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TRAS Chapter 96: Headed Home
🕑 Added 2025-04-17 12:39:13 +0000 UTCChapter 96: Headed Home
Renea rode in silence, her heart brimming with anxious excitement at the thought of returning home. She desperately wanted to see her family—Sophie, most of all—and show them she’d grown, even if just a little.
A sudden thought crossed her mind, and she coaxed her horse into a gallop, drawing alongside Sir Dartune. She called out to him.
“Sir Dartune, why is it that you…” Renea hesitated. “Why do you bear such hatred for Sussuro?”
“At what depth do you wish my answer, Lady Renea?” Dartune asked, arching a brow. The knights had rarely talked to Renea since the inquisition.
“At whichever depth you see fit, of course,” Renea replied. “I do not mean to pry. Yet I would be most grateful if I could understand.”
She felt a little strange, speaking with such pomp and formality after so long. Nowadays, she talked to Ailn the most, and it was casual speech which felt ‘normal.’ Yet, she’d spoken as befitting a Saintess for almost her entire life.
In that sense, it was comforting.
“Hatred,” Dartune made a grumbling noise, wincing in a way almost reminiscent of Ailn. “Is hatred not a strong word for it?”
If Renea were being honest? No.
Dartune had proactively avoided even going outside, opting instead to stay within the Fleuve estate the entire trip. It was as if simply being in Sussuro weakened Dartune, the crisp and misty air which invigorated the other knights only ever drawing from the Sussuro-native a weary sigh.
“For some such as myself,” Dartune admitted after a long while, “the pace of the river is nothing but a slow and tedious death.”
“Death?” Renea echoed, biting her lip. “Is… that not a strong word?”
“Nay, I should say not,” Dartune replied. “Since a life without flourishing is a life lived in wilt.”
His look softened as he met Renea’s eyes. There was a gentleness in it that had been absent since the frictions of the inquisition. Even those knights who bore no lingering animosity, had been hindered in their interactions by awkwardness. Here, the earnest inquiry—and the honest introspection it stirred—seemed to help Dartune relax.
“I did not belong in Sussuro, Lady Renea,” Dartune said. “Forasmuch as I knew a desperate battle was being waged further north, I felt compelled to it, guided by an unseen hand. And lo, what should I find except my destiny affirmed, as I was capable of receiving the divine blessing?”
He smiled. “Varant was my home before I had ever stepped one foot in snow.”
Dartune’s words were kind, and yet they prodded unwittingly at one of the most tender spots in Renea’s heart. Her eyes downcast, and her voice meek, she could not help but reach out—seeking intimate validation from a knight with whom she’d never been particularly close.
“Sir Dartune…” Renea said softly. “Do you think that, even for everything I lack… I could still belong in Varant?”
The knight’s eyes widened briefly, as he realized he may have hurt her feelings. Then, he breathed deep and let out a sigh, the kind look in his eyes taking on a note of apology. “There are many ways to thrive, Lady Renea. A snowflower needs no permission from a bear to bloom through frost.”
Then, training a glare on her brother’s back, he added, “For that matter, neither does a cactus.”
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As they journeyed back to Varant, Ailn apprised Kylian as to a certain change of fortune that had arisen from their trip. The treasure hunt had been fruitful—perhaps more so than they had ever anticipated.
“...The Dragon’s Promise?” Kylian spoke in a hushed tone. “You’re certain?”
“Well, if Noué is to be believed…” Ailn said, feeling his trenchcoat’s inset pocket for the ring box he’d found at the top of the Areygni villa. “It’s a ring. Definitely valuable. The center stone’s a ruby, and the metal’s adamantine, I’m pretty sure.”
A thought had occurred to Ailn after he acquired The Dragon’s Promise—that this legendary treasure, perhaps, was what the masked woman had actually been after.
It was, allegedly, proof of imperial legitimacy. Even though it had been lost to the ages. It was proof of their divinity. Descended from dragons, or descended from gods—or even demons, according to Renea—the imperial family had distinctive red eyes, just like Ailn had seen in the painting of Emperor Claude.
