Laufa and Eralia, the Blasphemous

The Krastas College of War. February 13, 1435.

Laufa stood shoulder-to-shoulder with Eralia, Nachkt, and Eidar in front of the wooden door of the Grand Master’s office. ‘Door’ was an understatement, really, it was more like two massive blocks of carved spruce. The iron handle alone looked bigger than her entire head.

The trials were over. Now, they just had to find out their final postings.

But more than anything, Laufa wanted to spin around, scramble back to her quarters, and crawl back under the covers. Even her itchy straw bed sounded better than a meeting with the College’s Grand Master. Or, Grand Master of Arms? His full title was way too long. Am I supposed to say the whole thing…?

Laufa muttered to herself, practising in case. “Hello, Grand Master of Arms of the Royal College—“

Eralia reached up and rapped the handle, cutting Laufa’s rambling short with a dull, ringing knock.

“Come in.” The voice was muffled by the door, but the command was crystal-clear.

Laufa flinched as the doors creaked open. Inside, the Grand Master Vellen sat at a large, wooden desk. A flickering, floating blue light crackled beside him, casting a cool glow over the maps sprawled across the table. Vellen leaned forward to examine one of the scrolls, as Instructor Pruatt stood at his side. She thought the office smelled somewhere between old books and thrifted leather jackets.

“Grand Master, Adeus’s victory was highly undisciplined.” Pruatt shook his head. “No regard for the Lodran Standard whatsoever. It sets a dangerous precedent!”

“The Lodran Standard has given us a generation-long stalemate.” The Grand Master’s eyes remained on the parchment. “I must admit, I’m quite interested in dangerous precedents.”

Finally, Vellen lifted his head. “Your concerns have been noted, Instructor. You are dismissed.” His eyes immediately shot to the doorway. “Enter. The commoner as well.”

Pruatt bowed and took his leave, and the four of them shuffled forward.

Laufa’s gaze drifted to the cluttered bookshelves that filled the walls. She glanced at Eralia, who skimmed the titles as they walked, and Laufa tried to read along. Her eyes landed on one about the unification of the Wall, and another about the conquest of the Broadlands, but she soon lost count in the rows and rows of identical leather spines.

Their footsteps on the hollow stone and the faint crackling of manra were the only sounds as the group settled in the middle of the office. Laufa clenched her hands, digging into her palms to stop the trembling. Eralia stood as still and calm as ever, no surprises there.

Laufa dropped her gaze to the floor. She shifted her weight, awkwardly rubbing her boots together.

“Your accomplishments in the final trial were exceptional. My congratulations,” Vellen said.

She felt a tug on her sleeve and lifted her head.

It was Eralia. She was bowing. As a matter of fact, they were all bowing. Laufa scrambled to copy them, shooting straight down. Any lower, and she might’ve slammed her forehead against the ground.

“Disciple Eidar.” Vellen nodded.

Eidar’s shoulders tensed up.

“Your register notes a… Difficulty, in following orders. Still, your overall placements were excellent,” the Grand Master said. “You will be assigned to the fifth regiment on the Welkin Cradle. Your strength will be put to good use.” He tapped his desk. “See your quartermaster for further instructions. Dismissed.”

Eidar slammed a fist into his chest. “Grand Master!”

He turned on his heels, his eyes sweeping past Laufa.

“Good luck, comm—” Eidar stopped himself, frowning. “Laufa.”

He patted her shoulder, admittedly hard enough to make her wince, and strode away. His heavy boots thumped across the floor as he left.

I appreciate it, Eidar, but good luck sounds a little ominous right now.

Vellen’s gaze drifted to the next disciple over. “Disciple Pasaulis.”

Nachkt flinched, squeezing his eyes shut.

“Despite your elimination in the first trial, you proved capable in every trial that followed. You will be appointed as a Stena Registrar here in Krastas,” Vellen said. “Dismissed.”

Nachkt froze for a second before the words finally registered. His eyes drifted open, and his mouth twitched, curling into a grin.

“I—Thank you, Grand Master.” The boy’s shoulders slumped in relief.

Nachkt turned around, but paused as he came eye-to-eye with Laufa. For the entire time she’d known him, he’d always been a total mess of nerves. But at that moment, all his tension had disappeared.

