Run Piggy Run

SOLVEIG

“I cannot believe we don’t have the exact same subjects, Cain. It doesn’t make sense!”

“Shouldn’t have trounced Isolde the way you did then! I’m in the B-class because I’m that much worse…”

“It isn't that bad, Cain! Don't forget to not be idle! Gather as many allies---"

"Yes, yes, I know. I have been. I'm more charismatic than you give me credit for..."

"See ya soon, Cain...!"

It started off as any normal day. In fact, that was the last conversation she had with Cain before parting ways.

At least she had Miriam and Bobby with her still.

She sat down on the seat like how she always did.

“Have you tried my sleeping techniques, Master?” Bobby asked.

“I did, actually. But they don’t work for me…”

“Agh. Well, no bother. At least you tried…”

Bobby’s ears wilted. “I just hate seeing you like this, Master. Surely you don’t need to stress yourself out too much; give yourself a break every once in a while!”

“Nyo.”

Bobby looked at Solveig in confusion.

“Why not? We’re only three weeks—”

“If I don’t show that I’m worth it sooner, the sooner they will consider kicking me out. It’s life and death for me!”

“But it’s not. N-No one is gonna kill you. Maybe kicked out, but you’re too talented to be kicked out! Besides, you’re a better villain than Isolde ever will—”

“I don’t want to be a villain.”

The way she said it must have been so convincing that Bobby didn’t respond.

The chamber doors to the Great Hall wedged open, the trio walking in like they have done many times this week.

So it was no surprise that all of them felt something was immediately wrong.

It was oddly quiet.

Usually, that meant the absence of one major clique that hung out in the far side of the class.

Isolde’s gang…

She stared at the absence the entire time as they went to their regular spot.

For a while, there was peace and quiet. Yet the anticipation was keeping her held like in a cage of her own making.

Something was deeply wrong.

And so it was she heard the door to the Hall opening once more that her fears may be realized.

Isolde.

She looked rather sombre, all things considered.

Turns out, enough that one of the demihumans decided to bite. “Why, this place bring back bad memories?”

“It is nothing so crude,” one girl said.

“We… are in mourning.”

Why?

That got the demihuman to shut up.

So they went into their seats, quiet, brooding, somehow feeling most similar to a snake waiting in the reeds.

Then came their tutor.

Harold, stout and tall as ever, stomping down the steps into the center of the Hall.

A battle-hardened warrior as experienced as him surely noticed the mood in Isolde’s camp near immediately.

“What happened, girls? Your favorite dress got pulled from merchant stocks?"

That drew some chuckles, especially from Solveig. Bobby took one look at her and did the same thing.

Such a good boy…

“Not exactly, Mister Harold.”

“Well? Out with it.”

Isolde nodded tepidly. “First… may I take the centerpiece of the room?”

That gave the wizened geezer some pause. After some deliberation, Harold stepped aside. “By all means, Isolde. Knock yourself out."

So she got up and walked on over.

For a while, when she reached it, she stood motionlessly. Her eyes were cast darkly and her jaw was tight.

“Three weeks ago…” she started. “Solveig beat me in a bout of combat where I lost, handily. I will not dispute that: she is better than me, in that regard. My reaction afterward was unbecoming too; I should have shook her hand and bowed, like a proper lady.”

Isolde paused.

"But you didn't initiate any of those actions either." The crowd murmured amongst itself. "Stay with me here. I'm not calling Solveig rude, by any stretch. I'm calling her uninformed."

"Silence!" Harold howled. "Let the girl say her piece, for gods' sake."

"Thank you, Mister Harold." Isolde gathered her breath and continued. "As I was saying, there's actually a lot about Solveig that isn't accounted for. For one, we don't even know where she's actually from. Ask anyone who's tried to place her and she'll just tell you she's Illustrian, true and blue. And yet she doesn't seem to know some of our most basic customs."

The dux-to-be paced the floor.

"Isn't that strange? What kind of student devolves into tactics like hers, tactics that look, frankly, foreign, that prioritize brutality above everything else?" She let the question hang. "So I did some digging. And I may have found some answers."

A pit tore open in Solveig's chest, deep enough to swallow the room.

Isolde… she wasn't going to say it. Was she?

"I found out," Isolde said, "that she was a tribal girl from the forest who killed a Great Mother Bear." She smirked. "Deliberately."