The obsidian-arched walls of the Grim Theater loomed over them like the ribcage of some
great, prehistoric beast. Even after the neon-pink chaos of Jocelyn's teleportation and the
stinging encounter with Raina, the theater held a gravity that demanded silence. The air here
didn't just feel heavy; it felt curated. Every shadow seemed positioned by a master director,
and the very cobblestones underfoot felt like they were waiting for a cue.
"Try not to look so plebeian, Rosalind," Vesper muttered, though her own hands were still
trembling slightly as she smoothed out the dark fabric of her skirt. The encounter with Raina
had left her Vim unsettled, leaking in small, oily wisps that dissipated into the Shroudwoods
air.
Viera led the way, her feet hovering several inches above the ground, her fiery hair casting
long, flickering shadows against the dark stone walls. "The architecture is impressive, isn't
it?" she asked, though her voice lacked any real wonder. "This theater wasn't originally a
school asset. It used to be a private playhouse owned by an Alumni from the early centuries
of the Atheneum. He was an Inheritor of one of the Great Tragedies—I forget which. He built
it to house his Echoes, but after he... faded, the school took over management."
She pointed a languid finger at a series of glowing posters lining the hallway. "They host
everything here. Physical stage plays, immersion holograms, and even traditional cinema.
My personal favorite is still that movie about the nail that was hammered down. It's a
minimalist masterpiece from the Eastern Stories."
Bridge nodded, her multi-colored hair swaying like a slow-moving kelp forest. "The
cinematography in that one was breathtaking. The way they used the lighting to represent
the pressure of society."
Rosalind looked at the posters with a skeptical eye. The images were beautiful,
certainly—vibrant colors clashing against dark, moody backgrounds—but they felt
overwhelming. "I don't really fancy all of this," she admitted, her voice small. "Theaters,
plays, movies... it's all so loud and demanding. I've always found that I would much rather
just read a book. In a book, the world only moves as fast as you turn the page. Here, you're
at the mercy of the director."
She turned her gaze toward Mord, who was walking with a stoic, drone-like pace, his eyes
fixed forward. The tension of the previous few minutes still sat in her stomach like a cold
stone. "Mord," she started, reaching out to touch his sleeve before hesitating. "Thank you.
For standing up for us back there. Raina... she was..."
She nudged Vesper with her elbow, a silent command. Vesper stiffened, her jaw tightening,
but she finally let out a long, weary breath. "Yes. Thank you, Mord. It was... appreciated."
Mord didn't turn his head, but his shoulders seemed to relax a fraction. "You need not thank
me. Raina has been a bug perching on our nerves for quite a while now. She has a way of
finding the exact frequency that irritates the soul and humming it until you snap."
"But the duel," Rosalind pressed, her curiosity finally outweighing her nerves. "What exactly
is a Pawn & Knight Duel? You sounded so certain, but I have no idea what you've signed up
for."
Mord slowed his pace as they reached the inner lobby, where the ceiling vanished into a void
of artificial stars. "It is a traditional Atheneum engagement," he explained. "A fight of two
rounds with four participants per side, split between the two matches. However, it is
governed by a special support clause. In each match, only one of the two participants is
actually allowed to engage in direct combat. The other acts strictly as support—healing,
buffing, predicting,or directing,adjusting the environment, or providing tactical defense. They He paused, glancing at the ticket counter. "Furthermore, Raina and I are the 'Kings.' As the
initiators, we hold the highest stake. We don't actually need to participate in the physical
fighting; we can appoint our Knights to do it for us. But there is a risk: if a King chooses to
participate as a fighter and is downed, the entire duel ends immediately. It is a game of
protection as much as it is a game of violence."
Rosalind frowned, her brow furrowing. "Wait. If the King doesn't have to fight, then Raina
might not even be on the field? What's the point of challenging her if she can just sit on the
sidelines and watch us get hurt?"
"If the duel required Raina's physical participation, she would have never agreed to it," Mord
replied coldly.
Bridge stepped in, her voice soft and consoling. "He's right, Rosalind. We've challenged
Raina before—many times. But she always refuses. She has a reputation for being 'above'
the fray. She won't participate in a fight unless it's absolutely necessary or she's been
specifically instructed to by her Household, someone she respects or someone above her. I
was actually shocked when she accepted Mord's challenge. It was... uncharacteristic."
She looked at Rosalind, her eyes narrowing in thought. "Maybe it's because you're here. The
'Snow White.' You're a curiosity she couldn't pass up." Bridge then reached out, placing a
hand on Vesper's shoulder. "I'm sorry you had to deal with her today. She's a nightmare on a
good day, and today was... not a good day."
Rosalind's mind was racing. "So, who is fighting? Will it be the four of you?"
Viera let out a soft, sharp huff of air. "Count me out. I'd rather not participate. You all know
we have things to attend to later this evening, and I have no desire to waste my energy on
Raina's painted toys." She looked at Mord. "You should coordinate your participants quickly,
Mord. Choose an arena and give the location to Jocelyn so she can set the stage."