It was no wonder, he’d just scored the job of his dreams. A safe, cushy post here in the capital. Laufa couldn’t help but smile for him.

But as she watched him, the relief on his face vanished. He studied Laufa for a moment, then suddenly dropped into a formal bow. Laufa’s jaw went slack. She waved her hands frantically, mouthing at him to stop. The Grand Master’s right there, you can’t be bowing to a commoner!

He held that pose for what felt like an eternity before lifting his eyes to meet hers. His expression wasn’t relief anymore, but something more like… Determination?

“I’ll be seeing you, Laufa.” He looked less like he was saying goodbye and more like he was swearing an oath.

That’s somehow scarier than what Eidar said… Nachkt gave one last tight smile, then followed Eidar out of the office.

Laufa let out a breath and turned back around. She looked to Eralia for some sort of explanation, but the noble girl hadn’t moved an inch, as always. But, when Laufa’s eyes wandered downwards, she noticed Eralia’s thin fingers. They were tapping, just barely, against her waist. Maybe even she got nervous sometimes. But I somehow doubt it.

Vellen’s eyes settled on the remaining pair. “Disciple Adeus. Disciple Laufa.”

Laufa straightened.

“A dangerous precedent…” The Grand Master brushed the parchments on his desk aside. “That was the boldest strategy I’ve witnessed in a decade, Adeus.” He set his hands flat on the table and rose.

“And you.” His eyes snapped to Laufa. “A commoner wielding manra deftly after only months of training?” Vellen stepped away from his desk, clasping his hands behind his back. “Warden Rustes made his disapproval clear. That a commoner outshining nobles is blasphemous, and that your outlandish tactics wouldn’t survive a day on the frontier.” He wandered towards a massive map stretched from corner to corner across the wall.

Vellen traced the map’s surface with his ring. “He speaks the truth. Commanders with radical ideas are often stifled by our traditional leadership.”

He tapped the map. “Prostorech,” he said. “One of Warden Rustes’s own wards in the Marches. A volatile frontier post, largely forgotten. Riddled with casualties, failing commanders, and unsuccessful mines, all under an incompetent lord.” He turned. “In short, a career-ending assignment.”

Laufa fought the urge to groan out loud. Does it get any better…?

“The Warden, however, pays it little mind.” Vellen nodded. “Now, it is your problem, Captain Adeus.”

Captain!? Laufa’s head whipped from the Grand Master to Eralia.

Eralia bowed without even hesitating. “It would be an honour, Grand Master,” she said, lifting herself back up.

“As for you, commoner, you’re in luck.” He turned to Laufa. “You’ve caught the attention of Krastas’s own warden. He requested you be placed under his supervision at once,” he said. “The Temple itself has formally endorsed him, as well.”

Laufa jumped. “I caught whose attention?”

Dealing with another warden’s the last thing I need! She shot a desperate glance at Eralia.

“Grand Master!” Eralia stepped in front of Laufa. “With all due respect, Laufa is an exceptionally powerful bearer, the likes of which are unheard of. She is not an acolyte. Her talents would be wasted in Krastas.”

Laufa could only stammer. “Eralia!?”

Eralia’s arm shot straight out, as if shielding Laufa. “I’ll take her.” She met Vellen’s eyes. “Assign her to my company, in Prostorech.”

Laufa froze, completely speechless. She stared at Eralia’s raised arm, then at the Grand Master. He was a big deal, wasn’t he? And she was defying him. For her… But who said I want to go with her in the first place!

“Challenging a warden…” Vellen stepped forward, towering over Eralia. “That is no small matter, even for myself.”

Eralia stared back unflinchingly. “I only ask you be pragmatic, Grand Master.”

“Pragmatism has its price, Adeus. You are staking the fate of your career on a commoner.”

She nodded. “Our fates are already tied.”

The Grand Master held Eralia’s gaze for a long moment. The silence stretched on, and the tension in the office made Laufa want to crawl out of her skin. She really should’ve stayed in bed, after all.

Finally, he gave a single nod. “It would appear you’re in demand, commoner.” His gaze tilted towards Laufa. “Speak. What say you?”

Me? Laufa could only point at herself. He’s asking me?

