The Weight of Legacy

Of all reasons for which she could have considered taking back her conclusion about how no part of [Imitation Beyond Filiality] would be missed, Malwine hadn't considered the absence of that dumb table with the index cards would hit her so hard. The surreal imagery of that tostón turned furniture just spoke to the part of her that was still the widow.

There was no staging area now—[Regard Aforetime] simply was. It felt like swimming through the endlessness of space in a way none of her more esoteric abilities had called back to since she'd woken up on that crib. Stars blinked in and out, her surroundings everchanging as her undefined self moved through… somewhere. There was certainly a sensation of movement involved—aimless but undeniable.

Only once she felt like she was falling could Malwine tell the direction at all. Nothingness shifted to light, to a prism of colors, and finally, to a sky.

A blue sky with clouds aplenty. Moisture clung to the skin she was fairly certain she didn't actually have in this scenario, seeing as she couldn't see any version of herself here—let alone move. As she dropped further, it all started to shift into a vague awareness of what was around her. Somehow, she could hear the chirping of birds, the fluttering of wings, despite them not being within her line of sight.

Her descent came to a halt in an area that appeared tropical to her, the plant life abundant while structures built from clay and roofed with reeds rose from the forest. The walls she could see were all painted with vibrant designs, though none were fully covered, allowing the original surface to be seen.

Malwine winced at the sudden heat. Definitely tropical. Somehow, that was what felt the oddest to her—not the sun, and not the implication that this might have been somewhere in the surface. Seven years of life in this world weren't enough for her to start viewing sunlight as some foreign concept, even if the light stung now. As for no longer finding herself under the waves, she'd figured something like this would pop up sooner or later ever since she learned OBeryl had been from the surface.

A dirt path led her to one of the larger buildings in what might have been a village. She didn't walk so much as glided through, carried by whichever sequence her remade Trait was seeking out. She'd have thought she'd just entered a restaurant of sorts, were the strong scent of coffee not throwing her off. The lighting of the whole place was uneven, no feylights in sight and a single skylight illuminating a random spot on the floor. All tables seemed to have one version or another of what had to have been some blacksmith's creative project for candle holder variations, but only a handful were lit. Some were outright empty.

When she finally caught sight of a person—a person her perspective followed now—Malwine found yet another odd detail to the experience. There'd been people here all this time, just as she'd seen people walking outside, but unless she focused on them specifically, they seemed to stay far from her senses. Even now, the buzz of conversations in the maybe-restaurant should have made it difficult to focus, yet beyond being aware that it was probably happening, she was unaffected.

The individual her Trait had her hitching a ride with appeared to be a woman. At first, Malwine only saw the back of her head, with shoulder-length brown hair styled in deliberate finger waves. It took her a moment to notice she could just look around. Wanting to see just who this was immediately shifted her perspective, letting her examine the woman who was walking with a steaming mug in each hand.

And watching her didn't help with identifying the woman in the slightest, but she certainly did look peculiar. Her eyes were a brown that seemed almost incandescent, not gleaming with the reflection of candlelight but as if they carried their own warm glow within. She also had the most prominent dimples Malwine had ever seen—her appearance would probably have seemed welcoming by default if it weren't joined by such a resting bitch face.

She almost felt bad for thinking of this woman in such a way, especially since the scene seemed to be following her, but… it was a fact. This lady very much looked like she wanted to be neither here nor anywhere else, even as she slid the second mug to a second person as she sat down.

"For your aches," the woman said, not waiting for a response before starting to sip her own drink.

Malwine turned to see just who she spoke to, finding a person seated opposite to the woman, their back against the wall. They barely fit between the numerous small paintings that hung there, and Malwine had to wonder how such a seat could possibly be comfortable.

For the first time since coming to this world, she found she had a genuinely difficult time identifying someone's potential gender, with this person looking even more androgynous than Anselm did. Earcuffs with dangling pendants adorned round ears—she checked—and it seemed like a miracle that they hadn't gotten tangled in their dark hair. She desperately tried to make sense of this, scrutinizing the appearances of both people, but she couldn't find any overt similarities to the relatives she knew on either.

The second person grasped the mug but eyed it suspiciously, taking in a deep breath as the steam seemed to wash over them. "Are you certain drinking even more is a good idea?"

Malwine categorized the voice as tentatively masculine.

Shrugging, the woman took an exaggerated gulp from her mug. "You said your meal did not agree with you, did you not? That's what tea is for—it solves everything."

"I doubt that," the other person shot back through narrowed eyes, though they finally stopped nursing the mug with suspicion and took a small sip. They winced and licked their lips but did not lower the mug. "So, Beryl, was it? What do they want?"

