Raging Phoenix: Part Two

The park within the Relax Area was silent that moonless night, its stillness pierced only by the irritating buzz of insects while its pitch blackness by pools cast-iron lampposts. These small islands of light in a sea of darkness were all uninhabited except for one, where a hyperrealistic doll sat alone on a bench—the magicbulbs’ bluish hue shimmered across her white porcelain. However, she wasn’t dressed for a tea party. With a large white beret, oversized glasses, and leather boots, the young girl looked as if she were trying to blend into her surroundings—as if someone like her ever could.

”She’s late…” Ælgifu muttered, repeatedly glancing at her watch while doing her best to avoid looking into the darkness. ”C’mon, Ysoline…you’ve promised me…” Her heartbeat quickened, but the freezing wind wasn’t the cause of her shivers. To the doll, those shadows felt like the home of hundreds of nightmares, ready to feast on her flesh the moment she let her guard down. ”Please…be fas—” A pressure on her shoulder, a hand in the corner of her eye, and cold breath on the back of her neck. ”AHHHHHHHH!” The Marquis tumbled to the ground, covering her face as she pleaded for mercy.

“Ahah! C’mon, Elfy, why do you always fall for it?” Guffawed a girl emerging from the shadow, extending her hand toward Ælgifu. Her nose was as pointed as a hedgehog’s, which made her giggle sounding even more mischievous.

”Ysoline—you’re gonna pay for that!” She yanked her hand back, shoving the girl to the ground, where the two began to wrestle. There, the ’Dust Symphonist’s’ expression faded from an angry grin to a grimace before completely crumbling. ”I’ve m-missed y-you so m-much!” Tears streamed from her amethyst as she suddenly embraced her friend with all the strength she had left.

”Me too, Elfu…me too.” The young lady sweetly whispered, reciprocating the hug. She was CC-Class ’Solstice’ Ysoline Sévériné De La Roché, daughter of the Baron of La Roché and Ælgifu’s only true friend.

The ’Dust Symphonist ’ was born in an immense yet forgotten piece of paradise founded thousands of years ago by a group of Shurapatri refugees fleeing westward, crossing the Aries Heights in a desperate attempt to survive the violent aftermath of their civilization’s collapse. At the other side of the mountains, the crystalline mist rising from the Auxark Lake seemed to shield them from the [OmniscientEye] of the ’Wicked Heresiarch,’ and so, most of the refugees made the islands scattered within that hundred-kilometer-wide expanse of water their new homeland—from that moment on, these Shurapatris came to be known as Auxerines. However, those who had suffered the most from the cruelty of the Chaotic Gods were still haunted by an unrelenting fear, one that relentlessly tormented their nights.

So this small group continued to travel, island after island, until they reached the lake’s delta. The region between the Phoenix Gulf and Auxark Lake was a toxic marsh, infested with pestilence, oversized insects, and monsters beyond one’s wildest imagination. And yet, to them, it was the perfect place—no slaver would ever dare to pursue them in such an inhospitable land.

Although their early days were plagued by devastating deaths, they, slowly but steadily, carved out a new home, draining the swamp to reclaim a vast plateau where they hoped to cultivate enough crops to feed their people. Historians would later call them the Dévoflours, a name sealed by the cruel hand of fate. Because when the first spring finally came, no grain sprouted and no turnip grew—nothing that could soothe the hunger gnawing at their bellies. From the seeds they had traded with a way too-gentle merchant in exchange for all their gold bloomed a delicacy not for the tongue, but for the eyes alone—an endless expanse of beautiful and colorful flowers.

Thousands of years later, Auxerine explorers discovered that blooming plateau, all of them bewitched by its haunting magnificence. However, their wonder turned to intrigue when they found a large wooden structure—primitive, yet unmistakably reminiscent of the Châteaux back in the Auxark Lake—surrounded by fields of rouge camélias. Inside, they found something strange that could only be described as grass-woven cocoons, finding ancient relics within them. One in particular would captivate future historians and scientists alike—a diary chronicling the tragic final days of the Dévoflours, narrating the failed outcome of the desperate solution they had devised to survive the starvation.

