From the Hall of Consorts, where boredom had begun to fester, Eunice had suggested a tour of the Palace. After all, it was expected to become Artemis's home. Shouldn't he know the halls of where he would soon live? Because Arcas had other matters to attend to, no doubt far more important than babysitting three women and a man taller than him, the duties of guardship had been foisted off onto a minor Archknight, a newcomer to their ranks, Kafka Summerstelle.
This Archknight, much shorter than her compatriots, seemed not much taller than 160cm. She had a head of messy dirty-blonde hair and glimmering blue eyes, slate outer rings like ripples in water- repeated, endless, tranquil. She was quiet most times, seeming on-guard with her head on a swivel, as if anticipating a threat at any moment. Perhaps this was just her inexperience, or maybe all Archknights had those proclivities, with their Seniors having the manners to hide them well.
Besides her, Cercival, Artemis's most trusted attendant, and a servant of the three Consorts- withstanding Isolde, who had come up with a brilliant excuse to avoid the social endeavour- had followed close beside them. Artemis turned towards this figure, smiling genially as he spoke, as was his newfound will in order to grow closer to many people in the hopes to solidify his place, "I have not met you yet."
It was a casual mention, an invitation for introduction. Of course, he still had his hangups about interaction with others, it was just something he wasn't used to at all. But there were ways that he could guide the conversation to place the onus on others to take the lead.
The man, slicked-back grey hair and a golden monocle on his left eye, smiled in return and spoke in a low, gravelly tone, "My name is Xerandes, Lord. I've been a servant to my Grace's House for several decades. "
"A Eunuch, Lord Stark. But our most trusted confidant. He's quite the company, if you can stomach tales of the Hunt." Adeline chimed in.
"A Eunuch? Is there many men in the service of the Witch-King that would dare harm one of you?"
"A member of the Hunt would never think to do such a thing." Xerandes replied casually, turning away from Artemis as he folded his hands behind his back.
'The Hunt' referred to the purge of dissension and sedition through informational channels throughout the Blackbaast, particularly referring to networks that spread news. It was a method of anti-free speech that had been put into place generations ago by August's predecessors. While he had certainly tried to diminish the Hunt's presence, it was a deeper issue than simply abolishing it. The Hunt had evolved into its own entity, almost like a fraction of Government that operated in the Witch-King's interest, but also separately from him, with their sole mission being the preservation of the Witch-King's image.
This Eunuch was really a former member of the Hunt? As far as I recall, doesn't the Hunt have a stringent and vitriolic view towards the Lightseeker faction?
However, it seemed Xerandes had anticipated this thought process. "I'm not like my former compatriots, I don't dislike or admonish other parties because of their allegiances that may or may not have worked against the Hunt's goals centuries prior. I think it foolish to hold onto grudges that we weren't even alive to witness be born. Even still, a festering 'curse' or 'blessing' applied to those factions, how despicable."
This drew Adeline's attention, who had been walking silently alongside the group, patiently and happily observing the bountiful bloom of the flora as they passed.
"I've heard much about the Lightseeker's Curse. But no one ever has the stomach to explain it clearly..."
Artemis chuckled, the corners of his lips curling up. This was something that he neither cared for, nor thought about too often, but it was certainly the reason for many of his failures. At least, it was a scapegoat for blame, when he couldn't bother to admonish himself.
"It is to never have success with power, even if it is obtained in excess. If I were to become the most powerful man in the Blackbaast, even greater than August, it would amount to nothing, I could never make anything of myself or accomplish great things. They would all fail."
It was at this time that the minor Archknight, Kafka, finally spoke up.
"On the other hand," Kafka raised her hand, showing the curse mark that festered near her wrist, "those unlike us, like you, Ms. Belmont, are prone to success by every metric. This isn't a tampering with Fate, Destiny, or the like. It is simple mental inhibition. Barring any extraneous circumstance, success or failure is built on the confidence and competence that arises from one's own mind, their mentality and their wit. These marks, these ones that define us socially, also unconsciously and tacitly influence our mentalities."
The corners of Artemis's mouth twisted upwards slightly in a self-deprecating manner. "Our true curse is the inability to believe in ourselves."
They soon reached the stables at the edge of Naasis, cared for by many attendants, all of whom wore aprons beflowered, and bows that tied up their hair neatly. Even the men seemed to wear their hair long in Naasis, perhaps a custom Artemis could not understand. Then again, his hair was also worn long, when he had the mind to prepare it neatly.