She shook her head. Why’s he even asking me? I can’t say no to a warden, right? And if he’s half as scary as Warden Rustes…

Vellen’s eyes flicked to Eralia for a moment, calculating something, before settling back on Laufa. His gaze felt too heavy, like it was pinning her to the floor. Laufa risked a glance at Eralia, but her stare felt too hot to hold, too.

“I…” She trailed off.

Is there even a right answer!? Laufa stared up at the high, arched roof and tried taking a deep breath. The office suddenly felt small. Too small. She opened her mouth to respond, but nothing came out.

Her brain had stopped cold. Like a computer blue-screening. The ground teetered under her, and her feet gave out.

Fuck.

Out of nowhere, Laufa lurched forward, ducking under Eralia’s arm. “Grand Master!” She fell into a sharp bow. “I need a moment!”

Eralia’s head whipped towards her. The noble girl’s frown immediately dissolved into a perfect smile.

“Grand Master, this situation must be overwhelming for one of her station.” She took a bow beside Laufa. “Allow me an hour with her. You will have your answer by nightfall.”

Vellen looked between the pair, a flicker of understanding in his eyes. “Very well. Don’t disappoint me, Adeus.” He turned away. “Dismissed.”

“Thank you.” Eralia bowed again.

She quickly seized Laufa’s arm and pulled her out of the office. The doors thudded behind them, echoing in the stone corridor.

“A clever opening, Laufa.” Eralia’s fingers clamped tight around her arm. “You have a talent for stumbling into the best course of action.”

“What the hell was that!?—Mmph!”

Eralia muffled Laufa’s mouth with her other hand, dragging her into a nearby passage. Golden flags rustled Laufa’s hair as the noble girl shoved her through the doorway.

The banners fell away, blinding Laufa with a blast of crimson sunlight. The pair emerged onto a small balcony overlooking the Royal College. The sun was setting ahead of them, vanishing behind the Lodrian Wall.

“Enough!” Laufa ripped away from Eralia’s grip. “I’ve had enough of you pushing me around! All you’ve done is drag me into more and more trouble. Why the hell should I follow you!?” She stomped off towards the stone railing.

Eralia reached for her. “I’ve done exactly what I promised, Laufa. I’m keeping you alive—“

“As if!” Laufa jerked back. “At this point, I’d rather take my chances with the Warden than follow you to some deadly frontier!”

She gripped the stone railing. It was warm from the sun, but her palms were clammy against it.

Eralia shook her head. “Think for a moment. The Warden of Krastas requested you personally, the Temple endorsed him. That’s not a promotion, that’s a trap. You’ll be collared and leashed by the same traditionalists who hate your existence.”

“So what!?” She turned away, glaring out over the balcony. “Better hated than dead! Everyone here hates me, anyways, what’s new?”

The sun was dropping lower and lower on the horizon, filling the sky with a warm gold.

“I don’t.” Eralia said plainly.

Laufa’s mouth snapped shut. She whipped back towards her. The sunset had dyed Eralia’s hair, making it glow like a blazing fire. Laufa’s anger and her fear, all of it, suddenly evaporated.

Eralia leaned in closer. “What I hate is Lodran.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Its endless scheming and rotten nobility. Worthless, all of them. They watch your every move, even here. Stay in Krastas, and you’ll rot in a cage of your own making, just as my parents did.”

Laufa stammered. “You… Don’t?” She shook her head, trying to clear it. “But that… None of that makes Prost-Whatever any better, though!”

“Perhaps.” Eralia’s eyes drifted to the horizon. “But Prostorech is an opportunity. A place where a commoner can matter more than a highborn, arrogant fool.”

Her gaze flicked back to Laufa. “It’s a place where no one pays attention to pawns. Until they’re one space away from becoming a queen.”

Laufa stood there, her breath shaking, fingers trembling around the railing.

“You…” Laufa’s voice was small. “You promised you’d keep me alive.” She took a small step forward.

“I did.”

Laufa looked down. “But isn’t the frontier basically a death sentence?”

Eralia grabbed her chin, forcing it back up. “The Warden's supervision is certain death.” Her fingers were cold and rough, and her eyes were just as harsh, reflecting the last bit of sun.

Laufa held her gaze. She searched the noble girl’s face for even a single sign of deceit, but found nothing. Laufa’s fingers uncurled around the railing, the trembling gone.