Malwine thought she felt her heart skip a beat. She'd expected something entirely random—the mention of such a familiar name, right at the start of the conversation she was witnessing, threw her for a loop. This wasn't her mother. She'd spent enough sleepless nights pulling that locket out and staring at it to know that.

The problem was that she hadn't seen any immediate resemblance to Katrina either—certainly, now that she thought of it, she couldn't rule out she might have ended up in a scene following OBeryl, but she knew she might be biased there. There were only two Beryls in her immediate family that she knew of, but who was to say there weren't any more?

"It's about the merchant the folk detained at the crossing—his clients are displeased," Mystery-Beryl said as she placed the mug on the table, clasping her hands in front of her. "We normally wouldn't deal with this, but the issue of who he's been hiring came up."

"How is this my problem?" the other person did not look away from the mug after their latest sip, as if somehow expecting all answers to be within the contents of that drink.

"Because the questions have started, about whether he's used any of those we have… aided."

At that, the second individual groaned, the mug forgotten now. "You are serious."

"I fear so."

"…I reiterate the question, then—how is this my problem?" they seemed more than a bit miffed by whatever Mystery-Beryl didn't want to spell out. "You cannot seriously expect more of me than what I have already done—the terms are clear. If one of your wards has been off trying to use that Affinity for profit beneath the waves, the consequences are theirs to bear."

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For her part, Malwine found her curiosity growing. Oh, economic drama? She didn't even care about the topic in general, so much as the idea of something interesting happening intrigued her by default. Maybe this was about monopolies or competition? Considering she'd yet to hear about any single currently accessible way to travel above the waves, any kind of route like that was probably quite relevant. Was Mystery-Beryl somehow involved with people smuggling things up and down the surface?

I'm letting my imagination run a bit too wild, aren't I? Crushing the urge to speculate, Malwine refocused on the staring contest unfolding before her. Mystery-Beryl seemed quite displeased by how this other person wasn't willing to help whoever it was that got caught doing something.

"We think it was one of the children," Mystery-Beryl was almost whispering now, her expression not only softening but now looking like she was a moment away from crying. It would have been quite touching if it didn't look so transparently fake, her gaze still steely.

The person opposite her was only growing more confused. "Why are you letting your child wards be hired by merchants?"

"Their families need all the money they can get! You know how tough things have been as of late."

That response got Mystery-Beryl a pointed glare sent her way, with the person unceremoniously standing up a second later. They made a beeline for what seemed to be either a bar or counter, depositing several coins there before the woman behind it picked them up with a smile. "Thank you for your patronage, mister smith."

Malwine noticed he didn't correct her there—okay, so he's a dude, then. Damn, why is everyone here prettier than me?

She didn't even dislike how she looked in either life so much as she slightly resented not being any of these people.

"Wait!" Mystery-Beryl called out as she chased the smith out the door.

Hopefully he paid for both of them and I didn't just watch one of my ancestors skip out on a bill. Her priorities in order as always, Malwine eyed the woman in the counter for another moment. Seeing as she didn't react, she guessed it was probably fine.

All she had to do was let go, as the scene snapped back to the dirt road—she'd already suspected as much, but this felt like confirmation that this event followed Mystery-Beryl specifically.

Mystery-Beryl was shouting demands at the smith as he continued to ignore her. "Did you not make a promise to the Aureate Mistress?"

Who?

"What we have is an agreement," he answered without turning back. Malwine wondered just why he hadn't outright ditched Mystery-Beryl, seeing as she was having to run just to keep up with his walking pace, never actually reaching him. "I tire of you and the rest showing up to make demands every time things don't go well."

"Call it what you want, but the point stands that you took responsibility for our people's freedom to be as they are. Are you actually just going to abandon them like this?"

"Responsibility? I have spent years arguing on the behalf of the most foolish of your wards because they cannot possibly be denied the chance to create with their power. You haven't the faintest clue as to what it's cost me," the man turned on his heels, his frustration bubbling over. "Tell me, Beryl—how hard can it possibly be for you to keep your own people out of trouble after they've already been bailed out once?"

"Seolfer, they are children!" Mystery-Beryl shouted back, her fists clenched. "If that bastard cracks and gives their names up—"

"By the void that awaits us all!" the smith—Seolfer, apparently—cursed. Malwine hadn't heard that one before, but she found herself wishing she could take notes. It made sense that people above the waves would use different phrases, though a part of her was now wondering if the Devils were also a regional thing. She doubted they could be, unless the existence of the Devils' Empire somehow concentrated them in one place, enough for them to be absent once the surface grew less connected.

The argument had continued while Malwine pondered the regional variations in cursewords—cursephrases?—and she was pretty sure she must have missed at least one exchange, because things had escalated.

"So you'd rather let children die than 'return to politicking'?!" Mystery-Beryl accused in what certainly seemed like quite the leap.

