The chaos at the palace was most likely the result of multiple plans colliding. The Starlight Band, who wished to open the palace gates to the vampires, incited the king’s sister, the corrupt nobles, and the despairing citizens. However, they weren’t able to completely take control, which suggests that the royal knights and palace guards held quite some influence. The king and the archbishop must have been in a panic. They considered the worst outcome, and acted accordingly. The Willows were their assistants in this regard.
I can almost see it in the flames now: a series of battles, starting in the palace. People being whipped into a frenzy and resisting. Lighting the church on fire was a diversion to allow the king and the treasure to escape to the Willow Estate. When they received word of a thousand vampires following them, the plan turned to using the king as a bait to allow the treasure to make it to the fort... The guts to make such a decision is astounding.
Their priorities were truly a prayer for the future. Such a suicidal plan, all to grant us a bit of hope... it is truly a revolutionary’s mindset.
“I’m losing all lingering attachment to this world. A pity. Everyone’s acting so cool,” he says.
“What foolishness are you spouting? God does not bless those lives that do not wish to live.”
“...I guess. Yeah, you’re right. Forget I said that.”
Fire is nice. It warms my cheeks, meaning there are no droplets for the night wind to chill. It also softly, ever so softly, invites sleep.
“What do we have here?” This voice... Lady Ange? Zakkow follows close behind, holding a pot. “Two loquacious men, drinking before a battle from cups poured by an Apostle? Talk about fortunate.”
“Mm.”
“Oh, I wasn’t asking for... Fine, fine. I’ll have some.”
“Mm.”
“For me too? Thank you.”
Both Lady Ange and Zakkow receive a cup as well.
We keep coming, one after another. Perhaps this is the magic of a campfire. It gathers people together, lights and warms them, and then captures their hearts... Religion and magic are mere unintended byproducts.
“Come, cozy up by the fire, you two.”
“And who made you the boss of this campfire?” Ange protests.
“Well, I made it,” son Peine replies.
“...Fire-starting techniques?” asks Zakkow.
“Yes, exactly. I’m neither a flame-resistant soldier nor a Bomber Knight; I’m still struggling to find my own path.”
“You always were a jack of all trades but master of none, going wherever your curiosity took you,” I remark.
“Felipo, is that a compliment or criticism?”
“From my point of view, you’re both equally silly. The son of an earl and a royal prince? There must be some mistake. You’re mischief-loving children in adult bodies,” Ange slaps us with her words.
“Pfft!”
Zakkow, that was cruel, spraying a mist of unsanitized wine all over us. But what can we do? Children do not choose their parents. On the other hand, parents often choose their children, which is why I ended up banished to the northern reaches of the Frontier... Or at least, so I had thought. Thinking back on it now, that might have been a strategic move as well. My siblings, save for the crown prince, were all sent to different parts of the country. I’d believed we were hostages to some powerful noble, but to think my father had thought this far ahead... No, even so, I was the only one sent north of the fort. I was just too handsome, perhaps.
“Hm, Sira’s already asleep,” points out son Peine.
“Of course she is. And you should be too,” Ange scolds him.
The departed, eh? My father and siblings... All those who bore a passing resemblance to me... were burned to ash. My teacher as well—that old man who used to sing so clearly of the holy book, and of chronicles of burning at the stake when he was drunk—is nothing but charred bones now.
“That’s right. As a soldier, you should learn from the commander and Marius. They’re resting peacefully as we speak,” remarks Zakkow.
“Ah, then, is it Origis that’s on patrol duty now? If we hold out, do you think he’ll come?”
“Don’t think of it. Riding tires the whole body out. His time lying down is precious.”
Are the people I’m thinking of in these flames? Do they still burn?
“You’re so uptight, Captain. I know you’re petting the fluffy rabbits in secret,” son Peine makes fun of him.
“Bfft!”
“Is that true?” Ange asks, sneering.
Did God watch over their final moments? Did He take in their wills?
“What are you all doing? You’re so loud,” says a voice approaching.
“Now Odysson’s here! Come, sit by the fire.”
“Mm.”
“O-Oh, wine, huh? That’s a treat... So, what’s with the noise?”
“You’ll never believe it; I know I didn’t. Apparently the captain is shy.”
“Wait! How did we arrive at this?!” Zakkow cries.
Will I... go there, too? Will I be welcomed in the flames when I fall in battle? One day... One day.
“Hey, the priest’s looking sleepy. Whoa! Don’t want to waste wine,” he says as he takes the cup from my hand.
“This is why Felipo could never become a corrupt priest: just a little wine turns him into this.”
“It’s exhaustion. He’s taken it upon himself to negotiate with all of the people that have joined us along the way.”
“You there, something-Peine. Drag him to bed.”
“Miss Ange, must you wound me so? Why not just say son Peine?”
“Ep! He almost dove headfirst into the fire!”
It’s so strange. I feel like they’re so close. It’s so familiar, warm, and somewhat sad... No, lonely I guess would be more correct. I’m sure I’ll remember this moment over and over in the future. And that thought... makes me lonely. It makes me want to cry.
I’m being carried away; away from the flames. To where, I do not know.
It’s lonely. I’m lonely.