They weren’t ruby eyes, or ‘flashing red eyes,’ but even the empire’s people had drawn the connection. Ailn didn’t think it was a coincidence that the center stone of The Dragon’s Promise was a ruby.
A few months back, the teen god had given him a warning about someone trying to collect the ruby shards. If Dahlia and Tuckerson were to be believed, then the masked woman had seemed interested in their ruby eyes. Their ambushers on the way to Sussuro had been her doing—and those ambushers tried to kidnap Renea.
The masked woman could have heard rumors about Renea’s ruby eyes because of the inquisition, still entirely unaware that Ailn had already taken them.
The case for the masked woman being the ruby shard hunter was strong. And she wanted The Dragon’s Promise, too.
By now, Ailn was almost certain that there was some link between the ruby shards and the deep history of the empire. And he had a feeling he was on a collision course with the masked woman.
Maybe even the imperial family itself.
Now that he thought about it, in Noué’s unfinished masterpiece, there had been a painting of a dragon with butterfly wings…
It was right there in the name, wasn’t it? The Dragon’s Promise. Ailn’s thoughts drifted back to the ring itself, and the reason Noué had possessed it in the first place.
“Not really sure if it’s hers to give away if she didn’t accept Emperor Claude’s proposal…” Ailn frowned. “But, at any rate, it’s ours now.”
“Not without a fight, I’m certain,” Kylian said, caution clear in his voice. “It would be best to keep this as confidential as possible for the moment.”
“Didn’t do us much good with the portrait,” Ailn said. “As much as we can manage it, though, I agree.”
He felt a chill run down the back of his spine. Glancing behind, he caught sight of Safi.
Observing.
“...Care to join our conversation, Safi?” Ailn asked, caution clear in his voice.
Safi just shook her head mutely. There were very few things that could keep her quiet. And yet here, wordlessly, she raised a single hand and made a shooing motion, as if urging them to continue.
“I feel…” Kylian’s instincts also seemed to catch on. “As if I wish to converse with Sir Laudro.” He made a face, then urged his horse to slow its pace, gradually falling back to align himself with the rearguard of the retinue.
As Safi passed him by though, she spoke up with a mousiness the knight had never seen her with.
“Sir Kylian, can I ask you a question…?” Safi asked, with glimmering eyes.
“...Certainly,” Kylian said, ever polite. Truly, something in his gut told him that he shouldn’t let her.
“Have you… ever noticed…” Safi shyly twiddled her index fingers, as if she were a maiden. “That… all of Ailn’s name… is inside of yours?”
Kylian was at an utter loss for words.
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Varant, meanwhile, had been as monotonous as it was tumultuous in Ailn and Renea’s absence. There was no over drama, no duels or shouting matches—just the normal, relentless humdrum of the shadow beasts which constantly threatened their lives.
That didn’t mean the castle was lacking for tension.
Though Ailn had a tendency to stir the pot and instigate, it was Sigurd and Sophie who were the most temperamental. The two siblings seemed irritated by the mere sight of each other, especially after Sophie had so openly laughed at Sigurd when Ailn had unfurled his mocking banner.
Ailn had done plenty of pot stirring before he left, and the two siblings who had to stay home spent the last couple of weeks simmering.
Easy to provoke, yet never outright courting conflict, Sigurd and Sophie had mutually—somehow wordlessly—agreed to head in opposite directions during their patrols of the northern wall.
There’d been a proliferation of shadow beasts lately, almost like the surging populations of wildlife in late spring. They had plenty to do to busy themselves, and yet they were so adept at their duties they also had ample time to stew.
Sigurd, in particular, ran himself ragged, moving from one watchtower to the next, clearing them of beasts one after the other. He’d even considered taking a longer excursion to the very furthest reach of the northern wall.
Today, however, he returned to Varant when he heard some disquieting news—a missive had come from Sussuro.