As if summoned by the mention of her name, Jocelyn appeared in a sudden flash of pink
sparks directly in Rosalind's personal space.
"I'M SO SORRY!" Jocelyn wailed, her hands up as if shielding herself. "Please don't be mad!
It was my fault! If I hadn't messed up the teleport, we would have been inside the VIP lounge
and we never would have run into that rainbow-haired Pesos! I'm a terrible pilot! Strike three!
Put me in the dugout!"
Rosalind jumped back, her heart hammering against her ribs. "Get back!" she snapped,
pushing Jocelyn away with a look of genuine distress. Vesper stepped between them, her
dark Vim flaring just enough to create a barrier. Jocelyn didn't seem to mind; she simply
pivoted and clung to Vesper's arm, sulking with such intensity it was almost a physical
weight.
Mord reached into his pocket and produced a clean, white handkerchief, handing it to
Jocelyn. "Dry your eyes, Jocelyn. You can make up for your error by being my Knight in the
duel. Your teleportation will be an invaluable asset in the arena."
Jocelyn sniffled, taking the cloth. "Really? You're not gonna fire me?"
"I couldn't fire you if I tried, Jocelyn," Mord sighed. He then looked at Vesper. "With Viera out,
we are short two people. Vesper... are you willing to participate?"
Vesper's eyes flashed with a cold, predatory light. "I know I might not get to put my hands on
Raina directly," she said, her voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "But I am going to
show her exactly what a 'Paper Tiger' can do. I'm in."
Viera watched them with a detached expression. "I still don't think any of you can beat her.
She has a Known Immanent Sovereign for a reason. But if you're insistent on this folly, Mord,
hurry up. Give Jocelyn the details." Rosalind, still recovering from Jocelyn's sudden appearance, tried to regain her composure.
"That's smart," she said, trying to sound like a Princess again. "I imagine a duel like this
takes time to set up if you don't do it at a random location. But Jocelyn... how are you going
to find her to tell her where to go? She disappeared."
Jocelyn giggled, a mischievous glint returning to her eyes. She put a finger to her lips and
bowed playfully. "Oh, that's the easy part! I steal information from people's minds! And I can
track anyone I've just met. I'm like a pink bloodhound with much better hair!"
The temperature in the lobby seemed to drop twenty degrees literally. Rosalind's face went
pale, then turned a bright, furious red.
"You... you what?" Rosalind's voice was shaking with hostility. "You've been stealing
information from my mind? Is that how you've been finding us Everytime you teleport away?
What kind of information? How could I not sense it? How could Raina, an Immanent
Sovereign as Viera calls her, not sense it?"
Jocelyn's smile faltered, and she backed up several steps, her hands waving frantically. "No,
no! It's not like that! I'm not probing you! I'm not reading your secrets or your crushes or what
you had for breakfast! It's a passive skill, I swear!"
"It's a Proxy Skill Ikos, Rosalind," Vesper said, stepping in to calm the situation. Her voice
was firm, but there was a hint of weariness in it. "Jocelyn doesn't do it intentionally. Within a
150-meter radius, she just... picks up on landmarks. She gets a sense of where people have
been recently. It's how she coordinates her teleports. She can't tell exactly who the
information came from in a crowd, and she doesn't get memories. She just sees places."
"Vesper is right," Viera added, floating down to Rosalind's level. Her face—or the lack of
it—was inches from Rosalind's. "She doesn't even get names. She gets foggy,
impressionistic images. It's just enough for her to lock onto a coordinate. You aren't the first
person to find it invasive, Rosalind. But you will have to trust her. It is simply part of how she
functions."
Rosalind wasn't calmed. If anything, seeing Vesper and Viera jump to Jocelyn's defense only
infuriated her further. She felt exposed, like a bird with its feathers plucked. Her privacy was
the only thing she had left of her home, and now it was being treated like a public utility.
"I don't care if it's 'passive,'" Rosalind spat. "It is a violation." She straightened her back, her
eyes narrowing into icy slits. A sudden thought came to her mind "And if I am to be 'violated'
for the sake of this tour, then I am going to be part of the solution. I want to participate in the
duel. I will be the fourth member."
"No," Vesper and Mord said in unison.
"Rosalind, you've barely finished your first day," Bridge added, looking concerned. "You don't
even have your bearings yet."
"I am participating," Rosalind stated, her voice like iron. "Because if you don't let me, I will
report to my mother tonight that the group assigned to tour me around Hearthstone has been
actively stealing information from my mind without my consent. I imagine the Valory
Household would find that... interesting."
Vesper's expression shifted from concern to pure, unadulterated irritation. "You absolute
wuss," she hissed. "Using your mother as a shield? That's low, even for you, Lynn."
"It's Rosalind," the girl snapped back. "And if it gets me into that arena, I don't care what you
call me."
The group stood in a tense silence for a long moment before Mord finally nodded. "Fine. You
will be the fourth. But you will be a Pawn. You are to stay back and provide support. Do
not—under any circumstances—engage the Knight directly. Am I understood?"
