Take Me Out First~

DREAMWALKER

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, eeeeeek!!!"

The words tumbled out of Dreamwalker in a broken loop, the same four syllables over and over.

Solveig had put her on her desk and plucked a single feather from the trembling wing.

"You're an enemy," she said, singsong. She plucked another. "You're an enemy not." Another. "You're an enemy."

Another.

"You're an enemy not."

Dreamwalker was understandably not happy about her predicament.

Solveig paused, feather pinched between two fingers, and tilted her head.

"Have you had enough fun?”

“Y-Yeah…”

“Well, too bad—because I’m having loads of it.”

Dreamwalker was about to cry. “Nooooohoho..."

“You know what will make me satiated though? Really satisfied, content with my life?" Solveig smiled. "Telling me who you work for…!"

Dreamwalker could. She could so easily.

But it was unconsciounable. Unthinkable.

She was Isolde's Companion. Greatest of all Companions in the past decade. Under Isolde's care, she's won so many competitions and contests, ate anything a Companion could ask for to be healthy, the works.

But why was something deep in her own soul, screaming loudly…

That Dreamwalker didn't really care?

"ISOLDE!" The name burst out of her.

"...Loud. Ow, my ears."

"ISOLDE ISOLDE ISOLDE!"

"Owwwww..."

"SHE MADE ME DO THIS! SHE MADE ME DO EVERYTHING! AND SHE... SHE'S MY BEST... FRIEND..."

Dreamwalker wailed.

And as she was, she felt something press against her wing. 

H-Huh...?

Solveig. It was Solveig who pressed her palm flat against a bare, plucked patch of wing. Soon, gold light bloomed soft beneath her fingers. Feathers knitted themselves back into place, one by one.

But... but how? I thought Saints and Saintesses could...

Dreamwalker stared at her own wing, then at Solveig, uncomprehending.

Solveig seemed to take notice.

"Back in the day, I was putting back together wings on gryphons for my armies," Solveig said conversationally, like a teenager had anything to do with an army. "The Demon King had some kind of fire that stuck to everything it touched. Wouldn't go out no matter how much water you threw on it."

She smoothed the last feather into place and finally met Dreamwalker's eyes.

"Besides, it's only wings. I can't put back a whole limb, not from nothing, that takes more than I can spare. But wings…" She shrugged, almost bashful about it. "Null magic is more than adequate for wings."

Dreamwalker flexed the newly-healed wing, testing it.

Solveig's smile didn't waver. 

"Now. Since I reciprocated your kindness... Tell me everything Isolde's had you listening for. Pretty please?"

Can... can Dreamwalker really...

\\

DREAMWALKER

“You don’t have to tell me everything. I want to earn your trust first. But I will leave it up to you whether you wanna tell Isolde what happened. Can I just ask you leave Null magic out of the equation, please?”

The memory kept playing over and over in her mind. Gold light against a plucked wing. A hand that healed what it had just hurt. A girl humming a hunting song like it was a lullaby, and then, somehow, not finishing the joke at all.

She fluttered slowly back toward Isolde's quarters, wings still faintly sore in places that had no business being sore anymore.

The halls grew steadily gaudier the further she went, gold leaf thickening on the molding, portraits growing larger and more self-important, until she reached the doors that could only belong to House Blackmore.

Isolde looked up the moment she entered, already smiling.

"My little Angel! She's back, everyone!"

The entourage scattered around the room cheered on cue, a dozen bright, hollow voices all clapping at once.

"Well?" Isolde leaned forward. "I'm sure you were wonderfully successful. Tell me everything."

Dreamwalker opened her mouth, and…

\\

SOLVEIG

Did Solveig screw up?

Did she make a mistake in releasing Dreamwalker and not taking the Companion to someone like Farhen or Harold?

Solveig’s hands were slick with clammy sweat against her desk.

Farhen’s voice was just background noise at this point. The knowledge was surely important, yet utterly useless to her brain right now.

She was running out of time, and she knew it.

Time for what, you might ask? The results say Cain was getting better. He was Top Ten now, and for any measurable metric in an academy whose competition is utterly ruthless, Solveig should be patting herself on the back.

But she’s been through these things before. While you weren’t making moves, your enemies were. And she was, for the first time in years (she’d been conscious at least) she might be on the downturn.

And maybe it wasn’t Solveig’s fault. She’s been too tired from her obligations. Between Cain’s studies, D’Igoll’s physical training and her own studies to keep up with a curriculum she just learned the definition of roughly a month ago, she’s been covered head to toe in sweat.

Sure, she had successfully avoided using obvious, desperate spy tactics so far—no drugged drinks in the cafeteria, no crude Formula Wiretapping—but her restraint had yielded absolutely nothing. She hadn't pinpointed a single suspect.

Worse, she was being a horrible tutor. Cain’s actual academic progress was a disaster really, and yet he just seemed... completely fine with her failures. Which was infuriating! He was supposed to be demanding; his calm acceptance only made her feel more incompetent.

Then came the real deadline.

The dreaded student-run newsletter, Ravenspoke, was scheduled to release its second edition of the year. Dropping in exactly two days.

What can she say about the positive news stories she’s been a part of, worthy of universal praise?

Near nothing.

Solveig looked up from her desk to shudder her thoughts away.

Look at these people who surround her who she calls friends.

She hadn’t really been speaking to them outside class. They had such busy lives outside of hers. Solveig’s was a joke!

So why don’t they just split off like how they clearly should already?!

Cain was smiling. Miriam was smiling. Bobby was beside himself with a joke they surely told him.

Should I tell them… what I…

“Solveig?”

No! NO!

They will already view you more as a burden than you already are!

“Hey, Solveig?”

What are your excuses huh?! You killed a Demon King. You're the top bitch in this animal kingdom! The APEX! These emotions are beneath you. You should be ashamed!

You’re supposed to figure this stuff out, you useless klutz—

“SOLVEIG!”

Solveig started. “H-Huh?”

Her shoulder was violently tossed around. None other than Cain did it.

“Your eyes were going blank. Boring class huh?”

Solveig considered his words carefully. “Yep. Definitely that.

“Farhen teaches in ways that are… uh… basic, to put it lightly. At least, in comparison to you.”

Solveig blushed profusely. “No, no, nothing like that!”

“Seriously, are you alright?”

Cain then moved his hands faster than Solveig could register in her inebriated state.

He held two fingers from both hands gently under her chin, inspecting it. “Whatever it is… you need rest. Surely it impedes your performance as my tutor, even viewing it charitably.”

She immediately wiggled her way out of his fingers.

“It’s fine. Just… fine.”

Cain didn’t look convinced, but he didn’t broach the subject further.