“There were no paintings of value in the vault?” Sigurd growled. His eyes flickered with resent. “Then it was a complete waste of time.”
If Sigurd were being entirely fair, finding the vault at all was a considerable achievement, for which Ailn might even deserve praise.
Tired as he was, however, all Sigurd saw was that Ailn’s dubious bet had failed, and in essence had amounted to a vacation. He was risking his life daily to protect the duchy, while the duke himself went hunting for treasure like a child.
Already in a pointedly bitter mood, he soon spotted Sophie in the foyer, carrying something which would prick at the very grievances he was currently brooding over.
A puppy.
It licked her face and thrashed around in her arms happily, even as she scowled at it. She turned that scowl on Sigurd as he walked in.
He gaped at the sight.
“...Why did you bring a mutt in?” Sigurd asked, darkly. He took a deep breath, his intake sharp, his exhale slow and frustrated. “...Rather, you’re surely aware that dogs are not allowed within the castle.”
“Were not allowed, Sigurd,” Sophie said, matching his bitter tone. “They weren’t allowed when you were regent. Or when…” She averted her eyes guiltily. “...when our mother was alive.”
“I see,” Sigurd said. He turned over his palm in mock accordance. “Then you all intend to turn the castle into a carnival, under the auspices of the ‘fun’ duke. All’s fair, so long as it’s fleetingly pleasant and sweet.”
Too tired for a prolonged squabble, he made to brush past her with a parting sneer. “This family has turned into a complete farce,” Sigurd spat.
“Indeed,” Sophie said, flatly, as they passed shoulder to shoulder. “Perhaps you truly should don a jester outfit.”
Sigurd stopped in his tracks, his neck turning slowly toward his obnoxious sister like an ancient, creaking weather vane.
Sophie just rolled her eyes. “Don’t look so aggrieved. It was a jest, Sigurd.”
That was probably the worst thing she could have said, as she walked away.
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By the time they’d finally reached an inn to rest the night, Ailn was exhausted. The physical exertion had been moderate, but Safi’s constant stream of loaded questions had left him mentally drained.
Somewhat uncharacteristically, he opted for a drink alone in the inn’s tavern.
Now that he was alone, he could think about his real mission: finding the reincarnators and retrieving the shards.
He didn’t regret becoming the duke. Clearly in Sussuro it had paid off—he had a hard time imagining how he would’ve ever gotten Safi’s shard otherwise. Still, the role was adding to his worries, and he’d have to eventually find a tactful moment to relinquish it.
There was one question that had been bothering him ever since they’d left Sussuro. There were many plaguing his mind, but this was likely the most important.
How the hell did he get Elenira’s eyes?
He’d intended to retrieve her eyes after she’d had some time to process everything. But the moment Elenira saw the portrait, Ailn could feel it—her eyes transferred to him automatically, without his emerald eyes manifesting.
If he could retrieve reincarnator’s shards without making prolonged eye contact, his job would become infinitely easier. To say nothing of being able to sidestep the most awkward part of the process.
While Ailn thought alone at the bar counter, he noticed in the periphery of his vision that Renea and Safi had also decided to drink that night, stowing away in another corner of the tavern.
He frowned.
Safi, clearly still dealing with the loss of Cora, had been reduced to drunken sobbing from just half a pint.
Renea, meanwhile, looked to be doing better. She was just consoling her friend, and she seemed perfectly in control of herself despite her flushed face.
What was a little more worrying was that the barmaid refilled her mug not once, but twice in the short span of time Ailn had been watching. He held his temple, debating whether it was worth bringing up.
“You look worried, Ailn. I can call you Ailn, right?”
A familiar voice he hadn’t heard in a long time interrupted his thoughts.
In fact, it was such a long time that Ailn found himself rather irritated. His gaze narrowed and drifted sidewards.
“...You can call me whatever you want,” Ailn sighed. “Finally back from vacation?”
It was the teen god.