Another few thousand years later, Heroine Maëlys chose that very plateau as the site of her capital. At first, it served only as a grand encampment—large enough for all her soldiers and griffins to regroup and resupply during her conquest of the Great Dune. But in time, the wild meadow was tamed into the majestic garden of the most magnificent and prideful villa the world had ever known—Le Château Rouge.

That vast but cold mansion was where the young Marquis had spent most of her life. Isolated hundreds of kilometers from any urban center, Ælgifu grew surrounded by opulence but starved of all sorts of connections. Thousands of servants came and went, constantly replaced, and ungraduated nobles were forbidden from participating in the Éternelles Réjouissances, and as a result, Ælgifu became the only child of her age within that so-called holy temple of leisure, cut off from any bond beyond her family—a loneliness that only deepened with time.

At four, she lost her mother—taken by an unjust illness. At five, she lost her older brother—baited and snuffed out like a rat by the Korinthian Sarin. And at six, she lost her father—buried alive beneath the rubble of what remained of Rouge Nox.

All that was left of the Rougedior family was her older sister, who, rather than care for the now-orphaned Ælgifu, abandoned all responsibility and fled the hornet’s nest on the back of her Argentine Phoenix, leaving the little girl alone to shoulder the burden of their two-thousand-year legacy.

Nevertheless, the young Marquis quickly learned how to conceal her true feelings beneath thousands of layers of pride, carrying out every duty with impeccable precision. Yet each time she returned to her royal chamber, there was neither a proud father waiting to praise her efforts nor a loving mother to console her when she faltered—only silence. And in that stillness, all she could do was cry, hour after hour, before gathering all her strength once more for the next ceremony.

For months, that was her life—an endless cycle of donning masks by day and mourning in silence by night. Until, one day, a fever spared her from the daily torture and for the first time in ages, she had the freedom to cry for all the time she wanted, emptying her tear-soaked heart and giving herself space to think. That was when a little blue bird landed on her balcony, sipping from the pool formed by her salty tears. Ælgifu couldn’t remember why, but after getting mesmerized by its glowing-blue feathers, she made a wish—to end her loneliness. Though her words hinted at a different solution, the following week, her wish knocked at her door.

The Bluegale never disappoints.

”I’ve something for you.” After her best friend forever let out a week’s worth of dried-up tears, Miss Sévériné reached into her [Inventory] and pulled out a weird-looking snack—black beans stuffed into orange bread—leaving the ’Dust Symphonist’ visibly confused. “Trust me, Elfy. This is the best street food at the Academy.”

Although it looked like something only plebeians would dare to eat, Ælgifu trusted her judgment. She took a small bite, and the paradise itself seemed to bloom on her palate. Ysoline never misses!

”Now tell me, are the rumors true? Did someone try to kill you?” The 'Solstice’s' eyes widened, her expression filled with a mother’s worry.

”We don’t know for sure…but yeah…someone poisoned the Dungeon’s monsters’ weapons. And if it hadn’t been for Kafka and Mikhail…I…” Her gaze dropped, her voice trailing into silence, darkening the atmosphere—that wounded-puppy expression was one Ysoline could never mistake. Without a further word, she reached out and took Ælgifu’s hand, just as she had after every time the Marquis had cried in her bedroom.

”The only thing that matters is your safety, Ælgifu—but wow! Two princes risking their lives for you? I’m so jealous!” Ysoline giggled, succeeding in stealing a smile from her friend. ”So, who’s your pick? The exotic warrior from the desert or the fearless macho man?”

”Kafka, absolutely! You can’t even imagine how bad Mikhail smells after training.” Ælgifu wrinkled her nose, her chin high. ”Besides, I’m the Marquis, my marriage must be arranged with my people’s interest in mind.”

”And let me guess, your people just so happen to need an alliance with the Sealtish Nomads, right?” Ælgifu whistled innocently—she’d been caught.

”What about you, Ysoline? Do you have anyone in mind? Has some classmate caught your attention?”

