act29side

Rain and wind come hand in hand with evening in Kreis Sturmland. After generations of keepers, a house spire's decrepit stairwells will always hide moss somewhere in their cracks, no matter how the casters work to keep them clean.

He thinks of Zwillingstürme. Of the time when the black spire reminiscent of twisted horns had yet to be superseded by the newly erected twin spires, when the majestic city was called by a different name.

Of the dazzling auburn alleys in autumn, the kind he'd cross through in his youth, still sans wand or dagger. Nestled in his hands were but a few bound poetry collections, and precious hopes of freedom.

Not so anymore. Though the storm briefly abates, the spire's peak is still ruinously cold. Moonlight stabs through the drapery like rain, like a nail driven through each and every hope as it springs up.

What a shame, he laments.

Never again will he see the marigold in bloom.

Northern border of Leithanien, in Fels, the capital of Kreis Sturmland, 1100

Marvelous, truly marvelous!

A performance of such fluency, as if the moonlight were caressing my cheeks—Herr Erich, what are your thoughts?

Martha, why do you treat me so?

Why speak of her? It's not as if your ex-fiancée were here, Herr Erich.

The callousness in your features stings my heart deep, yet your beauty takes my breath away all the same. Such that I cannot forget—

I strongly suggest you move your hands away from my waist. People are watching.

A-Apologies! Did the piece end already? I hadn't even realized.

I don't know why, but just now it was as if I'd been transported back to last autumn. To the day my Martha left me. The sorrow crushed my chest.

As I always say, take more walks. Concerts like this may well be rare in Sturmland, but Zwillingstürme is a different story.

*sigh* Sadly, I may not make it to Das Kaiserinnensfest this year.

As I recall, meine Herr, you've a distant uncle with a seat at the Kurfürstenhof. Could it be you've heard something? I know that Kurfürst Werner—

No, nothing reliable at least.

But the Kurfürst has hardly left his spire once these past months. Even the doctor rarely attends him anymore, while visits from casters serving other houses have only grown more frequent.

It would seem almost none of us will be venturing outside of Sturmland these days. Das Kaiserinnensfest may come every year, but an audience with the new Lehnsherr? Who would dare miss that?

I wouldn't dream of it. No offense, but I'd prefer to spend my dreams with my lovely Martha instead.

Thank goodness we have Frau Arturia Giallo.

Only her cello can grant me a brief reprieve from the pressures of the day. A welcome breath of fresh air.

Quite right. A pity that today will be her final concert here.

Then let me be drunk on it for a while more, just a while. After all, the storm is nigh again.

What are you standing around for?

Did the steward not explain your duties? You're to return to the cellar immediately once dinner is served. Don't disturb the Kurfürst while he's resting.

The stern chastisement falls on deaf ears.

The servant walks off in a stupor. Down the steps and through the door, like a shell stripped of her soul, she ambles toward the cracking thunder outside.

Hold it.

Is that...

blood on your hands?

Is the Kurfürst...

Guards, quickly!

*sigh* When will this weather make up its mind? If this keeps up, my firewood'll be damp again, and I just put it away.

Henk, could you start the fire already?! How long could it possibly take when the back garden is right there? Did you forget your wand again—

...May I have an extra candle, sir?

Of course, Frau Droste. Will you be waiting here for someone again, like yesterday?

Ja.

The wind's especially strong tonight. You might want to go upstairs; it'll be warmer in there.

It's fine. I haven't been back in so long, but... my body's still accustomed to the weather here.

Hahah, I just about forgot you're from Sturmland yourself.

I saw an article about you in the paper a few years back, and I must say it caught me off guard. And here I thought I would recognize every young'un raised in these parts.

It's not surprising you don't remember me. I'm just an ordinary person. I always have been.

Careful now, modesty kills.

I even thought the article might've been poppycock until you strolled through the door of my shop. You have the poise and grace of a blueblood from up in the spires.

I appreciate what you've done for me over the last two days, Herr Müller. Especially...

Don't you worry now, I won't tell a soul you're here. I know the media's been hounding you even after your retirement.

Look on the bright side. You're in Leithanien again: they only ever headline nobles and their big affairs.

...I suppose.

But look at me, keeping you to myself again. Here's your candle. What else will you be needing?

Might you... have any more books you could lend me?

You got through that novel already? I'll check the cupboard, anything you'd like to read next? I've got... two illustrated guides, a historical fiction, and five or so poetry anthologies.

I'm thinking you'd prefer the poems? Kurfürst Werner runs this folk poetry society, and all these poets like to turn up as special guests. Or so I hear.

No, I'll have the historical fiction, please.

After returning, I don't think I could stand any more poetry for a while.

Righty-o. Take this one, then, and don't worry about returning it anytime soon. I'll leave you be now.

Henk, Henk—you little Lausbub, I know you're lazing about somewhere!

...<i>Die Glut</i>. Embers...

It's an interesting tale. Though... it doesn't bear much resemblance to actual history.

Ah, I didn't notice there were other customers. Guten Abend.

It certainly is a good evening.

May I ask your name...?

Cora. Cora Löwenstein.

So I take it you've read this novel, Frau Löwenstein?

Regretfully, I've only been to the opera adapted from it. By the time it was published, I'd lost my ability to enjoy literature.

Ah, your eyes... I apologize. That was tactless of me.

Oh, you get used to it after twenty or so years. Besides, it saves money on candles and firewood on nights like these. Do you mind if I sit a little nearer?

By all means.

What warm candleflame.

Did it start raining out there? Your clothes are damp.

I forgot to take my umbrella, what with the rush I was in.

Pardon me if I'm mistaken, but did you come here to meet me?

All these years, and business here is still sluggish.

Or no, I suppose... <i>everything</i> in Sturmland is the same as ever. We're far from the capital, Catastrophes keep coming, and the weather here lives up to its name. Outside of special occasions, we hardly ever see many out-of-towners.

I still remember the view from this spot by the window. You can see the nomadic plate with the Kurfürst's parlor spire, can't you? He should've picked somewhere more out of the way for you.

So it was him who sent you...

Hold my hand. Tight.

Hm?

Listen closely.

I hear people... many of them, hiding outside in the gales.

You can control the candleflame by your hand, right Viviana?

I can.

Then on my mark, please—

Let's 'extinguish.'

The instant the candlelight dims, the grocer's windows shatter into pieces.

The rainstorm outside pours in alongside assorted Arts energy covering a full spectrum of effects.

Viviana grips Cora's hand, struck with the sense that she's sitting on a skiff in the heart of a raging sea.

Wave after wave of Arts crash down on them, all but blowing the humble storefront to smithereens, yet precisely parting to leave the two of them unscathed.

Footsteps clack within the shop.

They can't tell where we are; they have to approach to feel us out. Can you sense their positions?

...Crystal clear. Let me handle this.

Candleflame leaps anew from Viviana's palm.

The shadows come to life, reaching their limbs through the ruins and spreading across the rubble to pin the looming casters in place.

...Seven, eight.

Nine.

We're safe for now.

You saved my life.

You handled the brunt of it. All I did was 'tune' their Arts a little.