Eralia wasn’t promising her safety, and she definitely wasn’t promising friendship, either. But Laufa realised, for the first time since she’d woken up in this body, that she had a real choice.

She pushed her shoulders back and brushed past Eralia, grazing her cloak.

“Laufa—“

Laufa stopped and turned to face her. “We have to report by nightfall, don’t we?”

The last rays of light caught her face. In that one moment, her gaze was more determined than ever. She might’ve looked almost as scary as Lady Eralia herself.

Eralia’s brows lifted for just a moment. Her surprise melted into a slow smile, gone just as fast as it’d appeared. “I suppose we shouldn’t be late, then.”

She fell into step just behind Laufa. The sunset’s glow finally died, and they fell into the torchlit shadows of the College. Eralia’s long strides soon caught up to Laufa’s as they marched down the corridor side-by-side.

I don’t hate you. That’s what Eralia had said. Laufa glanced at the noble girl beside her, so close she could hear her breathe.

She sighed. I don’t understand anything, anymore.

* * *

The Krastas College of War. February 15, 1435.

The Royal College’s tiled stone walls were rough against Mordhun’s back. He studied the training yard ahead, where the infantry practised thrusting their spears in repeated, clumsy motions as the drill master barked orders. It was the same training yard where he’d first encountered her.

His aide adjusted their lenses. “My lord, the Grand Master has confirmed your command at Duille. However…” Their voice trembled. “House Adeus has received captaincy in your father’s ward, as well. She and the commoner both.”

Mordhun’s gaze snapped to them. “Where?”

“Prostorech, my lord.”

“That ward?” Mordhun frowned. “Still, to graduate with command of an entire company…”

He rubbed the scar on his right knuckles. What is Vellen playing at?

“Precisely, my lord. Only her trickery in the final trial could account for it. Otherwise, one of House Adeus could never—“

“Silence.” Mordhun cut them off. “Their victory was just. Do not question the Grand Master’s decision.”

Mordhun abruptly pushed off the wall. He strode towards the trainees ahead, clasping his hands behind his back. His aide shuffled into step behind him.

The disciples’ boots thudded against the packed earth with each lunge. He passed over them, inspecting.

They’d been training for several months, yet their forms were still amateur. Still, that was to be expected from commoners. For the most part, I suppose.

His eyes lingered on one trainee in particular. A young boy, no older than fourteen, whose face seemed familiar. He’d spotted the boy once prior…

Ah. The entrance ceremony. Back then, he called for Laufa, didn’t he?

“Aide.” Mordhun addressed them without turning. “The registers.”

“Of course, my lord.”

Mordhun snatched the scroll. His eyes scanned over the list of names and found the boy, right above Laufa. Fiann.

“So they’re related.” He lifted his gaze.

The College’s bell sounded, its chime echoing across the grounds. As the other disciples stored their spears and shuffled towards their quarters, Fiann alone remained.

The boy thrust his spear. A swift, forward jab, over and over, sweat dripping down his brow. His form was raw, though Mordhun had to admit, undeniably solid.

Mordhun stepped forward. “You’re overextending.”

Fiann jumped, glancing up. “Ah, Lord Rustes—” He wiped the sweat from his brow.

“I gave no order to stop,” Mordhun said.

The boy nodded and lunged again, quicker this time.

“Your grip is too tight.”

He struck again, stronger.

Then again, and again. The two continued training like that until the sun finally began to peter out.

Fiann stood there, bent over at the waist and heaving for breath. He cracked his palms against his cheeks with a resounding smack and raised his spear.

“Again, Lord Rustes?” He swayed, panting as he steadied the pole.

“No, that’s enough.” Mordhun turned his back on the trainee. “You’re quite different from your sister, aren’t you?”

Fiann’s spear dropped to his side. “Ah, that’s—”

“Aide.” Mordhun snapped. “Add him to my rolls. He’ll be accompanying us to the Marches.”

Without another word, Mordhun and his aide stepped away.

They are siblings only in name.

Leaving him to Adeus would be a waste, the boy would perish in one of her eccentric gambits. But, under proper leadership, he can be forged.

Mordhun’s dark cloak disappeared into the shadows of the corridor, leaving Fiann alone in the darkening yard.

The wooden spear bit into Fiann’s palms. “Laufa,” he whispered.