Rosalind nodded, a triumphant, if bitter, smile on her face. Jocelyn looked like she wanted to disappear. She folded her mouth inward comedically,
making her face look like a crumpled piece of paper. "I'm so sorry I blabbered," she muffled
through her closed lips. "I'll be quiet now."
"Stop it, Jocelyn," Mord said, handing her a small slip of paper. "It isn't your fault. Here are
the names of our side and the location: Stadium Da Silva. It's near the Silva Doctrinae, the
main entrance to the Shroudwoods. Go. Now."
Jocelyn grabbed the slip, gave a quick, jerky wave, and vanished in a puff of pink smoke.
With the duel finalized, the group moved into the theater itself. The interior was a cavernous
space of velvet and shadow. They took their seats just as the lights began to dim and a soft,
rhythmic drumming filled the room.
The play was a classic Hiraeth tale. It told the story of a Fox Spirit that had been terrorizing a
local village, ruining a poor farmer's crops and driving him to the brink of ruin. Eventually, a
powerful Exorcist arrived. The battle was visually stunning—perfectly coordinated streaks of
blue and gold light and flares masking as Vim clashing in mid-air. But instead of a final, lethal
blow, the Exorcist captured the Fox Spirit in a cage of light.
The Exorcist didn't kill her. Instead, he forced the Fox Spirit to look at the farmer's empty
barns and his starving children. The Fox, seeing the weight of her actions, began to weep.
The Exorcist offered her a choice: death, or a path to redemption. He transformed her into a
human woman and commanded her to live as the farmer's housewife for several weeks,
using her magic to restore what she had destroyed and to learn the value of a life she had
once mocked.
As the final curtain fell and the lights slowly began to rise, Rosalind let out a loud, frustrated
groan.
"What was the point of that?" she asked, her voice echoing in the quiet theater. "Apologizing
as a housewife? That's not justice. She was a villain! She destroyed a man's life! She should
have met her fate. She should have been executed or at the very least imprisoned.
Redemption is just a fancy word for letting someone off the hook."
She looked around at the others. "Well? What do you think? Viera? Bridge?"
Viera shrugged, her flames licking the air idly. "I don't really care. It's a story. Stories end how
they end."
Bridge nodded in agreement, her hair head half covered in her own hair. "It was okay. A bit
trope-y, I wasn't really paying attention to the themes and such."
Mord leaned back, his eyes fixed on the stage. "It follows the Hiraeth principles of restorative
justice," he said calmly. "If a villain can be turned into a tool for order, it might be a net gain
for the world, at least according to some views, I don't really have one of mine pertaining to
this topic."
Vesper, however, looked like she was about to explode. Her Vim was oozing again, darker
and more viscous than before. She turned to Rosalind, her eyes burning.
"Not all villains are cruel because they want to be, Rosalind," Vesper snapped. "Some of
them are just broken. Some of them are forced into their roles by people who think they
know better. That Fox... she chose to change. She chose to be better. Why shouldn't she be
allowed to?"
"Because a villain is a villain!" Rosalind shouted back, her own Vim—pure and white but
riddled with those tiny, porcelain-like cracks—flaring in response. "There are Heroes and
there are Villains! The world doesn't work if the people who cause the pain get to just say
'sorry' and move into the house! She deserved death!"
Vesper stood up abruptly, her chair scraping against the floor with a screech that made
several people in the rows ahead turn around. "Whatever!" she cried, her voice cracking with emotion. "You really are just a doll, aren't you? A perfect, hollow little Princess Who only
cares about herself."
Without another word, Vesper stormed out of the theater row, the remnants of her vim still
visible, what's going on with her someone yelled from the crowd.
Rosalind watched her go, then turned to the staring crowd with a defiant toss of her head.
"Villains, right?" she said loudly, gesturing toward the exit. "The attitude is always the same!"
The crowd let out a collective chuckle, assuming it was some sort of post-show performance,
and turned back to their programs. Rosalind sat back down, her chest heaving, her victory
feeling surprisingly hollow.
Just then, Jocelyn reappeared in the seat Vesper had just vacated. She was holding several
large buckets of popcorn. Rosalind and Bridge both let out muffled shrieks of terror, clutching
their chests as Jocelyn offered them a handful.
"Popcorn?" Jocelyn whispered, completely oblivious to the tension she had just missed.
Mord took a handful, munching on it slowly. "How did it go, Jocelyn?"
"Ugh, Raina is the worst," Jocelyn groaned, rolling her eyes. "Talking to her is like trying to fix
a broken spout. She just leaks annoyance all over you. But she gave me the slip."
She handed Mord a small, black piece of paper. Mord took it, his eyes scanning the names
written in shimmering, rainbow ink. His expression didn't change, but the air around him
grew suddenly, lethally cold.
"Well?" Rosalind asked, leaning over to see. "Who are we fighting?"
Mord didn't answer immediately. He just tucked the slip into his pocket and stood up. "Finish
your popcorn, Rosalind. We have a duel to prepare for."