”It’s a little more complicated than that,” she sighed. ”Sure, there are plenty of hot guys in Class C, but, right now, there’s way too much tension to even make a couple of friends.” She ended with a tsk, leaving the ’Dust Symphonist’ a little confused. ”You Class S students are just ten, but we are thousands in Class C, split into hundreds of groups ranked by performance. The top students eat like kings, study with the brightest experts at the MIMT, and train with cutting-edge technology. But those at the bottom? They’re treated like Class F—worse than dirty plebeians.”

”You didn’t get such bad grades, did you?” Ælgifu asked, concern obvious in her voice. ”Maybe I can give you a little help.”

”Thanks for the thought, Elfy, but there’s no mercy for cheaters—Mr. Anhogi has a free hand with them.” Ysoline shrugged. ”Anyway, I’m somewhere in the middle. I eat and sleep decently, but there is too much competition for friends. And worse, the fastest and easiest way to climb the rankings is by sabotaging your fellow classmates.” A hateful yet defiant fire flashed across her delicate features. ”Don’t worry, Ælgifu, give me one year, and I’ll make it to Class S. Then we’ll make sure Astary gets exactly what she deserves.” The Marquise De La Marche was in awe. Just the thought of having Ysoline near again was enough to wash away the pain of her entire first week at school.

The two girls finished their bean sandwiches, chatting about everything and everyone on their minds, without restraint, both knowing they might never get another chance like this. Gods must rise above others to prevent the most naive form of corruption—favoritism. Thus, Class S must avoid all distractions—friends included—because the future of the Empire is more important than petty teenage drama. And that’s why, from the very first day of school, Vice-Principal Durere had denied Ælgifu’s countless petitions to meet Ysoline, dismissing the Marquis De La Marche as a crying little baby who needed to grow up.

However, that morning, the ’Dust Symphonist’ received an [Email] from the ’Grotesque Mannequin,’ in which he approved her request in exchange for a secret nighttime meeting—far from prying eyes, to keep her privilege hidden. Thanks, Mr. Durere. He probably heard about what happened in that cave…and wanted to raise my morale. As she thought this, Ælgifu noticed a strange habit of his friend. “Ysoline, why are you checking your watch so oft—”

*Shhhhhhhk—thunk!* Before she could finish the sentence, Ælgifu watched in horror as a Gaussbow bolt pierced Ysoline’s neck—blood droplets blinding her. Then, a sharp pain struck her own neck, and both ladies collapsed to the ground.

“W-what…?” She mumbled, firm on the ground and unable to scream or move a single muscle, and just within her line of sight lay Ysoline—her shocked face bathed in a pool of her own blood. Yet, what truly caught the Marquis’s attention was something strange now dotting her friend’s neck. Mold?

*GRRRROOOOOAAAAARRRRR!!!*

A deafening roar shattered the silence, followed by the heavy thud of footsteps. Trembling, her eyes shifted upward, catching a glimpse of a silhouette now emerging from the darkness. Ysoline, run! The ’Solstice’ couldn’t see the monstrosity now looming behind her. It had the physique of a man—only three times larger—but unlike the Children of Adam, its upper body was disproportionately massive compared to its slender legs, and both were covered in stripes of orange and black fur—a humanoid tiger.

“M-Mariz Rug-g D-oor?” The beast bellowed, locking eyes with Ælgifu’s amethyst irises, now glassy with terror. “G-ooood.” Though the Marquis didn’t and couldn’t speak but the monstrous tiger somehow understood her answer. With one enormous paw, it seized Ysoline by the neck, and with the other, it pulled a folded note from a pocket in the silk robe draped over its massive legs.

“D-EATT... TOO... A-LL... REA-CC-TIONA–RIEZ!”

Then it clenched its paw, and Ysoline’s body was cleanly torn in two. Her decapitated head struck the ground, rolled, and stopped beside the Marquis—just in time for Ælgifu to glimpse her friend’s lifeless face before the world went black.

*Tweet!* The Bluegale never disappoints.

WORLD'S END BLOG:

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