the hood itself cast. Luitgarde could have made out his features if she tried, but she was mostly focusing on his blatant discomfort.

"I've been having… too many disagreements with my family," the young man said, at last. "I concluded it would be for the benefit of all if I simply removed myself from that situation."

Luitgarde nodded—the answer was acceptable enough, even if it was so vague that it had her wondering who might have been to blame for that type of thing. Still, it was slightly more logical a reason for fleeing the country than bakery-related expectations.

She knew all too well just how toxic some families could be. If hers hadn't driven itself into the ground prior to her finding {Sunset}, she would probably have taken the time to do it herself now.

"Stay inside, and remain silent."

With that final instruction given, Luitgarde determined her job here was done. Sure, she'd been curious, but that curiosity was satisfied now—she had no reason to further linger.

Every moment she spent outside her home was one more moment she risked crossing paths with Baldur. Before, she would have feared he would make yet another attempt to get rid of her, potentially over her supposed madness. The new problem she faced was how she'd be expected to keep herself from sending the man flying directly into the wall of a cave.

{Sunset} was very much opposed to the idea of Luitgarde getting the both of them into trouble, even if its faculties were barely at the level of a particularly self-aware beast. While she'd gotten these instincts to use its magic, it seemed to have attain some mental faculties for itself, however lesser. A fair exchange.

Seeing as her lifetime political appointment—the last good thing her father ever did—identified in the same way as her new status, Luitgarde hadn't even bothered trying to mask anything about herself. Baldur and his men must have been scratching their heads at just how she reached Core Integration, and that amused her to no end.

With a smile, she retreated back into her home and served herself a drink. As she took in the first sip, she felt it—that buzz that transcended everything, the warmth of a day that ended, all coursing through her limbs.

Another successful day of leveling {Sunset} up.

Thekla Rīsanin paced, unwilling to wait in silence. When it came to her father, having a 'talk' could be many things. She didn't think he would hurt Abelard, but it was impossible to speak in absolutes there. Kristian Rīsan was nothing if not volatile.

She had taken Baldur Maryem for a fool, once, but that had not been a tough bar to clear. The man had been inept. With <Word> attributes being her focus, the possibility remained that she might outmatch her father's Charisma, but that would be it. None of her Skills were a match for the likes of him if she had to intervene—and intervene she would, if her love were in harm's way.

It was amusing, how a mind did that. How all sense of self-control went out the window, her own safety secondary when faced with the idea of losing Abelard. There was no logic or deeper thought to back that. Only terror—terror at the potential for loss. Was it irrational? Perhaps. She could recognize that yet still not overcome it.

But there need not be reason for fear, as it turned out.

Abelard emerged, looking more chastised than concerned. Thekla's dread found itself replaced by anger—one way or another, she'd have to find a way to get back at her father for this.

"What did he want to say?"

Abelard exhaled slowly. "Your father believes I must marry you now."

"Truly?" Thekla scoffed. Within, her disbelief grew. Marriage had very much been in the cards for them—Lizanąns like Abelard were far less open to more casual relationships—but having it be suggested by her father of all people immediately had her feeling suspicious. "Was that all?"

"I, too, am baffled," Abelard admitted. His relief after such a meeting was palpable. "Could it be that he sees benefit to it?"

"What do you mean?"

"He may not know the details of it, but he knows I surpassed Level 700. For a hollow core, the knowledge that I will never again level might be less impactful than… than it was back home."

Thekla winced. She knew all too well he didn't exactly love talking about his life back in Lizaną. Her lover—now groom-to-be, apparently—had made some terrible choices in his youth. Choices that had brought him to impossible heights then stunted his growth forever.

Once, Thekla would have loved to fantasize about escaping the this life, and making one anew with Abelard in his home country. It would have been difficult, but it would have had the potential to be a good life.

In her heart, nonetheless, she knew it wouldn't happen, no matter how she may wish otherwise. She had younger siblings, and as the oldest child left, it was her responsibility to at least be there for them. She'd fancied herself Alaric's second mother, years ago. It had been a teenager's silliness, born of pride at having contributed to her then-youngest brother's rearing.

Time and perspective had made her resent that—even with their mother gone, their father should have stepped up in a way that didn't involve expectations of constant training. Perhaps if one of them had taken him up on that offer instead of being occasionally dragged into an unwanted lesson or ten, he might have at least bothered being a paternal figure to whichever one fell for it.

With a sigh, Thekla got back to her mental list of changes they'd need to make, leaning into Abelard's embrace. Though undeniably a non-sequitur to the concerns she'd been dealing with just now, this did help solidify her backup plan. If she'd be denied an exit, she would at least make a haven for herself within what would be her permanent home.

She'd had all walls the staff didn't consider loadbearing—whatever that meant in a structure like this—removed and started fashioning pseudobuildings out of it for herself. They'd each barely pass for a room on their own, but she liked the illusion they formed. Thanks to Abelard, her tile collection had grown, and with her Skills, she could create quite the surreal landscape.

It was ridiculous, but no more than being expected to put up with all this was. She'd even taken advantage of her older brother's recent interest in botany to get false outdoors going. The planters were subtle enough that if one squinted, this could somewhat pass for a garden.

By now, Thekla was surprised her father's wife had somehow not realized she had been up to this, but what was the woman to do if she did?

If they hadn't wanted Thekla to do what she did best, then they shouldn't have put her in a position where she had no choice but to stick around.