Seolfer just looked like he was trying to find a socially acceptable way to make her land on any of the nearby roofs, not even bothering to respond again.

This had all been difficult enough to follow even before the shouting had started, and there were barely enough details for Malwine to get the broad strokes of it. There seemed to be a merchant hiring children with a specific Affinity—which were all specifically under the protection of whichever organization Mystery-Beryl belonged to—and for reasons unknown, whatever they made wasn't supposed to leave the surface. This merchant had gotten caught trying to take some unspecified items beneath the waves, and now everyone was worried that he'd name whoever was working for him.

That all sounds… convoluted. Whatever this Seolfer had done in their favor before seemed unclear as well, seeing as he'd apparently worked out a deal for them to be free to do as they wished. The problem here was that this random merchant had tried to smuggle things—that was the only part of her interpretations Malwine felt relatively confident on. Even then, she wanted to shake her head. Okay, that's it. I'm just as confused as before.

On the bright side, she could no longer get booted for that. With no trial to break, Malwine could afford to just stare in confusion as the scene played out. Regardless of whether she managed to make sense of it immediately or not, there could be useful information here, and she'd have to take notes the moment she woke back up, before she forgot too much.

The only thing she couldn't decide was whether she would have been in the right to wish she had some popcorn right now.

People passed by the arguing pair, giving them odd looks, and it struck Malwine that part of the reason why Mystery-Beryl was being so vague might have been the witnesses. She wasn't exactly being subtle in her arguments, and anyone with context would have probably been able to follow along—unlike Malwine—but the more she listened to Mystery-Beryl, the more obvious it became that she was tiptoeing around any statement that would have had her naming specific people or Affinities.

When another woman approached them, Malwine initially assumed she was just another passerby, but she lingered with her arms crossed, eyeing them both until Seolfer addressed her. "What?"

"I would say I expected better of you," the newcomer said with a sigh, tipping her head back and placing a hand on her forehead in an exaggerated gesture. "But I see you are truly in dire straits."

"Go suck a lemon, Aixez," was Mystery-Beryl's response. That one, too, would have to go on the growing list of surface idioms that Malwine assured herself she wouldn't forget to write down.

"We sent you to ask for advice and now there's no one this side of the pond who hasn't heard you got into a screaming match with the Metalmaker."

Mystery-Beryl scoffed, though her tone had shifted. She made at least some show of looking chastised. "You know the matter is sensitive to me."

The newcomer nodded, her expression stern. "Which is why we should not have sent you—something I only realize that now."

Seolfer was eyeing the both of them with the carefulness of a man looking for an opening to escape, and Malwine couldn't exactly blame him. This was probably her least favorite Beryl so far, even if it was also the only one she'd actually seen in action.

Before he could make his move, the newcomer had turned to him. "I'll apologize on her behalf solely because I need you on my side here."

Mystery-Beryl scowled. "Traitor."

It bordered on jarring, how swiftly the mood had shifted since this Aixez arrived. Whatever underlying tension existed between her and Mystery-Beryl felt too vague to even begin to parse, but it was like Mystery-Beryl was a completely different person. It seemed like she was unwilling to pull any of her louder complaints with another witness involved—or maybe she was deferent to Aixez specifically.

Oh, I wonder, which Beryl are you? OBeryl or a bonus third one? Malwine shook her head. Do I even want to know? She certainly seemed dramatic, and not in an endearing way.

"I will accept your apology," Seolfer said after a moment, still visibly wary of his two companions. "With the opportunity presented, I shall take my lea—"

"The problem is that he went out of his way to get the younger ones to do the artificing for him—those too young to have terms drafted for them," Aixez said with a sigh. "If this blows up—and it absolutely will—there is nothing protecting them."

Seolfer's gaze snapped to hers. "I was not told that."

"I implied it," Mystery-Beryl defended herself. She was ignored.

"Again, I realize now that I should have sought you out myself," Aixez said. She looked around as if to confirm they were currently alone—for once, they really were. "They'd have already violated the accord, strictly speaking… But can you try? Can you argue on their behalf?"

Resignation warped the smith's features as he let out a slow exhale. "Just for {Ore}?"

"Just the one," Aixez confirmed.

Seolfer swayed on his feet, nodding to Aixez before meeting Mystery-Beryl's gaze. "You are not forgiven."

With that ominous note, the man all but dissolved into the ground beneath him, simply disappearing.

For a moment, Malwine expected the scene to follow, unraveling as trials once did upon their end.

Instead, she saw Aixez turn to the other woman with an ugly frown, her teeth gritted now that the smith was gone. It seemed she'd been suppressing some frustrations of her own for the sake of securing his cooperation, as she wasted no time just pointing at Mystery-Beryl.

It seemed like the argument wasn't over yet.