“There is an emergency of an urgent nature,” Dregarnuhr said. “Summon her who arbitrates between mankind and the gods.”
“The Zent! Summon the Zent!” Ortwin shouted.
It was taught during theology class that the Zent served as an intermediary between humans and the gods. Some within earshot shouted about sending her an ordonnanz—or a magic letter if she was in the Sovereignty. Others proposed asking the professors to use their emergency contact tool.
“Could she be referring to Rozemyne?” Wilfried asked, considering Dregarnuhr’s demand from a different perspective. Kenntrips’s eyes widened at the audacity, but the goddess gave a confirming nod.
“Yes, Rozemyne. Bring her to me at once,” she said. “Disaster has befallen her other half. Unless she intervenes, the Grutrissheit will vanish, and two decades of history will collapse.”
Dregarnuhr’s tone was calm—relaxed, even—but everyone present drew a sharp breath. Though no one knew what had occurred, it must have been serious to warrant possessing Hannelore. In moments, fear and shock enveloped the gardens.
“Rozemyne, this is an emergency! Come to the gazebos by the scholar building NOW!”
As fearful cries debated what to do next, Wilfried sent out a single white bird. In most cases, one would consider his an unthinkably rude message to send to the aub of another duchy—whether she was his younger sister or not—but these were extenuating circumstances. Amid the chaos, he alone had kept his calm and acted with composure.
Kenntrips, in contrast, was at a complete loss, despite being Hannelore’s suitor. He knew not what he should—what he could—do to help her.
How can I end this possession?
He took a sharp breath. No matter how he considered the situation, he could not foresee a positive outcome. Hannelore would be heralded as one chosen by the gods, as had happened to Rozemyne, and duchies would mobilize en masse to secure the country’s second divine avatar.
The more Kenntrips thought about it, the worse things seemed to get. Perhaps this possession was but the first of many to come—perhaps the gods would summon Hannelore out of the blue, as they were doing with Rozemyne. Would he be able to resolve such incidents? An overwhelming sense of worry and unease began to work its way through him.
“The ordonnanz returns!” someone shouted, snapping Kenntrips back to his senses.
And yet, the white bird bore no message. It returned to Wilfried, perched on his wrist, and then simply reverted to being a yellow feystone. One person shrieked that Rozemyne must have died, and the panic reached a fever pitch. If she truly had passed on, there would be no way to satisfy the goddess.
“She was merely out of range,” came a quiet yet severe voice. “Track her down at once.”
The light radiating from Hannelore’s body intensified, and the divine power she exuded swelled so much that those around her could barely even breathe. Her brief admonishment silenced the clamor and compelled everyone to kneel.
Will Lady Hannelore’s body be able to endure this much divine power?
Kenntrips dared not ask; he could not risk angering the goddess with such an impudent question. He forced his head up and started giving instructions.
“Send ordonnanzes to all of Lady Rozemyne’s retainers and several students of her duchy. Explain the circumstances and insist that she come at once!”
As responses trickled in, it became clear that an emergency in Alexandria had made it necessary for Rozemyne to return home as the duchy’s aub.
“Dregarnuhr the Goddess of Time, it would seem that Lady Rozemyne has gone to Alexandria, and it might be some time before she returns,” Kenntrips explained. “The sun is setting. Shall we wait somewhere warmer?”
“I cannot leave this magic circle,” the goddess replied. “Anyone who takes issue with the cold may simply depart. I do not have business with any of you.”
“No. I shall stay by Lady Hannelore’s side.”
“So be it.”
Professors and archduke candidates edged closer, taking advantage of their sizable mana capacities as they strained to glimpse the Goddess of Time. Meanwhile, Cordula sent ordonnanzes back to the Dunkelfelger Dormitory, seeking to mobilize Hannelore’s retainers and the duchy’s apprentice archknights. It was a rather messy situation.
Lady Rozemyne, hurry!
“There she is!”
“Make way, everyone! Make way!”
Cries eased the ever-growing anxiety. So long had passed that many of those gathered had completely lost track of time. The crowd parted, forming a path for the new arrival to reach the gazebo.
Rozemyne was dressed in strange attire, covered with feystones and magic tools. Her hair was in a single ponytail, a far cry from her usual, more intricate style. She looked noticeably similar to when she had appeared at Dunkelfelger’s country gate. Coupled with the severe look on her face, one could not help but feel that she had come prepared for war.
“Lady Rozemyne, is that apparel not a tad aggressive for one answering the summons of a goddess?” Ortwin asked, as if speaking for all those present.
“Far from it,” she said, unfazed. “This is not nearly enough.”
The goddess had nothing to contribute.
Could dressing in that manner have been the correct response?
Kenntrips inhaled sharply. Rozemyne had received no more news about the Goddess of Time’s intentions than anyone else. For her to have prepared as she had, retrieving the Grutrissheit from the gods must have been a perilous, life-threatening endeavor.
“Rozemyne,” Wilfried called, rushing to meet her. “Hannelore’s in trouble because of you. Go save her.”
“Because of me?” Rozemyne echoed with a grimace. “The gods are to blame, not I. And need you tell me to take action? That I mean to rescue her goes without saying.” She turned to Kenntrips, her usual elegant smile lost beneath the intense stare of someone ready to do battle. “I have instructed one of my attendants to advise you on what to do with Lady Hannelore when the goddess leaves her body. Speak to her when you can.”
“You have my utmost gratitude,” Kenntrips replied. Despite his outward composure, he was stunned that Rozemyne had the wherewithal to consider—and make arrangements to ensure—Hannelore’s safety on top of everything else. It was a great comfort to know someone would guide him through what could not have been a more unexpected turn of events.
“I doubt it will be easy—there is already a clamor over the rise of a second divine avatar—but please cooperate with Aub Dunkelfelger to protect Lady Hannelore,” Rozemyne insisted, then continued past everyone to kneel before the gazebo. “I am sorry to have kept you, O Goddess of Time. I am Rozemyne, the archduchess of Alex—”
“Time is short,” the goddess interjected. Then she held out her hand and said, “Let us hurry.”
Rozemyne stood without question, speaking to her experience with goddesses. Then she entered the gazebo with ease, despite Kenntrips and the others having been blown away by the sheer force of the exuded divinity.
“I shall ask that you elaborate immediately upon our arrival,” she said. “I mean to release Lady Hannelore at the earliest opportunity.”
“Indeed. For as long as her body and mind are apart, the former shall remain in a state of near death. All the more reason for us to depart.”
The light swelled and consumed Rozemyne, who seemed to melt into thin air.
“Lady Hannelore!”
Kenntrips rushed into the gazebo before its candor could even begin to fade, fearing the harm that might come to Hannelore if she collapsed. He managed to grab her before she could crumple back onto her seat or the cold stone underfoot.
The light dimmed, and the weight returned to Hannelore’s body. Kenntrips was glad to have a sign that the goddess had departed, and the pressure squeezing his chest relaxed, but the girl in his arms remained perfectly still. She wasn’t even breathing. He had not been able to fetch her any warm clothes, despite the lowering temperature, so her skin was cold to the touch.