Anastasia (1)

Indigo's fingers danced across the MRI controls, a furious counterpoint to the machine's ever-shifting evolution. Eydis, ever the enigma, had done more than plant a virus; she'd fed the MRI raw data from the battles, its Ethereum crystals humming with the echoes of clashing steel and arcane spells. Reckless, yes, but undeniably ingenious. It explained her insistence on joining the Grand Trial, despite the spiralling risks. The girl was a whirlwind, a chaotic force unlike any he'd known. Unlike them. Unlike him. She couldn't regenerate, couldn't cheat death. She wasn't immortal. And yet, she lunged into dangers with careless, almost manic glee. Emperor Ares's gambit had quickened the game, and this machine, this hungry beast, might just tip the scales in their favour.

He slammed the door shut, seeking refuge in his study. But the scene that greeted him wasn't solace, it was a primal shock, the kind that brands the mind. A discordant note resolved, a puzzle piece clicking into place. Callista, perched on his table, the picture of nonchalance. Eydis beside her, mirroring the pose with a hint of disarray – flushed cheeks, tousled hair, lips bruised and swollen. Her hand, caught mid-retreat, lingered inside Callista's unbuttoned blouse, a subtle detail as heavy as a sledgehammer.

Indigo stumbled back, sputtering. "Ca-Astra, and Eydis! Must this liaison be conducted… publically?" Of all souls, Callista chose Eydis, whose morality danced on the precipice of darkness. Yet, somewhere deep within him, a grudging respect blossomed. These two, a mage who defied the world and a commoner who reshaped it, were two sides of the same coin, destined to collide. Their union felt oddly poetic, like a forbidden verse came to life.

Eydis's voice, laced with a honeyed drawl, cut through his reverie. "Dean Swans," she purred, "your heart peeks from behind those scandalised eyes."

Indigo's face flushed crimson. He glared at Callista, who twirled a silver strand around her finger, her face betraying no emotion, a sphinx with a mischievous glint in her eyes. "W-What brings you two… together… at this ungodly hour?"

Eydis shrugged, a predatory gleam flashing in her eyes. "My Astra wanted to share her tale, and I thought, what better audience than the esteemed Dean Swans?" Her grin widened at the sight of Indigo's jaw slackening."Priest Indigo Crane, I presumed? It's nice to finally meet you."

Indigo's jaw worked soundlessly. He glanced at Callista, but she offered only a shrug, her poker face impenetrable. Panic surged through him. He scurried to lock the windows and doors, scanning the room for any nosy insects. But Eydis's voice, smooth as velvet, cut through his paranoia.

"Relax, Dean," she purred, twirling an Ethereum crystal between her fingers like a miniature sun. "This conversation, as they say, is on the blockchain."

"Blockchain?" Indigo asked, turning to Callista, who rolled her eyes.

"Encrypted," Eydis stated proudly, her grin a mix of mischief and brilliance. 

"Encrypted? How?" Indigo's curiosity sparked, momentarily pushing aside his fluster.

"Just like my thoughts," Eydis's smile widened, tinged with justifiable smugness. "These little beauties can scramble the very fabric of information, rendering it incomprehensible to unwanted ears, and eyes." 

Indigo sank back onto his tea table, the cold tea offering no comfort. This conversation, he knew, was inevitable, a dance they were destined to perform. But judging by the glint in Eydis's eyes, it seemed she had already choreographed the steps, or at least the opening act.

"How, and when did you find out?" he asked, his voice laced with a mix of apprehension and begrudging admiration.

Eydis's smile deepened, a slow, knowing curve. "Please, Indigo Crane, Gidion Swan," she said, her voice as smooth as aged wine, "hardly a cryptic puzzle. That, and a woman's intuition is rarely wrong."

"Intuition?" Indigo frowned, questioning his alias choices.

Eydis tilted her head, a sly glint in her eyes. "Your research, Dean. Hardly a lifetime's work. The MRI system, beautiful, almost perfect...by design."

Indigo's breath hitched. He stared at Eydis, his mouth agape, torn between awe at her deduction and mortification at his own naivety.

"Well, then," Callista chimed in, clearing her throat and breaking the tension. "I suppose we should begin with Anastasia," she said, her eyes twinkling with amusement as she watched Eydis's surprise flicker across her face.

**

"Lady Anatasia, would you like to spar with me?" asked Sir John, his silver eyes crinkling at the corners with a gentle smile. His voice, a soft melody, clashed with the harsh scoffs coming from behind him.

"Sir John, don't waste your time with that mutt," sneered Alek, the eldest brother, his voice sharp and cruel.

Mikhail, the second brother, chimed in with a smirk. "Alek's right. She's just a girl, what does she know about swordplay? Not to mention, that unsightly blotchy hair of hers."

The third boy, Damien Whitlock, a friend of Alek, stood apart from the bickering, his face a hard mask of ambition. He, after all, was destined to inherit Silverkeep.

Anatasia stood frozen, her cheeks burning with shame. "I-I think I should go back to…embroidery," she stammered, turning to flee.

But Sir John, the only ray of kindness in that bleak courtyard, gently touched her shoulder, stopping her escape. "My Lady, I've seen you watching us for some time now," he said, his voice warm and encouraging. He reached into his scabbard and pulled out a practice sword, its hilt adorned with a simple leather wrap. "Let's learn together, shall we?"

It was the first time Anastasia had ever held a sword. The weight of the steel felt almost overwhelming in her small hands, yet a thrill shot through her as she tightened her grip. The clangs of practice swords in the distance, once mocking, now held the promise of something…powerful.

And so, Anastasia began to practice. Days turned into weeks, weeks into months, and months into years. She forgot about etiquette lessons, ignored the embroidery and tea brewing, her world shrinking to the gleam of the blade in her hand. Her brothers may have laughed at her clumsy strikes, but with each swing, Anastasia felt a sense of belonging she had never known before.