All beams within the stable featured the crawling vines of many purplish-flowers, some white, and some scarlet. Because of the tradition in which a Witch-King would spread a new genus of flower throughout the Blackbaast, Naasis was rife with such examples of previous rulers. While he hadn't yet had the opportunity to learn of them, he knew one of these flowers well.
The white flower that settled at the edges of the wooden posts, tucked into corners, featuring purplish-specks along their edges, was the Augustusflower. It was the genus August had spread throughout the Blackbaast when continuing with the tradition. This flower had even made its way to Margraves, of which it was plentiful, and blended wonderfully with the Heraflowers.
While the two Consorts and their attendant, Xerandes, moved to the edge of the stables to attend to their horses, Cercival, Kafka, and Artemis walked over towards Leist and Harmen, Artemis's two childhood horses who had made the journey to Henem with them.
Artemis picked up a brush sitting on a shelf beside the pen where Harmen was kept, beginning to brush the gentle horses thick white mane as he smiled. He began to speak towards the Archknight behind him, his gaze focused on the horse as he did so.
"I've often wondered about the Archknight's way of division by Class, Ms. Summerstelle. What have you been designated?"
Kafka's eyebrow raised, glancing up at Artemis as she replied.
"We're assigned a Spirit after we graduate. Often, minor Spirits who are either open or tricked into forming a temporary contract are used to train Seers, recruits at the Academy. Our life-long partners are only met once we've achieved certain standards. My Spirit, East, is a cunning one. His abilities can only be employed when I'm completely confident in myself..." Kafka reached a hand towards her cheek, gently touching underneath her eyelid as her gaze filled with some semblance of regret. "Of course, due to the curse, this is often not the case. I've become quite proficient in my blade in order to compensate for this, and so although I'll always be at a disadvantage, I can perform at a greater extent in comparison to my Grace's household guard. I have been designated a 'Dragoon', an Archknight with a specialty for aggressive combat, acting as a frontline initiator. When I do manage to enter some sort of tranquil state where I can ignore the influence of the curse on my mentality, my Spirit, East, guides me to an assured victory. Even if I am outclassed or facing an enemy five times my size, if I can enter this state and effectuate my Contract, I will never lose."
"So the designation is based off of your capabilities as both a Spirit User and a combatant? That seems like it's quite to your benefit."
"Perhaps, it at least allows me a suitable role... doing such a thing is easier said than done..." Kafka murmured, turning away from Artemis as she sulked.
Artemis turned towards Kafka, frowning. He let out a sigh, trying to console her.
"I spent my life as a recluse. Even now, I fail to push myself to interact socially in a lot of endeavours. I try to remedy this with force, but my heart has hangups even I can't ignore."
This seemed to draw Kafka's attention.
"Even you have things that you can't deal with? You seem so strong, so put-together. After all, you're to be a Consort of his Grace..."
Artemis's eyebrow twitched. It almost seemed like a slight. Still, Kafka continued as if she hadn't meant to annoy him.
"I am a man, by all accounts of my birth by my House's nursemaids, and of my mother who passed away shortly after. But when I grew out of my incompetence as a child, I wished to dress in girl's clothes, to wear my hair as my sisters did, and my father did not appreciate that."
"Wouldn't anyone else? What a strange man."
"For a commoner, certainly. For a middle-child, definitely. But for the eldest and only son of a Nobleman who wanted his lineage continued, it was a slight..." Kafka laughed in a self-deprecating manner. "Isn't that a strange scenario? My existence is a burden on others, for no other reason than because I was not different, and at the same time very much so."
Artemis's eyes widened, speechless.
Isn't this how I once thought? No, perhaps even how I still feel...
"You aren't a burden, not to me, nor to anyone else here. When one person speaks against the majority, what sway should they have? It is neither the popular opinion nor necessarily the correct one."
"Indeed, this is what I try to tell myself." Kafka smiled. "Still, we work at a disadvantage in all endeavours." Her hand moved to fidget with her wrist, where the curse mark of a Lightseeker remained.
Suddenly, before Artemis could think to reply, a member of the household guard, dressed in silver-plated armour and painted leather burst through the entrance to the stables. Artemis and the party's attention were drawn.
The guard saluted, a hand to his chest as he bowed his head. "Lord, Ladies, his Grace has returned. He wishes to meet with you all."